The night I boarded the wrong train to Vienna

The plan was simple enough. In April I booked a ticket for a nine-hour train journey to Vienna, arriving late at night. The late arrival bothered me a little when I booked it, and I decided to ignore the feeling. For the first stretch I was enjoying myself, changing trains across Germany, writing a post here and there, watching the country slide past the window. Then one connection ran more than an hour late. Should I be worried? Probably not, I told myself.

More delays followed, then missed connections, and by the time I reached Salzburg it was already 10 pm. I still had to catch the RailJet to Vienna, which would take about two and a half hours. I had five minutes, a station full of people in the same position, and a platform to find. I ran, spotted a train marked Vienna, fell into a seat and breathed out.

Then I noticed how empty the carriage was. Through the window I could see the crowd on the platform, everyone piling onto a different RailJet on the opposite side. Something was off. I looked for the route brochure and could make no sense of it, so I turned to the woman beside me. This train is going to Vienna, isn't it? She shook her head firmly. It had come from Vienna. In the rush I had boarded it in the wrong direction.

Fine, I thought. I would get off at the next stop and come back in time for the following connection. That was the moment the night properly came apart.

Salzburg Süd, and no way back

The next stop took a while to arrive, Salzburg Süd I believe. I ran between platforms, checked the departure boards, and worked out that there were no more trains back to the main station that night. There were none to Vienna either. Someone at the station pointed me towards a bus to the Hauptbahnhof, and I sprinted for it and made it just in time.

Then came the ticket. No machine nearby. My train ticket was not valid on the bus. The only loose change in my pocket was Swiss francs. The driver spoke no English, was not inclined to be helpful, and told me to go and find an ATM if I wanted a ticket at all. My German is basic, my time was running out, and I had no idea which trains were still running. A passenger took pity and handed me some change, and we set off towards the Hauptbahnhof.

The city looked entirely different at night. The bus passed the bridge and the shops I had wandered past on a day trip once, and I found myself half sightseeing while the driver worked through the streets.

My new acquaintance also looked up the timetable and said that if I was quick there was an 11 pm train to Vienna. Luck was not with me: I reached the station after 11 and watched it go. When I asked an official about the next one, he told me there would be nothing before 4 am. No bus, no train, no shared car, nothing. I asked twice, hoping for a different answer.

Waiting out the small hours

So I was stranded at Salzburg station until morning, cold, hungry and feeling thoroughly stupid. I blamed myself for not checking more carefully, then tried to stay calm and think. A cafe of the McDonald's kind seemed the obvious refuge, since they usually stay open all night. The food and coffee did help. The news that it would close at midnight did not.

I walked a circuit of the area and found nothing open. Almost nobody was about except a few people who had been drinking, so the station, with my luggage, looked like the safer option. I settled into the waiting area and walked laps of the concourse to stay awake. I did not even have a euro coin for the washroom, thanks to a broken ATM, though an official kindly waved me through. Snow and fog had delayed trains all evening, and the ones that did arrive late were packed.

Around 3 am a service towards Budapest pulled in. I walked its whole length looking for a spare seat and found not one, not even floor space. An hour or so later another train came, and this time I found a seat in a six-person compartment.

The strangers who saved the night

Those last hours turned out to be the best part of the journey. Everyone was exhausted, nobody could stretch out, so we talked instead. The train crossed fields white with snow, it being Easter, and the conversation wandered from our own stories to politics and the state of the world. One man, now looking after a farm in Hungary, had been head of marketing at a multinational and had travelled widely. I also got on well with a nurse who spoke no English at all; between her German and my broken German we managed, and our fellow passenger translated whatever defeated us.

I arrived in Vienna about 16 hours after leaving, instead of nine. What I remember now is not the delay but the snow fields, the Hungarian farmer, the nurse and the stranger with spare change.

What the night taught me

• Check, and then check again, before stepping onto any train.
• Carry a little of the local currency; it would have solved two emergencies that night.
• Kindness from strangers can rescue an evening, so return it when you can.
• Book a direct connection where possible, or at least one with fewer risky changes.
• Fluency is not required to talk to someone; goodwill does most of the work.

If you have a travel mishap or a story worth telling, I would like to hear it in the comments. For the #TravellersTales series, write to me at admin@europediaries.net.