Train to Kiev

Matt and I would say that we're what you call 'Train People.' We love them. You always feel like you're getting somewhere, because when you look outside, things are continually speeding by you, no matter what time of day.


However, there is just one thing that doesn't quite gel with our personalities, and that is: TRAINS RUN ON TIME! They depart and arrive on time. There's no ifs, ands or (especially) buts. Now, in our A.D.D. world of tra-la-la, we tend to miss this very large characteristic of our beloved trains. May 29th (Andrea's B-day/Daniese's Wedding Anniversary) was such a case.


We left an hour early to the Moscow train station, carefully planning out our route via the Metro, so that we would arrive a responsible 45 minutes prior to departure. Which in turn would give us plenty of time to print our tickets and find the proper track - in theory. We, however, are tourists and don't account for the massive droves of people bottle-necking their way through the station during rush hour. It was so congested, that I had to hold onto Matt's pack like a baby elephant holds onto its mother's tail.


We successfully weaved our way underground and popped out right in front of the train station - Hooray! And then DONCHE! Where do we print our tickets? "Its-be-neet-ze-a, va ga-va-reech-e pan glee-skee?" (Excuse me, do you speak English?) After about 30 minutes of this, various sign language, running up and down stairs like mules with full packs of snacks and juice, we managed to figure out what track was OUR track to glorious 'Kneb' (Kiev).


"Matt! Drop the packs and run to find the ticket kiosks to print the boarding passes!" So, off he went with all his courage and Dawn's gift of energy. After checking my watch repeatedly, his powder blue shirt emerged from the crowds only 5 minutes before the train was supposed to leave the station, our tickets waving in his hand.


Thank you, Lord! We made it on, and sat at our seats in a heap of sweat. Delish!


In another turn of events, someone forgot to tell us that when you're on an overnight sleeper train crossing the border to another country, the car steward will wake you up (twice) during an already fitful sleep. Once, by the Russian border patrol as we are about to breach the border, and once by the Ukrainian border patrol after we've crossed.


Matt had just drifted off to sleep both times (12:30am & 3:30am) when the cheerful steward tapped him on the foot. Poor guy, he didn't know who he was dealing with - the world's deepest sleeper. To be honest, it was a little daunting when you're half awake, being interrogated by an officer with a very stern hat, lying in bed with only a sheet between them and your skivvies.