Night Train

by Matthew van Netten (Canada)

A leap into the unknown Canada

“No train.” was the Romanian ticket agents response. It was an icy December evening in Bucharest. I was trying to get by train to Bulgaria from the Gara de Nord in the Romanian capital. Discouraged, I paced inside the unheated neoclassical structure. My breath was visible. I attempted multiple ticket counters but was meet with the same response. I knew very little of the language and clumsily tried to communicate. The evening grew later. I decided to try one last ticket counter, this time with success. I had my ticket for a night train. The air grew colder and I shivered as I waited on the frigid open-air platform. It was 11pm when I boarded the train. The interior of the train was devoid of luxury but to my relief it was warm. An old man with a small cart shared the compartment with me. As the train slowly pulled out of the station; my thoughts turned to the journey ahead. This was my first time in Eastern Europe. The languages were new to me. I felt humbled by my lack of knowledge with the history and culture of this region. Three hours had elapsed when the train approached the border city of Ruse. The old man, pulling his cart behind him, exited at the stop just before we crossed the border. I was alone. Glancing out the frosty window, I saw two guards enter the train. I waited anxiously, unsure of what was next. One guard came into my compartment. His heavy black boots thudding dully on the floor as he approached. He stopped and said in a gruff voice “Pass.” He watched me intently as I handed him my passport, my eyes nervously looked away. He took my passport and left the train. I looked out at the station; snow was sparsely falling. Ten minutes went by before the uniformed guard returned. He handed me my passport and without a word exited. Relieved I sat back. I changed trains at the next stop and the locomotive rumbled on into the night. At this point, I had not slept for twenty hours. My eyes felt heavy and sore. I struggled against sleep. The train compartment was half full of people. I heard intermittent conversations in Bulgarian as the train rhythmically moved pushed forward. I was afraid that if I slept, I would miss my next stop. It was still dark outside and no train stop announcements were made. I tried to ask a passing train attendant about my stop. I gestured at my ticket destination and then at myself. She looked at me and seeming to understand and said “OK”. I smiled gratefully. I hoped through my basic conveyance that she was understood what I meant. I needed to stay awake but the train was a siren lulling me away. I was in a semi-conscious state when the train unexpectedly squealed to a stop at the next station. Everyone was exiting the train. Was this my stop? I got the attention of the train attendant. I attempted to ask her if this was my stop. She looked at me, paused, then said “Train Kaput”. The next thing I knew, I was being ushered out of the warmth and into the darkness alongside the rest of the passengers. The early morning air was bitter. We trudged up a snowy path. Our boots crunching loudly on the snow beneath us. I didn’t know where we were going as we neared an idling bus. We silently got on the bus and drove off as snow started falling. The journey seemed endless as we wove our way through the twists and turns of the wintery road. The bus stopped at another train station. Everyone exited. I followed the rest of the passengers to waiting train. We boarded and continued on. Exhausted, I looked at my watch. It was nearly 4am. The rail line must have been blocked. It felt like this must be some sort of dream. The sun was starting to rise when the train slowed and creaked to a stop at my end destination. This was the beginning of many return trips to Eastern Europe.