Divine ray

(Photos of the diary entry can be found at the end of the text).

On Sunday morning at 7:00 a.m., we are already sitting in the Sprinter. We’ve been told that the clocks tick a little differently here. Supposedly the night in Berlin goes on until 10:00 am. Judging by the empty streets, it seems to be true. 30 minutes later, we get a parking space right in front of the entrance to Lichtenberg station. “This time it actually seems to be going better than the last time we set off,” says Tanja happily. While Rolf stays in the car to look after the equipment, we check out the station first. Lots of homeless people hang around here and don’t exactly give a feeling of security. Railroad police patrol the concourse in groups to keep the place under control. “Can we help them?” asks one of them. Startled by so much friendliness, we turn to the policemen. “Yes, we’d love to. We’re looking for the track where the Paris-Berlin-Moscow train arrives.” “Hm, there’s nothing on the display board. I don’t think it’s coming today,” we reply. “What? That can’t be right?” Tanja replies nervously. “Well, if the train is coming then it’s on platform 16, which is at the back there,” says the other policeman. “Thank you very much,” we call out to him and immediately rush to platform 16. In a control building we ask a female officer if the Moscow train is really arriving here. “Of course it is. I think it will be on time,” her confident reply reassures us. In which track area will the VIP compartments stop?” The helpful official takes a scrutinizing look at her plans. “Section A. Take your luggage to section A,” she repeats. “Are you sure about that? We were sent to the wrong end of the embankment several times last time. We definitely want to avoid that today in this monkey heat,” I say. “According to my plans, the VIP compartments will come to a halt in section A. That’s for sure.” “Great. Thank you very much for your help,” we say and leave the office.

“And how did it go?” Rolf wants to know when we get back to the van. “Everything went fine,” we reply and immediately load the eight saddlebags and the two waterproof panniers onto two hand trolleys that we have brought with us so that we don’t have to carry a wolf again. Nevertheless, it’s exhausting to get the heavily loaded trolleys down and up the curb, then down the elevator to push everything back up a long ramp. As always, section A is at the very end of the eternally long embankment. When Rolf and I unload the first load of luggage there, we are as sweaty as if we had showered under a waterfall. “Next load,” says Rolf with a twinkle in his eye. “Next load,” I reply, also in a good mood. Back at the Sprinter, this time we load the two bike trailers plus two photo bags, two handlebar bags and two bags with the charging batteries. Meanwhile, Tanja is waiting with Ajaci on the railroad track for the material for the first load. Up and down again. We do a lot of it backwards because the wagons are easier to pull than to push. When we arrive at section A for the second time, I feel like my calves are going to explode. They really seem to be taking the long walk backwards badly. “Oh God, I’ve been sitting in front of the laptop for too long the last few weeks,” I groan. “Now the bikes?” says Rolf, still in a great mood. “Where does this wiry man get his damn good mood and strength from?” I whisper and follow him, already slightly groggy.

Dragging the heavy, unwieldy boxes along the sidewalks, the never-ending ramp and the unbelievably long embankment takes its toll on my calves. When we arrive at Tanja’s after a total of one hour of dragging, I first have to pump a liter of water into my body to loosen my sticky tongue from the roof of my mouth. Rolf smiles at me as if he’s just come back from getting a sandwich. It’s unbelievable how fit you can be at the age of 67. This man is a real role model. Especially for people who think they are old at 50.

“We are well on schedule. Another 30 minutes until the train arrives,” says Rolf. “Yes, we did a good job. Without stress. Thank you so much for your help. I don’t know what we would have done without you.” “Costs €1.80,” he replies with a laugh. “Will we bring all this into the compartment?” I ask, slightly nervously. “Definitely,” reassures Rolf. Then train 453 arrives. The VIP wagons are located directly behind the locomotive. “251, 252,” we count out loud. “250? Where’s our 250?” asks Tanja. “I don’t know,” I reply and run to a Russian conductor. “At the end of the train,” she says, pointing in a direction whose end can only be seen with binoculars. “Oh no!” Tanja and I gasp. To be on the safe side, I walk to the end of the 453 and lo and behold, there hangs this damn wagon all alone like the tip of the scales.

“So everything to the other end of the embankment,” says Rolf cheerfully, whereupon we push the two still-loaded trolleys to where there are no passengers to be seen. When we arrive at carriage 250, the conductor raises his eyebrows. “Добрый день”, (Good day) I greet him in a friendly manner. It’s a good thing he doesn’t know that there’s another load with a trailer etc., a dog and then two huge boxes of bicycles. In this case, it’s perhaps a good thing that we weren’t standing in front of the carriage with all our luggage. There is a good chance that the officer would not have let us in despite the VIP. Rolf and I start to carry the bags into the VIP car. Our compartment is at the end of the carriage so that we can prove our fitness here too. The compartment is actually somewhat more spacious than a normal four-man compartment. Above all, there is a separate toilet with a shower cubicle, which I use immediately.

