I am supposed to be writing about Zagreb and Budapest right now, but more of (especially) the latter later as the last 48 hours or so requires some telling. You know those moments of sudden and brutal clarity where a mood can swing from calm repose to deep, pant-filling panic? Well, I had one on Friday night and it was rather unpleasant (pants weren’t actually filled I hasten to add, which was good as travelling light we only have a limited supply).
Anyway, there we were on the train to Warsaw speeding happily through the Polish countryside after a picturesque couple of days in Krakow. The sun was setting over the ubiquitous birch forest and we were due to catch the sleeper to Moscow in an hour or two. We were leaving Europe and expecting to catch the Trans-Siberian in a couple of days time. Heading properly east to the wilds of Irkutsk, Mongolia and the linguistic, cultural and culinary delights of China. All was good with the world after the last 5 weeks of friendship, fun and frolics about which I have probably banged on endlessly on this blog.
So I’m idly flicking through the guide-book, my thoughts several thousand kilometres away somewhere on Lake Baikal when I read a sentence which despite my distracted state makes me stop instantly and re-read it in order to digest it’s implications. “What’s wrong, you look shocked” Fi said, as I looked up with my best Poker face (I give nothing away me). “Er, I think we have a problem”
The sentence I’d just read was one of those wonderful guide-book phrases which when read during trip preparation is invaluable, but which when spotted en route is rather unsettling. It read “To avoid the hassle of getting a Belarus transit visa consider taking the train from Vilnius”. OK, quick geo-political geography test everyone. Who knows where Belarus is? Near Russia? Very good. In Europe? No, but close. Now what might you need a transit visa for? Hmmmm. Our dilemma being that to get from Warsaw (nice EU member country, short of a few tradesmen mind, but you don’t need a visa to go there) to Moscow (former superpower, does a nice line in Polonium sushi, need a visa to go, but hey, we’d sorted that out before we even left the UK) you have to go through Belarus (no-one told me and yes, you need a visa).
So, to cut a long story short, we were due to get a sleeper train in about two hours time that would take us through a country with a notoriously arsey border policy (it being squeezed uncomfortably between the EU and the Russian Federation…we all love a threesome but you wouldn’t want to be the meat in that particular sandwich)…with no transit visas! Hurray!
What to do? The chances of us getting a Belarus visa in Warsaw on a Friday night would make Kate Moss look morbidly obese. The Poles are resourceful people (ask a Chelsea housewife who’s had her boiler re-plumbed, so to speak) but I doubted we could identify and locate the necessary underworld figures to obtain a black market visa. Especially with only a 45 minute window of opportunity between trains and our total lack of any ability with the Polish tongue.
We vaguely contemplated getting on the train regardless, pleading ignorance/foolishness/sheer stupidity and maybe trying to ‘win-over’ the Belarus border police by ‘paying a fine’ (i.e. bribery). This idea was almost immediately relegated to the ‘chocolate tea-pot’ file, especially when we recalled the burly, surly collection of armed border police we’d encountered through the rest of Eastern Europe. Like the folk who man airport baggage scanners they’re not renowned for their sense of humour. So the prospect of playing a quick game of ‘Where’s the visa’ with Sergei and Boris near a village on the Polish border in the small hours of the morning didn’t really appeal. Neither did being hurled off the train into aforesaid Polish border village at that time of the night.
So…we managed to remain cool, calm and collected, despite the complexity and apparent fatalism of the situation. We knew we hadn’t a rats chance in a bag of cats of getting to Moscow from Warsaw in time to catch the Trans-Siberian, as we wouldn’t be able to get a Belarus transit visa till Monday at the earliest. The train then took 20 hours and didn’t arrive in Moscow till Tuesday night, by which point our train east would have been, er, heading east.
The desire to shout ‘bollocks’ at volumes warranting arrest in Warsaw Central Station was becoming almost irresistible. However we had by now established a good rapport, in the absence of a common language, with the fantastically helpful woman behind the ticket counter. We collectively poured over a map of Europe attempting to identify a route to Moscow that didn’t involve going through fricking Belarus. Annoyingly Belarus is a bloody big country was somewhat in our way.
We cancelled our (now useless) Warsaw: Moscow sleeper tickets, getting a 90% refund in the process despite the fact that the train left in 10 minutes time (try asking for that in the UK and you’d be told exactly where you could stick your request). We then booked a 10 hour nightbus to Vilnius on which the heating was broken and the radio (which blared ALL night) was set to a cursed 80’s station. This led to semi-comatose dreams as we drove through the dark (birch!) forests of Lithuania, that were played out to a haunting soundtrack of Charles and Eddy (‘Would I lie to you?’), Murray Head (‘One night in Bangkok’) and Rick Astley (‘Never gonna give you up’).
