Awkward but done

I have landed on my feet in Moscow, but it was not the smoothest of landings.

I felt a bit like a kid on Christmas when I got on the train in Warsaw.  I had a sleeper compartment all to myself, so lots of room.  I met several fellow passengers because everyone was standing in the passageway and at their doors.  Alexandra and a professor, both teachers at the University in Warsaw, were traveling only as far as Brest, which is in Belarus.  They are there for a week doing some research in their field of geology, although I never understood what exactly.  Philip, who is from Switzerland, was traveling to Moscow for an internship here.  He graduated recently with his bachelor's degree in Eastern European history. I've been reading Fermor's book about his travels in that part of the world, and he throws a lot of historical context into his writing.  Unfortunately I know so very little about it that I cannot discuss it intelligently.  We also talked about the European response to African immigrants, and the political situation in his country. As he expected, I had to admit I knew nothing about Swiss politics.  For my banking friends, he lives in Basel, which is of course where the Basel international banking agreements have been hammered out.

There was no food on the train, but you could get hot water for tea from the car attendant, and when we got to the Belarus/Polish border, some women came on board with large plastic shopping bags to sell bliny and beer. The undercarriage has to be changed there because the rail gauge is different from there east.  We didn't get out, they just raised the car and exchanged the wheels under us.

Border controls were all handled at the Poland/Belarus border and were a bit more involved, as anticipated.  Several people came along and asked questions, and luckily for me, I had a visitor sitting in my compartment at the time who spoke Russian. I had to remove my glasses so that the officer could compare the passport photo, and he asked me about my bags but did not search them.  He found it odd that I was going to Uzbekistan by such a circuitous route but in the end he let it go.

I burrowed in bed later listening to the sound of the train and watching the stars.  The bed was comfortable, and warm, and I half wanted to lie there and just soak it in rather than sleep.

The toilets are somewhere between clean and permanently stinking of urine, but it would be hard to have it otherwise, I think. Oddly enough, it had the first seat covers I have encountered so far on this trip.

Not long after boarding the train, I remembered that Russian that I was going to learn-yikes!  So I spent some time on it, and made myself some cards with common words.  The real difficulty is that the alphabet is different. There are some that are the same or similar enough to work with, such as M, A (ah sound) or O.  Others look the same but have different sounds: r is either a g or v sound, a backwards N is ee, p is r, and so on.  And there are about 15 characters that don't exist on our English keyboard.  Because the metro and most street signs, and directional signs are in the Russian lettering, I have to be able to parse them out.

This led to my first difficulty after leaving the train.  I found the metro station after crossing the street to the wrong side, so I crossed back, then went to get a ticket.  The woman at the counter and I communicated by using our fingers to show I wanted a one ride ticket-there were no signs in English, and there was a crowd, people coming and going.  I was a little overwhelmed, but got the ticket and headed down into the bowels of the earth.  I tried hard to figure out which train to take, but of course took the wrong one.  I knew I was to get off at the second stop, so I did that on the theory that if I had gone astray, I would not have gone too far. I saw an official looking person with a metro map in her hand, so I went to her and pointed to the station I wanted and she indicated I was to get back on the train and retrace my steps, then using her fingers to indicate walking up steps.  She said a lot of other things but I understood nothing except the name of the stop I was to get off at-Belarusky.  I decided to try.  Worst case, I would come out of the Metro and get a taxi, or so I figured.  I went back to Belarusky, got off and went up some steps, just dumbly following the people in front of me.  Turns out it led to another line, which also turned out to be the one I needed.

I found my street but then could not find the hotel. I circled and went back and forth, finally saw a tour business, and figured they would have someone who spoke English, and went in.  There was one woman who did speak a little, and she was very helpful.  She ended up calling the place, and then walked me around the corner, and told me to wait there, and someone would come in  minutes.  Hmmm. And so they did.

This 'hotel' is a converted flat, with several bedrooms and a shared bath. The proprietor was not here (hence the wait) and did not appear to be expecting me.  She made up a bed quickly while I waited.  Moscow's hotel prices average at some of the highest in the world, so I went pretty low budget.  I will try to suspend judgment for now.

