I didn't like taking the train, back then, especially the night train. But then there was really no other way from Warsaw to Wroclaw if you didn't have a car.
To save time, I took the night train which left Warsaw at about 9 pm arriving in Wroclaw about 6 the next morning (it stopped for a couple of hours between Wroclaw and Poznan). Usually I got a sleeper car (with two bunk beds or three depending on the class). They were sold out, so I got a first class ticket, hoping that it would not be either full (six seats) or empty except for me (not so safe).
As I boarded the train and found my compartment, I was disappointed. An older man, clearly drunk, was passed out lying across one side of the two facing rows of seats. The stench was awful, but after a quick check of the train's other compartments I realized I was out of luck.
As the train started, I cracked open the window and buttoned up my coat, it was going to be a long night of choices between the winter air and noise of the train moving and the smell of a drunk.
You might wonder how I knew so much about traveling in Poland. I was a graduate student of Slavic linguistics working at a couple of universities in Poland on updating the teaching of Polish to foreigners on a fellowship. It was 1992 and there was tremendous change in Eastern Europe. I was excited to be there.
I also didn't look like a stereotypical PhD student. I was 26 but looked several years younger. I wasn't that tall but well built and sporty from years of swimming and rowing. Very American looking, which was a good thing because the local women were quite aggressive: there seemed to be a link between political repression and sexual repression. They were glad it was over and so was I. It was good to be young.
The trains clacking slowed as it stopped in Konin and broke my reverie. My compartment opened and a middle-aged woman, in her mid to late 40s entered the compartment. She was a little disappointed to see the drunk and me (I think she was trying to figure out if we were connected or I was dangerous). After a few seconds, and a wan smile from my face, she dropped her bag and wandered off, probably looking for better quarters. A few moments later she returned to sit down, acting like she forgot something.
My eyes spied over the novel I was reading. She was wearing a long dark woolen skirt and tights that hid her legs pretty well, a fairly tight wool sweater revealed large breasts. She had old fashioned, and not fashionable glasses, but her expression was pleasant and the shape of her face and curve of her neck were slim and well formed. Her hair was short and sort of boyish. Probably a schoolteacher.
