BACK ON TRACK?
What will it take to rebuild our railways to combat the inequalities of the world, rather than exacerbate them?
In the buffet car of the 7.20pm departure from Bucharest North station, Phil, a US citizen travelling home to his flat in Kyiv, and Frank, a Canadian retiree touring Eastern Europe, have got talking to Jaroslav, a young Ukrainian merchant sailor on shore leave.1 The train is due to arrive in Chișinău, the capital of Moldova, the following morning. It’s Eastern Europe’s turn to be hit by this summer’s extreme heatwave and the Soviet-era (and un-air-conditioned) train’s narrow corridors are crammed with people craning their necks out of the windows for some ventilation. Phil and Frank wave to me as I pass them and I pause to say hello. Within seconds, Jaroslav has appeared at the orange formica table, on which he slams four Moldovan beers. Without even asking, I’ve been admitted to the club.
While a railway worker and his associates spread out plates of smoked sausage, salad and bread on the table behind, we are joined by three young Moldovans. Irina, the most vocal of the trio, opens a bag of caviar-flavoured bread chips she has just bought at the buffet counter. She explains they are returning from a cycling expedition to Bulgaria and they made sure their train home would have suitable facilities for a party. Pulling out her phone, she puts on Moldova’s entry to this year’s Eurovision Song Contest, ‘Trenuletul’ by Zdob și Zdub and the Advahov Brothers. ‘This is a famous train,’ Irina explains, but I know this already, thanks to the song she’s playing, which tells the story of the journey:
Hey ho! Let’s go
Folklore and rock’n’roll
Pleacă trenul! Unde esti?
Chișinău la București!2
Eventually we each head back to our compartments for some sleep. At around 4.00am we are woken as the train screeches to a halt and an ecstasy of shouting erupts on the lineside. This is an event rehearsed every night at rail border crossings all along the frontier of the former Soviet Union. Rusty toolboxes are opened by workers who take out hammers and pickaxes. After some loud but muffled greetings between those on the ground and the crews of cross-border trains, a system of hydraulic jacks cranks into action. Our entire train is lifted into the air – while the wheels remain on the tracks. The wheel-sets are then shunted away and replacements – in a different gauge – are inserted in their place. The carriages are lowered back down and, once lengthy passport and customs
