The Little Train That Didn't German trains are usually on time...except when you most need them to be. Or so I learned one night while trying to get from Munich to Geneva. After a weekend of debauchery, Bavarian-style, my friend Rick and I needed to make a quick dash to Switzerland in order to get to work at our chateau on Monday morning. The problem was that after our first train from Munich we had a whopping eight minutes to catch the next one to Ulma, Germany. But we had confidence that the trains would be on time or that, if they weren't, the connecting train would wait. We were scheduled to leave at 6:30 p.m., but all that moved was an annoying kid running down the aisle. At 6:43 p.m., thirteen minutes behind schedule, the train left. As we finally inched into the Ulma station, our ticket home zipped by us-right on time. It was the last train of the night to Bern, Switzerland, and it left us scrambling for another way to make it to work on time. We figured out a schedule of taking seven trains in three hours in order to make it to Bern, with the last train heading south just after midnight. Each leg gave us an average five-minute window to make the next connection. After sweating through each ride, we finally reached Bern. But we were too late and the last train (of course) had left on time. After unsuccessful hitchhiking attempts, and fitful sleep on benches, two more trains, and an expensive cab ride we reached our final destination. We were seventeen minutes late (a Swiss sin only forgiven by scraping cheese grind off fondu pans for a week). As I was lugging my backpack the last couple steps to the kitchen, a Swedish knockout staying at the chateau crossed my path. She took one look at my knotted hair and bloodshot eyes, gave me the cutest smile, and walked in for the breakfast I needed to serve her. Suddenly, the past thirteen hours faded into oblivion and I went to work. Eric Tiettmeyer $5 Sunglasses Made Me Do It It was my first European train ride, and I felt cool. I'd figured things out. I had my backpack packed strapped to me like some kind of bondage outfit. I had my Eurail pass, my golden ticket, in a waterproof pouch, in a ticket folder, in a safety pouch, which was inside my pants. I had my passport with my first smeared ink stamp. I had Barcelona in front of me as I stepped off the night train from Madrid, the sun shining into the station and onto me like an anointed traveler. Then I realized I didn't have my sunglasses. I'd bought them in Madrid for the equivalent of five bucks. They were, in my mind, Euro and hip. In reality, they were the same knockoff Oakleys sold in every gas station in the U.S. I told my traveling companion to hold on while I jumped back on the train to find them. Surely I had a few minutes. I fought against the tide of boarding passengers and startled an elderly woman as I burst into my previous compartment and started searching around frantically, asking "Donde esta my sunglasses?" in very poor Spanish. She grabbed her bags and curled into the corner. Suddenly, I felt the train lurch. chunk. A little faster. Ka-chunk-ka-chunk. A wild look of panic, a moment's indecision over my sunglasses, and I was tearing through the hallway to the nearest exit. The train was picking up speed but I leaned out the open door. My friend was quickly receding as she stood on the platform. Looking left, we were about to enter a tunnel. I thought of every Western train robbery and James Bond movie I'd ever seen. I had neither a cowboy hat nor a tuxedo, but I threw myself off the train just before we entered the tunnel. I landed on my backpack and went skidding across the platform while a crowd of locals stared and the train zoomed off. "Americans..." they must have sighed. Jeff Booth La Polizia "You willa come with me now to de jail." Not exactly what you want to hear on a train in Europe. My brother and I had just left Paris on an overnight bound for Rome. The departure schedule was written using the 24-hour clock and we left at 1700 (five o'clock p.m.). This being my first encounter with the 24-hour clock, I assumed 1700 meant 7 p.m. We discovered the mistake while en route to the station. After barely making our train we realized we also wrote the wrong date on our Eurail passes. Eurail rules dictate that you write in the date you begin your travels, unless your train trip includes an overnight, in which case you must write in the next day's date on the ticket. We had to forget the date. Ever try to change a 3 into a 4 in pen? The result was a disaster and we got busted somewhere between Florence and Rome. It took quite a while to convince the conductors that we were just wayward travelers who had made an honest mistake. With our weary expressions and poor attempts at broken Italian they finally took pity on us and let us off the hook. Next time though, I'll use an erasable pen. Rich Steel Photo by Jessica Chan