Blog 3: Twenty Twenty Three

Happy New Year!

They say you should start your year as you intend to go on. Unfortunately, I’m not in the gym, or skydiving, or wandering barefoot through the Masai Mara at sunrise with a pride of lions. Instead, I’m sitting in a laundromat in Zagreb.

I was eating a hotdog last night at the market and spilt mustard on my hoodie. Not just a little drip on the cuff but an incriminating splash right down the front. Bugger. Surely that’ll come out?

***

I left Paris on Tuesday and headed east to Munich, on to Ljubjana and then into Croatia.

My Railplanner app tells me I have spent a total of 10 hours and 32 minutes on trains thus far. As a career-Antipodean, I am green with envy at the vast network of public transport available across Europe. However, there is one aspect of train travel here that I must admit rather jeopardises the overall experience. This is the curious case of seat reservations.

On most trains a seat reservation is sold separately to your ticket and isn’t compulsory (i.e people like me shelve the extra €8 and ignore it). Most of the time there is a sign above each seat letting you know if it is reserved, and you can just sit in the ‘free’ ones. I say ‘most’ because it isn’t always clear, and this is where the trouble begins. Some trains are older and don’t have the signage, and some don’t update properly when they change routes at short notice.

What transpires is a sort of human game of battleships. You board a train and spot a couple of free seats. There isn’t a reserved sign above any of them, so far so good. You ask the nearest person if they have reserved one for someone else – they say no. Even better: you sit down.

The train stops at the next station. Some get off, more get on. People start walking down the aisle, scanning the seat numbers. Panic starts to set in.

6B….. miss.

9C..…miss.

12A..… hit!

Sunk, one clueless tourist.

Someone apologetically explains they’ve booked your spot. You do a walk of shame down the train looking for another free seat, before the whole game starts again at the next station. It’s excruciating.

***

My hoodie comes out of the drier. It’s still got a faint mark from the mustard. Oh well.

Start 2023 as you mean to go on? I’m walking around Zagreb on New Year’s Day in the pale winter sun with a mustard-stained hoodie. Bring it on.