Psychologist. Resident of Thessaloniki, raised in Karditsa.
I don’t remember the first time I got on a train — I must have been very young. Because my mother doesn’t drive and my father is self-employed, so he didn’t have a lot of time every day to take us on trips or wherever we needed to go, so my mother used the train — which she and my father had also used as students living in Athens. There was a long-standing connection to it. So, we would go from Karditsa either to Larissa or to Thessaloniki, and from there often to Komotini, where my mother’s sister lives.
Therefore, from a young age, I had a very good relationship with the train — perhaps much earlier than with other modes of transport, like the bus or the ferry. And I remember how much I loved the fact that –back then, at least– they would come around with trolleys selling food, coffee, various things. My mother also loved it because she always had funny stories to tell — people she remembers.
We once happened upon a funeral, but it was strangely cheerful. People were coming back from a memorial service or something like that and were laughing, almost as if they were trying to lighten the mood. Or I remember some soldiers who got off the train at a stop to buy cheese pies, thinking the stop would last a while. When they saw the train starting to move almost immediately, they dropped the pies and started running after it, trying to stop it. There was always something to talk about afterwards. So, my mother, until recently when I took the train, would always say to me when I got off, “Do you have any funny stories from the train?”.
We used to go to Thessaloniki a lot. I remember just before the start of the school year, to buy clothes for school — Karditsa didn’t have a very big market or many options back then. We would go and come back the same day. We would arrive by train, and from there my mother didn’t know her way around Thessaloniki very well, so we would stay relatively close to the station and then return. Until I turned 18, that was the extent of my relationship with it: mostly for trips, to go to Larissa to see a relative, something like that.
And then, in 2015, when I became a student in Thessaloniki, it was the mode of transport I used exclusively. In fact, for all four years I was a student, I might never have taken the bus. Only if there were no train tickets available or the timing didn't suit me. Because I found the train more comfortable. You could stand up; you could sit wherever you wanted, because, if I remember correctly (I don’t know if this was always the case), we didn’t have assigned seats. It gave you this freedom to sit in whichever carriage you wanted, with whomever you wanted. There wasn’t that strictness of the bus, where someone might make you move. Of course, it wasn’t always good — sometimes you might have difficulty finding a seat.
So, I chose it for that reason. We also considered it the safest mode of transport. You could sleep comfortably and not care what time you arrived. Also, the train took less time to reach Thessaloniki than the bus. If it was on time and there was no delay, it took about two and a half hours, whereas now with the bus –and there’s also the issue of the toll station at Malgara– it takes about three hours.
Therefore, there was no reason not to choose the train. It was cheaper, more comfortable, and the journey was nicer. The train was very important for life in Thessaly. And that’s why it was always full
For example, during the Thessaloniki International Fair period, you couldn’t find a ticket because of all the people: farmers, ordinary everyday people, many students… So, during holidays and public holidays, the train was always full. It also had the connection to Larissa, which made it very easy to go there, and to Thessaloniki, with everything Thessaloniki has to offer.
After Tempi, my relationship with the mode of transport stopped. I haven’t got back on. I haven’t even gone near a train station. The last time I took the train was the day of the Tempi crash. Not on that route, of course — but in the morning, several hours earlier. So, the way I found out what happened was quite tragic — as I imagine it was for most people.
I remember I got home, I informed my closest people, so they knew and weren’t worried. But generally, my wider circle knew I was in Athens and that I was returning that day, without knowing what time I was returning. I was very tired from the journey and went to sleep early. When I woke up the next morning, I had many messages on my phone. Asking if I had arrived, without further questions or details. I saw the first one. You know, you think, “Oh, someone thought about me, whether I arrived.” You reply to the second, the third — I think after the fourth one, I just searched online “train today what happened” and that’s how I saw it.
At first, I couldn’t process it, I couldn’t understand the scale of it. It was morning, maybe we didn’t even have all the information yet. Certainly not what we have today — but maybe we didn’t even have a death toll yet. It wasn’t clear in my mind that it was a passenger train. That there were civilians on board. So, after that, I said I’m stopping. And now, I put up with the bus.
The reason I stopped is fear. Lack of trust. Certainly, also a refusal to board a mode of transport which, despite everything that has happened, hasn’t changed — and I don’t see any serious initiative to change anything immediately.
I don’t know exactly what it would take for me to use it again. For sure, greater transparency about what safety systems we now have, what works — and I would want to know that from the people who actually work on the railway. Something like that, I imagine
To be able to be sure that these systems exist, that they are being used, that what workers have been asking for –even before Tempi– has been provided. So that the people who used to tell you it's not safe to get on would give you the OK.
But it’s not only a safety issue — it’s also a matter of political conscience. Let’s just say I don’t want to contribute financially to a mode of transport that treated me this way.