By Elizabeth Kotz
Riding in a cramped train car with relative strangers is as much a part of the Eastern European “experience” as getting ripped off by taxi drivers or accidentally sampling beef tripe soup. One inevitably finds the seats covered in a pattern eerily reminiscent of bacteria or flagellum, that is, if they are cushioned. Hopefully you remembered to use the restroom before entering the train- I don’t think I need to go into too much graphic detail here; aboard a shaking, speeding (vodka-powered) locomotive “accidents” are a regular occurrence. Commie TP only goes so far on nine-hour trips to Gdansk.
Because train travel is a customary routine for most Eastern Europeans, it only makes sense that this mode of transportation allows an intimate, voyeuristic peek into their lives. Sitting across from a middle-aged woman one is prone to observe her carefully selected train-slippers, the brand of cigarettes she smokes, what she orders from the snack cart. As the car whips past houses and apartments, one can easily imagine her life here- maybe her husband works in that factory, maybe her brother goes to that technical school. Her grandparents might have lived their whole lives on that farm. From a train window one is witness to the changing seasons, as well as the changing Eastern European landscape. Castles sit down the street from 100x Billa supermarkets. Train travel has a universal, timeless appeal- while riding the rails it is easy to forget which era one lives in; people have been enjoying Czech Budweiser Budvar in dining cars since the 19th century. Take an overnight train and unlock the heart of Eastern Europe- one bowl of flaczki at a time.
Riding in a cramped train car with relative strangers is as much a part of the Eastern European “experience” as getting ripped off by taxi drivers or accidentally sampling beef tripe soup. One inevitably finds the seats covered in a pattern eerily reminiscent of bacteria or flagellum, that is, if they are cushioned. Hopefully you remembered to use the restroom before entering the train- I don’t think I need to go into too much graphic detail here; aboard a shaking, speeding (vodka-powered) locomotive “accidents” are a regular occurrence. Commie TP only goes so far on nine-hour trips to Gdansk.
Because train travel is a customary routine for most Eastern Europeans, it only makes sense that this mode of transportation allows an intimate, voyeuristic peek into their lives. Sitting across from a middle-aged woman one is prone to observe her carefully selected train-slippers, the brand of cigarettes she smokes, what she orders from the snack cart. As the car whips past houses and apartments, one can easily imagine her life here- maybe her husband works in that factory, maybe her brother goes to that technical school. Her grandparents might have lived their whole lives on that farm. From a train window one is witness to the changing seasons, as well as the changing Eastern European landscape. Castles sit down the street from 100x Billa supermarkets. Train travel has a universal, timeless appeal- while riding the rails it is easy to forget which era one lives in; people have been enjoying Czech Budweiser Budvar in dining cars since the 19th century. Take an overnight train and unlock the heart of Eastern Europe- one bowl of flaczki at a time.
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