Train Ride
I mentioned briefly on my last post something that had happened on my train ride from St Pete's to Moscow. Now I might actually get a chance to finish the story. I arrive at the train station with seconds to spare. Usually on train rides, (especially overnighters) I take the deluxe first class rooms. These normally cost no more than 30 or 40 dollars and allow seating for two instead of the standard 4 in standard class. Additionally, there is an economy class I have had the pleasure of sitting in once, which is an entirely open container with benches everywhere. The rule of thumb there is that you find your seat and don't get up, or someone else will take it. On the trip returning to Moscow, I decided to be a little adventurous and get into a 4-seater cabin. Mind you, this wasn't that big of a deal to me, as I had done it plenty of times during my travels on Siberian railways. Besides I have come to realize that though people on the west of the Urals might not be as pleasant to be around, most of them speak English, so it would allow me to talk in my native tongue a bit. Possibly, even meet a girl going to Moscow. I arrive in my cabin to find my seat (18) on the bottom bunk facing the front of the train. Little problem here, and additionally I find a family following me in: A large middle-aged man and a mother and her daughter. After a little discussion, it is disclosed that I am a foreigner (my Scotland shirt bought in Edinburgh wasn't as inconspicuous as I previously thought). The recognition of a foreigner in his midst gets the man slightly worked up and asks me what I am doing in Russia and if I like it. I respond in the affirmative and state that I am an oilfield worker in the West Siberian region. At the hearing of an oil field worker (Neftianik), he asks if I like Russian vodka. Hesitantly (as I was considering the possible outcomes of my reaction), I again respond in the affirmative. Upon hearing this, he cordially invites me to share a half-liter of vodka he just recently bought in preparation for this instance. I reluctantly accept, as though I do not have that wanton desire to drink that I have found so predominate in the Siberian region, I wish to respect his hospitality and perhaps obtain some assistance in nodding off on the train. He opens the bottle, and pours half a plastic cup of vodka for each of us. Now one thing I have learned since my arrival in Russia is that my tolerance to alcohol, vodka almost exclusively, has increased a fair share. The first shot was completed without hesitation and I almost immediately noticed a response in my traveling companion. It was at this point that I realized that the mother and daughter were of no relation to this man. The look of disdain they showed him in trying to get me to drink and in his pleasure in the vodka showed me what generations of alcoholism have impressed onto the mindset of this culture. The amount of vodka purchased only provided two such shots as had previously been taken and those were finished within 20 minutes. Now you must also remember that the previous day I had just completed an all-u-can drink vodka special at a bar in St. Pete's so I had no desire to drink anymore than what would be considered respectful. Upon completion of the last cup, the man sitting beside me had become inebriated to the point that he was swaying side to side even while sitting down. I myself had not yet felt any side effects from the alcoholic toxins just ingested. However at this time I learned that the man wanted another bottle, though I could easily see he in no way required additional means of obtaining that drunken stupor so many people I have met in this country long for. At this point, I decided to take the dive. I immediately acted the part of being overly intoxicated, complaining of feeling light headed and very tired. My suggestion that it was time to sleep was accepted by all in the cabin as the two women were getting quite annoyed at the antics of the fourth of our group. As he left to smoke his final cigarette before sleeping, I concluded it would most likely be best if I were to take the top bunk of the man to avoid the trouble of him climbing up and possibly falling off. I suggested this to him and was immediately rejected. He - what's an antonym for agile? - reached the top bunk and quickly fell to sleep. Finally having some peace and quiet, I retreated to my bunk to listen to my MP3 player. After about an hour, upon arriving to a track entitled Free by a group known as V.A.S.T., I hear a large bang in the darkness and immediately turn on my light expecting the worse. The worse was nothing as I had expected. The initial bang was caused by the drunken man falling the 3 feet from his bunk onto a table sitting on the end of the aisle dividing the two sets of bunks. Upon hitting the table he must have rolled to the side as by the time I turned the light on I saw him lying on top of the mother, her underneath trying to squirm out from underneath him. After quite a few efforts, we were able to move him enough to get her out of the trap, however he would not budge. Every attempt I could make was shoved to the side allowing him to pass off again into nonexistence. Even a cup of water thrown by mother provided no further response besides a wet and hung-over man wondering what had happened the previous night. No amount of work could get him to move and the mother chose to go to the train security attendant to assist in the matter. The security officer arrived to the cabin, took one look and declared it wasn't his problem. We were to deal with it ourselves. It was at this point that I gave up, offering my bunk to the mother and taking the top (the one I had previously offered to take from the man) for myself.
It is perhaps stories such as this that provide Russia with the well-known (but not entirely inaccurate) stereotype of rampant alcoholism. Another reason I am happy to be American.
