Our trip to Poland and the Ukraine has begun, and so have the fun, adventures and, yes, the misadventures. On our shuttle bus between Vancouver and Seattle, the man sitting behind us talked non-stop to his seat mate. Actually, he started even before the bus arrived. Without trying to eavesdrop, I learned that he’s 66 years old, retired 10 years ago, had a small stroke, is afraid to fly, is a former high-school Latin and French teacher, and the list goes on. I also learned (four times over) that he was very nervous about missing his flight because someone told him there might be a delay going through security at the border. (I felt sorry for the guy – he wasted a lot of energy worrying for nothing).

Then there was the guy sitting two rows ahead of us. Again, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but it was impossible to miss his monologue. He talked about everything from what happens to a helicopter if bullets hit its rotor, to thinking that he’d take a bullet himself if he tried to reclaim the property his grandfather once owned in the former Soviet Union, to riding a bus in the Czech Republic that was boarded by a gang of hoodlums who were arrested and cuffed by police when the bus reached its destination. It sounded like the stuff of which spy movies are made. But he didn’t look like a spy (duh – what does a spy look like, anyway?). He resembled an overweight Einstein with white locks gone wild.  

I must say that I’ve never heard men talk so much. I thought only women used 30,000 words per day!

In all the miles I’ve flown, I’ve never spilled a beverage on a plane.

Heading out from sunny Seattle

But today my luck ran out when I dumped tomato juice down my right leg, Gene’s left leg, and on the bags at our feet. Red splattered everywhere. We sopped up everything possible with napkins and paper towels, and then we ducked into the mini-bathroom to wet-wipe our pant legs. Thankfully we were able to get most of it out and our jeans dried before we landed in Minneapolis. But my computer keyboard didn’t fare as well.

I was in the midst of typing this blog when it happened. I immediately turned the keyboard over and dabbed it gently with paper towels…and prayed. Within minutes, however, the entire bottom row of keys wouldn’t work. Try typing the words an, and or no without an n. I could do nothing but pray more and put the computer away. We figured we’d have to take it to a repair shop for the weekend and hopefully get it fixed before our overseas flight on Tuesday.

Thankfully that won’t be necessary. A couple of hours later, Gene turned my laptop on and wonder of wonders, it worked. All I can say is, “Thank You, God!”

So, here we are in Clear Lake, Iowa. In the snow. It’s beautiful. And it’s cold.

View from my window this morning

In a few minutes we’ll head to our US headquarters – my first time to see it. And later today we’ll drive a couple of hours to a camp for our advisory council meetings.

Kosice, here we come!

Somewhere in Poland, taken from the train window. Brrr! It was cold outside!

Riding the trains in Eastern Europe is an adventure. Here are a couple of things we’ve encountered:

• Most people believe that a draft will make them sick. As a result, windows and doors in the train berths are rarely opened for air circulation. Berths can become stifling hot, but opening a window to get fresh air is not looked upon favorably. Last summer when I traveled in the heat, I gave it an honest try – I was sitting next to the window, so I reached up and opened it about 6 inches. An elderly woman eyed me with contempt and then stood to her feet, stepped to the window, and promptly closed it. I thought I’d die of suffocation before reaching my destination. That was like a “don’t try this at home weight loss program” – sweat off a few pounds in transit! Thankfully, today’s trip was totally comfortable. Gene and I enjoyed a berth to ourselves for the first 5 ½ hour leg of our journey, and this train’s engineers seemed to have mastered the art of regulating the heat in the berths.
• Switching trains adds stress to one’s journey. Maybe that’s because we don’t understand the languages spoken here, so we can’t decipher the arrival/departure announcements over the loudspeakers. Or maybe it’s because the station masters wait until the last moment before they post the appropriate platform number on the departure board – or they post a number and then change it as the train pulls in. Perhaps it’s because there may be only 10 minutes between our train’s arrival and our next train’s departure. We have to hope that the arriving train is running on time, get off with all our luggage, find a departure board, hope that the next train’s platform number has been listed correctly, and then run for it!

 Today’s switch was stressful. Thankfully our arriving train was on time. We climbed off with luggage and backpacks in tow, walked across the tracks and climbed onto the covered platform. That’s when we discovered that our connecting train’s platform number wasn’t listed on the departure board outside. So then we wondered, Is it not listed because our next train hasn’t arrived yet? Or is it not listed simply because the station master hasn’t updated it recently? Or is it not listed because this departure board isn’t working properly? Gene walked into the station to see if he could find more information, but no such luck.

