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The Lightyellow Journal
The regular disclaimer: The views expressed on this website are my own and in no way reflect those of the U.S. Peace Corps or any agency of the U.S. Government.
February 2006 - On the Train
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
On the train
I have traveled to Kyiv at least once a month since September. Traveling to Kyiv involves an overnight train trip, and the trips are long and generally exhausting events, especially since I generally only stay in Kyiv one night before heading back to site. And actually, the longer I'm in Kyiv the more exhausting it tends to get, what with the expense and boredom--if it's a self-inflicted trip--or the late nights and parties--if it's a Peace Corps-sponsored event.
A year ago, a trip to Kyiv was an exciting, long-anticipated event. Now, I rather dread it.
Here's what it takes for me to get to Kyiv:
1. Take a bus from Chernomorskoe to Simferopol. The bus is probably old, dusty, and bumpy. It will stop for about 20 minutes in Evpatoria; including that break, it takes me somewhere between 3 and 3.5 hours to get to Simferopol.
2. Eat at McDonalds. Why? Because it's always a treat. And because I need to eat something before I get on the train. (I tell you, I was never so fond of McDonalds in America.)
3. Get on the train. The best train is the number 12, which leaves at about 4:45 PM.
4. Meet the other people in the compartment. Sometimes they're chatty; sometimes they're not.
5. Go to sleep as early as possible. Hopefully I don't have to go to the bathroom more than once. It's nasty.
6. Arrive in Kyiv around 8:30, if I'm on the number 12. The number 12 is an express train, so the trip's a little quicker than it is on other trains.
7. Either brave the Metro crowds (hopefully I have a metro token from my last trip) or walk to the Peace Corps office (about 2 miles). Crowded metros and long walks are good incentive to pack lightly.
There are two main ticket classes for the trains. The first, more expensive option is coupe. Coupe is a sort of closed cabin with 4 beds, two upper and two lower. There's a door that can be closed and locked while you're sleeping. There are almost always other people in the coupe with you, although I did have one 36-hour train ride last summer in a coupe all by myself. (I spent the whole ride worrying whether someone would join me at the next stop.) Peace Corps Volunteers generally agree that you're expected to socialize with your fellow coupe passengers.
Conversely, you're not expected to socialize so much with fellow platscart passengers, even though platscart has more passengers and less privacy. There are no doors, and the aisle is lined with another row of seats/beds. I don't like platscart because the beds are shorter than coupe and my feet stick out into the aisle, and people hit them when they walk past on their way to the bathrooms.
There are two bathrooms in every car, one at each end, although they're not always open. (I think the conductors sometimes keep the bathroom near their coupe locked so only they can use it.) Also, when the train is stopped, the bathrooms are always closed. Why? Well...where do you think the waste goes when you flush the toilet? Yup, you guessed it! Mmmm, mmmm. Train bathrooms (particularly platscart bathrooms) are generally pretty dirty. NEVER sit down on a train toilet. (And I should mention also that the trains are pretty bumpy, and tilt a bit whenever there's a curve in the tracks....use your imagination.)
The conductor comes around about an hour before your station and makes sure everyone's awake. You can buy (instant) coffee or tea, although I rarely do because of the whole bathroom situation. If you rented bedding (sheets, pillowcase, towel), then the conductor collects it. And everyone starts getting ready to depart.
Now, when I get off a train, I generally look like I just spent 18 hours on a train. When a Ukrainian woman gets off a train, she looks as fresh as if she had had a good night's sleep in her own bed and a leisurely morning getting ready for the day. Her makeup is flawless, her hair is perfectly coifed, and her clothes are neat and wrinkle-free. HOW? It's a great mystery. I watch them but I still can't figure it out.
