Tuesday April 29 2008

11 hours on a single train is an interesting prospect. It's crucial to pace yourself and so, like marathon runners preparing our bodies and minds before a race, we analysed our resources and apportioned them accordingly. The most entertaining options for passing the time (videogames) were to be rationed, while activities we might have shunned on a short journey (staring out of the window) became viable. I began gazing out of the window as soon as we set off, watching Vienna pass by until there was no Vienna left. I then immediately cracked and switched on my DS.

We had hit the jackpot with our cabin. A six seater to ourselves with two plug sockets, it gave us room to stretch our legs, mutter appalling jokes without fear of offending bystanders and keep everything we wanted charged, charged. Our command centre held two DSes, two phones, a digital camera and an iPod. This is how geeks travel when given an electricity supply.

Time marched on. As we called into various train stations, we defended our cabin from intrusion by closing the door and doing out best impression of Faceache for anyone who peered in. It worked every time.

Pacing yourself on a long journey applies to food as well as entertainment. Our relatively early start meant a fair old wait until lunchtime and the temptation to break the tedium with a snack was compelling. But we held out valiantly until an hour or so after noon, when the moment came to seek out a meal.

My European rail timetable book had informed me that this train came equipped with a buffet car. Meanwhile, a knife-and-fork symbol on the wall directly outside our cabin featured arrows pointing in both directions. All good signs. I stood up and headed out into the corridor. I followed the left arrow first, plodding past a set of six-seater cabins and a toilet, another set of six-seater cabins and another toilet, and then hitting the back end of the train. Fair enough. It had seemed unlikely that both sides of the vehicle would boast a buffet car.

I turned around and headed back down the train, pausing briefly outside our cabin to try and communicate "there is no buffet car at that end so I'm off the other way" to Brodos with a hand gesture. He was too busy playing Sonic the Hedgehog to care.

I marched on, discovering that this part of the train was filled with rows of seats rather than old fashioned cabins. I ploughed through one carriage, then a second, and finally a third. Then I hit the front of the train.

There was no buffet car. In fact, there was no food to buy on the train at all. We had been promised a wonderful array of produce by no less than three separate sources - my book and both of the little arrows under the knife-and-fork sign - and had instead been presented with nothing, save a door at either end of the vehicle. If you're really hungry, please feel free to throw yourself off the train, that was the message. We had already gone three hours without food and we had another eight hours to go. After the morning banquet that was the Selection of Traditional Austrian Cheeses, my stomach was already rumbling.

This was bad. This was horrible.

Next week: Rations are apportioned: Brodos gets the reindeer meat, Pixelsmith gets the licorice.

Read from the start:
A Geek Adventure

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