The train to Sighetu stopped everywhere. One platform burst into argument – the train guard versus a large group of Roma women (Europe’s most hated minority). I knew I’d never find out what it was about, so I exchanged smiles with the children. Half an hour later they drifted away and the train plodded on to Sighetu, at the end of the line.
Despite the website boasting it took 5 minutes to buy a (compulsory) Ukrainian travel insurance policy, they didn’t actually do same-day cover. I was stranded at the border, so I consoled myself with a cheap spa hotel.
On arrival there were three men in the bar, shouting at each other, with the sound system on full blast and a barking dog trying to compete. The room itself looked lovely – spacious, clean, modern. But I could still hear the noise from the bar. When it finally subsided, I could hear a child wailing in the next room. Then the toilet did its own routine which would certainly have woken me. I put my trunks on and went down to unwind in the spa. Closed! It was the first time I’d ever walked out of a hotel.
The next place was much more central. I popped over the road for last orders at Old Pub. I asked someone whether he spoke English. He was from Reading, but with Romanian friends and not chatty. I asked the barman about Ukrainians crossing the border (the River Tisa). Yes, it still happened. Last winter, a hunter had found a young guy almost frozen to death.
Back at the hotel, I was soon woken by mozzies. Far too many to deal with, so I dragged the rug, duvet and pillow into the bathroom and curled up beside the toilet. Maybe I’d been too hasty to judge the last place.
Nigel Tart 
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