I will here preclude a detailed testimony of the Plariaran culture, owing to one of my (many) personal weaknesses--namely, a love for poetic ends.
Fancying myself a modern-day Sarpara Manniach, from News from Droinstea, upon leaving the ferry terminal at Plariaras, I quickly headed for the train station. There was a 14:56 departure for Rowsperch, with a stop in Droinstea. It was 14:01.
I was able to figure out how to call a rail-horse carriage--known as Sertia HorseRail--with some difficulty. To indicate that you'd like the horse to stop and pick you up, you are urged by the signs on the HorseRail platform to step on a button. A mechanical system goes, and a barrier rises up in the middle of the railway, forcing the horse to stop for you. Luckily, when my coach stopped in front of me, the conductor seemed to catch the barrier before the horse did, else the horse buck and turn everyone out of the carriage.
I directed the conductor to take me to Hemberdale Ghoia station, south of the river. The conductor got out of the carriage to push down the horse barrier, boarded again, and immediately we were off to a flying start.
What little I saw of Hemberdale was in no massive way enlightening, but the mazes of colourful (albeit terrifyingly narrow!) alleys graced on all sides by rudmercaeta and business people created a brilliant audio-visual cityscape. At one point, I looked out the carriage window to my left to see a Peregrine Falcon flying next to us, holding an envelope in its talons. Before it ascended again, I swear it saw me through the carriage window.
Arriving at Ghoia station, I was as promptly kicked out of the carriage as I was invited on outside the ferry terminal. Just as well, because I had approximately 10 minutes to catch my train to Droinstea.
In Sertian cities, only those with tickets can enter the train station. Such it was that this created a real barrier for me to actually get into the station, as there was a congregation of people looking at the analogue departure and arrival boards. I found my train to Droinstea, departing on platform 6. Having purchased my tickets at the ferry terminal, I weaved my way through the dense crowd and went through the barriers and into the train station.
Immediately, I was struck by how empty, modern, clean, and so much unlike the outside of the station, that the interior was. Well-kempt people ambled through the station, in presumably no rush to reach their train or wherever it was they were going. Kind voices gave soothing messages through the loudspeakers, followed by equally soothing dings and clicks. I could hear the ambient whirring of the train engines.
3 minutes.
Good lord, I needed to get to my train.
I must say that I was expecting either an elegant, wholly old-fashioned train service, OR a brisk, cosmopolitan, modern one. But I can't say that Sertian trains, or at least this one, fit either of those categories.
Whilst the outside of the train looked familiar, the inside felt like a really odd social experiment. The seats in Standard Class were laid out in cushioned benches, embroidered with something reminiscent of my gran's jumper.
The windows were all sorts of really odd shapes like an art-nouveau exhibition. It certainly gave off an effect, but what effect it was I couldn't quite square. Looking up, there were benches nailed to the ceiling of the carriage, mirroring the ground. There was a sign on the wall, pointing up, that said:
"In case this train rolls off a cliff, no matter how you are oriented you ought to have a seat".
signed, Legalist Anarchicals
What an interesting normative statement. Not knowing how to react, I just sort of sat down and accepted that Sertia is freaking weird (I later learned that this was an art instalment, courtesy of Tourism Sertia. Normal carriages are not like this).
The train was surprisingly smooth-moving, and after a few stops we arrived promptly in Droinstea.