Last week I was in Kyiv for a Language Refresher. Honestly, I don't know how well my Russian was refreshed. I haven't been actively working on it since last June, so I haven't made any great strides. A refresher gathers together most of the Russian-speaking Peace Corps volunteers--there are maybe 100 of us--and gives us about 4 days of language lessons. (One thing about seeing all the new recently-sworn-in volunteers, is that I realized just how good my comprehension is. I understand a LOT.) The problem with this is that, while we may spend the days speaking Russian, the nights are dedicated to English, friends, and beer. (Or vodka or wine, but mostly beer; beer is the cheapest and most readily available.) We get pretty loud, and I always feel sorry for anyone around who's not Peace Corps and has to put up with us.
Anyway, the point of this story has really nothing at all to do with the language refresher. I want to tell you all about my ride back to Crimea, and my conversations with the 3 men I shared my compartment with.
When I got to my compartment, Vyachyeslav Vladimovirovich (nickname Slava, which is way easier to say, even for me)--a retired teacher and soldier in his 50s (age is hard to guess, so he might have been in his 60s)--was sitting with a friend, eating sandwiches and drinking cognac. The friend was just seeing him off, and left a few minutes before the train arrived.
Hello! said Slava and friend. (All conversation in Russian, of course.)
Hello! I said.
We've been waiting for you! said Slava. (This is just a friendly greeting, because of course the seats are assigned and there's no way to know who'll you'll be in a coupe with.)
Introductions follow. Slava wants me to have a sandwich. He wants me to drink some cognac. He wants me to try one of his wife's pickles. (My wife makes the best pickles!) After much negotiating, I compromise and eat one sandwich and half a pickle, but I refuse to try the cognac. It's coming out of a plastic water bottle, and is therefore of unknow quality and potency. Plus, down that road is trouble. I never drink with people on the train.
Next to arrive is Phillipe. He's young (25, if I remember correctly), and he's not going all the way to Simferopol; he'll be getting off at at stop at about 3 in the morning. Phillipe has just eaten, and wouldn't eat any of Slava's food.
Last to arrive is Alexei, who is nicely dressed in a suit and doesn't socialize with us at all. (Though he will join the conversation in the morning.) I should mention that these are the first Slavas, Phillipes, and Alexies I have met in Ukraine. This is rather astonishing--sometimes I feel like there are only 5 names in Ukraine. Every class is populated with boys named Sasha, Dima, Vova, Pasha, and Alosha. So to have THREE new names in my coupe was unexpected.
Slava was very talkative. Usually I read my book on the train, but with Slava around I didn't have a chance. Slava--and Phillipe--wanted to know all about me. Who am I? What am I doing in Ukraine? What do you mean you're not getting paid?!
It was absolutely incomprehensible to Slava that anyone would do such a thing, but eventually he decided it was OK. Slava lives in Yalta, and made me write down his phone number so that I could come visit him in Yalta. I can bring any friends I want to make me feel comfortable, even a boyfriend. (Scandalous!) Surprisingly, I actually think I might call him sometime. It would be interesting.
In the morning, Phillipe was gone and Alexei joined the conversation. This time conversation was all about finances. They wanted to know how much money I got every month. I told them I didn't want to say (major cultural difference here; that sort of thing is regularly talked about here, and it's a little weird that I won't). After some discussion, we determined that Slava's pension is more than my living allowance. (Which means he's got a pretty darn good pension.)
Next we moved on to how I lived in America. I did tell them how much I made there, but then went on to explain how much my apartment was, how much I paid in taxes, how much I paid for my car, how much I paid for school loans. My former salary shrunk to a much less impressive size. Insurance and 401K payments shrunk it further.
The concept of retirement plans took up quite a bit of time. Alexei had some understanding of 401Ks, and that helped. Slava asked, upon hearing that this money was invested in the stock market, What happens if the market goes down? I told him this had happened, and some people lost all their retirement savings.
Social Security was much harder to explain. I really don't think I was at all successful.
The general consensus by the end of the conversation was that life in America is much more difficult/complicated than in Ukraine!