So, here I am.  It is overcast and chilly (probably not to Moscovites), and I am off to explore and find some lunch.

another leg

Today/tonight feels like I am entering a new stage on the journey. I have an overnight train to Moscow, the first of a few overnight train rides. I'll be moving two time zones as I go.  Transiting through Belarus, mostly in the dark, I'm afraid. I think this time I'll notice the border crossings, as there will be immigration controls.

Moscow is expected to have a high of 60 (Fahrenheit) today, dropping to around 45 the next few days.

I keep promising photos, hopefully soon!

the indescribable and the everyday

I woke up to rain this morning, and empty early morning streets.  It is Saturday, which I just discovered yesterday.  I had lost track again.  I went for coffee in the Old Town and after a while the sun came out but windy and colder too.

I stood in line for tickets to see the Castle, and felt a little sorry for the people just in front of me.  Having been out in the wind, and with my cold still in full bloom, I was glad that I wouldn't see them again.

I sat in St. Anne's church waiting for an organ concert, writing these notes.  Koncert na Barokowych Organach-which I take to mean a baroque organ concert.  Church is Kosciola (the l has a slash across it, and the s an accent above it).

Yesterday I went to a museum and it was full of paintings, mostly 17th and 18th century creations.  Not being any kind of art history student, I just looked and admired the ones I liked. I felt rather like a philistine, but since my host spoke no English and I no Polish, my lack went undetected, I think.  He left me alone, after having unlocked doors and turned on lights.  I was the only person there.  I often could not see the paintings due to the glare from the lights.  Even more surprising was that I could walk right up and touch centuries old paintings (I only did this once, to see if it would set off an alarm or bring the doorkeeper running).

There was a hard to find remnant of the wall that formed the Jewish ghetto during WW II.  It is tucked away in the back of a parking lot and bookended by two apartment buildings.  I placed my hand on the wall and imagined life inside it.  I cannot, really, but neither can I ignore it.

There are so few Jews remaining in Warsaw, thanks to both Hitler and the Russians (many who survived the war were made to move by the Russians afterward).  There seems to be no one left to remember their history here.

Warsaw's story as a whole is powerful and impressive.  Hitler was determined to annihilate this city and its inhabitants so that nothing would be left for them to rebuild on, or for the enemy to use in the event of a need to retreat.  I had read of, but forgotten the Warsaw Rising, or rebellion, fought by under supplied and poorly armed members of the resistance, holding out for months against everything Hitler's army could throw against them.  They were undercut by Russian refusal to support or supply them, and eventually Russia imprisoned and even executed many of the survivors.  I am assuming that they knew they were dangerous to them as they had  been to Hitler.  There was an underground Polish government all through the war, including the army, and even courts.

The losses sustained here are astounding.  I have seen photos of the city reduced to rubble, and I do not know how they began to rebuild.

I stumbled on a market, situated inside and around what looks like an old hall.  I found a man selling honey but we could not communicate so that I could find out where it was from.  It was being sold in glass jars, with the price stuck on a hand-written label and re-used lids.

At another stall, a young woman was ladling something into bowls in small portions and I asked her what it was.  She called her neighbor over to talk to me.  She explained that it was a meat mixture wrapped in cooked cabbage-well actually she said it was meat, and salad, the closest she could come to cabbage in English.  But I got the idea, and asked for a sample. It had some sort of tomato based sauce poured over it, and it was delicious.

There were other stalls-rows of vegetable stalls, eggs, a stall with a huge barrel of sauerkraut, and pickles, comic books, meat of all kinds, socks and underwear, and many others. In front of the building there were dozens of flower stalls.

I stopped in another store and made a small purchase, but could not understand how much to pay.  So I held out my hand with my zlotys and the woman at the register reached over and selected what she needed.  Like Euros, there are 5, 2, and 1 zloty coins, plus something like 50, 20, 10 , 5, 2 and 1 cent coins.  I'm accumulating a mass of the smaller ones, unfortunately.  When change is given, it is not placed in your palm, but in a rounded out tray on the counter and you pick it up from there.

I got word today that my train ticket from Urumqi, China to the border has been arranged.  I am to receive instructions, plus some sort of printout that will assist me at the station with a presumably non-English speaking ticket agent via email.  My only challenge will be to find a printer between here and there.

wherever you go, there you are

A funny thing about travel, you take yourself with you.  It seems as though a stranger coming into a new situation should have an objective viewpoint from which to make reliable observations.  Not so, because it is all colored by ones's own biases, mood, and even physical surroundings.

