Standard Time

Passport control happened quite awhile ago and The Snorer and I were sleeping once more. I had been aware for awhile of vague banging’s and trappings from down towards the other end of the corridor. But then the time came when it became impossible to stubbornly sleep through it all – maybe because our compartment was suddenly flooded with bright light. In a semi-wakeful state, I was aware of people milling around in the corridor. Suddenly there’s a Big Burly Dude outside our door… he growls something and The Snorer (mind you, not far from ‘full-snore-mode’) tumbles out the door.


About a minute later Big Burly Boy sticks his head back inside and this time I realize he’s speaking Polish, not growling and what he’s just said is Ma’am, please step into the corridor. Oh groan and yuck,This whole scene is repeated every single time this train makes this trip. What a hopeless situation. You’d think they’d get tired of the whole deal. Tired of taking the train apart in Kyiv and stuffing it full of contraband. Tired to taking it apart on the border and hauling it out. Tired of putting it all back together again… Every. Single. Day.


I’ve been watching these smugglers for a long time and believe me, you’d have to pay me a whole lot more than $10 to go through that stress. They sweat. They swear. They run. They fret and worry and bite their nails. I’m sure they’re making more now, but there’s no way they make what it’s worth. The thing is, I reckon the cigarettes are just the tip of a much meaner iceberg. The amount they haul out- heaps, bags and bags (we’re talking Hefty Hefty Cinch Sack size bags…or bigger)… how can it be worth it? because they’re not taking it all… not all the cigarettes… not all the vodka… and not any of what’s likely nestled down deep in some wall… The Poles make a big show of tearing it apart. Oh They Do

The border patrol people don't put the place back together again after they've torn it apart. Our neighbor asked Who's going to pick this all up and put the ceiling back up. Oh, Pahn (Sir) here will, they replied, indicating the frustrated conductor. And he did. The junior pip-squeak one. He got to crawl into every compartment and put stuff back together. And when he was doing ours, I noticed that his ragged slippers had been mended my stapling them. Somehow, at 1.30 am, that sight was depressing and sad and made me want to never ride that train again. If I don't see it, It's not happening.