Einstein on a Train

Einstein sleeps on the train.

The LED board at the train station said our train was leaving from platform 3, but when we arrived, everything was broken. Signs confirming which platform you were on were non-existent. Platforms 2 and 3 were at the top of the stairs. Platform 3 could have been on the left or right. We didn’t know. The mechanical board on the platform was broken. So we asked. And asked. And asked.

No one seemed to know. The man sweeping the platform told us we were in the right place. Everyone who spoke English gravitated toward one another, asking the same question. We all had tickets on the fast train to Athens. We hoped we were in the right place.

The train eventually arrived. It was dirty and covered in graffiti. We found our seats in first class. Einstein was sitting in Paul’s seat. Eventually, we convinced him he had to move.

The first class seats weren’t fancy. They’re not quiet. They’re not much nicer than cattle class. You share a compartment with six people. Einstein wore dark blue jeans and an orangish-yellow polo shirt. He took a nap as soon as the train left the station. Einstein snores.

Einstein napping on the train.

The view from the train was poor. Northern Greece has beautiful scenery to admire, but it was blocked by graffiti covering the window.

A view from the train.

At one stop, an orthodox priest boarded the train. He wandered into our car and took the seat of a man who left to go to the dining car. The priest snores, too. His black garb is old and worn. Tears are visible along his sleeves and collars. It’s evident his clothing is decades old.

He sits next to me, pushing my arm off the arm rest. Apparently, his black garb gives him preferential treatment. He angrily says something to me in Greek. I shrug my shoulders. He speaks more loudly. He’s angry. I tell him, in English, I don’t speak Greek. “Psssh,” he says, swinging his hand in my direction.

The orthodox priest who sat next to me.

The priest goes back to sleep. A child screams in a nearby compartment. A group of women speak nonstop for hours in another.

We stop in Paleofarsalos for more than 10 minutes. Einstein opens his eyes and looks around. He leans back in his seat and goes to sleep.

The priest smells like soap. The girl sitting diagonally across from me reminds me of a girl I knew in college. She has a pink purse, white sweater, black and white dress and hot pink finger nails. The first man returns to his seat, but the priest is there. He has an “aw, shucks,” expression on his face and wanders off in the direction of the dining car.

There’s no smoking in first class, but several people light up anyway. Wisps of smoke drift into our compartment and tickle my nose.

The priest wakes up, shifts the worry beads in his hand and drifts back to sleep. A small boy comes into our compartment and reaches up to touch the priest’s beard. He plays with it for a few seconds before walking away.

From what I can see out the window, a farmer tends to his field in the distance, moving methodically along the rows. Twenty minutes later, the engines start. Twenty-five minutes later they stop. Thirty minutes later, the journey to Athens continues.

A bead of sweat drips down the priest’s forehead and onto his glasses. Einstein snores lightly. The door to our compartment slams open and shut, depending on the incline of the train. The latch is broken.

Einstein sleeps on the train.

I paid for a first class ticket to avoid children. There are five that I count. I hear more. The women chatter on. Einstein wakes up to a screaming child. He pulls a half-eaten sandwich from his jacket pocket and eats half of it before dozing off again. We’ve been traveling for 25 minutes. We stop again at the entrance of a single-lane tunnel. There’s a rock embankment on both sides. Nothing to see.

The view from the train, when the conductor stopped the train.

There is no air conditioning on the train. The sun beats down on it and through its windows. The priest takes short, punctuated breaths. Five minutes later, the engines start. An announcement is made. The engines turn off. Einstein gets up to wander around.

Inside the train, the temperatures continue to rise. I’m stuck between two people radiating heat. I’m slightly cooler when I lean forward. Einstein returns to his seat. He adjusts his socks as more people begin to wander around the first-class car. The lights turn on, but I’m not convinced we’re going anywhere.

“We’ll be lucky if we get in at all tonight,” Paul says as the engines stop once again. The passengers don’t seem concerned, as if numerous unscheduled stops are the norm. The engine begins.

Einstein sighs. He looks outside at the wall of rock. Disgusted, he pulls a out a cloth and begins to clean his glasses.

I can feel the beads of sweat form on my upper lip. I wipe the sweat away with the sleeve of my t-shirt, but more are forming.

The engines stop again. They stop and start a dozen times, taunting us with the prospect of actually reaching our destination. Einstein is noticeably aggravated. He checks his watch again and again.

The screaming child begins bleating again. His brother climbs on the railings, yanking at them as if he could pull them off. He then stares at the sleeping woman in my compartment. Einstein leans forward, resting his chin in his hand.

