Iowa Martins in Albania: Train to Moscow

I had an upper bunk in the train. This is both a blessing and a curse. For one thing, it demands of course that I climb when I want to get up there. But the good thing is that when I’m up there, this space is totally mine. I just keep my knees and elbows in.
The only things that might stray are my toes. Although the feelings are entirely comfortable and safe, it conjures up a dim memory of some movie I saw as a kid in which a girl, possibly a teenager, was kidnapped and held for ransom. She was buried alive inside a coffin-type box that had ventilation, a feeding system, etc. I could go into more detail, about the bugs that crawl in through the ducts, but this is not the time or the place. If anyone reading this remembers the movie I am talking about, please let me know.
I was actually quite lucky that I made it onto the train. After walking around Sofia, and then calmly writing a blog post in a café, I walked leisurely to the train station where I picked up my bags. I cruised around the station, walked calmly to the ticket saleslady. She noticed me and said, agitated, “Platform 1!”
I asked how much money I’d need on the train to pay for my bedding and such. In my experience, once we are on the train, the car caretaker comes at me every now and then with small additional charges.
“Everything is paid for!”
“So…then we don’t need any money for anything on the train?”
She became a bit exasperated said curtly, “You’ve paid for everything!”
I coolly turned and walked around looking for and buying another large bottle of water. Then I considered opening my suitcase to repack the couple things I had used that day. I decided there would probably be some benches near the train platform where I could do the packing, and went to the trains. I saw what looked like my train so left my bags some meters away and approached a uniformed man standing outside. I confirmed that my ticket said I was on the 11th car, and that this was indeed the 11th car going to Moscow. I carried my stuff on board and started the final repacking. Not more than 3 minutes later, the train started to move. I had noticed that it was not at the very end of the platform, so I thought they were moving it down a bit. After all, the departure time was not for another hour. Pretty soon, the uniformed dude appeared at my door asking for my ticket. I didn’t realize that the time had changed an hour when we entered Bulgaria. I had serenely sauntered onto the train only 5 minutes before missing the whole thing and throwing my trip into chaos.
The two nights on the train were the most comfortable I have experienced. I slept more soundly and longer than I have in some time. The first night, when I went to sleep, I was the only one in the 4-person coupe (coo-paý). When I woke, there were 4 others—three adults and a 4-year-old boy. Below me were the mother and son, across from me on top was a young-looking 55-year-old retired painter (not an artist, but not a house painter—I’m not entirely clear about his profession), below him was a massive woman who filled her mattress to overflowing.
After getting up, I ate an apple I had brought from Tirana. Then nothing. I asked my neighbors if there was a cafeteria car. “A restaurant? Yes, there needs to be.”
“Do they take Euros, or Bulgarian money?” I asked,
“They take everything,” my quasi-artist friend answered expansively.
I found the ‘Buffet’ but it was not opening for another 2 hours. OK, I would wait—I found some comfortable empty seats a few cars away where I could read and write.
Some time later, I returned to the buffet. The window no longer had the metal grating in front so I stood outside for a bit. I didn’t see anyone so I asked the car’s conductor (each car has a conductor who supervises the bedding, makes tea, vacuums the carpet, etc.) if the buffet was working.
“Yes, it should be. Knock on the window.”
I did, and I could see a man some distance inside the compartment. He seemed to be cleaning up getting ready. The interesting thing was that he completely ignored me—no “We’ll be ready soon” or “Just a minute.” As I left the car, a young woman walked in and I asked if they were working. She smiled and said, “Just a minute.” She went inside and appeared at the window.
“Do you have a menu?”
“No menu. We just have what we have.” The next day, I read their offerings in a menu.
“Do you have any fruit or vegetables?”
“No.”
“What do you have?”
“We have cutlet (meat), potatoes, and fish with garnish.”
“I’d like some fish. How soon will that be ready?” I asked this because I knew that they had just opened. She asked the cleaning dude when they will have the fish ready. Her face fell and she asked him about when it would be ready. Then she asked him to estimate when it might be ready.
“Well,” she said, turning to me, “I don’t know because we don’t know when it will be ready.” I said thanks anyway and walked away a few paces. Then I returned and asked what they have that they can sell right now—packaged cookies or something.
She turned to cleaning man, “He wants to know what we have ready right now.”
Her friend must have said something like, “Well, is the other window open? There is stuff there.” She sheepishly laughed and pulled the other metal grate up revealing bottles, boxes and bags of snacks. I pointed to some crackers and some nuts.
“Should I pay with Euros or with Bulgarian?”
“Well, let’s say Bulgarian.” The price was 5 Bulgarian Lev—about $3 US. I had a 10 Lev note. She looked helpless as she couldn’t find any change. She asked her friend who was not helpful. “I guess we need rubles.” I hadn’t bought any rubles from the quasi-artist yet, so I had none.
I walked away without buying anything. Now I knew I was near Russia. This whole event reminds me of a time in Albania—I think it was Albania—when Maura wanted to buy an extension cord. She looked through the store and found a bin with many cords. She picked one and went toward the exit. The checkout person asked Maura the price. She wasn’t sure. Ms. Checkout looked disgusted as she called on another employee to find the price. A young man went to the back of the store. After some minutes, he returned, took the cord out of Maura’s hands and said, “We don’t know the price.” She left the store without an extension cord.
After my failed attempt to find food at the buffet, I returned to my coupe-neighbors. “No fish, no Euros, no change, no food,” I reported.
“So you didn’t eat anything,” said Mr. Artist. They all took pity on me, gave me a cold hunk of meat, and some bread. The mother showed me a packet of instant potatoes and said several times that I needed to add boiling water. I had seen them prepare this stuff earlier and I recalled thinking that it seemed quite revolting.
“No thank you.”
She looked shocked, “Why not?”
“Well, I don’t want to…”
“Don’t want to what?” she answered indignantly. I didn’t want to trouble them, I didn’t want them to make a fuss over me, I didn’t want to eat food that they probably needed. Would I be pompous to refuse? Would I insult her? I couldn’t find the words I wanted to say and while I was floundering, she took a bowl and went to the car’s hot water spigot.
So the artist cut up a massively large tomato, and I had an impromptu feast. Then they asked if I want tea or coffee. I answered that I don’t drink tea or coffee.
The large character said, “What about women? We have a saying, ‘If a man doesn’t drink tea or coffee, he doesn’t need a woman.’” I’m not really sure what she said because it was mostly an inside joke and I didn’t understand everything.

