Letzte Änderung: 06-02-98
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I hopped on the train literally the last minute. I was supposed to join them as a kind of 'neutral observer' but ended up in the middle of all the action. A quite considerable group had gathered at the station. I know just some of them. I hold on to my video camera. Press conference. Talks, , promises, congratulations, - What a hassle about a few show-cases filled with little wooden boxes!
Who is "we"? It doesn't take me long to figure that out. It's Doris, Veronika, and Eva, the three artists. Then there is Wolfgang, the photographer, Karl, the computer expert, and Klaus and myself, the 'observing ones'. That makes seven all together - the 'evil' seven, the Seven Raven, the seven Liberal Arts, the Seven Wonders of the World, Seven Against Thebes - whatever. Anyway, seven at one blow. And what borders, interior and exterior, will we touch upon with these boxes? We don't know that yet.
The transport has been thoroughly scheduled. But already at the time of the departure I realize: We are entangled in a process of unpredictable dynamics that might put limits to our plans. A twenty minute delay at the departure. How can we be certain that we will ever arrive there at all?? I intend to be flexible. A delay, in this case, is not a problem yet. We will arrive at Vienna at approximately 22:00 and will continue our journey only the next day.
Up to Vienna some other people who I haven't met before are joining us. I withdraw to get familiar with my environment. In my compartment they put up a show-case with boxes. Each of them has its own story, each a precious object in itself. While looking at my 'companions', the boxes, I become one myself- with the ability to open and close, to play with colors and shapes. I can be turned around - even upside down - ....slowly I have all the others transform into boxes - all different kinds of boxes in a nostalgic Russian sleeping car framed by golden curtains.
Arrival at the Südbahnhof. Next stop: Vienna Westbahnhof. And we have to face a 'border' already. Before taking off the next morning we need visas for the Ukraine. How does a group of people who are practically strangers to each other handle this pressure. It turns out that there is an incredible potential of positive energy, flexibility, and humor. That is the attitude we need to switch compartments, to accomplish visa requests, make passport photographs , and to go for a modest midnight snack though we are almost starving. And we manage to cross two reasonable borders. One of them is Doris and me convincing two station-masters to let us photocopy our visas at 1:10 (they usually close down the area at 1:15 each morning). Moreover, we are not allowed to sleep in the carriage yet - but find out about that the same night. We are proud of our organizing skills. Stumbling over a bunch of tracks we reach our carriage in the pitch dark. Again it had been put to a different place! Exhausted we finally crawl into our sleeping bags.
Friday, August 30, 1996
We had spent the night among a lot of moving back and forth: trains had arrived and departed. Already at 6 a.m. we have to get up. There are only two sinks, all the others are blocked by the show-cases. Veronika, Karl, and I, we hurry to the next cab stand. "To the Ukrainian embassy as fast as you can get us there!" Eva had arranged for an officer to be there one hour earlier than usual so we would not miss the train. But can you expect the cab driver to know the Ukrainian embassy in Naafgasse 23? He has to stop and ask people who are passing by for the way. The atmosphere in the cab is getting tense. We have to cope with our own limits that we set up for ourselves. We manage. We arrive there 20 minutes earlier than expected, so we have some time left for relaxing with a cup of coffee in a bakery shop. At the embassy everything turns out fine until to the moment when the friendly officer asks whether we had the visa for White Russia yet. We get nervous....Afterwards Veronika had been told by competent officials that White Russia wouldn't require a separate visa. So we wouldn't have to worry any more and could simply continue.
The train is still at gate 3. I hardly noticed the presentation at Vienna. Final grocery shopping, a brief "Do well!" from Gina who has accompanied us to Vienna, and yet again we are absorbed by this 'golden nostalgia'.
The first border check: the border between Austrian and Hungary. They don't appreciate us filming. The stop is a brief one, though. A couple of explanations are sufficient for them to let us pass. 13:20 arrival at Budapest. On the station a tense atmosphere: bomb threat. The best thing would be not to leave the carriage at all. The station is locked. Our limits are put on the test again. I am surprised how we handle this situation - as if it would be the most usual in the world. The gates are packed with people but even there, no one is panicking. Many people take the time to visit the exhibition. We enjoy the company of the Hungarian department for cultural affairs. Doris is busy filming. While we are trying to figure out where we could get lunch and at the same time recharge our storage cells, our carriage is shifted to another gate... "Stop. My storage cells are still in there", Doris shouts. But too late: the carriage is locked until departure.
(..) We almost got on the wrong carriage. From outside, this 'twin' carriage looked exactly like ours. It had the same golden curtains. In the beginning our carriage was an outsider "with golden curtains and Cyrillic characters", now it harmoniously matches the other carriages with Cyrillic printing. In the course of time, something like a "home" has developed. Each of us has her/his own compartment, additionally there is a toilet and sink, a conference room and the pantry where I sleep in. I feel quite comfortable there. Departure from Budapest at 16:15 - as scheduled. Everyone is exhausted and falls asleep immediately.
