Train Journey to Vienna

After a long time, I once again took the train for my journey from Munich to Vienna. For me, as a solo traveller, this was the fastest, most comfortable, and most affordable option this time. So, I was able to experience the ‘living space’ of an open-plan carriage once more.

The route offered fantastic views of the mountains and lakes in the Alpine foothills of Bavaria and Upper Austria, open-minded fellow travellers and interesting conversations, time for focused reading of a good specialist book, and for the first time, pleasant entertainment from my favourite music through noise-cancelling headphones.

Immediately after arriving at Vienna Central Station and being greeted by the artist Jaz, we walked the few metres to my nearby private accommodation in ‘The Metropolitan’ high-rise, where I was able to enjoy a fantastic view over Vienna from the balcony and roof terrace, and a glowing sunset over the city.

There are people who travel light. And then there are those who light a cigarette on the platform as if they need to quickly make peace with the world before departure. The smoker on the platform is, after all, as much a part of European travel culture as the delayed train, the poorly audible loudspeaker, and the cappuccino in a paper cup. While others nervously stare at the departure board, he stands there like a philosopher of the in-between spaces: half arrived, half en route, enveloped in a small private cloud.

Interestingly, platforms have long been strictly regulated smoking biotopes. Marked zones and all sorts of prohibitions are intended to prevent annoyance to fellow travellers. In many stations, specially designated smoking areas exist; in some – such as Vienna Central Station – smoking on platforms has now been completely banned. Yet even where smoking bans are in force, the platform seems to be a kind of last freedom before departure for many smokers. Perhaps because travel always has something to do with transitions: between cities, between life stages, between ‘just one more quick smoke’ and ‘we really have to get on now’. And so he stands there, the man with the cigarette, next to platform 7 or 12, or somewhere between Vienna and reality.

Between Vienna and Munich, somewhere past the border, the train plunges into this golden evening light. Opposite sit two Hungarian women – mother and daughter, perhaps – silently side by side, connected by that natural closeness that needs no grand gestures. Outside, fields and lakes, forests and stations pass by. Inside, for a brief moment, a small world of its own emerges from reflections in the window, tired glances, and the warm light of the setting sun.

Train journeys have the special ability to place people in a shared ‘in-between’ for a few hours. No one stays. No one truly belongs here. And yet, you share the same rhythm of rail sounds, announcements, and passing scenery. It is precisely these unspectacular moments that outlast a journey: no landmark, no monument – just two people in the evening light of a train between East and West.