Impressions of travelling through Croatia

One route I really can recommend is coming into Croatia by train for example via Budapest. Getting to the centre of Budapest where the train stations are, one takes a taxi. Prices of which vary.

The diesel electric locomotive from Budapest is a heavy monster. It has to pull at least hundreds of it’s own tons of steel through the plains along the Balaton lake to the border with Croatia.

Singing steel wheels

Every time it stops somewhere, all brakes are tapped with small hammers on long stems. A relic that will vanish soon. The long stem is needed, otherwise one has to bend deep to reach from the floor of the station. The tapping is to hear if the steel of the wheel is free. The equipment is nearly a half century old. The parts work but not always both ways. One can hear a high ringing tone if the brakes are free. If not it will sound kind of dull. Blocked brakes can pose a problem.

Travelling along lake Balaton delivers some magnificent views to the west. The train travels along it’s borders behind all the small towns along it’s coastline. On the other coast of the lake on can see rolling mountains with from a distance little towns skirting the mountains. Sun settling, the lights of the streets in the towns twinkle. We ride with a slow klunk-klunk of the wheels on the rails.

Mountain and lush valleys approaching the border with Croatia

Getting close to the border with Croatia mountains and valleys start to slow down the ride considerable. When climbing in the curves the train slows down to speed of 15kmh maximum. The thundering diesel produces dark clouds of burned diesel from it’s exhaust. Crossing the valleys of south Hungary close to Croatia sunset gives vistas of long green valleys with forests, fields, streams and farms.

Guards and train schedules

There is a stations chef in a crisp uniform on every station. He shows himself. Stands in the doorway. Train stops. No one goes in. No one goes out. Then he has nothing to do for quite some hours before he can call it a day. He folds his flag, closes shop, if the station has a door. And goes home.

A friend had that job once. He would go on long hikes sometimes. The train driver would signal to the next station that they hadn’t seen him. They would signal to the driver that he would be out in the woods. Or lost in some book. He would read for hours. He loved that job.

Along rolling mountains behind the coast of Croatia