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OPINION AND ANALYSIS

OPINION: The shocking state of German trains exposes the myth about punctuality

To the outside world, Germany has a reputation for being punctual. But when it comes to the rail system, passengers face shocking delays, as well as underfunded infrastructure, writes Brian Melican.

A traveller walks past a German ICE high speed train.
A traveller walks past a German ICE high speed train. Photo: picture alliance/dpa | Jörg Carstensen

This summer, we have the comparatively rare opportunity to watch a widely-held stereotype dissolving in real time: all you need to do is get on a train – or, if you would like to avoid that rather unpleasant experience, simply stand on a station platform as panicky tourists charge through the country’s Hauptbahnhöfe (main stations) from one delayed connection to another, crying out in anguished surprise as the train doors close in front of them: “But aren’t Germans supposed to be punctual?!”

Of course, as the less chauvinistic and more realistic among us well understand, being on time has long been more of a cherished collective aspiration than a national characteristic. Ironically, while countries whose timekeeping we regularly deride, such as France and Italy, have relatively reliable rail networks, Germans, who feel acute embarrassment at every minute of tardiness, must make do with trains which are chronically delayed and now getting worse. Hence the surprise of foreigners caught up in chaotic delays – and our own sense that things are generally going down the pan.

READ ALSO: Why so many long distance trains in Germany were delayed in April

Trains becoming ‘unattractive prospect’

Yes, just as tourists and business travellers return after Covid, Deutsche Bahn and the country’s other operators are doing their level best to bust one of the few remaining myths on which we as a nation trade (“German efficiency”, “German engineering”, and “German preparedness”), having already been caught with their proverbial pants down on numerous occasions in recent years…

The official Deutsche Bahn statistics may state that around 70 percent of its IC and ICEs are still punctual, but there are two things about this: firstly, taken on its own terms, this is an appalling admission, meaning as it does that almost one in three long-distance journeys suffers a delay or more than six minutes (and that an unnamed number are delayed by up to 5:59 minutes, enough to miss a tight connection). Secondly, whatever the statistics say, I personally as a regular rail traveller have never experienced chaos as extensive and sustained as over the last 12 months – and I’m not alone.

People queue to get on an ICE train at Berlin Hauptbahnhof.

People queue to get on an ICE train at Berlin Hauptbahnhof. Photo: picture alliance/dpa | Christoph Soeder

I’m not, by the way, challenging the accuracy of the DB statistics: it’s just that the delays seem to be affecting the most strongly frequented lines. Having a train run punctually, but empty or on a quiet route will not do much to dispel the now widespread impression that rail travel in Germany has gone from being a continuing, yet reassuringly predictable disappointment to resembling one of the outer circles of hell. And while punctuality is the main issue, a range of other factors – from on-board comfort to passenger information and compensation for delays – are making what should be the backbone of Germany’s switch to carbon-neutral transport into a horrifically unattractive prospect.

READ ALSO: How to find cheap train tickets in Germany

Two hours behind schedule

Take last weekend, when I returned from a holiday in the UK via changes at Brussels and Cologne. Things got off to a bad start when my Eurostar was delayed by half an hour: theoretically, I would have missed my onward ICE from Brussels, yet – somewhat fortuitously for me – it left 50 minutes late due to a technical defect in the unit; at Cologne, too, I should have missed a connection due to this delay, yet the IC to Hamburg was also running late, by around a quarter of an hour… 

If that sounds like getting lucky twice, it wasn’t: after around 40 years as the workhorse of the north-western route, the IC rolling stock on the Cologne to Hamburg services is in a parlous state, of which a lack of air-conditioning in several carriages was the most obvious manifestation; and as so often, the BordBistro was first closed, later able to serve drinks only (lukewarm due to a broken fridge). Then, as minor delays are want to, this one slowly increased to almost an hour by Bremen, where we had to stop for another 50 minutes due to trespassers on the line. We were then held for a further few minutes because, as the audibly exasperated guard explained, we were unable to get moving again until the people in coach 3 agreed to put their masks on. That’s Germany these days: holding up an already severely delayed train on a petty point of Pandemic-related principle while actually creating conditions which will make the spread of Covid considerably more likely.

Eventually, we arrived into Hamburg just shy of two hours behind schedule – masks, t-shirts, and everything else drenched in the kind of sweat you can only get into as a result of failed on-board air-conditioning and prolonged concern about whether you will reach your destination. I personally was exhausted, but at least close to home; spare a thought for the plucky Greta-inspired teenagers heading from Amsterdam back to Stockholm who, already several hours behind schedule due to a delay on their previous IC, went on to miss the last sensible connection northwards… 

Passengers on the train platform in Hamburg.

