Trains and the rascals who ride them
Monday, November 26th, 2007Trains are technically part of a journey, not the destination, but even so they can be one of the high points of a trip. Or one of the low points.
Polish trains are typically made up of closed compartments with four seats each on either side. This enables an intimate and private journey with your family or a group of friends, provided you have exactly eight in your group. If you’ve got less than eight, then your fortune will be assigned by chance.
Given that I had only slept one hour the night before, I was pleased that I only had one other person in my compartment, a sleepy looking middle-aged Polish-looking woman. My assessment of her was correct- she was asleep in no time. I was hungry and wanted to snack on rice cakes, and so I crunched on the cakes as quietly as possible. Despite my best efforts, she lifted a tired eye open. I refined my silent crunching technique, and soon she was back asleep. And then there was sleep for me.
Next thing I knew we were both startled awake. It was my wind-up alarm clock. I apologized profusely, and we both slipped back asleep. And then…
Our compartment was abruptly thrust open by an imposing woman with booming voice. I had no idea what she was going on about, but I looked at my compartment companion and she nodded okay. So we had a new neighbor. This new neighbor didn’t know anything about needing sleep, and so there would be no sleep for any of us. She stood up in middle of the compartment and brushed her hair, stray hairs landing on the book I was trying to read. Not having a common spoken language, I resorted to sighs, surreptitious dirty looks, and eye rolling. Come to think of it, I would’ve done exactly the same even if there was a common language.
I was still busy judging my compartment companions and pretending to read my book when my new neighbor asked me if I spoke English. Then she made some comment about how I looked exactly like another American that she knew, and that she didn’t realize that all Americans looked alike. News to me. From there, the conversation actually got a little better. It turns out she was a Belarusian literature reviewer (I didn’t know they had such things), which I have to admit is a pretty interesting job. I tried to get a list of recommended Belarussian authors, but sadly no one has been translated into English. Well, that’s more than I would have figured out by rolling my eyes and sighing.
Then I transferred to the next train, and found the first open space, in a compartment next to a couple of unshaven smokers. They spoke only Polish and German, but the older one showed infinite patience and extensive curiosity. He wanted to know: Why was I in Poland? Was I there to steal their beautiful women? Why did I visit in the winter? What textbook was I using to learn Polish? Thoughtful enough to speak Polish to me as if I was a mentally delayed five year old, he was the first Polish person I could understand. It turns out he was a grade school teacher.
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| Approach to Płock by Train |
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