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When you say trains I think Siberia Express, endless tracks in snowtopped mountains, philosophical discussions with long pauses, excited anticipation of what will reveal itself around the next corner. I feel the rhythmic movement of the carriages that empties my head of thoughts.

When I use trains lately I experience crowds of hurried people, long lines in front of the ticket machine, loud phone conversations about things as interesting as the state of someones plants, the smell of fries mixed with sweat and sticky seats. I read that commuters experience more stress than the average soldier in Afghanistan. I believe it.

One day, I find myself sitting across the prettiest lady I've ever seen. I shoot glances at her in the reflection of the window and realize that she does the same. We smile, look away, steal another glance, and smile again. She then says that she likes my hair. I want to tell her that she is the prettiest lady I ever saw. That I like her hair and her eyes and her dress. Instead I say: "Ah, I thought so..." And look away.

On Queensday, my favorite day of the year, I sit in the train with a foreign friend. Everybody around us is drunk, or about to be. It's 12am, and other laws apply today. A group of guys sings: "Mohammed B, Mohammed B, Mohammed B... Theo van Gogh, Theo van Gogh, Theo van Gogh..." Accompanied by hitting the ceiling, chairs, and floor. Few minutes later the train comes to a halt, one of them has pulled the emergency brake. The conductor comes, smiles, puts it back up, and we are on our way again.

Then spring comes, spreads its beams of sunlight over the station. White legs appear under short skirts, couples carry beach bags wearing flip flops, and delays become a perfect excuse to find the end of the platform and catch some fresh air. It's on one of these square meter of no-mans land that I have that sense of timelessness, of travelling to unknown places, of pure harmony. All of a sudden I want to take the train til the end of the world.