Day 4: Goodbye Comfort Zone, Hello Eastern Europe

For most of Thursday, all of Friday and half of yesterday, I have been on the rails. First was a two hour journey from Brussels to Cologne and then, after a two hour break, a thirty six hour journey (including two nights) on a sleeper to Moscow.

The Brussels to Cologne train was excellent. Spacious, clean, quiet, fast, excellent décor and a restaurant carriage that served fantastic cuisine and a wide choice of German beers in real glasses. It was a delight to lean on the oval table and watch Belgium fly by.

I asked the man opposite to help me film a piece to camera. His name was Pieter and I could tell from the moment I saw him that he was a technical geek. As soon as arrived in the restaurant car, he unloaded his gadgets from his bag. Blackberry, iPhone, camera, and his bag obviously contained a laptop. His archaic pony tail and carelessly chosen clothes were complemented by his know-it-all facial expression.

Anyway, he was helpful and made a pretty good job of the task. Another guy joined us straight afterwards and was intrigued by the film. Gerhardt was artistically dressed in black, about 55, grey haired and, like Pieter, spoke exceptional English. We shared weissbier and banter for the next two hours. We whined about the British railways, politics, the madness of privatisation, and gave our perspectives on cultural differences, the amazing advances in technology and, of course, travel.

Gerhardt was changing trains at Koln and then going to Bonn, but he offered to show me a little of the city. Gerhardt asked me what I wanted and I said ‘something typically German.’ So he took me to a very busy restaurant called Fruh (or ‘early’, in English.)

Gerhardt attracted the attention of a swaggering, stumpy-legged, dark haired waiter. He thrust a menu at me, which I passed straight to Gerhardt. As he pondered, another waiter arrived carrying a round tray of slender beer glasses. Two were put in front of us and Gerhardt explained that you will get a replacement unless you say otherwise. They were only 200 ml and rather weak, so there was no fear of getting sufficiently drunk to miss my train.

Dinner was meatloaf with fried potatoes and onions, and ham hock with mashed potatoes and sauerkraut. The balmy evening and the good natured hubbub of the outdoor restaurant was the perfect complement to Gerhardt’s hospitality and company. He had the breadth of knowledge that only writers have. Interested in everything, and totally engaging, it was a real pity to say goodbye. He walked me back to the station, to the platform and he even found which part of the platform I should stand to get on the carriage to Moscow. As the train arrived, we shook hands and vowed to stay in touch.

Finding my sleeping compartment killed my elation. The train would be divided at some point in the night; some sleeping carriages would go to Prague, some to Copenhagen and some east to Russia. There was a huge difference in the standard of accommodation, and guess who got the very short straw?

It began chaotically. I pushed my way along the corridor as a succession of very large Russians pushed in the opposite direction. I suspect they had carried luggage onto the train for family members and we now desperate to get off before the train left.

I found berth 35 in a compartment of about three metres by two metres. Nothing wrong with the size and the décor was redolent of British Rail circa 1960s. I expected to be sharing with one other person and one person, a Luxembourger called Janos dressed in denim and a striped shirt, casually came into the compartment. We introduced each other and seem comfortable that we would be room mates.

Immediately, two Russian women appeared, waving tickets, pointing at us both and pushing bags into the limited space. The younger woman had two massive warts, one on the right side of her nose and the other on her chin. She also had a moustache. But apart from these blemishes, she was rather attractive. The older woman was shorter, rounder and had no warts. Then a young boy of about 11 appeared and then the surly, short train attendant.

They all spoke frantic Russian at Janos and I, and neither of us understood a word. The woman with the warts – Natalia – translated for us. Her boy is booked in this room which either means there will be three of us, there are three bunks, or Janos or I are in the wrong place. The attendant looked at all the tickets, pointed at Janos, said something officious in Russian and flicked up five fingers twice. Natalia confirmed; ‘You are in room 55 and my boy sleeps with the bald man.’

Natalia moved in two huge bags and I decided to get on the right side of her by hositing them onto the luggage rack. It turned out that Eddie – the boy – speaks some English, albeit in a Borat-style accent. His standard response to a question from me is ‘Ye-airrr-ss.’ He was OK as a room mate. He translated if someone pops their head around the door, and he obligingly hung up my jacket and showed me how everything worked. Not that there were many things to work. The 1950s style switch with a speaker showing musical notes didn't work; the sink seemed to drain water but the tap merely dribbled and the temperature switch appeared to make no difference whatsoever. The thermometer said 40 degrees.

Eddie told me that he, his mum and grandma have been to Paris and they went to Disneyland. He is obsessed by the Pirates of the Caribbean movie and had an annoying habit of droning on about the plot of the film. He did it three times over the course of the next 36 hours and each time, I politely stopped him and suggested he go see how mum and granny are. Thankfully he did. He also freaked me out a little because he looked like the boy from the Adams Family and has his mother’s moustache.

I climbed into my bunk at around midnight and was suddenly struck by the enormity of what I am doing. The single ticket, the twenty one day journey, travelling through countries I have never visited before, the tedium and claustrophobia of trains, being with strangers, not being at home, having no job and having no idea of what happens when I get to Taiwan.

I became very anxious. I tossed and turned and sweated, even though the compartment was not hot. I eventually got to sleep at, I guess at around three-ish. My comfort zone was being severely stretched but, as I reminded myself the next morning, that is one of the reasons I am doing this trip.