At 18:00 I wake up. My chocolate-rum candy cheers everyone up. Even our Russian sleeping car attendants can not resist them. The chocolate-candies, the nut cake and the few sentences in poor Russian that I can only keep for the time I need to cross the carriage make them smile. It doesn't take too long and the ice melts. They serve us hot coffee in nostalgic glasses (in tacky silver cups). All of a sudden, Doris and I, head for the camera. Outside, a landscape like the ultimate cliche of the Hungarian Puszta is passing by: the famous black and white cattle on the fields. But we were too late, the view is gone, passed by just like that. Instead, there are fields of dried sunflowers and corn as far as the eye can reach. The setting sun is shedding warm light on them/ is covering them with warm light. I decide to visit each box separately and start cataloguing them. Now I discover details that I haven't seen before. I realize that each has its own story. They turn into living objects: Sad People from Mexico, The Fish from France, Arrividerci from Italy, Suffering from Vietnam, Keep Pacific Nuclear Free! from Australia, Global Vision from the United States, and many more.
Saturday, August 31, 1996
Chop: the border between Hungary and the Ukraine. 1 a.m. in the morning. The stop is supposed to last three hours. Our carriage is shifted, lifted, then lifted and shifted again...adjusted to a different gauge (10 centimeters wider than the other one). Everyone is awake and extremely busy since the Ukrainian customs formalities are particularly extensive (we have to fill out statements about the foreign currencies and customs). The atmosphere is friendly and the officials are willing to help with the Cyrillic language which we cannot read. One of our attendants -obviously in a good mood - tells me that getting the connecting trains as well as border checks will cause problems. I can not share this kind of humor but if one doesn't understand the language......Wolfgang is taking pictures, if required even using his hip, and Klaus is filming. Once in a while I can hear Eva requesting a bathroom. She seems to struggle with more basic needs... But no one pays attention to her. As soon as the trains stops the toilet is locked.It's been quite a while that we are stuck in Chop - between cranes and floodlights. The train's base is vibrating from the movements caused by the tools and engines of the workers. All of a sudden Klaus' bed flips and underneath we discover the entry to the underground of tracks.
2:00 in the morning: we are still in Chop. More questions - one of the customs officials speaks German. Again the custom documents are requested. There seem to be serious problems. The officials are having a long discussion. Finally, the comment in German which allows us to pass: "Well, good bye, have a good journey:" We get a stamp on the custom documents.
2:30 in the morning: finally we can go to bed. The train gets moving. 6:00 in the morning: Where am I? Fresh green meadows, cattle, geese, goats, people at work with their scythes and all this at sunrise.. Not awake yet, I grab the camera. This unique atmosphere is hard to capture. I am put back into my childhood: the hay is not like in Hungary packed by machines into cylindrical rolls put into heaves with .hay forks. Furthermore I discover all the tractors, unpaved roads and groups of people carrying scythes. Curiosity keeps me awake. That is probably true for Wolfgang as well. He smiles at me. What is the name of this station? I take a pen and start drawing: CTP (sstrij). Wolfgang the "Mr. Fast&Smart" helps me with the filming (a pan to the right, a pan to the left): "look at that - a brick factory and a goat." "Right, a brick factory goat.!"
We approach the most important city of the western Ukraine: L'vov (formerly: Lemberg). Wolfgang brings the bad news that he got from our Russian attendants: a seven hour stay: we missed the connecting train. This also means: arrival in St. Petersburg with a 12 hours delay which in turn makes it impossible to transfer the data from St. Petersburg directly to Graz. So finally problems...The first reaction is that the we get tense and serious. Exterior as well as limits are tested. A dynamic triggering off unpredictable processes has found its way into our time schedule. But wherever there is chaos new creativity develops. We have to set up a new schedule and restructure our plans. I am in the middle of processes of self organization while being part of it myself. Up to this day I had only heard about it in lectures, now I was absorbed by it/involved in it. Creativity, flexibility, and reorganization. And each of the seven of us was involved which caused quite some action. Everyone is calm, but serious. We look for solutions. It is necessary to call to Graz, if possible to send e-mails, is the university in Graz closed on a Saturday or open? Sasha has to be contacted in St. Petersburg, we have to exchange money......Will we ever arrive at St. Petersburg? Now we really have to act 'beyond limits'in every respect. While the others head for the city to get as much as possible done I stay in the carriage to 'guard' our valuable equipment (existing of the video cameras, the fancy computer, microphones and much more). I have them lock everything except the press room and the pantry. Unfortunately I forgot to bring something to read so I sneak Klaus' "Death in Venice" (St. Petersburg is referred to as the Venice of the North). Outside the sun is shining. I nod off a couple of times until the "Death in Venice" ultimately forces me to sleep. I had experience my physical limits.
