|(Photo courtesy Order of St. Lazarus)|
|(Photo courtesy www.veterany.eu)|
The first train was the most memorable. A single-wagon Elekricka like the one pictured (right). A few kilometers after we'd left the station the train ground to a halt. The conductor who'd just taken our tickets, and looked about 16 in his oversized uniform and cap, came back down the aisle. Passengers moved their feet and bags aside (more clinking bottles) so that he could open a panel in the floor. He stuck his head below and made some kind of adjustment. Nobody seemed at all surprised or worried. A few minutes later, he closed the panel and the train started again (more clinking bottles).
I've forgotten the name of the village on the Polish side from where we started out, the Slovak holiday, the names of the train stations, but I will never forget the scene of conductor's headless body sprawled out on the floor of the train or the sound of clinking bottles.