The only respite to this audio hell (an addition to Dante’s 7th level) being the half awake panic generated by the driver’s overtaking strategy. He liked to see if he could overtake a 5th truck before the headlights of oncoming vehicles, that had been visible for what seemed like minutes, ploughed straight into us on the endless straight roads. This concern was justified once dawn had broken as outside Vilnius we passed a burnt out coach collision being tended to by no less than 4 fire engines. Not nice. It would have been a truly ignominious end to go out to the strains of Rick Astley.
In Vilnius we caught another 5 hour bus to Riga, where a guy from whom we’d asked directions to the train station said “Why are you in Latvia?”. Very good question. Do many English people come to Latvia we responded. “Yes, but they are usually drunk” came the astutely observed reply. We really are shit as a nation aren’t we?
From Riga we took an 18 hour overnight train to Moscow, luxuriating in a cosy two bed cabin as the, you guessed it, birch forest rolled past the window. Ironically we arrived only 12 hours after we had originally planned. So there you have it, we don’t need you Belarus, you, your transit visas, uncertain geographical position, dubious geo-political history and EU-membership aspirations. You can keep ‘em, you hear me, there’s a perfectly viable alternative route to Russia through the Baltic States! Right, I’d better shut up now or next winter Belarus will probably cut off our gas supply. Again.
Suffice to say, we eventually made it after a few hundred extra last minute miles, a sleepless night and a vast detour through two additional countries. As I type we’re safely tucked up in a lovely lady called Anya’s flat in Moscow. Today we even got stopped and grilled by the Moscow police, but that, is another story to be told shortly…
In the meantime, as the Two Ronnski’s would say it’s good night from me and it’s dobri vyecher from him.
Anyway, there we were on the train to Warsaw speeding happily through the Polish countryside after a picturesque couple of days in Krakow. The sun was setting over the ubiquitous birch forest and we were due to catch the sleeper to Moscow in an hour or two. We were leaving Europe and expecting to catch the Trans-Siberian in a couple of days time. Heading properly east to the wilds of Irkutsk, Mongolia and the linguistic, cultural and culinary delights of China. All was good with the world after the last 5 weeks of friendship, fun and frolics about which I have probably banged on endlessly on this blog.
So I’m idly flicking through the guide-book, my thoughts several thousand kilometres away somewhere on Lake Baikal when I read a sentence which despite my distracted state makes me stop instantly and re-read it in order to digest it’s implications. “What’s wrong, you look shocked” Fi said, as I looked up with my best Poker face (I give nothing away me). “Er, I think we have a problem”
The sentence I’d just read was one of those wonderful guide-book phrases which when read during trip preparation is invaluable, but which when spotted en route is rather unsettling. It read “To avoid the hassle of getting a Belarus transit visa consider taking the train from Vilnius”. OK, quick geo-political geography test everyone. Who knows where Belarus is? Near Russia? Very good. In Europe? No, but close. Now what might you need a transit visa for? Hmmmm. Our dilemma being that to get from Warsaw (nice EU member country, short of a few tradesmen mind, but you don’t need a visa to go there) to Moscow (former superpower, does a nice line in Polonium sushi, need a visa to go, but hey, we’d sorted that out before we even left the UK) you have to go through Belarus (no-one told me and yes, you need a visa).
So, to cut a long story short, we were due to get a sleeper train in about two hours time that would take us through a country with a notoriously arsey border policy (it being squeezed uncomfortably between the EU and the Russian Federation…we all love a threesome but you wouldn’t want to be the meat in that particular sandwich)…with no transit visas! Hurray!
What to do? The chances of us getting a Belarus visa in Warsaw on a Friday night would make Kate Moss look morbidly obese. The Poles are resourceful people (ask a Chelsea housewife who’s had her boiler re-plumbed, so to speak) but I doubted we could identify and locate the necessary underworld figures to obtain a black market visa. Especially with only a 45 minute window of opportunity between trains and our total lack of any ability with the Polish tongue.
We vaguely contemplated getting on the train regardless, pleading ignorance/foolishness/sheer stupidity and maybe trying to ‘win-over’ the Belarus border police by ‘paying a fine’ (i.e. bribery). This idea was almost immediately relegated to the ‘chocolate tea-pot’ file, especially when we recalled the burly, surly collection of armed border police we’d encountered through the rest of Eastern Europe. Like the folk who man airport baggage scanners they’re not renowned for their sense of humour. So the prospect of playing a quick game of ‘Where’s the visa’ with Sergei and Boris near a village on the Polish border in the small hours of the morning didn’t really appeal. Neither did being hurled off the train into aforesaid Polish border village at that time of the night.