Like most humans, I suspect, I am a mixture of things.  While I am independent and value autonomy and time alone, I also value social and intellectual discourse and meaningful human interaction.  The everyday civilities grease the skids of life, and observation of kindness of a stranger to another, often given reflexively and without possible return fills my insides with warmth and gives me hope for humanity.

But I come to these new experiences with pre-formed ideas about what those things look like, and I am either disappointed or surprised as a result when things are not as expected. This stirring of the pot is a good thing, I know, however uncomfortable it may be at the time.  It turns out the heaviest baggage I carry is within.

Warsaw by light of day

I have the feeling of moving to a more remote and slightly less amenable place.  No greeting unless doing business with me, and then no smile.  I have been warned to carry my bag in front, watch for theft more times in the half day I have been here than in all the days in Berlin, London or in Belgium.  I am assuming they speak the truth.

Going to change money felt a bit like a smuggler's run.  Yesterday my host accompanied me to a money changer so I could pay him in Zlotys, the Polish currency.  Today I went back and changed the rest of my Euros and some dollars for some Russian rubles.  Seemed like a lot of money to get back 8,000 rubles, but once converted to dollars, it is not so much. So now I have dollars, zlotys and rubles.  I have had to make a separate place for each type of currency so I don't pull out the wrong kind.

The sense of personal space appears to be shrinking too as I move east, which I was forewarned about.  It felt odd to have strangers come up directly behind me as I stood at the money exchange counter, and when walking down the street, it is nothing to bump and be bumped, with no acknowledgement forthcoming.  I have to remember not to take offense when clipped from behind and then ignored.  It's just the way of things.

I am going to try to describe the underground warren of life here in a future post, along with the extensive indoor space above ground.  I have to assume it comes of long harsh winters, but I do not know.  It may be that the underground is a result of the Second World War, I will try to find out.

I've started talking to myself

There is no "All aboard!" announcement, no whistle.  When departure time comes, the train just quietly rolls out of the station.  There are multiple train companies operating various local and long distance lines throughout Europe, which makes train travel easy.  Today I was traveling on Polrail, from Berlin to Warsaw.  I was in 2nd class, in a 6 person compartment.  We sat 3 x 3, and I got what for me was the best possible seat-by the window, and facing the direction of travel.

The woman across from me seemed rather cross, doing a lot of rustling about, establishing her foot space, etc.  But I was excited about the trip, and undaunted by her mutterings. And if I am honest, I must say that I readily pushed back when she stepped on my toes.  We traveled east out of Berlin, retracing my trip from my hostel in the morning.  Before long we were past the city, and while I tried, I could not tell when we entered Poland.  The first indication was a station sign in Polish seen out the window.

After a while I worked up the nerve to explore, and found a delightful cafe car.  I sat at a table for two, ate breakfast and watched the world go by. Back at the compartment, all was not bliss.  Ms Grumpy had apparently been on the phone for quite a while (and continued to be).  The man sitting by the door grimaced and told me she was being rude by not stepping out in the corridor.

Traveling where you do not know the language is both isolating and insulating.  I can happily ignore the conductor's announcements, but I cannot ask questions about what I am seeing, which means I miss out on some things.

We rolled by forests, ponds and mysterious paths along the way, remote overpasses covered in graffiti.  There were fields and farms, streams and marshes, and I tried hard to capture them in my mind.  I wished to ask about the weather and the crops.  I saw corn ready for harvest, some stubble where it already had been, fields of cabbages and other things I could not name.  But I also saw fields with what looked like newly started cabbage, and some that must surely be winter wheat still green and new.  I wonder when they get a frost, I would have thought it would be soon. Scarecrows in a fenced in garden, cows in the pasture, and farmhouses with their requisite outbuildings sprinkled about could have been anywhere in the upper Midwest.  Marlene, you would feel right at home, I think.

I tried hard to stay awake, knowing it is unlikely I will ever pass this way again. I have been advised by several people that I should go to Krakow, because Warsaw was nearly bombed to the ground by Hitler, and therefore there are not a lot of historical buildings left here.  Part of me regrets that I am not going, and another reminds myself that there are things I will miss.  I need a few more lifetimes.

