2010 Tartu-Odessa-Tbilisi, Part4 - Bauska-Suwalki

Text: Me
Photos and other stuff: We


Bauska-Suwalki


Bauska was a complete success of a choice. From local bus station we had to walk less than a kilometre to reach to a spot nearly as good as it gets. Stood there for a while, and consumerist in me couldn’t get my eyes off from a little supermarket just thirty meters away. We could buy water and some cookies and snacks and that would be so smart thing to do. But there’s always some consideration - hitchhiker doesn’t want to leave the road. Maybe a dream ride, not to mention a simply kind enough person, would drive by exactly at that time? A convertible! Or an old Volga! Or a jolly company of youngsters with a decent amount of beer! Leaving two at the roadside when you are actually three is not a good tone at all. Especially in Finland, appearance of a “hiding” member might cause the car literally to flee. But the memory of shortage of supplies was fresh enough and I went for it, for shopping and this accompanying little anxiety.
Just when I was contemplating about the possible reasons for this apparently heavy discount on Värska, really good mineral water from Estonia, and the amount what I should buy, She rushed in calling me – a truck had stopped!
“Does he take three?” I’m slow, I ask questions. Rare case, to get on those transit ships of dry land - in a nice world a real symbiosis partner for the hitchhikers - with three, especially inclined towards masculine. But we ran, grabbing stuff from the roadside while running as this huge thing blocked road quite remarkably, and climbed on. Me on the seat, She and Him on the lower bunk. And this mess of a boarding gave me a concern for the rest of the day – I wasn’t sure if my laptop bag got on or not. He couldn’t remember for sure if he picked it up, and She was sure that she didn’t, and neither did I. If hitchhiking with too many valuables, no difference in what kind of category the value is measured, you pay a toll in anxiety. Avoid! at all times. But this time I had no choice. My impedimenta, or my life in a packed form if you wish - I was carrying everything I needed for a year.
The ride was quite a catch. We heard that we can get to Poland. It was allowed to smoke inside and he offered cigarettes (and sunflower seeds for to help to avoid the wish to have one) and was generally strongly on the nice side of the scale, though language turned out to be rather behind a barrier.
A long and calm voyage it was. Trucks, they don’t go particularly fast, but they make it up in stability. They go and go and you feel there is nothing what can intervene with that. Road ships, billowy and comfortable, even if you’re the one who doesn’t have a bed but a plain seat.
It is against the rules to have four people up in the cabin. It's meant for two. Schengen, and all that, but border facilities are still there and sometimes officers also. Old habits die hard I guess. When a Latvian-Lithuanian border was closing up, the driver turned his smiling face to us and that was a sign - He and She hid behind the curtain and had to go with my voiceover. This was fun, felt like kids misbehaving. Truck slows down, weaves through lanes and round ways at the border installations, you’re all attention trying to sport officials. We got through, nobody there. Interesting if you made it exciting in your head - another valuable ability of kids. And useful for hitchhikers.
In Lithuania we had to make a half an hour stop. Rule of law and order for general safety can intervene with the stabile onflow of kilometres. It comes in a shape of a round piece of paper with enigmatic graphs on it - the logger. It records everything - speed, driving time vs standing time, stuff like that. You have to make a stop and rest, or otherwise the logger will know that you didn't and will tell on you to the first traffic policeman curious enough to ask. Half an hour of He and She hiding in the cabin of the truck - hiding by drivers request, as seemingly even truckers might have grassers amongst - parked closely between other trucks, and me having a coffee with the driver outside. Handing two cups of coffee up to the cabin for people who did not exist - with a bit of imagination it felt conspiratorial all right.
One more border was coming up, the Polish border, already in darkness, and again some smell of adventure, unexpectedness. We were closing up, and flashlight spotlights and parked cars with special colours visible from the distance made it evident, that the border officers were there.
We did get stopped. Driver remained cool and calm, suddenly sporting the best sort of truckers arrogance - arrogance towards authorities. He opened his door and looked down from his high king-of-the-road seat at the tiny young placeman. All his posture was saying - what? Young official was watching us, he looked confused, didn't say anything, and then just waved us to go.
Now, when we were in Poland and moving again, the driver seemed amused by this successful little prank. Arrogance was gone, he was this warm half-bold fellow again, nibbling on a sunflower seed and smiling.
Once in Poland, we had a huge decision to confront. Most optimistic pre-trip prognosis included hitchhiking all the way to Warsaw, or, even above optimistic – Lviv. The other possibility stated taking a train to Warsaw, either from Suwalki or Bialystok. Now we had to figure something out as it was quite late, dark and raining. The place, where the truck driver was going to go, is a “truck sleeping place” near Suwalki. Near, but far from being in it, or walkable. There are few places like that near Suwalki and along that road from Lithuania to Poland. They are special as they are huge. Literally most of the transit from the Baltics and some on-the-ground transit from Finland comes down and goes up that road, through the narrow strip between Kaliningrad and Belarussia where Lithuania and Poland meet. So every evening you see these vast parking places slowly getting bristled with trucks, sometimes as little as 50 centimetres between two, and can observe some really virtuous parking abilities. But, when the evening is falling you’re stranded there as a hitchhiker. Usually there is no speed limit nearby, which, together with darkness diminishes your probabilities to get a ride. Ordinarily there is a restaurant sporting some kind of accommodation facilities as well, but this surpasses average hitchhikers budget. We were considering our options - pushing on towards Suwalki and Bialystok ignoring the rain and darkness, or paying that money for accommodation, or walk on at random hoping to spot some more “simple” shelter for the night.
