The Long Ride Back
Waiting on the platform at the Hauptbahnof station in Berlin, I caught my first whiff of fellow Slavs. Primarily, it is the "refugee" look that gives it away. Lots of bags, some duct-taped together, many of which are the patented, Eastern European nylon/plaid concotion and have obviously been reused countless times. Although they are not clutching their possesions desperately and rolling their eyes heavenward, there is a certain body language of permanent fatigue that is unique to them.
For the first 18 hours of my 25 hour journey, I have the kupe to myself, which is delightful. Having left at 930pm, we pass the German/Polish border around midnight and aren't due to hit Ukraine until 10am, so I have plenty of time to rest, read, charge my phone and ipod (since the international Ukrainian kupes come with sinks and a 110v outlet for a razor!). As soon as I get my sheets, I make my bed and pass out. When we hit the border in Ukraine, the usual chaos ensues. Since the FSU still has wider rails than the rest of Europe, they have the jack up each of the cars, unscrew the European sized wheels and attach FSU gauge wheels. This process usually takes an hour or two, plus Polish/Ukrainian customs officers board the train for a guaranteed pain in the ass. As you might expect, the Poles don't particularly care. They ask where I am going, but happily stamp my passport. The Ukrainians, on the other hand, check the storage areas in each kupe and ask everyone what they are bringing into the country, although the odds of someone bringing enriched uranium (for example) from Poland to Ukraine is null, as opposed to the other way around. I want to tell them that I left my kalishnikov at home, but I figure it's better not to poke the bear.
I digress: If you've ever traveled by train in the FSU, you know the deal: trains are slow and crowded and there is no meal car, so you bring your own, since you are likely going to spend somewhere between 10 and 30 hours in a cramped car with sweaty Slavs. The traditional travel package consists of juice, vodka, bread, sausage or some other type of meat (sometimes even a whole, rotisserie-style chicken) and fruit or something sweeter. In Kyiv, I see whole cakes sold at the train station, but I haven't noticed the cream-filled/covered pastries elsewhere, so I assume it's only a Kyivan proclivity.
Anyway, we don't get going until 2pm. The next stop is about 5o miles into Ukraine, a small city named Kovel. At this point, I am joined by two Ukrainian men in their late 20s/early 30s. (Of course, when I bought the ticket in Berlin, this was a "women only" kupe, but Ukrainians don't really believe in segregating cabins by sex. After all, what harm could come from a single-woman being locked in a cramped space with drunk Ukrainian men, right? ahem, Tailhook?) We exchange pleasantries and I discover that they are milita (police) officers from Kyiv who came out to Kovel to write up a repeat offender (turns out, the perpetrator is a serial mugger - hardly a good reason for two Kyivan officers to take a 7 hour train ride from Kyiv to Kovel, when the folks in Kovel could probably do it themselves, but this is the beauty of bureaucracy). I explain that I am Ukrainian-American, which piques their interest. Mostly, they are interested in comparative costs: cars, salaries, property, etc.
Of course, they are astounded by how high American salaries are, but I try to explain that costs of living are higher too. $100 can feed a large Ukrainian family for a month, but can only feed a couple in Brooklyn for a week or so. At this point, my buddies, Vitaly and Alex, whip out juice, vodka, beer, some open-faced fried-chicken sandwiches and apples. They have small cups and insist that I get to know them for the duration of the trip. Seeing no way out of it, I join them for a sip or two of vodka and a sandwich. It's 4pm, a late start, by Ukrainian standards.
The more the vodka flows, the more interesting the conversation gets, as you might expect. I learn that my new friends are Yanukovich supporters. They are upset with Yushchenko, since militia salaries fell after his election. They are critical of Yushchenko and Tymoshenko, but seem to accept the inherent corruption of Yanukovich and Kuchma. When I ask them about the assassination of Gongadze, they insist that the tape of Kuchma ordering the hit is bogus and question why anyone would want to kill Gongadze, since no one knew who he was. I ask them why anyone would try to create a scandal for a second-term president who is on his way out and they tell me I have bought into the PR. They also believe that Yushchenko's poisoning was also a fraud. They insist that if it was a real assassination, they would have killed him. I kindly remind them that the CIA tried to kill Fidel Castro at least five times and still has never managed to get it right. I also ask them about the former KGB agent killed in London last fall by radiation poisoning - if that was also made up? They both laugh and think it's funny that I've been brainwashed. I am not sure I have ever before been told that I have bought into the status quo, but it is a memorable first.
When we arrive in Kyiv at 1030pm, I am exhausted, sick from cheap Ukrainian vodka and tired of trying to explain how things work in the West. This partly involved a 45 minute explanation of credit ratings and FICO scores and why these are actually BENEFICIAL for those in a low income bracket. They don't seem to understand, but have decided that the reason they don't have these advantages is the goverment's fault, which I can hardly deny. Although I have tried (repeatedly) to explain that Ukraine's chances for economic improvement are better if they unify with the West rather than Russia, they believe that at least their energy issues would be solved if they reestablished a relationship with their Big Brother. And, considering they make $125 a month, I find it hard to explain to them that things must get worse before they get better. Rapid privatization (shock therapy) took several, painful years in Central Europe, but now these countries are so far advanced beyond the FSU, that the difference is night and day. When you live hand to mouth, it is much more difficult to delay gratification - survival takes precedence.
