Profile
Blog
Photos
Videos
<!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:1; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-format:other; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:0 0 0 0 0 0;} @font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-1610611985 1073750139 0 0 159 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin-top:0cm; margin-right:0cm; margin-bottom:10.0pt; margin-left:0cm; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} .MsoPapDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; margin-bottom:10.0pt; line-height:115%;} @page Section1 {size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:72.0pt 72.0pt 72.0pt 72.0pt; mso-header-margin:36.0pt; mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} -->
Crossing back meant more border officials, possibly my most favourite people in the world.The Ukrainian side was managed without too much trouble and so it was the turn of the Polish again.After this I was back in Schengen and virtually home free.The officials shuffled their way down the corridor, one stopping at my compartment.I produced my passport and watched him go through the mental checklist, name; fine, date of birth; fine, nationality; fine.He looked at the photo, he looked at me.He frowned.He looked at the photo, he looked at me.He got upset.b*****.I went through the usual drill of producing extra cards and documents to corroborate my passport, gesturing and smiling, but he was unmoved.I reached for the boiled sweets; a diplomatic gesture was required and you can get away with anything with a packet of sweets and a cheeky smile.He turned down the sweets, bad.He shouted for his colleagues to join him, very bad.He pointed me out to them and I became the centre of attention, a multitude of glares raining down on me.He pointed at my photo then looked around at the others.He giggled, the cue for the rest to join in as well.Sigh, just humiliation again then, at least I wasn't being thrown out of the country.
My timetable advertised a train straight from Przemysl all day and all night to Prague.I had no chance to make a reservation and went on with just my pass, hoping the guard didn't know a reservation was compulsory.He didn't, but with a massive influx at Krakow, the train filled and my seat's rightful owner arrived to claim it.Still, it gave me a chance to find the conductor and reserve a bed for the night, which really was compulsory.I found his cabin and armed with my timetable, tried to explain what I wanted.He took my timetable and frowned at it and my explanatory highlights."No" he said, handing it back.I pressed for further explanation and pointed down at the train and said "Katowice", along with a decisive gesture.Ah, the train terminated at Katowice then, nowhere near Prague.I knew nothing about Katowice and unless I could find an alternative, the train station bench beckoned for the night.My timetable advised an overnighter to Prague, but it had already lied to me once today.Getting off at Katowice though, it was my only chance.Again, it was the third booth before the babushka understood my pointing at the book.Success though, for a small supplement I was booked onto the 'Chopin'.She asked if I wanted a bunk or a couchette; not a difficult choice since one was a bed where some semblance of rest was possible and the other was a glorified chair.I'd never actually tried a couchette, but that was because I liked myself too much, in much the same way as I didn't try sako, anUkrainian snack of salted pig fat covered in chocolate.The answer was obvious, "Couchette" I heard myself say.Oh, why...
- comments