Little did I suspect that my three-day
train trip to Moscow would turn into an adventure of epic proportions.
Dear Friends:
This year my KROK article will be in two parts. This episode is about my
train trip to KROK so even if you are not interested in Animation (which I
can not possible imagine) I think that you will enjoy the story of my
travels. The Festival article will follow in a seperate e-mail as will
photos of the trip and festival.
Hope this finds all of you well, that you had as wonderful a summer as I
did.
Nancy
PS Nik's comment about this whole thing was "I'm certainly glad I wasn't
there."
----
KROK - GETTING THERE WITH FRAN KAFKA WAS HALF THE FUN? By Nancy
Denney-Phelps
On Saturday, August 5th as I sat at the window of the train in Gent,
Belgium, waving goodbye to Nik, I was full of thoughts of KROK, my favorite
international animation festival. Little did I suspect that my three-day
train trip to Moscow would turn into an adventure of epic proportions.
The first leg to Cologne, Germany was uneventful. At 10:00 PM I changed
trains to the sleeper car that was supposed to take me straight to my 10:00
AM Monday arrival in Moscow. I had every expectation of arriving at Dom
Kino, the Russian KROK headquarters, in plenty of time for the six-hour bus
ride from Moscow to where we would board our boat Marshall Zhukov. (KROK
is an animation festival held in alternate years on boats that travel either
down rivers in Russia or Ukraine.)
My sleeper car companion was a lovely young girl from Minsk, Belarus on her
way home from Germany where she had been studying. We shared our food, wine
and good conversation while watching Germany whiz by. Eastern European
trains do not have dining or club cars and so everyone brings food and drink
that is shared in the cabin.
Sunday morning dawned on the lush Polish countryside while we drank steaming
mugs of tea. Each train car has a samovar with boiling water and you can
have all of the tea that you want. At the Polish/Belarus border passport
inspectors collected all of our passports. I always have a sinking feeling
when I see my identification papers disappear in the hands of a uniform with
guns and this guy definitely did not look like the Belarus welcoming
committee. After a few minutes, my companion's papers were returned to her.
After quite a wait I was told to bring my luggage and follow two border
guards (with even bigger guns!!!) off of the train.
No one spoke any English except my Belarus companion, Mariya explained that
I had an official invitation from the Russian government to attend an
animation festival and that I had to be in Moscow by the next evening or I
would miss the bus to Nizhniy Novgorod to catch the boat. Her pleas fell on
deaf ears and I was marched off the train to the passport inspection office
where I was told to sit on the bench while Mariuya and my passport
disappeared into the little room. After what seemed like an eternity,
Mariuya emerged and explained that unfortunately there was nothing that she
could do and the officials had refused to telephone the KROK office. I did
not have a Belarus Transit Visa to travel across their country and I must go
back to Poland on the next train and obtain the visa at the Belarus
Consulate. After a heartfelt goodbye, Mariuya went back to the train and I
returned to my wooden bench.
For the first time I noticed a young girl in tears sitting on the other end
of the bench. After what seemed like hours an official came and motioned to
a young man with a large backpack and to the two of us to follow him. With
our passports finally firmly in our hands, the three of us boarded a train
to Terespol, Poland. Mariuya had given me a slip of paper with the name of
the town where the Belarus Consulate was located. She had instructed me to
get a taxi to take me there and had assured me that my ticket would be
honored on a train back across the frontier as soon as I had my transit
visa.
My companions were Anna, a 17-year-old Czech student on her way to St.
Petersburg to help with restoration work on a monastery, and Anton, a young
Parisian photographer who was starting a two-month holiday to Russia to
improve his language skills. Mariuya had assured me that acquiring the
transit visa was a simple matter so the three of us felt that we would be on
our way again in a couple of hours.
Back in Poland, Anna and Anton's Russian secured us a taxi driver who was
more than happy to take us to the Consulate that was in the next town. En
route, the driver asked if we had telephoned ahead to let them know that we
were coming. When we said no he whipped out his cell phone and speed dialed
them only to tell us that it was Sunday (all three of us had forgotten what
day it was - train travel seems to do that to you) and that we would not be
able to get our visas until 9 AM Monday.
Being the kind, considerate taxi driver that he was he offered to take us to
a hotel. None of us wanted to spend the money but there didn't seem to be
any other choice since we were halfway between towns in the middle of
nowhere. The tourist camp turned out to be really lovely and only 20 Euros
each for a nice cabin with three beds and a good hot shower. There was a
green lawn, shade trees and a large group of German tourists in RV's.
