Slow train in Belgium

On a public holiday, I took a very slow train between Bruges and Ghent.

The train slowly glided through a seemingly flat, featureless landscape. 

But as it went along, its slow pace and quiet carriages allowed me to enjoy the following sights and sounds. 

• The only noise being the chug of the train, the heating turning on and off and faint digital device buzzes and blips.
  
• The conductor moving through the carriages and saying "schcifft!" to every passenger.
  
• A single bright green row of lettuces in a field of purple cabbages.
  
• Cylindrical silage bales wrapped in black and white plastic like bullseye humbugs.
  
• Huge flocks of white birds scattering as the train trundled past.
  
• A convoy of trucks with the company name Lekkerland (Tasty land) emblazoned on them.

Budapest to Košice train

When I took a train from Budapest to Košice, I saw the scene below. It's now featured on FoundPlays as one of their little moments of drama. For Foundplays, I re-wrote the scene in a more play-like form, but here it is as I saw it.

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An early morning train from Budapest to Košice in Slovakia: Budapest station still murky and dark, with announcements mumbled in Hungarian.

Many passengers boarded; this was the only daily train on the route.

A man got on, with a huge suitcase. He looked smartly unkempt, wearing a white shirt (slightly askew and with vest peeping out at the belly) and grey suit trousers (a bit stained). He was a big bear of a man with a large bushy beard. He carefully took his seat.

Some minutes later a group of eight English tourists bustled on (travelling to a wedding in Kosice).

"You're in our seat", one of the group, a middle aged man, brusquely protested.

The burly man stood his ground, looking confused more than anything.

"We have all eight of these seats," said a woman from the group.

"This is my seat," said the Hungarian man.

"No it's ours," said the English man. "There's your ticket... Show me your ticket!," he said, quite forcefully.

They stood looking at each other for a good half minute before the burly man moved away to a nearby seat.

The English group spent rest of the journey laughing loudly. The burly man sat a few seats away, but periodically stood up and walked along the aisle. As he passed them, the group spoke in stage whispers.

Trackside London

From time to time, as I travel on trains in and out of London, I see things that I want to find and photograph.

This has led me into some fruitless forays such as wandering along several trackside streets looking for one large lavender bush - but never finding it.

But occasionally, I do find and see something interesting such as these.

Filtered train photography.

Taking photos on a train can be tricky. First, you need to be fast, then you must avoid the trees and powerlines by the track which could obscure your view. And then the lights in the carriage might reflect on the window.

So instead of trying to avoid these things, I played up to them and used phone filter apps to make the most of them.

Take a look at these photos taken on trains in Germany, Czech Republic, Hungary and Slovakia.

My fave photo apps, by the way, are Cymera and Pixlr-o-matic.

London » Lyon

I went by Eurostar from London to Lyon in November, full of plans to take photos of the journey - until I realised my camera's battery was empty.

So instead, I took out a notebook and got drawing the sights and landmarks the train passed - here they are as one animation.

Place Quote: USA & trains

It's all cargo - people, containers, pig iron - but there ain't no profit in people... Who's going to use the trains? Just old guys like us with no particular place to go and all the time in the world to go to it, and a few holiday-makers. It's a crying shame when you think of the history of the railroads. Hell, railroads made this country. Railroads forged a way east and west. Opened up the whole damn landmass. Now they just let the weeds grow if a route isn't profitable. People died in their hundreds, in their thousands, making the railroads, blasting their way through the mountains. They don't care.

• Jenny Diski, Stranger on a Train, p. 162-163