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On Saturday, August 5th as I sat at the window of the train in Gent, Belgium, waving goodbye to Nik, I was full of thoughts of KROK, my favorite international animation festival. Little did I suspect that my three-day train trip to Moscow would turn into an adventure of epic proportions.
The first leg to Cologne, Germany was uneventful. At 10:00 p.m. I changed trains to the sleeper car that was supposed to take me straight to my 10:00 a.m. Monday arrival in Moscow. I had every expectation of arriving at Dom Kino, the Russian KROK headquarters, in plenty of time for the six-hour bus ride from Moscow to where we would board our boat The Marshal Zhukov. (KROK is an animation festival held in alternate years on boats that travel either down rivers in Russia or Ukraine.)
My sleeper car companion was a lovely young girl from Minsk, Belarus on her way home from Germany where she had been studying. We shared our food, wine and good conversation while watching Germany whiz by. Eastern European trains do not have dining or club cars and so everyone brings food and drink that is shared in the cabin.
Sunday morning dawned on the lush Polish countryside while we drank steaming mugs of tea. Each train car has a samovar with boiling water and you can have all of the tea that you want. At the Polish/Belarus border passport inspectors collected all of our passports. I always have a sinking feeling when I see my identification papers disappear in the hands of a uniform with guns and this guy definitely did not look like the Belarus welcoming committee. After a few minutes my companion's papers were returned to her. After quite a wait I was told to bring my luggage and follow two boarder guards (with even bigger guns!) off of the train.
No one spoke any English except my Belarus companion, Mariya explained that I had an official invitation from the Russian government to attend an animation festival and that I had to be in Moscow by the next evening or I would miss the bus to Nizhniy Novgorod to catch the boat. Her pleas fell on deaf ears and I was marched off the train to the passport inspection office where I was told to sit on the bench while Mariuya and my passport disappeared into the little room. After what seemed like an eternity, Mariuya emerged and explained that unfortunately there was nothing that she could do and the officials had refused to telephone the KROK office. I did not have a Belarus Transit Visa to travel across their country and I must go back to Poland on the next train and obtain the visa at the Belarus Consulate. After a heartfelt goodbye, Mariuya went back to the train and I returned to my wooden bench.
For the first time I noticed a young girl in tears sitting on the other end of the bench. After what seemed like hours an official came and motioned to a young man with a large backpack and to the two of us to follow him. With our passports finally firmly in our hands, the three of us boarded a train to Terespol, Poland. Mariuya had given me a slip of paper with the name of the town where the Belarus Consulate was located. She had instructed me to get a taxi to take me there and had assured me that my ticket would be honored on a train back across the frontier as soon as I had my transit visa.
My companions were Anna, a 17-year old Czech student on her way to St. Petersburg to help with restoration work on a monastery and Anton, a young Parisian photographer who was starting a two-month holiday to Russia to improve his language skills. Mariuya had assured me that acquiring the transit visa was a simple matter so the three of us felt that we would be on our way again in a couple of hours.
Back in Poland, Anna and Anton's Russian secured us a taxi driver who was more than happy to take us to the Consulate that was in the next town. En route the driver asked if we had telephoned ahead to let them know that we were coming. When we said no he whipped out his cell phone and speed dialed them only to tell us that it was Sunday (all three of us had forgotten what day it was - train travel seems to do that to you) and that we would not be able to get our visas until 9 a.m. Monday morning.
Being the kind, considerate taxi driver that he was he offered to take us to a hotel. None of us wanted to spend the money but there didn't seem to be any other choice since we were half way between towns in the middle of nowhere. The tourist camp turned out to be really lovely and only 20 Euros each for a nice cabin with three beds and a good hot shower. There was a green lawn, shade trees and a large group of German tourists in RV's.
Our first order of business was to try to contact the people expecting us at the other end of the train tracks. Of course, the tourist camp only had one phone card left. Anton got through to his friend and I had just gotten the KROK office when the card ran out. (My cell phone never worked in Poland and Belarus although it was fine in Russia.) After a futile walk looking for a place to purchase another phone card we decided that we might as well just enjoy the evening. Pooling our food and the beer that we bought at the camp restaurant, we had a lovely picnic on the lawn in front of our cabin. I was in very good company and the three of us had a lovely evening as we got to know each other. Anna, who is from a very small village, had never traveled without her family before. She finally began to relax.
