The Vienna-Kyiv sleeper sells out faster than a Russian DDOS attack. Our cross border shuttle train crawled out of Zahony on its three mile odyssey then immediately ground to a halt. The electricity (and with it the air con) ground to a halt. The sunset faded away and left us in a dimly lit sauna. Unlike others, this one was full of children. Unlike others, these were angels, waiting patiently with mama or babushya. They must surely know the track is empty and the Ukrainian customs hall is ready and waiting, before dispatching a train; the authorities wanted us to experience that wait.
Three hours later, they waved me through customs without even scanning my rucksack. We took a taxi (only a couple of quid more than Claude’s guide price) to Mukachevo, the first large town inside Ukraine. Sacha, sensibly, went straight to bed.
I, of course, went out for last orders. Barry Barr’s Irish pub had the best reviews. It was next to a lingerie shop with a red-lit window display. Outside the otherwise all male pub were two glamorous women, who had obviously just popped in for a Guinness after a shopping session next door. I felt misogynistic but avoided eye contact.
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