This made me wonder though, about how we assign value to places to visit.  What about history, about antiquity draws us? Even people who expressly say they do not like history tend to like to see the pyramids in Cairo, or the medieval city in Krakow.  I wonder. Out loud sometimes.

I have a small studio apartment to myself here, which is nice because I can do laundry, and do some organizing for the next stage of the journey, without having to think about locking it all away when I go out.  My instructions, received via email, were to walk toward the Iintercontinental Hotel, then turn down the street next to it that had a neon Museum sign, and then it gave me the address. I had to ask for the hotel, but the rest was as promised.  When I rounded the corner at the Museum sign, I saw a man standing down at the corner, and I wondered if he was watching for me.  I had mentioned that I had a backpack in my email, so he approached me.  Funny way to check in.  I am at Starbucks now, because my little place does not have internet.  I am going for some dinner in a while and then back to my temporary home, and hope the rain is cleared tomorrow. I actually don't know what time it is here, but I will soon.

Wrapping up Berlin

Yesterday, my final day in Berlin, I went to Hermanstrasse, where Clay and his family lived over 25 years ago.  I got off at the wrong U bahn stop, but with a little help, I found Hermanstrasse, and saw that I was in the 100 block.  Since my goal was in the 200's, I was sure I was close.  It turns out that the numbering, at least in this neighborhood, is quite different. Each block included approximately four numbers, such as 116-120.  When I realized this, I knew I had a bit further to go than I expected.   Each side of the street seemed to have its own sequence going on: on my side I might be in the 120 rancge and the other side would be 79-82.  I never did figure out the order, but eventually found the right address. 

It, like all of Berlin that I have seen, is clean, the sidewalks are wide, with a lane for bicycles and for pedestrians.  Lots of small shops on the ground floor, and residential flats above them.  Because I walked quite a way down Hermanstrasse, I was able to see the neighborhood shift, both in terms of affluence and ethnicity.  That too was interesting.  Clay's old neighborhood had a lot of kebap shops, about half of the women were either head scarved or more, with a sprinkling of Germans thrown in.  I tried to get in the building where Clay had lived but the door was locked.  So I wandered, taking pictures, and trying to visualize life for Clay and Mary Kay, in the military, with three small children and 5 flights of stairs to climb to their flat.  Eventually I came back to the door just as a young woman was leaving, but I missed catching it, so I asked her to open it for me, that I needed to get to the top flat.  She looked a bit nervous about it, but I tried to act nonchalant, and something worked-she opened it even as she said she wasn't sure if she should.  I just thanked her and went in before she could change her mind.

Afterward I wandered some more, at each turn finding new things to explore.  I am glad that errand took me out to that neighborhood, as a result of it I saw a part of Berlin I would not have.  I remain amazed at how clean this city is.  People not only do not litter, they pick it up if someone else does.  I know I am generalizing, and on very slight information.  But each place one goes to seems to have a feel or a vibe of its own.  And this city feels safe and orderly.  People do jaywalk, but only in lesser traveled streets.  They use the bike lanes, and the bikes do not run the lights.  Last night in the dark as I took my sore feet home, I saw a bicyclist drop their U-lock in the middle of the intersection.  Another bicyclist stopped to retrieve it for him. 

I am not sure if all this order is a good idea, it scares me a little.  Then again, as a traveler, I am not sure I have ever felt more secure as I walked around.  Too little time to tell.

As Clay said in his comment, this city is alive, there is a lot going on.  I got to very little in the way of museums, and I regret that.  There is an area near here called Museum Island, with incredible old buildings and gardens, bridges across the river, sculpture and other public art.  One could spend days there.  I am told the nightlife is great, but I was always too tired to find out.  Besides, I would never get past face control. 

I had a package to mail, so in the afternoon I went to the post office.  As in London, the post office seems to also function as a lower end bank and provides other services as well. I had been a little nervous about getting a package posted but by this time, I knew that the Germans would have a system, as they seem to have one for everything.  And once I had the correct form completed, I was done and out in the time it would have taken me to post a package from Santa Rosa to Ohio.

I am off to the train this morning, to Warsaw.  Speaking of trains, the one from Cologne to Berlin showed the speed of the train from time to time on the screen that was also used to announce stations.  The fastest I saw was 246 km/hr.  Whoosh.  See you when they spit me out the other end.