And I thought Sardines were FISH!!

The day that Julie’s mom flew into Moscow, I got up early to catch the 6:33 electric train to Chemkie (which is how I am guessing it is spelled in English), the closest station to the particular airport to which Marsha was flying—there are four airports in Moscow—and at which I was meeting my boss, Brent. Well, I got to the train station and bought my ticket, and checking my schedule of electric trains, saw that since there weren’t any other earlier trains to Moscow, therefore, the electric train I saw sitting there at the usual platform for electric trains was the train I wanted. So, I entered, and sat down. As I was roughly 20 minutes early, I was very pleased with myself that I got a seat without any problem.

At least I was until the train took off at 6:15—18 minutes early. I asked the guy sitting across from me what was going on, why was my train leaving early. Of course, I was on the wrong train, an express train that didn’t stop at the stop I needed. But, I told him, the schedule didn’t show a train leaving now. Of course, they had just recently changed the schedule, and this train had moved times. Then the conductor came by and started talking to me at length, and rather quickly, telling me something about my ticket. Of course, this was a special train, and the ticket I bought was invalid. Strike 3!!

But, I wasn’t out—they had pity on the dumb foreigner and didn’t make me buy a new ticket, nor did they kick me out. Plus, the guy sitting across from me, Alexey, was VERY nice, patient, and helpful, and told me that I could go to the station right before Chemkie, get out and wait for the 6:33 train, which would arrive a few minutes later, get on it, and then arrive at Chemkie as I wished. “Great!” I thought, “This will work out fine!”

So, I rode and chatted with Alexey until I said all that I knew how to say, and our conversation ebbed. When we got to the appropriate stop, Alexey let me know that I needed to get off, which I did. Luckily, I found the right platform for the next train, which is always difficult because while I am sure that there is some sign telling people about which platform is for which train, I don’t know how to know just by looking, which means that I always have to ask people and trust them. No problem, I was on the right platform.

Waiting at that stop, on the outskirts of Moscow, with literally hundreds of others, I realized that this was going to be a full train. Thankfully, I didn’t want to get to Moscow, the destination of 98% of passengers on board. When the train did arrive, it was relatively full, but I took comfort in the fact that since I would soon be getting off in one stop (according to my recently outdated schedule), I could just stay in the little room by the train doors, rather than enter the carriage and try to find a seat.

It turned out, at least at first, to be a good strategy, because everyone got on and tried to find a seat, filling the carriage to near capacity, while the little 5 foot by 10 foot entryway that I was in stayed relatively comfortable. But, if you carefully read the last sentence, you surely noticed that I said “at least at first.” Yes, yes, strikes 4, 5, 6, 7, and 8 were about to hit me. It turned out my schedule was wrong. Instead of Chemkie being the next stop, there were, instead, 5 little stops in between. With each successive stop, more and more people tried to get on, and perhaps one or two got off. So, by the 2nd stop, there was no room to be had, and yet people kept forcing their way on the train.

It was horrible. I kid you not. People were getting a running start in order to fit onto the train, using their kinetic energy to push the people in just enough so that they could squeeze in. By the 3rd stop, it was uncomfortably full, and I thought, “Well, that’s it…no more room…” Then we stopped, and the doors opened again. I asked if it was my stop. It wasn’t. More people forced their way on. The group gave a collective moan as we were squished by the people repeatedly pushing, trying to find room. The doors of the train opened and closed over and over again because somebody was hanging out a bit, not allowing the doors to properly close. The conductor was yelling in Russian, “There is another train coming in a few minutes! There are too many people on board! I can’t close the doors! Get off the train!”

Stop number five, one stop (unbeknownst to me at the time) from Chemkie. I asked the person next to me if this was my stop, and I was told that it wasn’t, that it was the next stop. The doors opened, and we were all relieved that a person got off, giving a bit more space. But, in his place came on 4 or 5 more people, pushing their way on. Tempers were flaring, people yelling at those who were forcibly compacting the by now mass of tangled people even more—which before that instant, I would have sworn to be impossible—and incredibly, a few more people got on. I was now resembling a pretzel more than a person. The lady next to me told me to open the sliding door to the carriage, hoping to find some room (even though I could see that it was just as packed inside the carriage). I tried, but couldn’t, as I had my back to the door and couldn’t really get a grip on the handle since my hands were pinned to my side. I told her that I couldn’t. Her voice got a bit testier, as she told me once again to try to open the door. I told her that I couldn’t (as if I wanted to be this uncomfortable, and wouldn’t have given away my wallet for a bit or relief!). She asked again. I yelled in English—at this point I was beyond my cultural breaking point—“I CAN’T OPEN THE DOOR!!!!!!” She got the point.

It was at this moment that I thought two things almost simultaneously: “I wonder how many people are crammed in here?” and “This is DEFINITELY going on the blog!” So, I counted. 29. 29 people--all in heavy winter coats, many with bags, some with rather large purses--all of us jam-packed into this small metal container. “Human sardines” I thought. Then the REAL fun began. A couple of people on the opposite end of the compartment said, “I am getting off at the next stop.” So, we had to make room trying to shift what little space we had so that they could get nearer to the doors. Half the people didn’t want to move, for fear that they might be forced into the path of the people getting off, and swept off the train at the next stop. The guy in front of me was getting off at Chemkie as well, so I resolved to put my hand in his back and push my way off. I didn’t care who I took with me, I just didn’t want to be stuck in this awful situation any longer.

Finally, my stop arrived, and we squeezed out of the train, our bodies taut under the pressure all around me. “So this is what it feels like to be born!” I thought, as I suddenly felt this enormous release as I reached the outside of the train’s doors. As I looked back, I saw the 5 or 6 others coming out of the train all take a deep breath of relief. Then I saw the 15-20 people on both sides of the people exiting the train, all ready to try and force their way on to the train. It’s a wonder that people do this every day as they commute to Moscow!