Moving on slow trains from South to North, we encounter a lot of countryside – not always voluntarily.
(For more photos from Germany, click here: May/June 2007 May 2008 August/September 2008 October / November 2008 August 2009 October 2009)
After a
number of unmotivated stops, our train comes to a halt in Uffenheim. Three
people disembark. The train does not move. The conductor, a stout man with a red puzzle
piece on his lapel and a name badge (P. Roth), is walking up and down the train
talking into his phone. “Will you send one?” Finally, he decides to tell us
that we are standing still. “Thank you for your patience.” Another ten minutes
later, he returns to the microphone for a new announcement: “Ladies and
Gentlemen, may I have your attention please … An important announcement! Errr…
I guess we’ll have to wait for a new locomotive.”
The about
80 passengers have to leave the train and wait behind the station building,
because the platforms in Uffenheim are too dangerous to stand while faster trains
are passing through. The graffitied waiting room is completely empty except for
a waste separation box, and outside the station, no town is to be seen. Two
women browse through the leaflets in the room where the ticket window used to
be. “Your mobility is close to our heart,” they read out and send everybody
laughing hysterically. An hour later the next regular train arrives, and Mr.
Roth, now wearing an orange safety vest, leads us all to platform 4. The other
train is still standing on platform 3.
At least
this area of the North has better weather, too: with a lot of wind but much
sunshine, too. The first frost is on the grass, and Thorsten is earnestly
checking whether all his hens are scratching for snacks. They are the veterans
– Polly and her friends, last year’s newcomers, have all died this summer. Meanwhile
Esmerald the gander is devouring the leftovers from their regular food, the
floury stuff that the chickens don’t like. This happens to be the power part of
the power food they need because they are still programmed to lay too many
eggs. No wonder then that Esmerald is
strutting over the pasture as if the Metronom had been his idea.