At exactly 8 the next morning our driver showed up and off we went. This was when we learned that the consul office was 45 kilometers from the train station! Just before we reached the office our "very helpful" driver asked if we had passport photos for our visa application, which Anton and I did not have. Out came his cell phone and a call was placed to a photographer who was willing to open up and accommodate us. For only 35 Euros each we now had four tiny passport photos!
At the consulate we were heartened when Anna was charged 25 Euros for her visa. Next was Anton's turn and he was charged 45 Euros. Finally, it was my turn. We were astonished and outraged when I was told that a transit visa for an american was 430 american dollars (no Euros)! I had no choice. I couldn't get to Moscow without it. I was instructed to go to the bank and of course our helpful driver knew exactly where to take us. The bank balked at taking my credit card until the ever-helpful driver said something to them in Polish. Then it was back to the consulate with proof of payments. At last our passports were put back in our hands with the needed visas.
After only 5 hours we are back at the train station. Our helpful driver turned slimy when we balked at paying him $177.00 US (even though the dollar is worth less than the Euro, Eastern Europeans still wants dollars). He would not bargain or unlock the trunk to give us our luggage. When we said that we didn't have that much money he turned to me and said in Russian, "She has a plastic card. I will take her to the bank to get cash!" After we finally scraped together the money in Euros and dollars, the trunk was opened. Instead of his taking our luggage out, he just stood there glaring with his arms crossed over his chest. Good-bye slimy (and now rich) driver.
We were now 24-hours behind schedule. When I finally get through to the KROK office I was told I could meet the boat in Perm on Friday. That would be the first place it would dock for any length of time. Before I had time to let this soak in we were faced with our next hurdle. We cannot just get on an express train to Moscow/St. Petersburg that stops in Terespol. Our tickets only allow us to take the local train back to Breist, Belarus where we can catch an express to Moscow. Of course the local won't come until 5:00 p.m..
When we tried to get on an express train headed for Russia a young police guard turned us back with his rifle when we tried to approach a train. A half-hour before the local left, we were sitting on a bench when we noticed two women on the local watching us very suspiciously out of the window. They were on board, so we decided to get on board. A third woman saw us told us to stay off in no uncertain terms - NYET, NYET! Then we see two women running through the train, standing on seats, and throwing tightly wrapped plastic packages of uniform size out of the train windows to another woman. This went on for 10 minutes. Then the rest of the passengers were allowed to board. There was no way to miss the ripped apart ceiling panels that the women had not bothered to put back up. To our surprise the two women were sitting in our car chatting like old friends with the boarder guard who was checking all of our passports. They were obviously regulars on this line! It is such a comfort to know that now that Poland has become an EU country they have refined extortion, smuggling and corruption to a fine art!
Back in Briest late Monday afternoon, 3 days after this misadventure began, we were told our tickets to Moscow/St. Petersburg were no longer good. Our pleas fell on deaf ears so we will have to buy new tickets. Anton and I purchased berths for 5:55 a.m. (ah yes, yet more money flying away), but Anna was told that she would have to come back at 3:00 a.m. to see if she can get a ticket on our train. We adjourned to a picnic on the train station porch and moved inside at dusk where we took turns watching our luggage while the other two tried to take catnaps.
At 2 a.m. the empty waiting room is suddenly bursting with people, Jehovah 's Witnesses returning from a week long 70 thousand person strong convention. And who should find the three of us? The English speaking Witness with 4-hours still to go and nowhere for us to move to. We had decided earlier that evening that we were all in this together. Anton and I were definitely not going to leave Anna in Briest, so we took turns politely listening to the Witness who was sure he had three ripe converts. There was no escaping!
