Traveling Pains
The journey isn’t always the one you want, when you want it. Even through filters of privilege, it’s uncertain, uncomfortable, as unpleasant and painful as you let it be.
The night train from Lviv to Vynohradiv leaves just after midnight. This means getting to the train station after curfew – a bit of a gray endeavor, facilitated by private taxi, my eyes peeled for military, with no idea what happens if we meet them.
It takes 7 hours to round the Ukrainian Carpathians to the west and drop into the Transcarpathian basin. I’m in a separate car from M––, my host here. It’s full of teenagers heading out on a class trip maybe, as well as families with small children. The windows in my cabin are broken. The heat is intense, particularly on the top bunk. So is the smell, of feet, and farts, and bodies already at the end of their day, trying to find stasis until they arrive to their destination.
I try sleeping, but the train is loud on its Soviet-era tracks, and the interruptions are unpredictably regular. I get up, use the toilet, and hang my head out the (functioning!) window at the front of the car. We climb through the foothills into a mountain valley and gradually up a pass. I watch the horizon, the trees, the moon, swinging around the train as it weaves up the grade. I’m rewarded with moments of moonlight reflected in the mountain stream tumbling downhill next to the tracks. I look toward the front of the train, headlights turning the forest into a fairy tunnel that the train flies through.
My skin finally feels cooler, so I head back to my cabin. The bunk is shorter than I am, walled at head and foot, so I roll slowly from side to side, trying to fall asleep in a position that’s not so twisted up that I do more damage than repair. I’m grateful I had 5 days in Lviv to rest and prepare.
The heat is less, and the smell is either subsided or normalized in my nose. I give up on sleep and do some breathing exercises. It’s possible I drift off for a couple minutes here and there, but mostly I float, seeking whatever imperfect stasis is available.
–––
I didn’t do much better on my last night train, in Bulgaria this last June. I have vague, positive recollections of a couple night trains in Germany, Switzerland, and Austria during my twenties. But sleep isn’t as easy as it was, and my body needs a good bit more thoughtful handling to avoid spiraling dysfunction melt-downs. Since my back issues turned into a nerve condition two years ago, trips like this are one of the more grueling physical tests.
The trip from Sofia to Varna was a similar duration, but in much nicer accommodations (relatively). I slept for a bit, but one of my cabin mate’s snoring sounded like he was ripping the upholstery off his bed one chunk at a time, and each stop pulled me back awake. At some point I gave up and headed to the back of the train. Night faded into predawn filled with dense valley fog, swirling through the stations, villages, forests, and fields lining the tracks.
We arrived to Vynohradiv at the same time as the first vendors for what grew into a substantial farmers’ + flea market, with everything from fresh vegetables to used shoes to handmade stools. It was pleasant to lie in the shade of the not-yet-open café and watch the world come alive, and know that we were almost to our destination. Once the café and the market opened, we got coffee and some vegetables to add to the cheese and bread I was packing, and had breakfast as we waited for more camp staff to arrive. Then it was a quick hour in a van to Nyzhnje Selyshche, a small town up the valley from Khust.
In all, not as bad as an overnight flight from the states.
-PATRICK
