A victim of the train strike

I am in Berlin. The working week is almost done, and I'm looking forward to being reunited with my family in Franken, a part of Bavaria. But the big question is whether I'll get there. I have a train ticket. Although it's a bit tatty around the edges because each time I touch it, my hands start to sweat.

Germany is in the grip of the longest train strike in the history of the Deutsche Bahn. GDL union leaders are demanding Deutsche Bahn pay a 5 percent pay increase for drivers, and GDL wants the right to negotiate new conditions for other rail staff. I, like countless others, am caught in the middle of someone else's fight. And it makes me nervous.

Discarding my work, I concentrate my research energies on trying to find out what I can about the strike. The "Bild" newspaper, and "Focus" magazine have painted GDL chairman Claus Weselsky as a villain on a dangerous ego trip that could lead the nation to the brink of ruin.

Where there's a will...

The German chancellor has appealed to train drivers to embrace their responsibility to the country, and Berlin's mayor, Klaus Wowereit, has publicly expressed his concerns that strike could interfere with celebrations to mark the 25th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall this weekend. And it doesn't stop there. There's talk of those nasty train drivers having a negative impact on the chemical and steel industries, and of how, when Germany runs out of gasoline, it will be their fault.

The nation is in a state of distress! It is time for a reality check.

I set off to walk the five minutes from my home to Berlin's central station. My first impression is that is the roads are quieter than usual. There is definitely no sign of traffic chaos, and that, although the inner city rail network, the S-Bahn, is not running.

Spokesman for the tourist portal Visit Berlin, Björn Lisker, is expecting a million people to attend the fall of the Wall anniversary celebrations despite the strike. "People won't let it spoil their fun," he said. "They'll just make alternative travel plans." These are turning into four good days for bus companies and car rental firms. Not for me, though, I'm too late for a suitable plan B.

Inside, the train station is emptier than usual, I make my way to the travel center. A serious but kindly looking man in a blue uniform studies my ticket, and then smiles as he tells me my train is probably the only one that will travel south on Friday.

Plan B

Emergency plans ensure that in spite of the strike, a third of trains continue to run. Following the general fear-mongering of the past days, that seems like a lot to me. Of the 20,000 Deutsche Bahn train drivers, 4,000 are not allowed to strike because they are public servants. They are a relic from the days that all drivers shared that status. But those were the good old days when everything was better and rail travel was much less expensive.

Are union members happier than public servants? If I could find one, I'd put the question to them. But the station is surprisingly empty of GDL folk to talk to. All I find are members of the other rail and transport union, the EVG. Chairwoman of the Berlin chapter, Katrin Dornheim, is in the foyer with some of her colleagues.

"We want to help our colleagues who are affected by the strike, to offer support and to help the customers," she explains. She is annoyed at the absence of GDL representatives. Annoyed, but not surprised. "They only show up when a television crew is coming," she said. "Then they come crawling out of their h…" she had been going to say holes, but changed her mind and opted for "corners" instead.

I don't push her for more on her feelings about the GDL, but go off to find out how the emergency plans are panning out. Although I have allowed myself to hope I will be joining my family at the breakfast table on Saturday, a part of me remains skeptical. That part gets a little bigger when I arrive at the platform where passengers waiting on a train to Hanover have already been told it is 25 minutes late. They expect a further delay, but nobody seems anxious or angry.

"You know, we have so few strikes in Germany," a young man who introduces himself as Julian, tells me. "It's their basic right." I put my damp ticket back in my jacket pocket. Tomorrow I will know more.