Upon parting ways, the three of us exchanged numbers and they told me that if I ever get into any trouble in the area, they are happy to help me out. I assure them that I have been lucky, so far, in avoiding international incidents and thank them for the drinks and food.
Sometimes, you learn more from sharing a drink than reading a book.
For the first 18 hours of my 25 hour journey, I have the kupe to myself, which is delightful. Having left at 930pm, we pass the German/Polish border around midnight and aren't due to hit Ukraine until 10am, so I have plenty of time to rest, read, charge my phone and ipod (since the international Ukrainian kupes come with sinks and a 110v outlet for a razor!). As soon as I get my sheets, I make my bed and pass out. When we hit the border in Ukraine, the usual chaos ensues. Since the FSU still has wider rails than the rest of Europe, they have the jack up each of the cars, unscrew the European sized wheels and attach FSU gauge wheels. This process usually takes an hour or two, plus Polish/Ukrainian customs officers board the train for a guaranteed pain in the ass. As you might expect, the Poles don't particularly care. They ask where I am going, but happily stamp my passport. The Ukrainians, on the other hand, check the storage areas in each kupe and ask everyone what they are bringing into the country, although the odds of someone bringing enriched uranium (for example) from Poland to Ukraine is null, as opposed to the other way around. I want to tell them that I left my kalishnikov at home, but I figure it's better not to poke the bear.
I digress: If you've ever traveled by train in the FSU, you know the deal: trains are slow and crowded and there is no meal car, so you bring your own, since you are likely going to spend somewhere between 10 and 30 hours in a cramped car with sweaty Slavs. The traditional travel package consists of juice, vodka, bread, sausage or some other type of meat (sometimes even a whole, rotisserie-style chicken) and fruit or something sweeter. In Kyiv, I see whole cakes sold at the train station, but I haven't noticed the cream-filled/covered pastries elsewhere, so I assume it's only a Kyivan proclivity.
Anyway, we don't get going until 2pm. The next stop is about 5o miles into Ukraine, a small city named Kovel. At this point, I am joined by two Ukrainian men in their late 20s/early 30s. (Of course, when I bought the ticket in Berlin, this was a "women only" kupe, but Ukrainians don't really believe in segregating cabins by sex. After all, what harm could come from a single-woman being locked in a cramped space with drunk Ukrainian men, right? ahem, Tailhook?) We exchange pleasantries and I discover that they are milita (police) officers from Kyiv who came out to Kovel to write up a repeat offender (turns out, the perpetrator is a serial mugger - hardly a good reason for two Kyivan officers to take a 7 hour train ride from Kyiv to Kovel, when the folks in Kovel could probably do it themselves, but this is the beauty of bureaucracy). I explain that I am Ukrainian-American, which piques their interest. Mostly, they are interested in comparative costs: cars, salaries, property, etc.
Of course, they are astounded by how high American salaries are, but I try to explain that costs of living are higher too. $100 can feed a large Ukrainian family for a month, but can only feed a couple in Brooklyn for a week or so. At this point, my buddies, Vitaly and Alex, whip out juice, vodka, beer, some open-faced fried-chicken sandwiches and apples. They have small cups and insist that I get to know them for the duration of the trip. Seeing no way out of it, I join them for a sip or two of vodka and a sandwich. It's 4pm, a late start, by Ukrainian standards.
The more the vodka flows, the more interesting the conversation gets, as you might expect. I learn that my new friends are Yanukovich supporters. They are upset with Yushchenko, since militia salaries fell after his election. They are critical of Yushchenko and Tymoshenko, but seem to accept the inherent corruption of Yanukovich and Kuchma. When I ask them about the assassination of Gongadze, they insist that the tape of Kuchma ordering the hit is bogus and question why anyone would want to kill Gongadze, since no one knew who he was. I ask them why anyone would try to create a scandal for a second-term president who is on his way out and they tell me I have bought into the PR. They also believe that Yushchenko's poisoning was also a fraud. They insist that if it was a real assassination, they would have killed him. I kindly remind them that the CIA tried to kill Fidel Castro at least five times and still has never managed to get it right. I also ask them about the former KGB agent killed in London last fall by radiation poisoning - if that was also made up? They both laugh and think it's funny that I've been brainwashed. I am not sure I have ever before been told that I have bought into the status quo, but it is a memorable first.
When we arrive in Kyiv at 1030pm, I am exhausted, sick from cheap Ukrainian vodka and tired of trying to explain how things work in the West. This partly involved a 45 minute explanation of credit ratings and FICO scores and why these are actually BENEFICIAL for those in a low income bracket. They don't seem to understand, but have decided that the reason they don't have these advantages is the goverment's fault, which I can hardly deny. Although I have tried (repeatedly) to explain that Ukraine's chances for economic improvement are better if they unify with the West rather than Russia, they believe that at least their energy issues would be solved if they reestablished a relationship with their Big Brother. And, considering they make $125 a month, I find it hard to explain to them that things must get worse before they get better. Rapid privatization (shock therapy) took several, painful years in Central Europe, but now these countries are so far advanced beyond the FSU, that the difference is night and day. When you live hand to mouth, it is much more difficult to delay gratification - survival takes precedence.
Upon parting ways, the three of us exchanged numbers and they told me that if I ever get into any trouble in the area, they are happy to help me out. I assure them that I have been lucky, so far, in avoiding international incidents and thank them for the drinks and food.
Sometimes, you learn more from sharing a drink than reading a book.
posted by RedSonja at
3:34 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home