It All Started With Gogol: Scenes From Life In Russia

For long distances Russians had a cultural preference for traveling by train. A typical trip starts in the late afternoon or evening and arrives at destination the following morning. Locals party with food and plenty of drink—usually vodka, then sleep until near the time of arrival. At which time, they freshen up and go about their business. The overnight trip for most passengers was simply an occasion for a mini-party and a different venue for sleeping before the next day’s work.

There were basically three classes of travel on overnight train routes. There was the so-called “hard” category—long wagons with wooden benches arranged along one side in a direction perpendicular to that in which the train would travel. There was a lengthwise aisle to allow access to the seats themselves or the toilets located at either end of each wagon or the space between cars where the men would usually gather to smoke, tell tales, and quaff a bit of vodka. In the winter people would board with damp fur coats; in the summer, there were countless sweaty, unwashed bodies. Combined with the paucity of toilets this resulted in a distinctly objectionable odor that made passengers from other compartments avoid the “hard” wagons religiously. There was no air conditioning in the summer and heating in the colder months was minimal at best. Passengers slept on the benches without the benefit of mattresses or blankets. Trips for these poor people were loathsome; but they were inexpensive, costing only a few pennies in local currency.

Next step up was the “coupe,” a partitioned wagon with compartments holding four passengers each. Chance alone determined your cabin mates on any given journey. They could be all women, all men, or they could be any combination in between. The configuration was two benches across the length of the car with two more located on top as bunks. During the hours when passengers were up and about, the top bunks were typically folded up against the walls in order not to hinder the movements of the four individuals.

The third category was a luxury accommodation called “SV” or special wagon. This was a compartment partitioned off from the rest of the car thus allowing privacy. There were seats for two and a little table. At night, the seats were converted into beds with semisoft mattresses, sheets, blankets, and pillows. There was also a neat little tablecloth and glasses for tea with usually a couple pieces of candy to complete the elegance. Each compartment was equipped with a door that could be locked from the inside. Naturally, each higher category of accommodation carried a concomitantly higher price tag.

A couple years after my inaugural trip to the Soviet Union, we negotiated a contract to supply all the machinery to equip what would be the largest artificial fur factory in the world. The constant selling of natural furs in the international market place resulted in a persistent shortage of the product for the Soviet populace itself. So the state hierarchy conceived the decision that since there was no domestic technology, the equipment to produce artificial fur as well as the manufacturing expertise would be purchased from abroad. We won the contract, therefore were responsible for overseeing the timely fabrication and shipping of machinery, installing it at the site, and ensuring that warrantee parameters were met. 

The factory was to be located in a small town called Zhlobin in the Republic of Byelorussia slightly north of the route from Moscow to Poland. My initial trip to Zhlobin – to begin the administration of contract requirements -- corresponded with my first train trip in the Soviet Union. A state representative accompanied me as was standard practice. We boarded the designated train and made our way to our lodging for the night, a standard, non-luxury compartment. On this particular occasion, all four travelers ended up being of the male variety. When we arrived at our assigned location onboard, our two fellow passengers were already in attendance. Since they were both seated on one side, we determined that we should take the other.

Before the train even began rolling out of the station, our compartment mates started to lay their provisions out onto the little table. Before my astonished eyes, there appeared a chicken, several hard boiled eggs, tomatoes, pieces of garlic, greens such as scallions, dill and cilantro, salami, pepperoni, sausage and a kind of bologna. They placed two bottles of beer on the table and then added a bottle of vodka. My travel partner was unfazed, but I did not expect this; it was my first experience on a train in the Soviet Union. I learned then, and it was confirmed many times since that a train ride was occasion for feasting on a fairly grand scale. Our companions started in with a shot of vodka, a swill of beer, and several mouthfuls of food. Soon they asked us to join them. I’m not sure whether they simply felt sorry that we had nothing with us or just felt embarrassed that they were eating while we were not, but they soon became fairly insistent that we partake of the bounty laid out before us. I am certain it was simple Russian hospitality and generosity, which were usually in bountiful supply. Later I became completely assured that an invitation to compartment mates to partake of one’s repast on a train was a common occurrence even though the travelers were usually total strangers.

We had no choice but to join them, and so began a three-hour session of belting back shots of vodka (turned out they had not one but several bottles) followed by snacking off the ample stock of food they had in their various bags and satchels. In a short period of time, we all became fast friends. It seemed not to matter that it was probably no more than fifty degrees in the cabin. After a while, I wanted nothing more than to wrap myself up in the meager blankets afforded to each of us and attempt to sleep but the others seemed content to sit there, eat, drink, and gossip. Our cabin mates were intrigued over the fact that fate had deposited an American in their midst and asked me a multitude of questions—more out of curiosity than hostility. So it was rather late by the time they decided to pack it in for the night, remove the detritus from the table, and assume positions in their respective berths. They appeared to have no trouble falling asleep; indeed, after only a few moments, there was a veritable concert of wheezes, snores, and whistles. It became clear to me while I tried vainly to doze off that Russians had no difficulty sleeping wherever and whenever they could grab a nap. I, on the other hand, tossed and turned for hours, trying to find some comfortable position that would allow a modicum of rest. However, the various noises and sounds emitted from my three fellow passengers plus the racket of the train itself hounded me regardless of the position I selected.

After what seemed an interminable period of time spent clattering and clacking along at probably no more than thirty miles an hour, stopping at a dozen way-stations, then jerking into start-up mode again, we finally began to approach the station Gomel. Because of the continual stops and start-ups and the accompanying rattling of the wheels, I had gotten virtually no sleep at all. I was advised to go to the rest room and freshen up, for we were about to change conveyance to a jeep for the remainder of our trip to Zhlobin – another 4-5 hours of extremely cold and unpleasant travel!