Passengers on the train platform in Hamburg. Photo: picture alliance/dpa | Bodo Marks

It says a lot that, during two weeks’ holiday travelling around the UK – a country assumed both at home and abroad to have deplorable trains – the worst of the journeys were in Germany. Sure, the services I took in Britain were delayed, but the rolling stock was better maintained, refreshments were reliably available, and the “Delay Repay” scheme far more generous. The latter kicks in after just 15 minutes, whereas Deutsche Bahn’s compensation is only available for delays of one hour of more – a telling yardstick. And interestingly enough, as our IC approached the two-hours’ delay mark just ahead of Hamburg, it accelerated markedly and, suddenly, the passengers removing their masks around me as they gasped for oxygen in the fetid miasma of coach 10 didn’t seem of particular interest: from 120 minutes on, the amount of compensation due doubles…

READ ALSO: Delayed train? Germany’s Deutsche Bahn to give online refunds for the first time

All of this is especially tragic in that, between the nadir of 2015 (the last time Germany’s trains were this unpunctual) and 2021, train travel actually improved somewhat. New units ordered by Deutsche Bahn and various other operators began to come into service, staffing was improved, and the first of the many long-overdue works to expand capacity, upgrade damage-prone components, and prevent unauthorised access were undertaken. By the arrival of the Pandemic in 2020, punctuality had gone up, as had comfort (on-board WiFi; refreshments on longer journeys). 

Why are trains in Germany getting worse?

Yet now, the same old disruption of yesteryear has returned – as has the rail industry’s tendency to blame poor performance on external factors. This time, it’s apparently the resurgence in passenger numbers after 2020/2021 and a lack of staff that are the cause of all our woes, despite the fact that traffic is still slightly below the pre-pandemic peak and that, in the intervening period, Deutsche Bahn and other operators have had a field day poaching out-of-work air-industry workers… 

So what actually is behind the chronically poor and fast-worsening performance of German rail? I don’t know for sure, but 15 years of up-close-and-personal experience tell me that it’s most likely a combination of three overarching factors: decades-long network underinvestment so sustained that even the various gazillions announced in recent times will take years to make a dent on the infrastructure problems; vastly increased complexity since privatisation along with a weakened, yet still dominant national operator (Deutsche Bahn) whose internal structures and corporate culture combine the worst inefficiencies of the public with the worst short-termism of the private sector; and a populace and political class which only shows sporadic interest in rail (“9 Euro ticket!”) and is otherwise still obsessed with personalised motor transport. 

Car-crazy penny-pinchers? Now there’s an enduring stereotype about us Germans unlikely to be dispelled any time soon…

Member comments

  1. Late? That would be an improvement. It’s them not coming at all that is so frustrating for me, though to be fair, it’s not a DB issue, it is regional trains.

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OPINION AND ANALYSIS

OPINION: Why it’s becoming harder to get a doctor’s appointment in Germany

Germany's health service is known as one of the best in the world but securing a timely appointment with a doctor is getting harder. A creaking system and the culture around excessive doctor visits are part of the problem, argues Brian Melican.

OPINION: Why it's becoming harder to get a doctor's appointment in Germany

Germans have always been known for being health-conscious – some would even say hypochondriacs. That has its down-sides (see Covid…), but also some notable advantages. One is the ability to go to any doctor’s practice and request treatment, skipping general practitioners, referrals, and all of the attendant bother.

As a result, in any well-to-do area of a major German city, you’ll have a bewildering array of medical practitioners within walking distance, from general physicians (Allgemeinmedizin) and orthopaedic practices (Orthopädie) to ones that will have you Googling (HNO stands for Hals-Nase-Ohren – ears, nose, and throat – by the way. You’re welcome.)

The strength of this patient-choice system is that it allows people to manage their own care. So if one doctor can’t see you, you go and find another. And if you’ve moved towns or fall ill away from home, you can still access care. In theory, this spreads demand and keeps people with non-urgent complaints out of casualty wards. Yet in practice, the system is now creaking audibly. 

In recent months, I’ve tried to get appointments for several routine procedures with doctors’ offices I have been visiting for years – and the earliest I could get anything was, to my surprise, now several months off. Both dentists and dermatologists are currently, it would seem, planning their schedules for September and October. And when a rather unpleasant case of shoulder pain struck earlier this year (fittingly, just ahead of my 39th birthday…), the earliest appointment I could get at any of the three(!) local orthopaedic practices was at least a month off.

This isn’t just me getting unlucky here. In a recent representative survey, only 25 percent of respondents reported having no trouble getting a doctor’s appointment. The rest are having to wait anything between two weeks and two months – and I’m clearly now one of the 15 percent who report even longer delays. 

I’m not alone in thinking – knowing – that it didn’t used to be this way. So what has gone wrong? 

