Last Wednesday, train driver Christos Zaraydonis got into the car and started moving without a specific destination. He just wanted to be near the sea. He got to Rafina, walked through, drank coffee, and got into the car with the doors open to sniff the air. There, he remembered moments from the night of the accident and began to cry again. He returned home late in the evening.

Just a few hours before the collision, he met with Giorgos Koutsumbas, the train driver of the deceased passenger. Zaraydonis had just arrived in Thessaloniki, and Koutsoubas was waiting for departure. He took the train to a certain point, then took the 62 and returned to Thessaloniki. His route was already 80 minutes late, so the two men didn’t have time to talk like they used to. However, there was a problem with Kutsumba’s steam locomotive, so Zaraydonis “cut” his own from his cars and “gave” it to him. He checked that everything was working as it should, thanked and said hello. “My boy, have a good rest,” she told him. “Good luck,” Zaraydonis shouted to him and left the station.

We had a bite to eat in a tavern and around 11 were at the hotel where we stayed for the night. He fell asleep when the phone rang and was told that something had happened in Tempe. The information was confusing. He quickly dressed and returned to the station. There, he met train driver Yannis Ornerakis, who brought the train, which had previously stopped for several hours, due to a cable break. He was the last person to speak to the commercial’s driver. “Where are you going with this merchant?” he told him. They were close friends and always joked.

“What I saw was a war zone. Smell and images that don’t gather
I will never forget”
Pantelis Eugenides, head of the traffic control service in Larisa

In the meantime, another train driver, Pantelis Eugenidis, head of traffic control in Larisa, was ordered to drive to the scene of the collision. He was the first railroad operator to confirm that it was a frontal impact. “What I saw was a war zone. A scent and images that I will never forget,” he tells K. All three understood that there was no hope for the drivers, but they hoped for the rest of their colleagues. Canteen staff, attendants and controllers. And, of course, for many – who knows how many? – passengers. When the first buses with survivors arrived in Thessaloniki and they saw that they had no colleagues, Ornerakis and Zaraydonis got into a taxi and also went to Tempi.

From that moment on, all three were admitted to the hospital in Larisa. Their phone now rang non-stop from worried co-workers as well as themselves. In the evening, the son of Zaraydonis saw the news on Facebook. He woke his mother and siblings in a panic attack. They all cried when they spoke to him, and still have not recovered. They put pressure on him not to get on trains anymore. However, the most difficult phone calls that dawn were different. The relatives of the dead. Without a confession, they did not dare to tell them the truth. They were told that EMAK officers were looking for them. They emboldened them and hung up the phone in desperation.

The heaviest phone calls that morning were from relatives of the victims. Without a confession, they did not dare to tell them the truth.

Eugenides went to the police station to give his first testimony so that a preliminary investigation could be started. Ornerakis and Zaraydonis rented a car and, despite not sleeping for more than 24 hours, drove to Athens. All three described the next few hours and days as living in a nightmare. They even fall asleep and for a few seconds relive what they felt when they realized the magnitude of the tragedy.

After the first week, Hellenic Train organized group sessions with psychologists. They last an hour and a half, are not mandatory, but are recommended and will be held over the next six months. According to the riders, the first sessions were introductory. “What made you want to become a train driver?” they ask at the beginning. “How do you feel about what happened? You are afraid; “Young people said they were more afraid. Others feel insecure: “We are the first to say that the train should blow the whistle again, but it must be done safely, otherwise we seem to disrespect the memory of our dead colleagues.” They talked about the dead, which for many were family.“We saw them more than our own.”When asked if they were ready to board the train, some answered that it would be difficult, especially to pass through this particular place, but no one admitted that is not ready.

“We are the first to say that the train should run again, but it must be done safely, otherwise it is tantamount to disrespecting the memory of our dead colleagues”
Driver at a psychological support session

However, between themselves, outside of the session, they talk openly about how much they have been hurt. “The first day will be difficult, but it must be done. If we don’t deal with the phobia from the start, it will be even more difficult,” Eugenides told his driver team. “Will you get up?” they ask him. “If they tell me to get up, I will get up. I’m ready. But who does not feel ready, he does not rise. No pressure,” he tells them.

The story of barbecue

However, the mood in the circle of machinists changed radically when another conversation surfaced. They were essentially two different phone calls a few hours before the accident, one driver asking the stationmaster for a number to order a barbecue, and the other between two stationmasters joking about women. In the first, for souvlaki, the driver was Yannis Ornerakis. He learned about it from friends who recognized his voice and was surprised to see how on the night of the plane crash it was featured in all the media with offensive, image-breaking headlines. He and his colleagues were furious. That day, he started work at 10:30 am. When he discovered a dangerous cable break at Paleofarsalos, he kept 300 passengers inside the train until they were safely removed. For a total of 4 hours he waited at the train stop. He had only a bottle of water with him, and so when he found himself on a siding in Larissa, on an already empty train, he called his stationmaster from his mobile phone and asked for a phone so they could have a quick bite to eat. “Obviously, someone found these two unrelated conversations, edited them to create an image of disorganization, which, however, is not true, just to disorient public opinion,” train drivers tell K. Now Ornerakis intends to sue. “It is impossible to put in the effort to get back on our feet, to cope with what we have been through, to reopen the railway and take on such an attack,” they conclude.