Travelling with your conscience can be lonely
by Daniel Fitzpatrick

The slow motion of the train as it eases away from station in the Polish town of Krakow is in contrast to my pounding head. The three-kilometre run to the station in the middle of the night and my lack of fitness brings me to a heaving cough. As my breath settles, I let out a sigh of relief. Star-fished across my seat, sweat streaming down my face I'm a real sight. But for all my discomfort, I'm glad I'm here and not with Hannah.

I'm not proud of what I've just done. We'd only been traveling for a week but that was more than enough. My issue with her wasn't a mild irritation but a complete dislike; so I've done what all guys do - I've ran, packed my bags and jumped on the first train out of town, out of Poland.

As the platform runs to an end, I look around my carriage for the first time. My entry is in stark contrast to the calmness of the carriage interior. Too exhausted to remove my pack, I remain slumped in my seat looking at the smoke-stained ceiling of the cold-war rattler taking me to Berlin.

Paranoia
I catch other passengers' glances; a mixture of curiosity and bemusement that fuels my guilt. In my paranoid state I convince myself they know my betrayal. To avoid their accusatorial looks I keep my head down, focus on my hands and reflect on just what went wrong.

I've been backpacking across eastern Europe for several months and have learnt the advantages of a companion. You meet people along the way, work out you're heading in the same direction and team up. You endure mild oddities for the comfort of knowing someone is watching your back.

Unfortunately when it came to oddities, Hannah had them in spades.

We'd met in a Warsaw hostel some two weeks before and decided to travel together. Pretty soon, I realised the only thing in common was speaking English. It was hard to put my finger on what I disliked but it was probably a combination of an over-the-top personality, a room-filling voice and an attitude that said 'I know everything about everything'.

Exit stage left
It reached boiling point though when, after a few drinks she proceeded to tell a few Aussies (myself included) why we would never have anything to offer the world except sport. While she was probably right, I started plotting my exit.

My thoughts are broken by the loud-speaker announcing the approaching town. Looking at my watch, it's been 20 minutes since we left Krakow. Twenty minutes of an eight hour trip - I've got a long way to go.

When we take off again, the platform is soon replaced by the silhouette of trees lining the railway. It's still dark and the train is slowly moving, they merge into a single blur. I adjust my focus to the window itself and see my reflection in the dull metallic grey. Looking in to my eyes, I enter a mental courtroom as my conscience pleads my case but to no avail. I know leaving Hannah was the wrong and weak thing to do.

I think about how Hannah will react when she finds out I've left. An early riser, she'll no doubt have showered and already scoured a heap of tourist brochures ready to fill me in on the day's activities. She'd have saved me a meal at the breakfast room at the hostel well after the kitchen had shut. Come to think of it I never really gave her credit for everything she had done. In fact, I'm quite sure if the planning was left to me we'd have never have left the common room.

I try and rationalise what I've done. We've only just met, we didn't sign any contracts, I was a free agent to come and go as I pleased.

But it's no use, my guilt deepens and right now I'm starting to feel pretty low. Of course I've over-exaggerated. Hannah wasn't that bad and there are far worse scenarios than travelling with someone who is a little overbearing. And if I'm to be honest with myself, I'm not exactly a bed of roses to be around either.

Get me out of here
I look over at a group of older Germans in the seat across from me, their rosy alcohol-lined faces alight from their banter – eyes shining from laughter. While not understanding the conversation, it's obvious they're having a good time.

Suddenly like a cloud covering the sun, a shadow falls over me. I feel alone. And what's worse I've left Hannah alone. I thought travelling was supposed to expose me to different people and make me more open-minded. All it's done is expose how weak and snobbish I've been.

I cringe as I examine my actions. I hadn't attempted to tell her my angst but instead bailed at the first hint of trouble.

The adrenaline of making the train has worn off, making way for tiredness and guilt. As if predicting my mood the interior lights dim. The Germans continue their conversation but turn the volume down. I wish they'd start shouting so it wouldn't leave me alone with my thoughts.

Will I pay the price?
Having heard how notorious the eastern European trains are for robberies, I secure my passport and credit card down my pants. If they want my backpack full of dirty and smelly clothes then they are welcome to it. In a perverse way I feel it would be a small atonement for my crime.

The seats with their deep curves and metallic armrests ensure I remain awake. It's clear they are not meant to accommodate sleeping. Not getting any comfort lying down, I sit upright and lay my legs on the facing seat. I tilt my head at various angles to find one that's not too uncomfortable but that seems a little beyond me. Again, I'm left alone with my thoughts.

I keep going over scenarios in my head. I envisage the scene when Hannah finally realises I have left her. Or maybe I'm giving myself more credit than I'm worth. Would she even care? Probably not. She'll simply dismiss me with the shrug of the shoulders and return to her brochures, mapping out her day's activities. But then, maybe not.

I'll never really know as I won't see her again. I dwell on the randomness of traveling. People come in and out of your life in a split second but leave a lasting impression. I'm positive the Germans next to me will forget me soon after the trip ends if they even noticed me at all. However, given the lowness that I'm feeling right now, I am quite certain I'll remember them. I tuck my jacket under my head to act as a makeshift pillow. I'm in for a long and lonely night.

More about the Author: Daniel Fitzpatrick Not having money requires "creative" travelling and has led Daniel through many misadventures, mistakes and mischief that include being smuggled across the Bulgarian and Romanian border, surfing amongst snow-capped water in Japan and trawling for icebergs off Newfoundland, Canada. If it has taught him anything, it's to always be polite to strangers.