READ ALSO: Seven things to know about visiting a doctor in Germany

Structural changes in medical practice: fewer doctors working fewer hours

First off, there are changes afoot among Germany’s niedergelassene Ärzte – literally ‘settled doctors’ with surgeries, called so in order to distinguish them from hospital medics. For one, these doctors are getting old and retiring – just like the population they serve (or rather: have served). And as younger cohorts are less numerous, physicians looking to pass on their practices are having difficulty finding takers – especially in disadvantaged urban areas or out in the sticks.

A patient undergoes a consultation with his doctor.

A patient undergoes a consultation with his doctor. Photo: picture alliance/dpa/AbbVie Deutschland GmbH & Co. KG | AbbVie Deutschland GmbH & Co. KG

Even where there is no shortage of potential successors, ever fewer of them actually want to set up in business for themselves. For most young medics’ taste, there’s too much paperwork, too much commercial risk, and far too much work involved in running their own surgery. Instead, they prefer to merge with others or sell on to management companies who will, in turn, employ them (often part-time, with no annoying evenings or weekends on call). 

The results of all of this are as follows. Within the space of just one year, between 2022 and 2023, the number of surgeries fell by 1,987 – a drop of over two percent. Meanwhile, in 2023, for the first time ever, more than one third of Germany’s 150,000 non-hospital doctors were employees, not self-employed. That’s twice the number in 2013. Moreover, over the same period, the number of medics opting to go part-time has gone up by 235 percent to 60,000. This means that, if your local surgeries haven’t closed, the likelihood is that the doctors there are now working fewer hours – and so there are fewer appointments left to go round.

READ ALSO: Do doctors in Germany have too little time for their patients?

This would be bad news for any society, but it hits particularly hard in Germany. As a rapidly-ageing society with a relatively unhealthy population (high rates of smoking and obesity), our demand for medical services – often for complex chronic illnesses – is rising just as provision is declining.

Cultural differences in consulting doctors

Another problem is that Germans are accustomed to a historically high number of available doctors – and as serial worriers (and passionate sick-note seekers) make excessive use of them. Your average German racks up almost 10 consultations a year – not including visits to the dentists! The OECD average is closer to six. And the stoic Swedes, strong silent types that they are, go the doctor’s just 2.3 times a year.

Even if I wanted (or needed) to, I simply couldn’t to get to the quack’s almost once a month: I don’t have the time and they don’t have the appointments. But in conversation, I notice that others clearly do manage to find both. Increasingly, I’m wondering how many of them, unlike me, have private health insurance. 

This brings us to the third major issue facing non-hospital care in Germany. When the figures in the representative survey I quoted above are broken down, it transpires that almost 60 percent of people who are insured in the state system (gesetzlich versichert) are now waiting longer than two weeks for an appointment; among those who are privately insured (privat versichert), that figure is only 37 percent.

Doctors ‘keen on private patients’ 

Doctors are keen on private patients because their insurers pay more for the same procedures and will also cover all sorts of supplementary stuff – from the clinically-proven through to the just plain wacky. As such, practices reserve as many appointments as possible for private patients and try to keep the rest of us at bay.

Given that around four in five people in Germany are in the state system, however, this leaves the majority of patients competing for the minority of slots. If you want to see how the other fifth live, try “accidentally” clicking privat on surgeries’ online booking tools: you will now see a range of appointments available within days while the rest of us are being fobbed off for weeks or even months.

Not only is this, as my grandmother used to say, enough to make you want to join the Communist Party – it’s wildly inefficient. By restricting the hoi-polloi to slots often months off, doctors are creating their own appointment-management problems: sometimes, the complaint in question will have disappeared by the time the consultation rolls around; more often, it will have actually been dealt with – not infrequently by the same physician – if the patient presents as an acute case earlier.

As such, slots weeks away are booked, only to be cancelled later by conscientious patients (and left blocked by others), while those same patients crowd into waiting rooms begging to be seen urgently at an open surgery. (That’s how I got my shoulder looked at.)

A German health insurance card.

A German health insurance card. Photo: picture alliance/dpa | Jens Kalaene

The cynic in me says that, in the long run, this might not be such a bad thing. If the increasing scarcity of doctor’s appointments gets Germans thinking about whether they really, really need to be seen for yet another case of the common cold (“No, Christian, it isn’t pneumonia this time, either!”) or various nebulous self-diagnosed ills (Kreislaufbeschwerden (circulatory problems) is the day-off-work-one I love to hate), maybe it’s not a bad thing.

Swedes don’t die unnecessarily because they avoid the doctor’s: in fact, they live a good year longer than us on average. The German in me, though, says: “My shoulder hurts. Maybe I’ve got early-onset arthritis. I should probably go and get it checked out…” And even though I don’t go too often, I’ve got used to being able to see a specialist when I need one. It’s a shame that this is becoming markedly more difficult.

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