Prague to Budapest...Delta Style

My train from Prague to Budapest was set to leave at 9:47pm and arrive the following morning. I arrived at the train station and grew nervous when I read the departure board. The train was supposed to stop in Budapest on its way to Bucharest, but "Bucharest" was nowhere to be found up above. There was a train leaving at 9:47, but it was departing towards Bratislava, Slovakia. Confused, I asked the guy behind the counter at the ticket office. After examining my ticket, he confirmed that this was in fact my train. A little unsure, but left with zero other options, I reluctantly trekked towards Platform 5. The train took off and within 20 minutes the ticket checkers came by. Fearing the worst, I handed them my ticket. They looked it up and down, stamped it and handed it back to me.

Phew. That could have been a disaster.

I wasn't really tired, so I watched an episode of "Rescue Me", listened to music and then began reading my book, Into the Wild (a great travel book). It was 3:15am when a ticket checker knocked on my train car. Assuming it was just another routine check, I opened up the door and handed her my ticket. She waved me off, signaling that she didn't want the ticket. She sat down and uttered in broken English, "You need to get off the train."

"Um, what?"
"This train. You need to get off."
"Um, why?"
"There's a railroad strike in Hungary."

Feel free to take a moment to digest this situation.

In case you missed it...

"Um, what?"
"This train. You need to get off."
"Um, why?"
"There's a railroad strike in Hungary."

Okay, now we're ready to move on.

"Um, what?"
"This train. You need to get off."

We enjoyed this back and forth for a few minutes until she left my car and informed me I had 10 minutes to pack up bags and disembark.

I began putting everything together when I heard the woman go to the car next to mine and give the same spiel. I felt better. Misery loves company.

4 minutes later, everyone on the train was huddled around in total confusion. The train came to a halt in...you guessed it, Bratislava, Slovakia! It was 3:30 in the morning and there was no one in sight. We made our way towards the center of the train station in the hopes of sorting out the beginnings of a debacle. When we discovered everything closed and a mere one worker in the station, we came to accept the fact that we were officially screwed.

The departure board was blank and we were smackdab in the middle of Nowheresville. We sat there for about an hour debating potential solutions: calling a shuttle bus, paying 100 euro a person to take a cab all the way to Budapest, finding a way to the bus station, or just waiting at the train station in hopes that the strike would sort itself out. After much debate, we decided it was best to stay pat and hope for the best.

After what seemed like 6 eternities, the departure board lit up. There were a number of trains to cities I had never heard of, so I consulted my map to see what the gameplan was to be. We soon realized that the least horrendous solution was to train to a tiny Slovakian-Hungarian bordertown named Sturovo. We all paid 190 Slovakian Koruna (I still don't know how much that is) and waited for the 6:30 train.

As the 20 or so of us made our way towards the platform, I let out a, "Ya know, I'm gonna miss Bratislava."

An hour and a half later we arrived to Sturovo, whose population can be no larger than 17. This town was on the outskirts of the Boonies. There is desolation. And then there is Sturovo. Fortunately there was one cab at the station, and we quickly informed him to call the troops and send out a brigade of cabs. A group took off and we waited for another taxi to arrive. Sleep-deprived. In the rain. I hate Europe.

The cab eventually pulled up, and 4 of us jumped in and told him we were trying to get to the Budapest train station.

"No problem."


Note: There would be a problem.


We drove for about 2 hours and finally saw signs suggesting we had arrived in Budapest. Solid. Then the cabbie pulled into a shopping center. And he stopped the car. And he told us that we would have to get out here. FAAAAANTASTIC.

"You're going to have get out and wait for a cab to pick you up."
"What?"
"Yeah, we're not going to the train station. I'm not going that far."
"Where are we?"
"Centrum. The center of Budapest."

Let me give you a visual this point. We were in the middle of a shopping center. I had seen no landmarks. No historical sites. No signs. I think it was safe to assume we were NOT in the center of Budapest.

After about 3 seconds of silence, I explained, "We're not getting out of this cab until we get to the train station."

Upset, he got of the cab to make a phone call. I turned to the people in the back to confer about our most recent debacle. After a little discussion, I asked for one of their cell phones. The phone didn't work, but it was meant to be a scare tactic just in case. Thomas Schelling once wrote that the threat of force can often be more productive than the actual execution of force, so I figured a threat to call the police wouldn't sit well with our cabbie friend.

He came back a few minutes later and reluctantly submitted to taking us where we wanted to go.

15 minutes later we parked the car in front of the train station. I got out, made sure it was the correct destination and tipped our cab driver.

False. I did not tip our cab driver.

It wasn't the most direct of routes or the smoothest of travels, but I had finally arrived in Budapest.