A recent round-trip train ride between Seattle, Washington and Chico, California brought to mind some memorable past train rides in Russia while impressing me with how much Amtrak has upgraded and enhanced train travel in the U.S. in recent years. Those of you familiar with the comforts and convenience of traveling on Eurorail or taking the Chunnel train between London and Paris might be surprised by how far train travel has advanced in the U.S. in recent years. That was my immediate reaction, after concluding my recent trip. How sharply that contrasts with my adventures traveling by train in Russia. A fundamental feature of Russian life is travel by train. At the close of the Soviet era, their railway ministry ranked as the largest corporate entity in the world (according to the World Bank), dwarfing in size the economies of many small countries. With an underdeveloped highway system, huge distances to cover, and not a single paved road stretching uninterrupted east to west, north to south, border to border, Russia depended (and still depends) on its rail and aviation networks perhaps more than any other country. My first train trip in what was then still the Soviet Union came in June 1989 when, as part of a six-person business delegation of Americans, I rode a night train from Tallinn, Estonia to Riga, Latvia through farmlands and hardwood forests aglow in a twilight that lingered till dawn, never entirely fading. Four of us shared one coach-class compartment that evening, where the porters dumped our luggage haphazardly inside, as though they had been shoveling lumps of coal, completely blocking us from entering.
My train travel in Russia often consisted of overnight runs between Moscow and Leningrad/St. Petersburg. I would board a train in one city minutes before midnight and disembark in the other minutes before breakfast, sleeping for as many hours as I could manage in between. The preferred train to take on this route was the Krasnaya Strela (Red Arrow). The coaches were nicer, the service better, the security less of a concern, though still a matter you needed to pay close attention to. Accounts of crimes committed on Russian trains were regular news items in those days. One story told of hoodlums wearing gas masks robbing an entire coach full of passengers, knocking them out by pumping sleeping gas into their compartments. Knowledgeable travelers took certain precautions as a result. Ideally, you reserved an entire compartment for yourself and barred the door behind you before you went to sleep. Traveling most often on a tight budget, I frequently shared my compartment with one, two, or three other people, men and woman alike, all of them total strangers. Part of the mystery of train travel in Russia was discovering who your traveling companion(s) for the night would be. On a trip to Moscow in May 1992, I boarded the Red Arrow in St. Petersburg. Lifting my mattress, which was hinged to the wall, I stowed my luggage in the cavity beneath. Satisfied that all was safe, I settled on my bed and began reading a book, anticipating what sort of roommate fate would bring me this night. Hearing the compartment door slide open, I looked up to see a short Chinese woman of indeterminate age wearing quilted, olive-drab Mao garb, complete with a soft fabric hat sporting a large red star, sliding her suitcase onto the bed across from me. She turned my way, bowed, and introduced herself in impeccable Queen’s English as a professor of astronomy from Beijing returning home from a conference in St. Petersburg. “I have a ticket for tomorrow’s Aeroflot flight from Moscow,” she informed me. At the end of a cordial conversation, she politely excused herself a few minutes later and began studying a technical paper in English. When it came time to turn off the lights, she removed a wine cork and a length of wire from her purse. Moving to the door, she jammed the cork between the latch and handle and wired it into place. No intruder was going to interrupt her sleep or mine that night. Task completed, she turned, nodded to me and and solemnly returned to her bed. Nodding again, she indicated with a sideways twist of her head that I should look away, undressed, and crawled beneath her covers. An hour past dawn, we took turns washing up in one of our carriage’s unisex, one-person toilets and together sipped tea with lemon slices and sugar served by the female conductor. We shook hands, bowed, and wished each other safe journeys as the train pulled into Leningradskaya Vokzal in Moscow. On numerous other train trips in Russia, I shared living space with a colorful cross section of humanity. In October 1998, in a sardine can-like steerage class compartment traveling from Khabarovsk to Komsomolsk-na-Amur in the Russian Far East, my roommate was a dapper Russian thirty-ish named Yevgeniy who, upon learning that I was an American on my way to meet with officials from the local aircraft manufacturer, tried to sell me however many Sukhoi fighter planes I wanted. “I get you very good price,” he promised. On my return trip to Khabarovsk, Yevgeniy was in the same coach as I, berthed in a nearby compartment, and made a second, more earnest attempt to peddle planes. Does he mean to do business, or is he an security agent from the FSB trying to entrap me? I wondered to myself. One possibility seemed as likely as the other, and experience had taught me that well-dressed Russian men speaking excellent English often worked for the KGB or, perhaps in this case, the FSB, the post-Soviet era successor to the KGB. Once again, I passed on the Sukhois. Undeterred by a second rejection, in rapid succession Yevgeniy offered me tanks, munitions, and a submarine, all at what he assured me were bargain prices. I passed on each of these as well. Were nuclear weapons next? I excused myself and went to sleep before finding out. My recent train rides between Seattle and Chico lacked the drama of those Russian adventures, all for the better.
Boarding my southbound train around eight o’clock in the morning in Seattle’s meticulously restored King Street Station in the Pioneer Square area, not far from Century Link Field, home to the Seattle Seahawks NFL football team, I plopped myself down in a comfortable reclining business class seat, plugged in my iPad, hooked up with the on-board Wi-Fi, and settled in for the day. With thoughtful and courteous attendants catering to my every need, I was able to work and relax at the same time, with everything I needed near at hand. What a contrast that was with my normal long-distance domestic travel by automobile or plane, dealing with crazy drivers and crowded airports! Wholly absent on Amtrak was anything approximating the challenges of my days of traveling Russia by train—no overcrowded compartments, no would-be arms traders trying to sell me weapons, no possibility of being gassed or robbed.
Come noon time, in the adjacent lounge car, I ordered lunch from a tasteful menu selection and struck up pleasant conversations with other passengers, all of whom seemed as pleased as I was with their travel experience. Midway through Oregon, an informative wine-tasting offering a wide selections of vintages from the state’s vintners added an unexpected new dimension to my adventure. On my return to Seattle, I opted to upgrade to a sleeper, which only added to the richness of my travel experience. I was able to get a great deal of work done, enjoy several more tasty meals and catch my 40 winks in comfort. By the time I disembarked at King Street Station that evening, I had decided that this would not be the last time I would ride the rails to distant places rather than fly the friendly skies or cruise the highways and byways. Someday I hope to ride the fabled Orient Express and perhaps, if I’m really feeling adventurous, the Transiberian. Until then, I’ll gladly accept excursions on Amtrak as an affordable and convenient alternative.