As you can see, the tram is between André and me and there is a reason for that.

I like music, from AC/DC to Bollywood and Elvis Presley to Viennese waltzes and Mozart. But I don’t just like classical music, I also like women in magnificent ball gowns à la Queen Victoria and men in tailcoats. So it made sense to go to a concert with André Rieu and his famous Johann Strauss Orchestra.

As luck would have it, the group stopped in Magdeburg on January 19, 2024. My children were so kind to give me the ticket for Christmas and my daughter was even brave enough to accompany me.

On that day in question, we decided to take the tram to the scene of the action – the GETEC Arena in Magdeburg. We wanted to save ourselves the hassle of searching for a parking space beforehand and the hassle of getting down from the parking lot afterwards.

In theory, the journey was extremely convenient from my point of view. The stop for tram line number 6 is a ten-minute walk from my front door. I was supposed to take the tram at 6:18 p.m. My daughter wanted to join me at the central station and we wanted to reach the arena together by 6:38 p.m. Doors open at 7:00 p.m., concert starts at 7:30 p.m., so everything would be fine – at least according to the plan.

I reached the tram stop at 6:03 p.m. and just saw the tail lights of the first tram as it drove away right in front of my eyes. But it didn’t matter because I was way too early. So I treated myself to another cigarette and when I had finished, the second tram pulled up. The illuminated sign on the side announced that it was a train on line 6 with the destination „depot“ – which normally means that it is on its way home. Strangely enough, it stopped and opened its doors invitingly. An older man with a plastic bag promptly got on. I, however, was skeptical. Plus, I was still too early.

Finally, the third tram arrived and that was to be mine now. I got on, dropped into the seat and waited with good cheer for what was to come.

Two stops later, my courage was still there, but slightly irritated. Actually, the tram should have gone straight ahead at the intersection where my Aldi supermarket is located. But it did not. It turned sharply right and headed for the large railway bridge. Um… hello? Well, as we all know, many roads lead to Rome and probably also to the GETEC Arena.

Three more stops later, my courage had fled and my brain cells screamed: „Alarm!“ In the meantime, we were moving towards Buckau station and now even I, the ignorant one, realized that I was completely in the wrong place.

„Get off!“ my brain cells blared in unison. „Now!“ So I hopped out like a gazelle, only to find, completely surprised, that I was standing at a stop on tram line 5. Excuse me?!

The question arose as to how I had got there. Yes, of course, by tram, but why? At the station where I had started, only line 6 runs… and nothing else… and that has been the case for ages. So how could it be that I was suddenly on line 5?

Since the question could not be answered at that moment, I put it in the follow-up folder and dealt with the much more important question: How could I get to where I actually wanted to go as quickly as possible? So I literally changed sides and asked the timetable in the little house opposite. Line number 5 ultimately goes to the Olvenstedt Clinic, it explained to me, but on the way it stops at the Old Market.

Okay, so far I was familiar with the Magdeburg tram network: At the Old Market I could change to line 6. That sounded like a viable option.

Line 5 came and stopped. I got on and waited anxiously to see if it would take the promised route. It did not. It drove back the same way, stubborn as a thousand bulls. So shortly before 7 p.m. I arrived back at the place where I had been half an hour ago, namely at my Aldi supermarket.

By then my courage had disappeared without a trace and my patience was dangling frayed on the ground. I stood shivering at the stop in my elegant, thin fluttering skirt, overheard a couple loudly discussing their relationship crisis, and cursed to myself.

Line 6 arrived. At least that was what it said in its light outside. I boarded the carriage and silently made a plan of how I would murder the driver if he dared to drive around the corner again. He didn’t dare. The vehicle rattled into motion and… actually drove straight ahead! Hallelujah! So my destination was within reach again.

In the meantime I had phoned my daughter several times and we had agreed that she should drive ahead and wait for me at the arena. My courage had come back too and at 7:09 p.m. we reached the Allee-Center stop, where many Magdeburg trams meet. People got off, people got on. Four people sat down on the seats opposite to me, an older man, an older woman and two younger women.

„It’s supposed to go at twelve,“ said the older woman, staring at the display board outside. “It’s ten now.”
“Yes, just calm down, Mom,” replied one of the younger ladies. “We can still make it.”

Um… wait a minute! My ears almost automatically started its eavesdropping attack. From the further conversation of the four people, I gathered that they too were on their way to somewhere, where they should have been by 7:30 p.m.

