Day 7 and 8 – Berlin to Moscow with You and Me

A late arrival into Moscow and my choice is either to download photos for this entry or to make it text only and get some dinner before turning in. So … photos must wait.

My sleeping car accommodations on Russian Railway train 443 were really quite nice. I rode in solitary splendor in a spacious room with an equally spacious bath, complete with shower.

The car attendant – a 30ish Russian man – was decked out in a snappy uniform when I boarded in Berlin, complete with military-style billed cap. He spoke no English, however, and that led to some confusion when I tried to find out his name. Somewhere in that process I pointed to me, saying “Jim … me”, then to him, saying “you?” with the unspoken question mark. Unfortunately, I never could figure out his name and he spent most of the trip smiling in my direction and saying “Hallo, Me!”

At 3:55 this morning there was an insistent knock at the door and it was You announcing “Passport Control.” The Bello-Russians had come aboard and were checking papers and transit visas. That took 45 minutes, then the train started rolling again and I drifted off … only to be awakened less than five minutes later with another “Passport Control!”

This time the Russians, and the process was repeated. My passport went off down the corridor with a huge Russian official and, moments later, a uniformed woman with long blond hair surrounding a grim face appeared in my doorway.

She, too, spoke no English and appeared impatient and frustrated when I smiled and shook my head in response to her questions. Finally she stepped past me, opened the door to the lavatory and peered into the shower stall. Finding no one hiding there, she turned and we actually had a bit of a conversation:

“Alcohol?”

“Nyet.”

“Tourismo?”

“Da.”

With that she nodded, stepped out into the corridor and slammed the door. Welcome to Russia!

This noon, I went to the dining car for lunch and, when I sat down, was presented with two menus by the attendant. He held up the first menu, a simple laminated sheet, and said, “No money.” Then he held up the second menu, a much fatter one, and said quite emphatically, “Money!” Ah-ha! I get it: As a sleeping car passenger, some of my meals are included in the fare!

I pointed to the No-Money menu. He said, “OK” and jabbed his finger at the first item in large, but incomprehensible Cyrillic characters. “Beef,” he said. Then, jabbing his finger at the next item, announced “potato!”

Perfect! I held up my hand and said, “Yes, good. Beef and potato … and beer!” He beamed, no doubt from relief, and said, “OKBeefpotatobeer! Da!”, and bustled of into the tiny kitchen at the front of the car.

Five minutes later he was back with my lunch, which was actually rather good and included some sliced tomatoes and cucumbers on the side.

Except the beef was actually pork. But what the hell … it’s tourismo and it’s Russia, and I’m a happy camper.