In the meantime, I asked a uniformed man if he spoke English. He shook his head. Time was ticking, so I tried to communicate anyway. “Kosice?” I asked. He held up one thumb and forefinger and said, “One, two.” Then he pointed down a nearby stairwell and to the right. He repeated his hand gestures for emphasis and then walked away. Ah, I thought. Perhaps our next train leaves from platform 2. Or… maybe he didn’t understand what I asked, and whatever he said bears no relevance whatsoever to my question.

A moment later, a man’s voice made a lengthy announcement over the loudspeaker. A crowd of 50 or 60 people pushed through the station’s exit and headed down the stairwell. I caught the word “Kosice” in the announcement and figured they were all bound for our destination, or to one of the stops along the way. But I was guarding our luggage, and Gene was nowhere in sight, so I had no choice but to stay put and hope that, if those folks were heading to our train, we would join them in time to catch it, too.

It felt like eternity until Gene returned. We grabbed our luggage and headed the direction that the crowd had taken – down a long flight of stairs, through an underground tunnel, and up another flight of stairs to a platform between tracks. But there was no train. And still no number listed on the departure board. And that 10 minute window between our arrival and departure was now down to mere seconds. Were we in the right place or not? If we missed our connection, we’d have to spend the night in that town and find our way to Kosice on Wednesday, and that wouldn’t work well with our hostess’ busy schedule.

We must have looked like lost foreigners, for suddenly a young man came from nowhere and spoke to us with a heavy Eastern European accent but in perfect English: “May I help you?” I wanted to hug him!

“Can you please tell us the correct platform for the train to Kosice?” I asked.

“Number 2. This is it.” He smiled reassuringly. An angel, I’m sure.

Seconds later, the train roared into the station. Our reservations were for Car #3. We watched helplessly as Car #3 ripped past us and then stopped ‘way down the platform. My oh my, it was a long run. My backpack weighs at least 20 pounds, and I was hauling two suitcases – the handheld one weighs about 25 pounds and the wheeled one weighs about 45 pounds. By the time I got to Car #4, I couldn’t go another step. My lungs felt like they were going to burst from breathing the frigid air.

“Keep going,” called Gene, also on the run. “Our car’s the next one.”

Forgive me for sounding unspiritual at this point. At the threat of collapsing beside the train and thereby missing our ride, I opened my mouth and out spilled the words: “Just get on the stinkin’ train!” I’ve never seen my husband move so fast.

Car #4 was the dining room. Imagine us hauling our suitcases between the linen-draped tables, trying to keep our balance as the train rocked and rolled and picked up speed. Boy, was I relieved to fall into our seats when we finally reached Car #3. And so began the next leg of our journey to Kosice, Slovakia. Another 4 hours lay ahead. My computer battery died enroute, so this turned into a welcome time of relaxation and rest.

So here I am, sitting in a hotel room in Gangtok, Sikkim, with some time to spare. And I can hardly wait to tell you about this amazing trip. I’ll add a few entries each day, depending on internet access. Happy reading!

The actual adventure began on March 21 when Gene and I boarded a 747 in Vancouver. B.C. Nine hours later we landed in London, changed flights, and took off for an eight hour flight to New Delhi. After claiming our suitcases and going through a security check, we boarded yet another flight, this time for Hyderabad. We landed two hours later, exhausted but excited to return to Asia after a 22-year absence.

First impressions? HOT. It must have been more than 100 degrees – twice as hot as back home. Sweat trickled down our legs and foreheads as we waited for nearly an hour for our car and driver to arrive. It was also very noisy – taxi horns blasted non-stop, police whistles blew, and Hindi music blared. But that was nothing compared to the cacophony while driving through the city enroute to Operation Mobilization headquarters. Add never-ending bus and motorcycle motors and horns to the symphony, and you can imagine the ruckus.

Our driver appeared a little over-anxious to reach our destination. Or maybe he was an Indy 500 driver in disguise. He dodged vehicles of every size and description, business men wearing suits and carrying briefcases, and women wearing bright-colored saris. At one point, he swerved into the oncoming lane to pass a diesel-spewing bus. Several motorcyclists moved out of his way, but then came a little red car that staked its turf and sped straight toward us with headlights flashing. I swear we avoided a head-on collision by a mere hair. Welcome to India!