Today I am traveling from Munich back to the beautiful Palatinate. It is already dark when, on this cold winter evening, I plunge into the cacophony of Munich Central Station. Relieved to have arrived on time and exhausted from a sleepless night in a not particularly comfortable hotel bed, I search for my departure platform and my seat.

The train sets off on time. Completely overtired, I don’t even manage to unpack my laptop and continue writing my blog. I try to consume a few lines of a clever book, written by a clever author, but the monotonous jolting soon causes my eyelids to close.

Suddenly, I hear a dull screech. My body, not exactly trained for high G-forces, attempts to escape the seat and moves toward the passenger in front of me. Then the train stops. I fall back into my seat, as do all the other passengers. I believe I also hear a cracking sound coming from the hip area of the somewhat older lady next to me, but I’m probably imagining that.

Now we are standing here.

I look out the window: Plochingen station.

Now, Plochingen does indeed have beautiful and noteworthy things. Art, even, can be admired by the attentive observer. Just not near the train station. There is nothing there.

One might now assume that I have something against Plochingen. That is not the case. I find Plochingen to be quite a pleasant town. It has a Hundertwasser building and a historic old town. As I have just learned, one can also visit the Ottilien Chapel, the oldest building in the city. Even Tomi Ungerer left artistic excretions in Plochingen on the Neckar. Yes, he designed a public toilet. Plochingen even offers guided city tours.

Only the Plochingen train station does not count as a sight. Officially, by the way.

Which, translated into plain language, means: it is not worth looking at.

This assessment is correct. I can testify to that, having looked at it for 120 minutes. From my compartment. In my train. Which unfortunately lost its propulsion in Plochingen.

Apparently, the railway staff had not been informed either. The passengers first had to point the visibly shaken conductor in the direction where he might find the locomotive. Agitated, he ran into our compartment, babbling something about pantograph damage and the fact that he could no longer locate the engine. One courageous fellow passenger offered to help him look for it.

On the opposite track, a regional express to Stuttgart had just arrived.

Just as we, the rebellious group of travelers, were about to change trains, an agitated voice came over the loudspeaker, roughly saying:

“We kindly ask you not to change trains. The driver has been able to fix the problem and we will continue in a few minutes. The regional express that has just arrived will have to wait in front of Stuttgart station for us, and you would therefore arrive later in Stuttgart if you change trains now.”

Naturally, following official railway protocol, the announcement was also made in English. I cannot repeat it. Not even approximately. If I remember correctly, it lacked meaning entirely.

So we stayed in our seats and in our compartments. Precious minutes passed, and just as the regional express on the opposite track departed, a distressed conductor stormed through our compartment, shouting at us why we were still on this train, because absolutely nothing was moving here anymore.

We explained that we had followed the announcement made by his colleague. He commented on this with: “That idiot has no idea what he’s talking about.”

To further reinforce his undoubtedly team-building opinion, the entire train lost power at that exact moment.

Wildly gesticulating, our conductor ran toward the engine and instructed the driver, in rather coarse terms, that he might consider raising his pantograph if he wanted electricity. And if that didn’t work soon, he knew exactly where the driver would be spending the night. Right here. In Plochingen.

Because Plochingen, you see, was the navel of the world.

To keep it short: we stood at Plochingen station for the aforementioned 120 minutes before the Railway Fairy finally restored the power supply.

This led me to two personal insights:

First, according to Wikipedia, Plochingen is not the navel of the world. Second, when the railway fairy starts “adjusting the pantograph", you end up stuck in some snow-covered backwater at the ass end of the world, which, as we all know, is not located anywhere near the navel.

But for the ass end of the world, Tomi Ungerer’s toilet building is, after all, a remarkably worthwhile sight.