At 3 a.m. Anna and Anton went to get her ticket while I watched the luggage and did Witness duty. No one was at the ticket window. Same story at 3:30. My optimism was being strained to its limits. At 4 a.m. they returned with the coveted ticket in hand so we settled down to wait for our train. We boarded the train with a tearful goodbye to Anna who would be riding in the second half of the train that will split off to St. Petersburg at Minsk. Anton and I would share a four-berth sleeper with two Russian women. I immediately fall into a deep sleep and wake the next morning to the beautiful Russian countryside, birch trees and wild flowers. Our two companions were very nice, spoke no English, but with Anton's Russian and his dictionary we managed to communicate. When they approached the subject of Jehovah's Witnesses and we did not respond with enthusiasm they had the good manners not to push the issue.
Travel note: People on Eastern European trains wear clothing that you would not be caught dead in in other situations. Anything goes from boxer shorts with flannel shirts and bed room slippers to outfits that defy description, but since you will be in your compartment for two or three days with no where to go except outside for the brief stops and you cannot get to your luggage because there is no room to open it, comfort is the word and it is perfectly acceptable to get off at stops in whatever you are attired in.
Tuesday Anton and I arrived in Moscow exhausted and hungry. He tried to call friends, but they had left that morning. Everyone I knew in the city was floating down the river on the KROK boat. He tried to book space at a youth hostel on the floor, but they had no more floor space available. We opted for a room too exhausted to think about the 30 Euros it would cost us.
After a very long nap we took to the streets for an all night walk around Moscow. I love the city and Anton had never been there before so it was a perfect evening, tromping through areas of Moscow that I had never seen. We ended up in Red Square with the sun coming up over St. Basils and Lenin's tomb.
On Wednesday the only order of business was to get our tickets booked for the next leg of our journeys. I was determined to get to Perm to meet the KROK boat on Friday. Anton was going on to St. Petersburg.
Nothing in Russia is ever easy, but with the help of a very nice Russian who now lives in Cleveland, Ohio and was on his way to visit his family in Belarus we got our tickets. We did not tell him about our Belarus adventures. After all he was helping us, was very nice, and it wasn't his fault. Unfortunately, there were only first class tickets left so I bit the bullet and out the window flew more precious cash. The evening brought another all night walk around Moscow.
Thursday morning I said a sad farewell to Anton who had been so kind to me. He had changed his plans so that I would not be stranded alone in Moscow and carted my luggage everywhere for me. We had become such good friends in the last three days that I knew we would see each other again. In fact, he plans to come to Gent for a visit on his was back to Paris.
My first class ticket turned out to be me my worst accommodations yet, a four person sleeper coach with NO amenities. The man and woman that I shared the compartment with spoke no English, but between shared food, vodka and wine, we communicated beautifully by drawing pictures for each other for 20 hours.
Arriving in Perm, a city of 1 million people, I pondered how to find the boat. I saw two young guys with long hair at the train station and asked for info on how to get to the docks. They immediately knew what KROK was and offered to take me there. KROK is a very important event in Russia and the Ukraine and cities it visits have official boat welcoming events with local officials and traditional dancers. We arrived just as the boat docked. They toted my heavy bag up to the third deck KROK office where I was warmly greeted with "What, no husband but two handsome young Russian boys! How did you do that?" One of the young men is an artist and he returned that evening with a gift of a lovely painting for me.
At the traditional KROK Carnival my group was honored with a prize for re-creating my travel adventures. A good looking Israeli played the handsome Parisian photographer, an Israeli and a Russian played the two adorable young Russians and my long time friend and translator on the boat, Anton Yakovina, doubled as the passport inspector and slimy cab driver.
Throughout my entire adventure I met wonderful people, many speaking no English who were generous in every way and did everything that they could to help me. Despite the few bad, and costly, encounters my faith in human nature was rewarded and despite my desire to be at KROK it was a glorious adventure that I will never forget!
My trip back to Gent was uneventful, but nice. For three days and two nights I shared a sleeping cabinet with two young Moslem men from Chechnya who live in Germany and had been visiting family. They practiced their English on me and taught me three Chechnyan - Arabic words for hello, — (Everyone who knows my language skills should be very impressed with this!)
I can hardly wait for my next rail adventure.
all text© 2006 Nancy Denny-Phelps