Paranoid on a Night Train
A film canister is among the items cluttering a table in the sleeping compartment on a Russian night train. The canister works as a makeshift deadbolt to protect against thieves.
In my lectures and guidebooks, I set my "beware of thieves" lessons in Italy. This offends honest Italians. Italy is travel with abandon, the place you're most likely to fall in love and the place you're most likely to be robbed. Of course hearts and wallets can be stolen anywhere. You don't even need a passport. But when it comes to nearly any activity, I'd just as soon do it or have it done to me in Italy.
Settling in for the overnight train ride from Munich to Venice, I slip a film canister under the handle on our door so it can't be jimmied from outside.
"Clever trick," says the Irishman. "Where'd you learn that?"
"Russia," I say.
Russia, dangerous even if you're awake, is notorious for nighttime train robberies. On my last visit, the St. Petersburg English-language newspaper ran a story on Mafia thieves gassing compartments on night trains and robbing passengers. The "midnight express" from St. Petersburg to Moscow, which was most popular with Western tourists, was noted as the train most likely to be targeted.
With rumors flying everywhere, travelers gathered at the St. Petersburg youth hostel to trade misinformation and form partnerships. I teamed up with an unlikely couple — Dave, whose year on the road made him look and act like some shaggy mountain man, and petite, demure Mary Pat, his girlfriend who had just flown in to see him. For safety, we rented an entire four-bed compartment for the three of us.
On board a spooky-looking conductor welcomed us. (In our mental state, any stranger looked spooky.) He poked his head into our compartment, lifted up the bench seat, revealing a big tin bin. He said "There are thieves on this train. Mafia. Put everything you like to keep in here and sleep on top of it."
Naturally, after he left, Dave and I got down on our knees to scour the bin, convinced there was a hidden trap door somewhere in it. We declared it safe. Dave locked the door with a film canister. For good measure he lashed it shut. I opened the window enough to keep a steady breeze flowing so we couldn't be gassed from under the door. Mary Pat cheered from her top bunk.