Rude conductors, a snail’s pace and pitch-black coffee: a ride on the long-distance train “Dacia” from Vienna to Bucharest shows where borderless Europe is still a utopia.
This journey begins at 7:42 p.m. in the darkness of Vienna Central Station. For a long time it will resemble a chamber play, although strictly speaking one would have to call it a ward drama, a sleeper drama or a couchette drama. Before the train has even really started rolling, Angela makes her first appearance with a rather frosty reception. “What are you planning to do?” she barks at her fellow passengers in her compartment as they try to form a comfortable group of seats on the bottom two bunks: “We’re going to bed at half past nine. I have to sleep.”