“Do you also want to see André Rieu?” I asked. The older lady nodded vigorously.
“Yes, and imagine: the tram took us in a completely different direction.” Oh! Had the virus from the German Federal Railways now also spread to the Magdeburg transport company? What was going on here?

At least I was obviously not alone with my tram problems and that comforted me immensely. During our telephone conferences, my daughter had subtly hinted that I might not have been looking and paying attention properly. Ha! Now I had conclusive proof that I wasn’t completely stupid after all.

„Short stop to secure the connection,“ the driver told us over the on-board loudspeaker. What?! Are you serious? The coals under my butt weren’t just glowing; it was already starting to sizzle! Now we were standing around here like idiots waiting for people who had wasted their time? They should take the next train!

All of our eyes were glued to the display board. The clock jumped to 7:12 p.m., but the stupid train didn’t move. It allowed itself another two minutes‘ break – probably to have a quick chat with line number 2 on the track opposite.

To make a long story short: five minutes before the gates closed, the bouncer at the GETEC Arena finally ripped a piece off my ticket and yes: there were more people around us who, for some reason, had arrived at the last minute. Now we were allowed to enter the holy hall and immediately new hurdles awaited us that had to be overcome.

“To the stalls?” asked a friendly lady in a tailor’s suit. “Then you have to go down.” All right. Unfortunately, there was a crowd of people on the stairs leading down. Why this now?

“It’s about to continue,” said a nice man in a black suit. “The orchestra is just passing through there.” Aha. That made sense to me. Those ladies needed some space with their voluminous robes. Of course, we mere mortals couldn’t just sneak in between them.

We were finally allowed to go downstairs – only to be stopped once again, this time by a closed door that stubbornly refused to let us pass. Why? Another question, that will remain unanswered until the end of time.

Applause came from the hall to us outside, which probably meant that the maestro had now entered the stage. We waited. Then music reached our ears, which I could identify as “Entry of the Gladiators” – exactly the right piece for our situation. My feet immediately picked up the rhythm and wanted to march on. Unfortunately, this stupid door still refused to let the gladiators in.

Then finally the gate opened. I just couldn’t resist: I marched into the arena to the beat of the music and waved diligently in all directions… like at the carnival parade on Rose Monday. Now I finally wanted to have some fun.

If you now think that’s it, you’re wrong. Finally, we still had to find our seats, and that brought a new problem in the middle of the dimly lit aisle between the rows of seats. Our tickets said: Row 34, seats 39 and 40. Row 34 was soon found, seats 35 to 38 were empty, but seats 39 and 40 were occupied. Could people no longer read or had they sold some tickets twice?

„Never mind,“ my daughter said quite rightly, and we simply sat down in the empty seats next to our actual ones. And if anyone had come along and dared to object, that would have been a very stupid idea, got it?

Good heavens! I was in Mumbai and shook Shah Rukh Khan’s hand. That was not nearly as complicated as getting to an André Rieu concert. Okay, that was almost nine years ago – when the world was still more or less in order.

The rest of the evening turned out to be fun and relaxing. After a nice concert and some nice snacks and drinks in the nice Alex restaurant, we headed home after midnight. After today’s experiences, however, I didn’t feel like using public transport again. So we tried to find a taxi for me at the central train station… hmm.

Believe it or not: It was Friday night respectivly Saturday morning and there was no – I repeat: no – taxi at the central station – and nowhere else by the way.

Luckily, we always have our phones to hand these days. So – still cheerful and in a good mood again – I called the taxi center.

„Please note,“ said the computer voice on the other end. „For the purpose of data processing, we record your name, telephone number and blah blah blah. According to the blabla law (or the blabla regulation) you have the right to blablabla…“ What? To keep quiet and call my lawyer? What is this nonsense?

„I just want a taxi,“ I mumbled shyly into the computer lady’s monologue. In fact, just two minutes later I had a resolute male voice on the line who took my request and confirmed it with a brief „Yep, will be there in a minute.“ Short and sweet, things can be that simple.

That wouldn’t have happened to me in India. In India, the moment I would have stepped out of the restaurant, at least ten taxis and rickshaws would have circled around me, fighting for the permission to take me home.

„Does anything still work in this country?“ asked the taxi driver to whom I told the story of my today’s odyssey.

Yes. Taxi still works. Best wishes to all taxi drivers – wherever they are – go out here!