First step was to let him park the truck and go and have something to eat at the restaurant, while at the same time trying to ask if there is a train stop nearby or maybe there are night trains going from Suwalki (you’ll never know, and as Estonians we simply believe that train traffic just has to be better where ever else). He, our driver, was a tremendous help with that issue. He mobilized some of the local stuff to get the phone numbers and information we needed, and did all the calling and talking for us.
Those places specializing on sleeping or resting truck drivers are worthy of their own story in full right, but it has to be left out now, as this after all is a train blog. Let just say that if you don’t come with a really fucking big machine you are a complete alien. Even though everybody knows who you are – a hitchhiker. Another fold there for females, as there is a strong possibility and a second thought behind those curious-looking trucker faces – is she a prostitute? But this is yet again another kind of a symbiosis.
I was having a cigarette outside, under the eave, and suddenly I hear a cow going “ammmuuu..”. WTF, I wonder, as it is pitch dark, raining and there are no fields around that vast parking place next to a loud road. Why should a cow get so close to a disturbing place (for a cow, I’m bold enough to presume) like that? It took me almost the full length of a cigarette to figure that out – cow sounds came from speakers placed all around sleeping trucks.
Train enquiries carried some fruit eventually, but no too good news – next train was early in the morning, a bit before six. And then, surprisingly enough, the truck driver offered yet another possibility – we all sleep together in the cabin of the truck! He was seemingly really worried about us being there in the dark and him not being able to take us as far as Suwalki (prevented by the logger and upcoming lack of truck-suitable parking places). That sounded like a crazy plan, so we took a bit of time for consideration. And decided to go for it. Let’s do it! How, although, was something of a interesting imagination work.
We all, after food and few modest drinks, and probably for amazement of those neighbouring truck drivers who noticed, climbed to the cabin. It took some clumsy arranging (and it was nice to discover that I still had my laptop), but the driver went on the upper bunk, me and She shared the lower bunk and He was lying over two front seats and a high floor in between them. Even comfy, I’d say, and for all of us. Surreal, but nice. Drifting asleep while listening rain drum on the tin roof, noises from the road and an occasional “ammmuuuu...” of a comforting cow.
Wake up call came early, though – 4AM. Another set of clumsy rearranging and we were on the road again without further ado. He dropped us in Suwalki and gave rather vague directions for getting to the train station while apologizing that he can’t take us there – too complicated to approach with a truck. That was a warm farewell, he even came out of the truck, into the rain, to make one more attempt to explain where we should go. The feelings are always bigger than visible or shared at those occasions, I’d say, as some kind of a bond grows between the ride and the rider when a long time and a vast distance is shared in this confined and by nature private space of a car or a cabin, no difference if this time has been talked through or not. Another fluid emotion released while getting out, always in a haste, and trying to find something to say but never really able to articulate. After all, he was a real jackpot for us. Not to mention the serious distance we covered with him, thanks to what we probably gained at least one extra day in Odessa, but all this help with train information, insisting on paying for some of our food (to which He answered by paying the beers we had), offering us shelter in his cabin. He really took us under his wing.
And then you’re outside again. In our case, we were outside in the rain, half past four in the morning, in the mingy light of an early daybreak, in the little settlement by the transit road through that settlement. Shortly: 4.30 AM somewhere in Poland.
After years of affectionate hitchhiking I’ve learned to despise the road infrastructure. This thing, the road, is designed so exclusively for cars that you should never leave one. Bigger street, a transit street in the city (seemingly having pavements) and a roadway through countryside – there’s not much difference. You are not “outside” in any other sense than that you are outside of a car. Nature or landscape never reaches the roadway, it will always be only a view; being outside of a car at any main road is like being stuck on a postcard with a horrible soundtrack.
While we walked through quiet sleeping neighbourhood of well-mannered private houses the light had time to gain some strength and rain stopped falling. But this was an exhausting walk. I had almost forgotten about my Comrade, and now Me and Him were carrying it between us again. Stripes cutting into shoulders, the weight, the early morning. I was getting grumpy and trying to hide it. I was even ready to pay for the taxi but got voted out. When we finally saw the train station and a train in front of it - I felt relieved. Relieved like after something really important and demanding finally done, finished, out with that. Even to such an extent that I discovered my head emptying of everything, emotions, thoughts, shedding away. I was just standing there, in the damp morning, looking at the train saying “Bialystok” in LED lights, looking at some suits going to work with the same train – “you fuckers, you can’t imagine where we have been!” – observing some train attendants smoking their cigarettes from the palm, and nothing.
She wrapped herself in a blanket when on the train - we were still damp from the rain, he fell asleep as he was and probably I did also. I remember myself thinking that I should feel something. I should maybe even do something. As this was kind of a milestone, objective reached, a special moment. From hitchhiking to trains, we fucking finally reached trains! Nothing.
It was a simple new suburban train. Efficient, may be, but ugly.