So…we managed to remain cool, calm and collected, despite the complexity and apparent fatalism of the situation. We knew we hadn’t a rats chance in a bag of cats of getting to Moscow from Warsaw in time to catch the Trans-Siberian, as we wouldn’t be able to get a Belarus transit visa till Monday at the earliest. The train then took 20 hours and didn’t arrive in Moscow till Tuesday night, by which point our train east would have been, er, heading east.
The desire to shout ‘bollocks’ at volumes warranting arrest in Warsaw Central Station was becoming almost irresistible. However we had by now established a good rapport, in the absence of a common language, with the fantastically helpful woman behind the ticket counter. We collectively poured over a map of Europe attempting to identify a route to Moscow that didn’t involve going through fricking Belarus. Annoyingly Belarus is a bloody big country was somewhat in our way.
We cancelled our (now useless) Warsaw: Moscow sleeper tickets, getting a 90% refund in the process despite the fact that the train left in 10 minutes time (try asking for that in the UK and you’d be told exactly where you could stick your request). We then booked a 10 hour nightbus to Vilnius on which the heating was broken and the radio (which blared ALL night) was set to a cursed 80’s station. This led to semi-comatose dreams as we drove through the dark (birch!) forests of Lithuania, that were played out to a haunting soundtrack of Charles and Eddy (‘Would I lie to you?’), Murray Head (‘One night in Bangkok’) and Rick Astley (‘Never gonna give you up’).
The only respite to this audio hell (an addition to Dante’s 7th level) being the half awake panic generated by the driver’s overtaking strategy. He liked to see if he could overtake a 5th truck before the headlights of oncoming vehicles, that had been visible for what seemed like minutes, ploughed straight into us on the endless straight roads. This concern was justified once dawn had broken as outside Vilnius we passed a burnt out coach collision being tended to by no less than 4 fire engines. Not nice. It would have been a truly ignominious end to go out to the strains of Rick Astley.
In Vilnius we caught another 5 hour bus to Riga, where a guy from whom we’d asked directions to the train station said “Why are you in Latvia?”. Very good question. Do many English people come to Latvia we responded. “Yes, but they are usually drunk” came the astutely observed reply. We really are shit as a nation aren’t we?
From Riga we took an 18 hour overnight train to Moscow, luxuriating in a cosy two bed cabin as the, you guessed it, birch forest rolled past the window. Ironically we arrived only 12 hours after we had originally planned. So there you have it, we don’t need you Belarus, you, your transit visas, uncertain geographical position, dubious geo-political history and EU-membership aspirations. You can keep ‘em, you hear me, there’s a perfectly viable alternative route to Russia through the Baltic States! Right, I’d better shut up now or next winter Belarus will probably cut off our gas supply. Again.
Suffice to say, we eventually made it after a few hundred extra last minute miles, a sleepless night and a vast detour through two additional countries. As I type we’re safely tucked up in a lovely lady called Anya’s flat in Moscow. Today we even got stopped and grilled by the Moscow police, but that, is another story to be told shortly…
In the meantime, as the Two Ronnski’s would say it’s good night from me and it’s dobri vyecher from him.
3 comments:
Belarus. I do know about Belarus because my parents used to have 3 or 4 girls from the church over there come to stay in Ayr as a special treat every summer. Apparently when Chernobyl blew, its radioacitve cloud sailed right over to Belarus and dumped its contents into the ground. The population has terrible cancer problems and the kids life expectancy is poor. (No citation...) The church thought a visit to Scotland was the least they could do and the kids loved it. My parents loved it. In comes a new President who decides that it's unfair that some kids get special treatment because they are Christian and stops the trips. Bonkers. Probably just as well you didn't travel through.
Haha... That kind of adventure would turn my hair white and result in me vowing never to leave my room ever again.
Yep that is am interesting area of the world to travel around in :)
I was in Estonia and wanted to get the train from there to Latvia and then Lithuania and then Poland. It didn't quite work out like that as when i asked about the trains when i was in Estonia my response to the answer was, "what do you mean there are no trains, like today?" after they responded again my response was "well look, it says here that there is a railway track"
As much as I cirticise our railways, at least they are maintained to a certain extent !!! and not left to the point where they have to actually stop useing them.
Ah well, where's the bus station.
It was good it worked out like that though as i ended up staying a few days in Riga and then what was supposed to be two days in Vilnius turned out to be three weeks !! That was due to the fact I met my wife to be on my first night there.
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