Our first order of business was to try to contact the people expecting us at
the other end of the train tracks. Of course, the tourist camp only had one
phone card left. Anton got through to his friend and I had just gotten the
KROK office when the card ran out. (My cell phone never worked in Poland and
Belarus although it was fine in Russia.) After a futile walk looking for a
place to purchase another phone card, we decided that we might as well just
enjoy the evening. Pooling our food and the beer that we bought at the camp
restaurant, we had a lovely picnic on the lawn in front of our cabin. I was
in very good company and the three of us had a lovely evening as we got to
know each other. Anna, who is from a very small village, had never traveled
without her family before. She finally began to relax.
At exactly 8 the next morning our driver showed up and off we went. This
was when we learned that the consol office was 45 kilometers from the train
station!!! Just before we reached the office our "very helpful" driver asked
if we had passport photos for our visa application, which Anton and I did
not have. Out came his cell phone and a call was placed to a photographer
who was willing to open up and accommodate us. For only 35 Euros each we now
had four tiny passport photos!
At the consulate, we were heartened when Anna was charged 25 Euros for her
visa. Next was Anton's turn and he was charged 45 Euros. Finally, it was my
turn. We were astonished and outraged when I was told that a transit visa
for an American was 430 American dollars (no Euros)!!! I had no choice. I
couldn't get to Moscow without it. I was instructed to go to the bank and
of course, our helpful driver knew exactly where to take us. The bank balked
at taking my credit card until the ever-helpful driver said something to
them in Polish. Then it was back to the consulate with proof of payments. At
last, our passports were put back in our hands with the needed visas.
After only 5 hours we are back at the train station. Our helpful driver
turned slimy when we balked at paying him $177.00 US (even though the dollar
is worth less than the Euro, Eastern Europeans still want dollars). He
would not bargain or unlock the trunk to give us our luggage. When we said
that we didn't have that much money he turned to me and said in Russian,
"She has a plastic card. I will take her to the bank to get cash!" After we
finally scraped together the money in Euros and dollars, the trunk was
opened. Instead of taking our luggage out, he just stood there glaring
with his arms crossed over his chest. Goodbye slimy (and now rich) driver.
We were now 24 hours behind schedule. When I finally got through to the KROK
office I was told I could meet the boat in Perm on Friday. That would be the
first place it would dock for any length of time. Before I had time to let
this soak in we were faced with our next hurdle. We cannot just get on an
express train to Moscow/St. Petersburg that stops in Terespol. Our tickets
only allow us to take the local train back to Breist, Belarus where we can
catch an express to Moscow. Of course, the local won't come until 5:00 PM.
When we tried to get on an express train headed for Russia a young police
guard turned us back with his rifle when we tried to approach a train. A
half-hour before the local left, we were sitting on a bench when we noticed
two women on the local watching us very suspiciously out of the window. They
were on board, so we decided to get on board. A third woman saw us and told us
to stay off in no uncertain terms - NYET, NYET!!! Then we see two women
running through the train, standing on seats, and throwing tightly wrapped
plastic packages of uniform size out of the train windows to another woman.
This went on for 10 minutes. Then the rest of the passengers were allowed to
board. There was no way to miss the ripped-apart ceiling panels that the
women had not bothered to put back up. To our surprise, the two women were
sitting in our car chatting like old friends with the border guard who was
checking all of our passports. They were obviously regulars on this line! It
is such a comfort to know that now that Poland has become an EU country they
have refined extortion, smuggling and corruption to a fine art!!!
Back in Briest late Monday afternoon, 3 days after this misadventure began,
we were told our tickets to Moscow/St. Petersburg were no longer good. Our
pleas fell on deaf ears so we will have to buy new tickets. Anton and I
purchased berths for 5:55 AM (ah yes, yet more money flying away), but Anna
was told that she would have to come back at 3:00 AM to see if she could get a
ticket on our train. We adjourned to a picnic on the train station porch
and moved inside at dusk where we took turns watching our luggage while the
other two tried to take catnaps.
At 2 AM the empty waiting room is suddenly bursting with people, Jehovah's
Witnesses returning from a weeklong 70 thousand person strong convention.
And who should find the three of us? The English-speaking Witness with
4 hours still to go and nowhere for us to move to. We had decided earlier
that evening that we were all in this together. Anton and I were definitely
not going to leave Anna in Briest, so we took turns politely listening to
the Witness who was sure he had three ripe converts. There was no escaping!
