I call it “Plan B”, but our original intention was actually to go by train to Bratislava; we simply ruled it out given the pandemic. A single flight (2–3 hours) seemed preferable to several trains (24+ hours), and was considerably cheaper.

But then our flight was cancelled, and we were left with no other option. We eventually reasoned that it was not a bad one, with railway companies implementing mandatory mask-wearing, and reduced seat usage in order to physically distance from other passengers.

We booked the stages of this journey approximately in reverse, based on the least flexible travel segments at the time. There was only one sleeper running between Cologne and Vienna, every couple of days, which dictated the date of travel and meant that we needed to reach Cologne by ten to nine in the evening. The London-to-Brussels Eurostar had only one affordable journey on our chosen day, leaving London at 9am and arriving in Brussels at midday.

As a result, we needed to reach St. Pancras (from Essex) before 8am, in accordance with Eurostar’s arrival guidelines, and then had from noon until almost 9 o’clock to get from Brussels to Cologne (a two-hour journey); and we could get any Vienna–Bratislava train after around 8.30 the following morning. Simple.

And they’re off! London to Brussels

Our early start reminded me of every other time I’ve set out for something new or adventurous, although I felt more keenly on this occasion that I was somehow unready for the leap. I’m not entirely sure why, but it lingered about as far as Romford before I was suitably distracted. I don’t tend to actively contemplate moments of significance – the “how long before I’m back?” thoughts usually swim by weeks in advance, or after the fact.

Today, I think it was fairly clear that this was the beginning of an utterly unpredictable chapter. Leaving for Project Trust, I was sleepwalking, as I had been all through my final exams; going to University had always been an intended stage of my life, and besides: both had fixed terms. This, on the other hand, was unplanned (in the grand scheme of things), unbounded in time, and, more generally, undefined. Unmistakeably different.

We reached St. Pancras International to find a well-spaced and mostly bemasked waiting room – naked-nose mask wearers, I see you – before being invited to board in stages. It transpired that everyone was to be given a double seat to themselves, in order to allow greater distancing, even for fellow travellers like me and Guido (although sitting together was not a problem, in the end).

I had in mind that the Eurostar leg would take three hours (9–12), which I mentally adjusted onboard to four (+1 for European time), so imagine my surprise when arrival in Brussels was announced after only two! And Maths is meant to be my strong suit…

Brussels felt strangely comfortable, with its mixture of English, Dutch, and French signage. I felt guilty letting Guido make our order in Prêt; in that moment the necessary French had come to me surprisingly readily, but stayed in my head. It made very little difference; we nursed our drinks for a good six hours, having opted for an evening train to Cologne.

The time was passed with cut-out newspaper puzzles, cryptic crosswords, and the earlier half of Agatha Christie’s Destination Unknown. I’d picked it up previously from a second-hand bookshop in Wivenhoe, but found it unmanageably gloomy; this time I read past the aborted suicide attempt, and found the ensuing narrative to be absorbing. In my tiredness, I forgot to be surprised by the absence of a murder, and it only occurred to me after I’d finished that this was not a murder-mystery novel at all, but neither should Agatha Christie have only written one genre during her lifetime.

After the break: Brussels to Bratislava

The last half an hour in Brussels was an eternity on the platform. We finally scuttled onto the train, and let the gliding scenery and quadrilingual announcements wash over us. The ease with which the conductor switched between tongues was a frank reminder that only in the UK is multilingualism a particularly impressive skill. The carriage’s upholstery was easily a decade old, or more, and yet it was still nicer than almost anything I’ve encountered on the British rail network.

Cologne was barmy and humid as the Sun set behind some hippodrome, and we resorted to mindless people-watching. Naturally, we chose to sit at the far end of the platform from our reservation, but a quick stomp later we returned to the familiar air-conditioned cool of a sleeper carriage. The layout was just like those of my Russian experiences, but I daresay less ingenious in its complement of storage space.

I was disappointed to learn that we would be sharing our compartment with someone else, yet to join us, but this was mostly from a safety point of view: in the presence of other people, our masks had been on our faces since the early morning. Besides the extra warmth (a beaded upper lip, I shan’t elaborate) and slight aching at the back of the ears, I really had adjusted to mine. I hoped that we wouldn’t need them in our bunks, but this didn’t seem especially safe in a shared compartment.

By the time we had to share the room, we were both already ‘tucked in’, having offered my bunk-making tips to first-time sleepergoer Guido. The passenger who joined us was an ethereal lady who had spent her life, as she told us, tied down to nothing and – since her children had grown up – no-one. We had a fascinating conversation before lights-out, with plenty of free advice offered to us. I must confess that her cynical worldview eventually evoked a certain cynicism of my own, which I kept to myself.

During the night, I found myself gripping the handle of my upper berth. The way I was experiencing inertia made me feel as though we were tipping up as we took a corner of track. I’d never felt anything like it before on a sleeper train – it was as though we were travelling too fast.

It wasn’t until mid-morning that I understood why, when our companion popped up to greet us – our companion, that is, who had been due to leave the train in the early hours. The significant delay actually gave me a bit of a lie-in, plus a refund from the train company. Winners all round! To tell the truth, once I’m on a train, I really don’t care if it’s held up as long as it gets me to my destination eventually. Delays before you get on board, however, are the worst.

The departures board in Vienna told us that we had ten minutes to shifty on over to the ticket machines and back (to our platform of arrival) for the Bratislava train. Our route was flat – closest mountains on the horizon – and mostly Austrian, finally crossing the border within minutes of our destination.

Calm evening Cologne was nothing compared to midday Bratislava, it transpired, and I sweated profusely into my backpacks between the functional platform (big Xinjiang vibes) and our eventual taxi to the flat. A smiling friend of our landlord let us in, checked that we were alright (pointing out the closest Lidl, visible from our balcony), and then left us to our own devices.

Aside from the overriding relief, I remember my main thought: now what?!

—TJC