The screaming family head toward the dining car and the train begins to move again.

A 40-minute delay. How far will we go this time?

It wasn’t great, but it was okay.

With enough stops, you begin to notice things in your first class compartment. A broken food tray, cracked plastic seats, torn fabric on seats. Everything in a state of decay. Einstein goes on walkabout. The conductor’s radio crackles from the voice of someone who placed his mouth too close to the machine.

Agricultural fields pass by below us. Einstein returns, slamming the door to our compartment, momentarily awakening the sleeping girl. The door slowly opens, millimeter by millimeter. It slams shut again as we move downward.

Another announcement from the crackling PA system. The train slows. Einstein taps his fingers on the air conditioning vent. The smell of tree leaves outside wafts into the train car.

We have established a pattern. Drive 20 minutes, stop for 30 to 45 minutes.

“It’s only two and a half hours from Preston to London,” Paul says. “It shouldn’t take this long to travel 200 miles.”

We’ve been on the train three and a half hours. We move about 30 feet and stop. Another train stops next to us momentarily, but moves on. The air conditioning seems to be working, for now.
The train scrapes along bushes as we slowly move forward. Someone is smoking again.

The view from the train.

“On the way up, going through the tunnels took six or seven minutes,” I tell Paul. “So far, it’s taken an hour and a half.”

Paul is convinced we won’t make it to Athens today and we’ll miss our flight home tomorrow.

The priest gets angry at me because, again, I can’t speak Greek and answer his question. I don’t know what woke him up, but after he points an angry finger at me he drifts off to sleep again.
The train does not move quickly, but we are limping along.

Einstein folds and opens his sunglasses, then places them through the first button hole in his orange polo shirt.

My grandma could drive faster than this train and she’s been dead five years.

Einstein takes a nap.

Einstein takes another nap on the train.

The air conditioning no longer pushes cool air. The stench of spent fuel fills the cabin. Everyone is quiet or sleeping, except for the ladies in the next cabin, quietly chatting.

I doze off around 2 p.m. The gentle rocking of the train soothes my tired and angry soul. We stop at 2:15 p.m., near rusted out train cars. A train passes carrying freight. Another announcement. I assume the conductor says we’re all going to die on the train. The train moves in the opposite direction. My anger simmers. One hundred yards later, we stop. We move forward. What is going on? Looking out the window, Paul notices we have changed tracks. I hope we’re on the right one now.

“No wonder this country is falling apart,” Paul retorts. No one else seems angry. Yet, if you accept poor infrastructure, the government won’t be motivated to make your country better.

Staring at the empty seat across from me reveals dirt stains and a worn out head rest. A man tries to reach someone on his phone.

“Hello, Darling. Can you hear me?” he asks. “It seems we’re moving again.”

It’s unknown if his message went through.

“I’ll try again later,” his voice heavy with frustration. Perhaps a text would get through. “We’re on the move again. For a while we were standing still. Can I ring you again when I arrive in Athens? Alright love.”

Everyone seems to be alive now and checking the time on their phones. Many make phone calls. The train stops at a station. The priest leaves, but gives us the gift of flatulence as he goes.

“Just remember when we fly back tomorrow, we’d be halfway across the Atlantic by now,” Paul says sheepishly.

The priest waddles back and flops hard into his seat.

My arms are sticky with sweat.

Einstein finds a new way to nap on the train.

Einstein has fallen asleep, but the sleeping girl is awake. She sounds sad as she speaks to someone on her phone. I doze off for an hour, only to be awakened by the priest and a cleaning lady speaking to each other. He exits the train.

Someone is smoking again. The sleeping girl is scrolling around on her phone. Einstein cleans his sunglasses with a red cloth. He gets up to look out the window. The little boy who stroked the priest’s beard pets Einstein on the arm. Einstein yanks his arm away and looks angrily at the child. There is banging on the back of my seat from the next compartment. A boy is screaming and throwing a temper tantrum. The guy who was originally in the priest’s seat returns. He takes the now empty seat next to me.

The sleeping girl leaves the compartment. She leaves her purse, phone and luggage behind. I think it’s a good thing I’m an honest person. Cars on the highway are passing us. Just how slow is this train?

Einstein pulls out a cigarette and waits patiently to light it. It’s 5:25 p.m., and we’ve finally arrived in Athens.

The concierge at our hotel upgrades our room for free. She apologizes for the train service even though none of the problems were her fault. We spend $100 on a seafood buffet dinner. I had the fresh sea bass. I would move to Greece just to have more.