Monday, 6 August 2007

Autobiography (2)

January. Train. Night. Ukraina. Krasnoarmeisk, or thereabouts.

Only after I'd decided to spend the night reading a book, rather than try sleeping on a slippery bunk in the four-bed compartment, did I realise that the only refreshment available was a trickle of rusty and putrid-smelling water from the lavatory washbasin.

The train left Kiev at 19:30. The buffet shut (I didn't expect this) at around 22:00. The staff closed down and went to sleep on the benches. Arrival 07:00 the next morning.

At around 05:00 the guard, a very large brunette in an immaculate uniform, including peaked cap, starched collar and tie, came round with coffee: a glass with a spoonful of coarse-ground coffee, hot water, and sugar added to saturation point. Lifesaver.


x said...

Rusty and putrid-smelling water from the lavatory.


Oh, wash basin!

Andy said...

I find I can never sleep when I'm on the top bunk. I've never actually fallen off, but I always worry that I'm about to...

Chertiozhnik said...

Mr. Andy, you are only held on to the top bunk by a small peg against which I, on the lower bunk, will undoubtedly crease my skull when I have a nightmare and sit up suddenly.

Even worse, to sleep on the bottom bunk, slide off, and worry in a half-sleep that the sweaty Ukrainian gangster with the raggedy mustache in the suit made of plywood will fall on top of you. And that was my g/f.

I sat in the corridor and read my book a lot.

Chertiozhnik said...

None of this is true, but then again, what is?

Chertiozhnik said...

Mr X... asithappens, this is our Watersports Month!

Not sure about the "rusty and putrid-smelling" tho, that was last month.

This month is 100% wholesome!