Overnight Train to Prague

At the train station, I squirreled around aimlessly trying to find out where to go. The signs, obviously in Hungarian, provided little help. Then, I realized, my arrival time at the station was a bit premature. No wonder I could not find anything, in any language, resembling Prague/Prag/Praha, etc... Finally, after devouring what I feared would be my last kabob from the Egyptian kid selling them near the international portion of the station, I spied the boards again because there was movement on them - clicking with the destination Prague finally. I read signs for lines 1-6, then 9-12, but not 7 or 8 and I was supposed to board from 8? After a momentary panic, I realized my train rested on the tracks right in front of me. As I approached, the ticket taker/worker pointed at me, as a group of young backpakers passed us by. He elbowed his fellow worker and they both stared. Now, I was wearing my sportscoat, a dress shirt, and sunglasses, but I never expected the reaction I received. As I approached, he grew more excited. In broken English, he asked if I was "artist?" Since I fancy myself an artist, I said yes, thinking maybe it was the outfit? He nudged his buddy again and said a few sentences, the only words I could understand were Hollywood and actor, I think? Intrigued, I stood there as they looked me over, once, then twice again. The buddy of the man who spoke to me, who I was to learn would become my steward, or whatever they are called on trains, informed me that they would be putting me in cabin number 3. As I boarded, the first guy kept repeating "film artist" to the steward (one must have been Hungarian and the other a Czech because they communicated roughly in English) as he instructed me where to go once inside the train. I suppose I should have corrected them, but hey, serendipity happens!

Inside the train, I passed sevearl compartments, filled with other tourists - three beds to a cabin. When I got to cabin number 3, my cabin, it was empty. Within seconds the steward arrived to let me know that I would be alone all night and that no one would bother me at any of the stops throughout the 10 plus hour journey from Budapest to Prague. I guess this treatment is what they give Hollywood celebrities, so I figured after living in LA for 15 years, this was the least I could accept for my troubles. First class on an Eastern European train is not as fancy as one might expect compared to a Western European train line, but I did not complain. Besides, I have had nothing to compare it to except the Eurorail traveling I did back in college and that was plenty rough.

I climbed into the second bed, leaving the one above and below free for now. I pulled back the curtain and watched as the train pulled from Budapest into the dusk. Although night quickly approached, I caught sights of the Hungarian countryside as we zoomed along, the metal scrapping and the engine roaring as we picked up speed. The melancholy feelings soon disappeared as I grew more excited, but somehow exhausted from Budapest. I dozed a bit while watching sights through the window; the Tylenol PM working its wonders on me. I climbed down, got into some comfortable clothes, then went to sleep in the bottom bunk. In the morning, I would be in Prague, another Eastern European city I missed (except to fly through twenty years ago) during my initial jaunt about Europe in college. I fell asleep dreaming about my new adventures.