#interrail2025: Day 3 (part 1) - a whistlestop tour of Brno

Brno, Monday morning. I’d taken a stroll around the town the previous evening before dinner, and rather liked it, and so I was up early to do it all again, but this time in daylight.

I started with an unexpectedly stiff uphill climb to the cathedral - stone steps, a right knee that wanted to grumble a little and signs of impending fragility made it more challenging than I had anticipated - which is described as a bit dumpy by one commentator but I rather liked it. You know that St Peter and St Paul’s is there, which to my mind is exactly how a cathedral should be.

The climb does give you a decent view of Špilberk Castle, which saved me having to do that too.

Apart from the steps, Brno is a very walkable city, with a relatively compact city core. I did remember to look both ways for trams.

It was, however, time to leave. I might by this time have pretty much lost the ability to speak, but a train was calling me, even if it wouldn’t hear my response…

#interrail2025: Day 2 - “We don’t talk about Brno?”*

Sunday morning dawned bright and early. Cool too, as the temperature had dropped sharply. But Nuremberg is perfectly charming on a Sunday morning without the crowds of a Saturday night, and I thought that a walk would clear the cobwebs before the next train.

As you might expect, Nuremberg has that comfortable sense of a city that does quite nicely for itself, with a high class array of retail opportunities and, despite the results of US and UK-inspired urban renewal, has retained some interesting architecture. The Weißer Turm, which actually has a U-Bahn entrance underneath it, marks the gateway to the shopping district, and I managed to get as far as the castle before turning back to pick my luggage and head for the station.

On reflection, I might have given myself an extra five minutes, as it was a slightly breathless bureaucrat who threw himself and his luggage onto the 10.38 to Schwandorf, where I had discovered a scenic route into the Czech Republic, rather than the obvious Railjet dash via Vienna.

Deutsche Bahn Regional Expresses can be a bit of a mixed bag, and things were made more complex by the unexpected splitting of the train at Neukirchen (bei Sulzbach-Rosenberg). Luckily, I’d got the right half…

I’d left myself just over an hour to connect in Schwandorf (there was an alternative with a six minute connect but I try not to do those anymore), which was intended as an opportunity to get in a few extra steps (yes, I’m still doing my 10,000 steps each day) and whilst I did have luggage to drag, I strode boldly down the mean streets of Schwandorf.

As a small Bavarian town, it does attempt to live up to the cliché. Pretty, white-washed church? Check. Beer garden by the river? Check. I didn’t see anyone in lederhosen, but it was probably only a matter of time.

Back at the station, my connection to Prague was pulling in. Described as a Regional Express from Munich to Prague, the Alex service runs via Plzen and has compartments in first class, which I approve of in an old school sort of way, especially when I get to be undisturbed for three hours, as we wandered across Bohemia. A quick connect to a rather swish Railjet, and I was in Brno in time for dinner. As was Political Animal and his family who, somewhat unnoticed, had picked the same route as I had. And no, I really wasn’t stalking them… or were they now stalking me?

There may have been beer and dumplings involved again, bread dumplings this time - my personal preference - before a relatively early night. A change of scenery beckoned…

* with thanks to Helen Belcher, whose knowledge of Disney hits is clearly superior to mine…

#interrail2025: Day 1 - a day of tight connects made…

I like trains. And no, not in a “isn’t that locomotive interesting” sort of way (although there’s something about a black-painted electric locomotive that calls to me). But I like travelling by train, albeit in comfort. And now that I’m officially aged, it costs rather less to do so.

And we older people get discounted Interrail tickets accordingly, of which I approve hugely.

It would, under such circumstances, be churlish not to take up such an opportunity, and so I bought myself a “ten days in two months” Senior first class Interrail ticket a while ago. I did rather dither about where I would go, but that sort of thing works itself out, right?

Saturday morning was bright and sunny, and an early start found me in London at a decent enough hotel. I skipped breakfast, as Eurostar feed you in Standard Premier (or Eurostar Plus, as I’m going to have to get used to), and headed for St Pancras International for the 9.01 to Bruxelles-Midi. I’d taken the advice of the Man in Seat 61 and reserved a seat near the front of the train so as to make my twenty minute connection that bit less stressful.

As starts go, Eurostar is a fairly easy way to ease yourself into the rhythm of the thing, with a carriage attendant with a wry sense of humour and a sense of speed that I might not see too often in the days to come.

Breakfast was… meh in terms of quantity, although the pain au chocolat was actually pretty good, and the tea drinkable. The yogurt with pecans and caramelised apple was better than I might have feared, but I was not entirely replete when we arrived in Belgium.

A brisk stroll across Gare du Midi, and ICE315 to Frankfurt was, how should I put it, a bit busy. Even a first class ticket didn’t guarantee a seat, and I was pleased that I had taken the precaution of making a seat reservation a couple of days earlier - the Interrail app tells you whether seat reservations are optional, recommended or mandatory, which is a useful thing to know.

What that meant was that “at table” service wasn’t available, so I had to make my way to the restaurant car to get a sandwich and a beer.

But, courtesy of BlueSky, I discovered that I wasn’t entirely alone. Political Animal, who works for the Local Government Association, was on the train with his family, and so we exchanged slightly stalkerish messages. It turned out that both of us were heading for the same place (eventually). Not stalkerish at all, right?

Arriving in Frankfurt on time (Deutsche Bahn, you’re spoiling us…), all that was left was to make a theoretically easy connection for the day’s final destination. Theoretically, because Deutsche Bahn usually have at least one surprise up their sleeve. We were, supposedly, departing from Platform 7, but that was indicating a train to Bamberg which was supposed to have left two hours earlier. And then, the Easter egg, a late platform switch which led to a slightly unseemly scurry to Platform 3.

I made ICE721 to Nuremberg though, a rather emptier, more genteel affair, and arrived in Franconia’s capital in time for a stroll and dinner. My goal… pork and beer.

What I found, apart from a quite buzzy city centre, was Bratwurst Röslein, which claims to be the largest bratwurst restaurant in the world. Yes, really. And, if Germans are claiming that, I’d wager that it’s probably true. There was pork, and a vast potato dumpling, and too much red cabbage for me to eat without exploding. And, of course, beer.

I strolled back to the hotel, rather more slowly this time. It was all going to be alright, even if my ability to speak was becoming increasingly limited…