| related links |
| . |
| . |
 |
 |
|
|
 |
 |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
| Journal - |
| April 6th, 2006 > Poland/Lithuania/Lithuania/Poland/Lithuania |
| roll your mouse over any image for a description |
|
| I’m kind of regretting getting on that train now, at six AM from Warsaw. The night before, I’d met a great bunch of Kiwi’s and the OkiDoki hostel was a really good one. But I had made plans, of a sort.
Speed walking through ice and snow is never going to be easy with a loaded pack on your back. The locals wherever I have been, even ladies in high heels, seem adept at getting about on the slippery stuff. It rarely fails to raise a laugh when they see me picking my way along. I’m glad I could brighten their day. Despite the long queue and short service, I managed a ticket for Vilnius with minutes to spare. The fact that I had not yet taken coffee, let alone breakfast, didn’t worry me as long haul trains always have a dining car. Don’t they? And so me, pack and brolly were comfortably installed in our not-too-shabby cabin for the I don’t know how long journey. I never quite managed to get that information out of the emotionally unstable lady with the big hair at the desk. I did, however, have her assurance the train would take me “all the way” - always a bonus. Walking several carriages aft, my worst nightmare became a reality. I was looking straight out onto the track. Thus, unless I am very much mistaken, there is no restaurant car. So I settled in, resigned to my two pieces of chewing gum for sustenance. I figured the journey could not take long; in my estimation the distance was no more than five hundred kilometres and so five or six hours may do it. |
 |
| But here’s the thing with rural stations in Poland; few of them have any sign to give the observer a hint as to where he is. Of course, although those people at Rough Guides had seen fit to put Warsaw and Vilnius on the map, there was little else to help. But the railway track they had drawn in, which probably followed a convenient crease in the scrap of paper they doodled on, was a continuous line all the way. It kind of backed up what that miserable woman barked at me this morning; it went all the way.
At length, we crossed into Lithuania. I knew this because the Polish border guards paid me a visit, though of course no visa is required for these two EU member countries. Soon after, the train made a stop in a similar vain to previous ones; lots of shunting amid a sawmill and long freight trains. Quite a few people were leaving the train with their belongings, and so I thought it prudent to check with the world's most forgetful guard, in case we were suddenly at my destination. I did this in the usual way, by talking fluent English and waving my ticket under his nose. He nodded and indicated, as I understood it, that I should stay put. |
| And back... |
| These situations can hurt a budget. Towns like this never have a hostel or anything like it; it's why I always make sure I have money spare. A bit of fast footwork got me to the Hancza, a stark Soviet era building with a receptionist who looked frightened out of her skin at the very sight of me. The money didn’t matter, I was very much intent on enjoying an evening in my own room for a change. My miserable footsteps echoed off the bare concrete walls as I wondered down the gloomy corridors to locate my cell. The floor is surfaced with that harsh washable stuff you find in pre-1960’s hospitals. The light was minimalist and the door made of solid metal.
At night, I had to break cover to find food. So far on this trip, it has amazed me how I seem to stand out in the crowd. People know I am foreign. Now I am used to this in, say, Asia, where you simply look different. But Europe? Obviously when newly arrived with my pack on, searching for digs I do stand out a bit, but the rest of the time I try to blend in. I have perfectly scruffy clothing and no designer gear that sets me apart. So how do they know before even talking to me? Tonight, I tried a new thing and oh my did it work. I left my daypack at the hotel, and had with me instead a carrier bag. Unshaven and tired, with my hood pulled over my head I looked, if I say so myself, formidable. And more to the point, nobody bothered me at all. This one horse town really didn’t have much to offer, and so I opted for the first place I could find open. This was the Jazz & Pizza bar, a phenomenon that I have now seen in a few East European places. Thankfully there was no jazz music, regretfully only one choice of pizza. But it really didn’t matter, for this was my first meal of the day (travelling for eleven hours) and it would taste sweet. The friendly guys at the bar enquired about my journey which I explained by plotting it on a map for them. Pizza never tasted so good, and it was gone in minutes. Having paid the tab, as I departed the guys at the bar gave me a standing ovation; for what I remain unsure, either the journey I am on or the speed at which I ate his cardboard pizza. |
| After much confusion I climbed up to the train for Vilnius. This isn’t just me as a foreigner, routinely at stations there is much gesticulation among locals and nobody really seems to know which train goes where. There was no platform, and getting on with my heavy pack was something of a challenge. I felt a push from behind as I topped the steps and squeezed through the door; I was taken aback to see the same forgetful guard from yesterday. He mustered a thin smile and didn’t seem in the least surprised that I was again on a train to Lithuania. I’d managed to check my email and plans had changed again. I had had a reply from a hospitality website I use, Couch surfers and now I would get off the train in Kaunas instead, about 100km short of Vilnius.
