More grandeur in the ICE
Of course, this is a pathetic attempt to ascribe a certain grandeur to train travel. I recently had tomato juice in the onboard bistro. A drink with a message. A feeling of elation, an above-the-clouds feeling. It's a very transparent idea to fly on the luxury line. I welcome it nonetheless. When the train arrives, I always make sure to stand in the bistro section. It's the place that reconciled me with Deutsche Bahn.
I don't understand why people reserve a seat just to disappear into a stinking row. Especially since this apparent separation is exactly what causes everyone on the train to behave like they're on the couch: They slurp nachos, then drum their licked fingertips on the fold-out table, licking their fingers with curdled cheese sauce after the next nacho. They touch the seat back with their bare arms, pluck jalapeño rings from between the seats and then shove them into their mouths. They take off their hiking boots, clean their trekking poles, watch movies without headphones, pluck their eyebrows, and pick the dirt from under their fingernails.
As you can see, delays are not my main problem with Deutsche Bahn.
And then there's the one place on the train where things are more civilized than in first or second class: the onboard bistro. It seems as if people here are more likely to adhere to the minimum standards of coexistence. After all, you're sitting in a restaurant. I often thank in thought those parents or grandparents who instilled that respect in their passengers during Sunday outings at the restaurant. Didn't you dress up for it, didn't you eat better than at home? With knife and fork, no burping, no swear words, sit up straight, and at the end: "Thank you for the invitation." This old respect didn't make it into the Deutsche Bahn onboard bistro, but remnants of it do. Here, shoes aren't taken off, feet aren't put up, no nose-scratching, picking, or scab-care. No shouting, no "Uno" tournament, no climbing over seats, no hours-long private conversations on the phone. In short: most people behave like they would in a restaurant. The ambience is also nicer: panoramic windows, unrestricted views, a polite conversation with the neighbor, but also the need to stop it again, after all, both are eating.
The onboard bistro also changes beautifully depending on the time of day. Busy in the morning, hearty at lunch, more coffee and cake guests in the afternoon, and in the evening it sometimes turns into a pleasant pub. Many people are heading home, one more beer, each stop a cigarette break, and if new seating groups open up, you can even switch things up a notch with a gin and tonic. When has a visit to a bar ever helped you? Here! At the very latest, when the waiter and waitress sit down because everything's done, tidied up, washed up, the cash register closed, everything seems to be in order on Deutsche Bahn: thirty minutes of travel to go, glasses half full. Is it okay to fall in love in the onboard bistro?
Tomato juice? I think it should go much further – marketing or not: Why not, after the tomato juice, which conveys a certain sense of altitude, also have a vitello tonnato or a pasta alle vongole or a rosé on ice? Other things that might help: tablecloths, maybe a candle on every table, a wine cooler, a few strings. More grandeur, fewer hiking socks.
süeddeutsche