Later that day, I think it was in Kiev, a woman came on board and sold me some potatoes and blini (crepe-like pastries) wrapped around apples. I was hoping that people selling apples and such would be near the train. After all, in 1988, I went through this area and the harvest was in full swing with all kinds of produce everywhere. The next day, I asked a woman who was organizing her produce, “Are you selling those apples?”
“No,” she said with a smile. Then she pushed one into my hands. I had asked another man who was alone in his coupe, if I could sit and read on his empty bench. “Sit, sit,” he answered. Pretty soon he asked me if I had any food. I had to answer truthfully that I didn’t. He made me a sandwich of cheese and sausage. I told him that I expected to find some of the local harvest for sale near the train. He said that nowadays, there is less harvest than 24 years ago because people don’t use the ground as efficiently.
As we talked I was amazed at the coincidence. Twenty years ago, in the spring of 1992, I rode the same train in the opposite direction from Moscow to Lvov, Ukraine. I was traveling with a friend of a friend who was taking spare tractor parts to be resold. This was the period soon after the dissolution of the Soviet Union—often said to be a time of “Diki Kapitaliam” or Wild Capitalism. At the time, people were running around the country trying to transport all manner of items to be sold at a profit in another part of the country. The coincidence comes when I consider that Mr. Cheese Sandwich was transporting 1/2 ton of Dewalt wireless drill parts from Germany for sale in Moscow. He said he makes the trip on this train several times a month. He will take the half-a dozen hefty, dense bags to his apartment on the outskirts of Moscow and people would come to pick up the parts in half a day; they are wanted urgently.

At the train station, I met a young man with my name on a printed piece of paper. This person was Dmitry, the director of the school. He took me to the hostel where I had a reservation and my time in Moscow has begun.

On the train

The hunk of lard is called salo. I explained to the woman that I have high cholesterol so I don't eat meat. She assured me that this fat did not have cholesterol. She said several times, "All the same, men need to eat meat."

This young woman gave me an apple and then the rest of the pictured feast, except for the cheese sandwich which was given to me by the dude ferrying wireless drill parts.

The hallway looking fore and aft beside the coupes.

Sink and toilet in the train.

When the toilet is flushed, the contents go straight to the ground.

Animals

A Romanian guy on the train said that he thought Romania was the only place that had all these stray dogs running around. He also gave me an informative history lesson about the Allies giving Romanian land to the Soviet Union after WWII. They gave most of Moldova to the USSR, and a good part of Poland. This area went mostly to Ukraine. I asked if that meant that the Moldovans would be unhappy with the Russians. He explained that (just like in Kazakhstan, Azerbaijan, etc) the Soviet moved people into Moldova so there would be a significant Russian presence there.

This is a stork next on top of a pole. This was a delightful and well-fed kitty near the train.

Video of the kitty

Fields outside the train

If you click on this house and zoom in, you will see that it is like a classic haunted house from kids' cartoons.

Lovely Romanian countryside

There were acres and acres of corn. It was being harvested by hand with horse carts.

These are a couple pictures of the horses.

A large elevator with pictures of bread and flour on the sides.

These two pictures show that they must have tractors for tilling the fields.

In Ukraine, a tidy dacha, or summer house, with cabbage, bees and other stuff.

Sunflowers

Pictures of the train

Taken by sticking the camera out the window

The train between Moscow and Sofia

A warning not to cross the tracks near the train. "Dangerous for Life!"

When we crossed into Ukraine from Romania, we needed to lift the cars and change the undercarriages. The tracks inside of the Former Soviet Union are a wider than in the rest of Europe. The Soviets apparently did this so that they would not be invaded.