Vagon 404. That’s clear enough. When the train pulls in at 18:57 I have until 19:01 to find car 404 to L’viv/Lvov and get on it. Easy. I’ll be settled into my compartment and digging into my dinner by a quarter past seven.
Yeah, right. As the train rolls in I look for the numbers posted on each door…. the engine goes by, then the first class car, the restaurant car… the train has stopped by now so I walk as I count… car number 1 Kosice, number 2 Kosice, number 3 Kosice… picking up my pace by now, in spite of my double backack configuration and the throngs of people leaving the platform in one direction or the other. More than half of the four minute stop is over already. Car number 4 Kosice… maybe 404 is like a 4B??? Nope… car number 5… Kosice. How many people can be going to Kosice?
Walking quickly now, the platform clearing out. The train continues as far as I can see (which isn’t as far as that would imply). A whistle blows… I hop onto car number 6 before the door swings shut hoping that the lady at the ticket counter was correct – and/or that I understood her correctly – that sleeper car 404 to Ukraine is attached, at some point, to the commuter train to Kosice. Since it has to be detached at some point, I figure it’s most likely to be at one end or the other. I’d initially guessed it would be at the engine end, but, of course, I was wrong. So it must be at the tail. I start walking.
I’ve got things strapped to both sides of my backpack, so I’m a pretty wide load to be walking down the aisle of a train jostling its way out of a station, but what else can I do – we’re moving. I heave the door open into the passageway between cars 6 and 7… then into car 8. Until I get to what should be car 9. Good! Something looks different about this one. But bad… the first thing that’s different is that the door is locked.
Normally, you can get from car to car on a moving train by going through the short no man’s land in between them. The place where the two cars connect. There’s usually a couple of big metal foot plates to walk on and a rudimentary shelter that keeps the wind and rain off of you as you go through. It’s not a pleasant stroll… the doors are heavy sliding glass and metal things that come slamming shut after a second or two. If you’ve got a big backpack strapped to your body you have to shimmy through quickly to avoid having the door slam against you as it tries to close – whack, whack. That with the floor shifting around under your feet while you fumble with the handle of the heavy door that goes into the next car.
Technically you are “outside the train” at that point, so it’s where the smokers go if they get really desparate. There are “no smoking” signs posted in every car, but if you are having nicotine withdrawals I guess it’s tempting to take advantage of the vagueries of semantics. There is no smoking in the cars. That doesn’t say anything about between the cars.
In any case, when I get to the end of car number 8, Kosice, it seems like I’m at the end of the passenger cars. I can see another car bouncing along behind us – a faded, blue car with chipping paint and curtains drawn on the window. But the door to this car is locked.
I heave harder at it… maybe it’s just difficult. Shove. No, definitely locked. Maybe cars from Eastern Europe and cars from Western Europe don’t talk to each other. Maybe I’ll have to get off at the next stop and get on again from the outside.
I try that. The next stop is a 2-minute stop so I can’t go far. I strap my backpacks back on and jump off as soon as the doors fly open. Try the door of the faded blue car… the handle doesn’t budge. I knock… no answer. I think about trying the next door but it’s too far. The whistle blows so I hop back onto car 8. In Kosice they’re going to decouple car 404 and attach it to another engine before it continues toward the Ukrainian border. That will take at least 15 minutes. I’ll try again then. I just hope there’s actually someone in there.
A settle into my seat and a few minutes later a couple of burly guys in police uniforms walk through to patrol car number 8. It’s gratifying to see them get stuck at the door to the blue car also – at least it’s not just me. It’s also nice to know that someone else has an expectation that the door should actually be open. That confirms my suspicion that I am in fact on the correct train. I tell them that I’m trying to get in there too. “Moment,” one says, and swivels his hand to indicate that he’ll go look for the key.
A few minutes go by and now the conductor comes along. First things first, he needs to stamp my ticket. Since I’m not in the right seat he can’t do that the normal way so he puts a handwritten note on the back of it. “Kontrol,” he says as he hands it back to me. Well, at least I am on the right train.
Then he settles his hat on his head and walks over to try the door. He shows me the key with a hopeful look and sure enough, the Slovakian door slides right open for him. Good… now at least we’re in the no-man’s-land between East and West. The steel foot plate of the Ukrainian car is about 18 inches above the plate of the Slovakian car. It’s also really windy out there. That all makes sense… these two cars don’t really go together. Seems like maybe it was a good idea to keep them locked. But the conductor is on it now and he’s not giving up. He pulls and twists and kicks at the door of the Ukrainian car, pounds on it with his fist, calls out to his counterpart who must surely be in there. Nothing. The Slovakian door keeps whacking him in the rear as it tries to close so I grab it and hold it open for him. The tracks whiz by between the large gap below.
Eventually, the Slovakian conductor gives up and sits down with me, taking his hat off and wiping the sweat off his forehead. “Ukrainey,” he says, as if that explains everything. He puts his hands together and lays his head on them like a pillow and we both have a good laugh about the crazy Ukrainians sleeping on the job.
He radios in to the engineer that he needs extra time at the next stop. Ah, that’s the way to do it… he won’t need to worry about the train leaving without him if he pounds on the door too long. “Magedor,” he says, “pow, pow, pow,” he whacks at the air with his fist.
At Magedor he gets off and pow pow pows at the faded blue sleeper car until he gets somebody’s attention. Soon he comes back with a triumphant look on his face and a slim woman appears at the window trying to unlock the door from her side. The train moves on. She heaves and turns at the handle but can’t budge it. A man joins her. He heaves and pulls too. He braces himself against the wall and tries kicking it from the inside. He looks like he’s practiced that maneuver before, but it won’t do any good now because this door swings in on his side, not out. Big as he is, he’s not going to overcome the steel doorframe. But at this point I am just an observer. He’ll figure it out. We whiz along the tracks for several minutes with two men fighting with the faded blue door. Just as I’m wondering if these people are going to think I’m a royal pain in the ass for needing to be let in, the lady looks over at me and beams a big, friendly look-at-these-guys-isn’t-this-ridiculous? Ukrainian smile at me.
The guys are winded, and now they’re just having fun. She dangles a key in the window. Apparently it’s the key that would open the door from our side if we happened to have a copy of it in our car. She and the Slovakian conductor laugh as they pretent to toss it over a non-existent passageway overhead.
Just when I’m thinking how to communicate that I’ll just get off at the next stop and get on through the platform door, somebody tries again. Don’t ask me why, but this time the handle moves. The Ukrainian muscle man is excited. He gives it a tug and blue door bursts open. Inside the Ukrainian car the aisle is thick with carpets and lined with flowers. The compartments are all velvet and thick curtains. The bed in my compartment is already turned down for me. They were expecting me after all! The lady with the friendly smile hands me my sheets and towels. I’ve got my own sink with running water, electrical outlets if I need them, and a clean cloth for my table. I pull out my dinner supplies at last – dark bread, Slovakian cheese and yogurt, and settle in for the overnight ride to L’viv.
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