A light German voice makes announcements in 4 languages as we travel a flat brown fieldscape. The impression is of a country laid to waste by a long winter, the heavy snow of which has only just lifted: nothing is green but the firs, and there are still shrinking blots of snow dotted around in the shadows of trees.
At one stage in Austria, we pass a huge plantation of wind turbines- white, busily spinning their spindly blades. Aside from that, only an occasional bright painted barn breaks the dullness. We don’t really notice crossing into Hungary.