At 3 AM Anna and Anton went to get her ticket while I watched the luggage
and did Witness duty. No one was at the ticket window. Same story at 3:30.
My optimism was being strained to its limits. At 4 AM they returned with the
coveted ticket in hand so we settled down to wait for our train. We boarded
the train with a tearful goodbye to Anna who would be riding in the second
half of the train that would split off to St. Petersburg at Minsk. Anton and
I would share a four-berth sleeper with two Russian women. I immediately
fall into a deep sleep and wake the next morning to the beautiful Russian
countryside, birch trees and wildflowers. Our two companions were very
nice, and spoke no English, but with Anton's Russian and his dictionary, we
managed to communicate. When they approached the subject of Jehovah's
Witnesses and we did not respond with enthusiasm they had the good manners
not to push the issue.
Travel note: People on Eastern European trains wear clothing that you would
not be caught dead in in other situations. Anything goes from boxer shorts
with flannel shirts and bedroom slippers to outfits that defy description,
but since you will be in your compartment for two or three days with nowhere to go except outside for the brief stops and you cannot get to your
luggage because there is no room to open it, comfort is the word and it is
perfectly acceptable to get off at stops in whatever you are attired in.
Tuesday Anton and I arrived in Moscow exhausted and hungry. He tried to
call friends, but they had left that morning. Everyone I knew in the city
was floating down the river on the KROK boat. He tried to book space at a
youth hostel on the floor, but they had no more floor space available. We
opted for a room too exhausted to think about the 30 Euros it would cost us.
After a very long nap, we took to the streets for an all-night walk around
Moscow. I love the city and Anton had never been there before so it was a
perfect evening, tromping through areas of Moscow that I had never seen. We
ended up in Red Square with the sun coming up over St. Basils and Lenin's
tomb.
On Wednesday the only order of business was to get our tickets booked for
the next leg of our journeys. I was determined to get to Perm to meet the
KROK boat on Friday. Anton was going on to St. Petersburg.
Nothing in Russia is ever easy, but with the help of a very nice Russian who
now lives in Cleveland, Ohio and was on his way to visit his family in
Belarus we got our tickets. We did not tell him about our Belarus
adventures. After all, he was helping us, was very nice, and it wasn't his
fault. Unfortunately, there were only first-class tickets left so I bit the
bullet and out the window flew more precious cash. The evening brought
another all-night walk around Moscow.
Thursday morning I said a sad farewell to Anton who had been so kind to me.
He had changed his plans so that I would not be stranded alone in Moscow and
carted my luggage everywhere for me. We had become such good friends in the
last three days that I knew we would see each other again. In fact, he plans
to come to Gent for a visit on his way back to Paris.
My first-class ticket turned out to be my worst accommodation yet, a
four-person sleeper coach with NO amenities. The man and woman that I shared
the compartment with spoke no English, but between shared food, vodka and
wine, we communicated beautifully by drawing pictures for each other for 20
hours.
Arriving in Perm, a city of 1 million people, I pondered how to find the
boat. I saw two young guys with long hair at the train station and asked
for info on how to get to the docks. They immediately knew what KROK was
and offered to take me there. KROK is a very important event in Russia and
the Ukraine and the cities it visits have official boat welcoming events with
local officials and traditional dancers. We arrived just as the boat docked.
They toted my heavy bag up to the third deck KROK office where I was warmly
greeted with "What, no husband but two handsome young Russian boys! How did
you do that?" One of the young men is an artist and he returned that evening
with a gift of a lovely painting for me.
At the traditional KROK Carnival, my group was honored with a prize for
re-creating my travel adventures. A good-looking Israeli played the handsome
Parisian photographer, an Israeli and a Russian played the two adorable
young Russians and my long-time friend and translator on the boat, Anton
Yakovina, doubled as the passport inspector and slimy cab driver.
Throughout my entire adventure, I met wonderful people, many speaking no
English who were generous in every way and did everything that they could to
help me. Despite the few bad, and costly, encounters my faith in human
nature was rewarded and despite my desire to be at KROK it was a glorious
adventure that I will never forget!!!!
My trip back to Gent was uneventful but nice. For three days and two nights
I shared a sleeping cabinet with two young Moslem men from Chechnya who live
in Germany and had been visiting family. They practiced their English on me
and taught me three Chechnyan - Arabic words for hello, --- (Everyone who
knows my language skills should be very impressed with this!!!)
I can hardly wait for my next rail adventure.