This time, as we sweat along with Ajaci and the second load, the conductor opens his owl-sized eyes as if an alien is arriving. We try to ignore the man by not even asking questions. We quickly drag the trailers and other bags through the narrow corridor and put the stuff on the upper bunk bed. Tanja ties Ajaci into the compartment and waits in front of it until we arrive with the bikes “So, I wonder what he’ll say when we attach the boxes?” I say to Rolf. “It will definitely work,” he says with conviction. We thank the conductors who have taken care of the bikes in the meantime, hoist one each onto the handcart and groan along the embankment in temperatures of at least 30° C. Some conductors, however, shake their heads after they see us rattling past for the third time. After all the exertion of the last 1 ½ hours, Rolf and I have to stop and catch our breath every now and then. Sweat is pouring down our bodies as if we wanted to win a marathon in this incredible heat. We actually had plenty of time because the train stops here for at least 30 minutes. But now we have to get a move on so that the 453 is not delayed again because of us. With the last of my strength, I pull the car with its small wheels further along the embankment. My calves haven’t been an issue for a long time. In the meantime my whole back has tensed up but I can’t pay attention to that now. We make it to the end of the wagon queue in time. The conductor can’t believe what has arrived. “You can’t take that on the train!” another officer stops us. We try not to listen to him and are just about to lift the first box into the entrance when a second man joins us and blocks the way. “You can’t take that with you. It’s too big and too heavy. Customs only allow 35 kg per person,” he says. “Never mind,” Tanja and I reply in sync. The two men leave the carriage and beckon us to follow them. They now open the door at the back of the wagon and show Rolf and me how to load the boxes there. Astonished by the quick change of mood, Rolf and I follow her instructions. “Put the bikes in the VIP lounge,” they offer us. Rolf and I look at each other and can hardly believe what is happening to us. The two boxes are quickly levered around the corners, sometimes upright, sometimes across, and find a place next to the bar stools. “So you really have space in your compartment,” says Rolf happily. Yes, it’s hard to believe. The Russians are really obliging this time,” I reply and can still hardly believe what a divine ray has just hit us. We say goodbye to Rolf, who says that there are hardly any events that upset him. “I’ll park your Sprinter at your house. Don’t worry about anything. I wish you a happy journey and come back safe and sound,” he says. We hug each other goodbye. “Thank you so much for your help,” I call after him. “Costs €1.80,” he replies, laughing and waving.

We immediately make ourselves comfortable in our air-conditioned VIP compartment. “We made it,” says Tanja happily. “Yes, we’re inside. All the equipment is inside,” I reply with satisfaction. Due to damage to the locomotive, we leave Berlin Lichtenberg 35 minutes late. Never mind, the main thing is that we’re on the train.

We calmly reach Frankfurt Oder. This time we don’t have to leave the train head over heels because we don’t have a visa. Above all, no Russian woman insults or torments me. How different traveling can be. Same train, same destination, same luggage, just at a different time and in a much better compartment. After a short stop, we cross the border into Poland without being checked. We sit at the window and let the eternally flat landscape with its endless fields fly past us. In Warsaw, the 453 stops for the first time for 15 minutes. Tanja takes the opportunity to give Ajaci the chance to empty herself. “Is that a wolf?” asks a train attendant in admiration. “A Canadian shepherd,” answers Tanja. “It’s a wolf,” says the Russian and asks if she can stroke it. “But of course. He doesn’t bite,” Tanja replies kindly.

The sun has already set when the Polish border guards board the train at Terespol and check our passports. “Oh, you have a beautiful dog. Is that a wolf?” one of them asks with interest. “Canadian shepherd”, we reply. “Does that have anything to do with a wolf?” “Well, indirectly,” I reply. “Where are you going?” the man asks in a very friendly manner. “With the e-bikes to Vietnam.” “Vietnam? You really want to go to Vietnam?” “Yes, first to Siberia and from there via Mongolia and China,” says Tanja. “Have a good trip and good luck,” says the man in uniform, hands us our passports again and closes the door.

Tanja folds out the lower bed so that we both have enough space to sleep on it. Due to the exertion and excitement of the past few days, we immediately fall into a deep sleep. It doesn’t take long before there’s a knock on the door. “Passport control! Open the door!” We immediately jump up. Two very good-looking, friendly women in uniform stand there and ask for our documents. One of them wants to enter the compartment but is afraid of Ajaci. “Please put a muzzle on him,” she asks us. Then she points to the pendant on the top bunk and asks what it contains. “Tent, camping equipment, etc.,” I reply. To avoid having to drag the heavy aluminum box from the bunk bed, I open a saddlebag and let the officer look inside. “All right,” she says to my relief. After we have filled in the entry form we get our stamp. In the corridor we hear the customs officers discussing with a woman. “What’s going on,” Tanja wants to know. “I don’t think the woman has a transit visa for Belarus,” I reply. “Oh dear. Will she have to leave the train?” “I’m quite sure of that,” I say. We’ve just gone back to bed when there’s another knock at the door. This time it’s a customs specialist who has to examine everything closely because of the EU’s external border. “Пожалуйста, они открывают картон”, (Please open the boxes) the man asks me to follow him into the VIP lounge where our bikes are. I cut a slit in the box with my multitool to give the uniformed man a look inside. “These are our bikes. We’re going to Vietnam on them,” I say in Russian. “To Vietnam?” he wonders as the beam of his flashlight glides over the wheel. “Yes, first to Siberia. That’s where it starts from.” “Невероятно”, (Unbelievable) he says and wants to know if the bikes are new. “No, we’ve tested them a lot before,” answers Tanja, who is standing behind me. The official, who is also very friendly, shakes my hand, wishes us a safe journey and bids us farewell. We’ve just gone back to bed when there’s another knock. This time it is the Belarusian official veterinarian. We show her Ajaci’s papers with the current stamps and examinations. “Very good. Do you have a muzzle for your dog?” “But yes,” Tanja replies and shows it to her. The nice woman also wishes us a safe journey and closes the door. Even before the iron snake leaves Brest, we learn that poor Grieching actually has to leave the 453 to spend the night at the customs station. Tomorrow she will be allowed to take the train back to Warsaw to apply for a transit visa. She is then forced to buy new tickets to continue her journey to Moscow. And all this just because of a stamp. Satisfied with our smooth entry into Belarus, we sink back onto our white bed and fall into a wonderful deep sleep. Fortunately, we don’t yet know what’s waiting for us in Moscow…

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