TRAINS and "It's not you, it's me."

March 11, 2010

Today was our departure-from-Switzerland day.  We have stayed the last two nights with our Zurich friends, Rob and Roberta Woolley and their three kids.  The Woolleys are prior EDH residents and sort-of-relatives (my sister is married to Rob’s brother), and they’ve been living in Switzerland for the past several years.  It was great to see them.  They were fabulous hosts and very good sports about adding three more children to their kid-chaos for a couple of days. 

We arrived at the train station with only a few minutes to spare before our 8:30 a.m. departure.  Fortunately, the Swiss train we were taking was running uncharacteristically behind schedule by 5 minutes, allowing us just enough time to prepare ourselves mentally for the train-boarding frenzy.  I think that Cade, Regan and Reyna and I would all agree that we love traveling by train, but our least favorite moments on this trip so far all coincide with the boarding or unboarding of trains, planes and automobiles with our baggage.  It is hard to anticipate where there will be room for luggage storage on a train already filled with travelers en route to various destinations.  It is hard to transfer from one train to a different train on a different track in an unfamiliar train station and go through the process all over again an hour later.  It is hard to throw 3 children and 10 bags onto a train in the 2 minutes it is stopped and unloading/loading passengers.  (Yes, I did say 10—4 backpacks, 4 rolling bags and a couple extra for books and miscellaneous items… all of which are seeming far less essential now than they did when I packed them!)  Thankfully, Cade has been getting better and better at being helpful, and I am getting better and better at finding a husband to help with the job – someone else’s husband, but still…!   Today a woman on a train looked me squarely in the face and said one word:  “Respekt.”  I think I almost cried.  

We stopped in Linz, Austria – two hours outside of Vienna—to stay overnight.  I had the brilliant thought when I planned the trip that it would be fun to visit my old mission area for a few hours on the way.  It was one of the scenes in that movie in my head…  the movie that failed to include the logistical nightmare of transferring luggage.  It was with some sadness tinged with regret that we disembarked in Linz and watched our train continue on to Vienna without us, and trekked down the street in search of our lodging for the night.  Fortunately, the hotel was very close and very comfortable. (Regan said she wished we could stay for weeks!  Probably just to avoid schlepping her bags back to the train station…)  

We set off enthusiastically on our grand city tour in the bitter cold, and I came to the startling realization that I have no actual recollection of Linz whatsoever.  Nothing seemed familiar.  Where did those real memories go?  In my movie, I saw scenes from my time as a missionary and viewed the city as a relatively small, very navigable place.  The establishment of the city of Linz dates back more than 400 years and historical buildings abound, so the changes in the past 20 years can’t be transformational…  I had a brief and apologetic, “Sorry.  It’s not you, it’s me.” chat in my head with my former place of residence, we took a few photos, danced in the snow and contemplated the complexity of a single snowflake, ate at McDonald’s and then went back to our very comfortable room with four beds.