1 AM Polish Standard Time

Get on train- check
Leave Kyiv- check
Write letters on train while heading for Poland- check
Ukr’n passport control- check
Polish passport control- check
Polish customs- ummmmmmm (definitely not check)

Passport control happened quite awhile ago and The Snorer and I were sleeping once more. I had been aware for awhile of vague bangings and tappings from down towards the other end of the corridor. But then the time came when it became impossible to stubbornly sleep through it all – maybe because our compartment was suddenly flooded with bright light. In a semi-wakeful state, I was aware of people milling around in the corridor. Suddenly there’s a Big Burly Dude outside our door… he growls something and The Snorer (mind you, not far from ‘full-snore-mode’) tumbles out the door. About a minute later Big Burly Boy sticks his head back inside and this time I realize he’s speaking Polish, not growling and what he’s just said is Ma’am, please step into the corridor. Oh groan and yuck.

Let’s look at some (cell-phone) pix. I hope you can see them well enough to get the picture…

Unscrewed the panel that joins the wall to the ceiling- the white there? cartons of cigarettes.

Came out of the ceiling (that's my bed on the left)

I’m pretty sure at 1 am most of these people would rather be somewhere other than hovering in the hallway while border patrol rips their sleeping compartments apart.

The haul from our ceiling- 54 cartons. (that’s the corner of my bed you see in the right hand corner, fyi…I wish I was in it.) Oh- and a similar haul from the compartment next door is visible in the background

This whole scene is repeated every single time this train makes this trip. What a hopeless situation. You’d think they’d get tired of the whole deal. Tired of taking the train apart in Kyiv and stuffing it full of contraband. Tired to taking it apart on the border and hauling it out. Tired of putting it all back together again… Every. Single. Day.

I spent the first part of the trip with a very nice lady a bit older than me. She lives in Kazakhstan now but was back to see family and take care of a few things. She’s from Western Ukr and for awhile in the 90’s, she ‘made her living’ smuggling alcohol and cigarettes into Poland- she says it was the only thing to do. Could be. I asked her how much they made each trip: $10.

I’ve been watching these smugglers for a long time and believe me, you’d have to pay me a whole lot more than $10 to go through that stress. They sweat. They swear. They run. They fret and worry and bite their nails. I’m sure they’re making more now, but there’s no way they make what it’s worth. The thing is, I reckon the cigarettes are just the tip of a much meaner iceberg. The amount they haul out- heaps, bags and bags (we’re talking Hefty Hefty Cinch Sack size bags…or bigger)… how can it be worth it? because they’re not taking it all… not all the cigarettes… not all the vodka… and not any of what’s likely nestled down deep in some wall… The Poles make a big show of tearing it apart. Oh They Do. But there are whole sections of wall they never touch. They never looked at 90% of our compartment- just tore into that one part…and believe me, you could take this place apart a whole lot more. But the deal is- there’s other stuff going through that no one touches, no one talks about… we saw it once when 2 rookies accidentally found some. Bags of white powder… in the wall… now what do you think that was? Powdered sugar probably. And it never left the train till after we did…

The border patrol people don't put the place back together again after they've torn it apart. Our neighbor asked Who's going to pick this all up and put the ceiling back up. Oh, Pahn (Sir) here will, they replied, indicating the frustrated conductor. And he did. The junior pip-squeak one. He got to crawl into every compartment and put stuff back together. And when he was doing ours, I noticed that his ragged slippers had been mended my stapling them. Somehow, at 1.30 am, that sight was depressing and sad and made me want to never ride that train again. If I don't see it, It's not happening, Right?