Strange town, no map and not even a mention in the guide. Calling my host, in broken English we establish (I guess) she is in an Irish bar. The first person I ask understands not a single word, until I mention Guinness at which point he produced a leaflet, with map, for the only Irish bar in town; my luck is changing! I eventually made contact with my host, Lina. She and her friends are all studying dentistry, and with hindsight I am pleased they refused to deal with my aching tooth. The pub was throwing a party with free beer, and everyone was assembled to celebrate St.Patricks day. Curiously there is no Irish population here, less so any tourist traffic, and nobody really knows what it’s all about. But hey, any excuse for a party, right? Nobody seemed too bothered that the date was wrong, a day early! And why not? We had a great night, I drank far too much. Everyone in the pub made me feel very welcome. The cameras from Lithuanian TV were there, and of course I managed to get my mug on the news. I became friendly with Nikole, a Ukrainian ex soldier as big as an Ox. I considered hiring the guy to be my body guard through Russia; for he warned me of all the cutthroats I will surely meet on the way across that country. He will remain ever my friend as when I explained my route, he honestly thought I was Euan McGregor! I think I will keep this beard a little longer. Feeling a little sore in the head, next day I had to say goodbye to Lina as she had lectures to attend. Though my stay was brief, I really appreciated her company and great English. It is such a thrill to stay with local people and be given an insight into their lives. |
| Kaunas, Lithuania’s second largest city, is a really pleasant little place. It has the longest high street I have ever seen, and the old town is very picturesque. I spent a pleasant, all too short, day there before hot-footing it to Riga, Latvia, a six hour journey. |
| Here I had another host lined up, but unfortunately I arrived very late. Ilze very kindly came to meet me, otherwise I’d still be there now trying to work out the bus system. I was pleased that she had no plans to be out on the town; such was the fog from last night. Despite this, we sat up late chatting about all sorts; travel, politics and all the subtle differences between my world and hers. She is a highly intelligent person, so of course I was totally out of my depth. She has studied public relations and is now enjoying her job working for the theatre organising and promoting. She gets to meet famous people and works flexible hours. |
| In a slight panic about my Russian visa, which is now counting down steadily, I decide to book a night train to St.Petersburg. Thus I have a day to spend around Riga. Unfortunately Ilze had to work and so I once again said my goodbyes. It was lovely to meet her. She has travelled a lot, to some places I envy, and yet is content and happy in her own country. I respect that, particularly in this region where so many of the young people are leaving for better paid jobs elsewhere. I don’t know what was up with me today, but I’d lost all motivation and was so tired I could sleep on my feet. It was mightily cold and I had nowhere to go. My attempts at sightseeing, normally something I tackle with vigour, were indifferent. I found a place that served great soups, and enjoyed warming up. I woke with a girl prodding me in the ribs, making it rather clear I can’t sleep in here. And so, perhaps at one of my lowest ebbs for some time when travelling, like a smelly unwelcome tramp I gathered my pack and left, feeling every single stare from other diners as I did so. Well it’s not all champagne and caviar you know! |
| related links |
|
 |
| One of the great mysteries when travelling by train, especially in a different country, is that you never quite know what is going on. We regularly stopped in the middle of nowhere, occasionally backed up and often changed engines. People get off, so I feel compelled to do the same, and then get back on. We stopped at towns of barely two dozen houses on a dead-end track, and then trundled back down to the mainline. Each time we stopped, there was always much activity with workmen inspecting the underside of each carriage and banging away with large spiky hammers. I scanned each platform for potential food, but never was there something close enough to risk a trip - for trains depart with little notice.
