Honestly. You try your whole life conscientiously avoiding learning to drive, to the extent that people think you're poor, that in the end you start questioning if it is worth it...
When Lady Kirsten and I lived in Leuven, public transport was pretty OK. Not ideal, and often late, Belgian buses were often the only effective way of moving around the city. The trains are also pretty comfortable, although unreliable.
In our corner of Germany, I must say, the trains will work almost to the second, even in the coldest of snowy winters to the extent that you dare not be late. My criticism of them though is a valid one. They are not very frequent. Punctual, but rare. Efficient, but scarce. Clean, fast, even cheap. But if you miss one, it would be quicker to go back to your house and fetch your bicycle.
When we moved to Saarburg, it was great, because I could step outside, walk 200 metres (not even that) and jump on the bus straight to Luxembourg. It drops me about 5 minutes from the European Court of Justice and the Jean Monnet Commission building, two of the buildings I work in, although if I need to go to the European Parliament or Commission training building, I still have to get another bus. And it is this bus where the problems start. The people hanging out at bus stops have little or no sense of community spirit. They will get on the bus before everyone has got off and make sure they get the best seats. These buses are virtually empty and yet they are acting like it's the last bus from Armageddon.
The worst thing in Luxembourg is that many bus lines are so frequent that there might be another one right behind, similarly empty. Luxembourg's bus travellers don't acknowledge that probability though, and often make the experience so unattractive that you imagine you'd like to be sitting in the passenger seat of a ripoff taxi, which is the norm in Luxembourg. Although this is not the case every time.
But the bus taking me from Saarburg to Luxembourg is not squalid. Quite the opposite, but here lies a further, paradoxical complication. It is a luxury coach, with one of the most scenic routes in the world. It starts off in the Saar Valley where we are, rising up the steep forested hills to the open moors which separate the Saar from the Mosel, taking in the windswept beauty of the countryside around Merzkirchen before we plummet into the Mosel valley, crossing the frontier in some exquisite vineyard country, then rising up to meet the motorway into Kirchberg and Luxembourg City.
However, there are a few difficulties here, namely one of the drivers. He seems to think that everyone is an abstract object. When I tell him which stop I wish to get off at, he looks at me as if I have just said something philosophical and incomprehensible. When passengers buy their monthly ticket, he just takes our money and says nothing before handing it over, as though we are not interactive instruments capable of communicating on his wavelength. He does little to make us happy and you can never rely on him for a favour. I get on the bus at its second stop.
But there is an even more pressing problem here: the passengers. The vast majority are OK, but I sense that as they are from the country, they are not used to strangers taking their bus. So it came as a shock when I got on the bus and had the audacity to ask the woman who always sits at the front if she could move her light work bag for me to sit down. She huffed and puffed before mumbling something incomprehensible and thrusting her bag on the floor. I mean, she doesn't have a rental contract on that particular double-seat, and I need it more than her - she's so small, she could easily sit further back. Needless to say, she has not said a word to me since. There is a guy with extra long legs who deserves it much more than she does. Furthermore, that place is one of only three spots on the bus where I can put my work bag with all my books in it without taking up a seat which another passenger might need - it has extra room for luggage. One of the other two, just behind the middle door, is occupied by an enormous woman who needs two spaces anyway, and the last place is at the back where there is no light to read my book.
Opposite her, behind the driver, there is a further possibility, but the guy with long legs sits there when this other woman I mentioned steals his spot. The 157 bus from Saarburg to Luxembourg is full of little political quirks like this. My theory is these people are middle-class, and want to feel rewarded for leaving their cars at home. They feel they are owed a prize for being so green. The woman at the front obviously drives a car and treats it, like the rest of those car-driving individualists, like a cocoon, a four-wheeled haven in which she can block out those irritating other people who seem to be in her way. She should go back to the car, if you ask me.
No comments:
Post a Comment