Riding the Rails of Despair- Pt. 3

Ready to climb aboard and continue our journey across the wide open steppe?? Let's find out what happens on the next leg of our trip now.

I forgot to mention that another job of the conductor is to alert the Immigration Police whenever foreigners get on. Although there was really no reason to be nervous, any time our documents are examined by the authorities we become anxious and suspicious.

Without invitation, the uniformed pair sat themselves down on our freshly made beds and demanded our papers. Handing them over, the standard set of questions ensued. Their jaws dropped to the floor when our answers came out not in English, not in Russian, but in the local dialect! This skill has gotten us out of countless tight spots including many unwarranted traffic tickets and potential price gouging the bazaar.

Satisfied we weren't illegal immigrants or from Amway, we ended the encounter with promises to visit each other in each other's homes, and friendly slaps on the back. They then moved on to harass other passengers. However, now the cat was out of the bag. The entire car, and likely the entire train, knew that a large family of Americans who could speak Blankastani was going across the Steppe by train!! That could only mean on thing- an open invitation to every mean, woman, and child to come and sit on our freshly made beds, practice their pronunciation of "hello" and "happy birthday" and take a picture with us.

And take them they did. A steady stream of uninvited space encroachers descended upon our already cramped quarters reeking with vodka and smoked fish breath. In our first year we had a hard enough time understanding sober speech; add a hundred grams of distilled wheat on the part of the speaker, and what we get is about 5% "Where are you from?" and 95% "My grandmother wearing underwear on her head, slept with 3 foxes in the garden".

Warding off the last few intruders, we could finally wipe the spit off the baby (babies are often spit on "to keep the evil spirits away")and the crumbs off of our no-longer fresh sheets. Now we could close our doors and lock them, and settle down to read. Oh! Exhausted SteppeSister Family, did you really think you could sleep??!! NOT A CHANCE!

First the kids have to spend an hour climbing up and down the bunks. Back an forth, up and down, feet in your face, drop this, drop that. It wouldn't be a complete scene if someone didn't, at some point, slip and bust his lip. And then the inevitable, "I have to go potty..." The following conversation is repeated a hundred times over the course of the remainder of the trip. Word for word, this is how is goes:

"How bad?"

"I gotta go now!"

"But it really smells in there, and it's disgusting!"

"But I really gotta go!"

"Please, hold it for another 18 hours, son."

Pathetic whimpers...

"Oh, alright. Let's go."

"Don't touch that!!!!"

Child climbs up onto the seat...

Both mother and child hold their noses- while the child tries to balance with the swaying train....

"Hang on tight son!"

"Don't breathe, it could permanently melt your mucus membranes and singe your nose hairs."

"What do you mean, you slipped??!!"

Back down the hall we go with our freshly fertilized shoes. Where do you think those shoes end up? Uh huh. All over our rug and eventually our sheets. EWWWW! With the business out of the way, and no more intruders in sight, we once again barricaded ourselves in, determined to finally enjoy some privacy.

Our journey continues next time- on Riding the Rails of Despair.