The Polish guard wore a smart dark blue uniform and a round peaked hat in the style of the French Gendarmarie. His puffy face and black bristle moustache very much gave him the unfortunate appearance of a former dictator from a next door country. He didn’t seem at all pleased to have a foreigner aboard his train and whether through mistrust or more likely, I suspect, appallingly bad memory he checked my ticket regularly. But the point is, he could be in no doubt as to my destination that day. And so I fairly well relaxed with a book, some writing or just watching the frozen lakes and forest whiz by. |
| To Russia... |
| Riga seemed a very nice capital to me. It has a quite European feel to it, and of course along with Lithuania and Poland is forging its way successfully into the European Union. I’d urge anyone to visit now. Despite being small countries in close proximity to each other and their former ruler Russia, they have their own very distinct and proud culture and traditions. The people were friendly and welcoming, I only wish I had more time to spend along the way. |
| There... |
 |
| Now I’m not sure who showed the most surprise, an hour later, whether it was myself or the same Polish border guards; but one fact was indisputable - I had re-entered Poland and my train was headed back to whence it had came. In the space of a little over an hour, I had left Poland, entered Lithuania, left Lithuania and entered Poland, all of which is of course recorded on their mobile computers when they scan your passport. Credit to the huge border guard, he tried to stop the train, indicating he would drive me back to the station; but it was to no avail and the train chugged onward. There would be no other today, and so my best hope was to travel two hours down the line to the nearest town.
The woman at the tiny station building was obviously nearing the end of her shift, and was in no mood for helping stranded foreigners. There’s no feeling quite like being stuck in a strange town well off the tourist trail, and all you want is a kindly face. I wouldn’t find it here. I managed to find out the time of the following days train and set off into the unknown to find a bed. |
 |
 |
 |
 |
| Recomposing myself I jump on a train for the coast. I suddenly feel awake having found my cause for the day; I figure I shan’t see the sea for some time and so it was worth the trip to take a peek at the Baltic.
I knew it wasn’t the time of year for ordering cocktails while lying on the beach. I even surmised there would be a bit of snow about and possibly a few chunks of ice bobbing about off the coast. I wasn’t prepared, however, for the entire sea to be frozen solid! Like a sixteen year old (it wasn’t that long ago) I slid down the beach and out onto the ice. There is something so irresistible about walking out, I just wanted to keep going toward that unobtainable horizon, next stop Finland. |
 |
| A day at the seaside... |
 |
| Understandably perhaps, much focus of this trip has been on Russia. Thus, I had underestimated both the distance and the tremendous diversity I would encounter on the way there. It could have been done quicker and most certainly much slower. But I ought to know by now, you have to keep moving. I have spent time on the things that interest me the most, and already made some friends whom I regretted having to say goodbye to. Travelling overland, by train in particular, is not cheap. But I have found it incredibly satisfying. I have felt every change along the way; the climate, the faces and language, the currency and the food. On my ever eastward journey each country has morphed into the next smoothly, it gives the traveller time to adjust and savour the subtle differences. |
 |
| And so I boarded that night train for what I have expected to be the real challenge, the Russian Federation. Every train trip is different. You never know who you may meet, or what might happen (and in my case, where you may actually be going). Luckily on a night when I wasn’t feeling overly social, I had an entire four berth cabin to myself. My first impression of this Russian train was how clean and comfortable it was, despite the 1960‘s decor. I was able to work on the laptop (I never get it out around other folks) and generally relax before the all important border crossing at two-thirty in the morning |
 |
 |
| Well, it was all a bit of an anti-climax. From all the stories I have heard, and of course just the image the country itself portrays, not to mention all the hassle of getting that visa - I was expecting at least to be detained for a few hours. I’d even planned a large chunk of this journal to regale the story of how I would escape border guard custody. But in the event, the all female team had the train cleared in less than two hours. Not before, of course, I had filled out a mountain of paperwork with all the same information I have already submitted for my visa, three times. This was then checked by the three different women at sporadic intervals to ensure one doesn’t fall asleep. They were efficient and I’d even venture, friendly. Finally, a young man in fatigues searched my cabin from top to bottom, even removing the floor and roof panels for a look-see. Not understanding his Russian questions, with his arms he motioned firing a rifle, to which I replied I was of course unarmed apart from my trusty umbrella. I’m glad I didn’t buy that Kalashnikov at that Warsaw market now. |
| ...YOUR MISSION….. SHOULD YOU CHOOSE TO ACCEPT IT.... |
 |
| For once in my life, a well planned journey ensured I would arrive in St. Petersburg early morning and I even had a bed booked already.
Speed is the element of surprise for this agent 006.5, so look out for another journal hot on the heels of this one. I have the material ready, a lack of suitable computers has slowed me down getting them posted up. To Russia…. With an umbrella! |
 |