But curiosity doesn't allow me to rest for too long. I observe and film what is going on at the station. Gottfried Keller's "Black Spider" comes to my mind when watching an incoming train. The masses crawling out of the train remind me of all the little spiders which are spreading - right after their birth - across the sheet in Keller's story. Here, people are spreading on the gates instead. Old people are carrying heavy sacks, tomatoes are falling out of over-stuffed boxes, baggy jute sacks all guesses about the shape of pumpkins and potatoes. Piles of egg boxes are balanced. Everyone seems to be in a hurry to get into the city. And yet people are helping one another if for instance the wheels of baggage cars get stuck in the tracks or weights seem too heavy to be carried alone. I wonder how all this could fit into the train. In the meantime, I need to go to a bathroom very badly. The one on the train is locked. The attendants are asleep and I don't have any money to go to the public one in the station. Luckily the rest of our group returns with the local urrency (Kupons) and the latest news: they called all the important people, the storage cells are being recharged at a hairdresser's, and for 15:30 a press conference has been set up spontaneously. The best news under the worst conditions.
Finally I get to use bathroom and have a cup of coffee which both costs 50.000.- Kupons ( 3 Austrian Shillings) Do they list both - using a bathroom and a cup of coffee - under the same category (products or services which cater for pleasure) and does that, then, devaluate coffee and reevaluate the work of the women who are cleaning the toilets? In the exhibition room we give an extensive interview. We learn to be careful with the term 'nationalism' that - due to the latest political developments - has a positive connotation, here.
Departure: 17:30. I wonder what the next troubles to cope with will be. Outside, the past keeps passing by like a river. We see people walking far distances on unpaved roads. They are getting back from work; horse-drawn carts, cattle and many white geese frame the fields. If once in a while a car appears, all it leaves behind is a cloud of dusk. At the stations women and children pass by selling plums, apples, fish, garlic, and onion-chains. We buy plums which one of our attendants is pouring right onto the compartment seats. He returns the bucket to the woman and the trains starts moving again. Most of us decide to take a nap since at 1 a.m. we are expecting the next border check. Doris and I, are designing a box for Sasha who did all the organization for the broadcasting in St. Petersburg. So we hardly get any sleep. Doubts. We are not sure whether anyone is going to take us from the station at midnight. Is Polina, the Russian curator, actually going to take over the boxes? Is she going to show up that late at all?
Sunday, September 1, 1997
AT 00:45 there is yet another border check at Stolin (exit: Ukraine). What is going on here? They take our customs documents without giving them back to us and the train starts moving again. What's next? Luckily they returned my passport after some time. One of our Russian attendants removes the sweat from his forehead and sighs with relieve. Whatever that is supposed to mean? 2:35 entry to White Russia. After a short check we get moving again. 8:30: we exit White Russia. A customs official tears off parts of our visa. Now it looks like a mouse had gnawed on it. And what is going on over there? Young men roll drums out of the woods and tap off 8 drums of diesel from the engine machine. Scared looks meet with the lenses of our cameras. Suddenly, the men crouch down to hide in the high grass. A train is passing by on us. As soon as it is gone they take up their work again: the empty drums are rolled downhill with no effort, while to roll the filled ones up the hill seems to be harder work. Then they disappear in the woods. I start getting nervous. Is there enough fuel left for us to continue? 15 minutes later we enter Lithuania without any problems. Vilnius: the batteries of my video camera are empty. Doris still has extra batteries for her expert's camera. She gets off the train and starts filming. But she was not supposed to film that one building - transit territory. An officer is running after her and stops her. She is lucky to keep the film . And, what is more, she can join us again - borderline situations at the border. No wonder.
Up to that day there has always been sunshine "out there". Today the landscape seems to be dressed up in its Sunday best : I am dazzled by the bright white birch trunks shining silvery in the sunlight. A cow's black-and-white fur shines like it were brand new. Now the mixed forest can't wait to pass by. Next we see cultivated fields. A woman wheeling her bike with a tinny milk-can reminding me of my childhood. A village is coming up: RILJUS. I have a hard time deciphering the name. The round piles of wood - round as African round huts - are a feast for the eye. In the middle of a village clothes are sitting on the ground. They are for sale. Only few Ladas are on the roads. I lean on to the warm window glass enjoying the sunlight.12:oo noon: the border between Lithuania and Latvia (Turmantas). 10 minutes stop. Nothing happens. Swamps, lakes and fishermen frame the view of the landscape passing by. I continue cataloguing the boxes. 16:30 the border between Latvia and Russia. I get enough time to draw the name of the station: PYTALOVO. The border officials meet a group that is in a good mood - spoilt by hours of beautiful landscape and sunbeams. The troubles of the last days are almost forgotten and accepted. A serious looking man shouts: "Dokumenta!" into the idyll. No problem. We give them to him. He takes a look at the visa and starts hysterically laughing. What is that meant to be? Slowly things are clearing up and we realize what delicate situation we are in. The officials in White Russia the wrong piece of our visa. So finally we don't have the visa to exit. Shaking his head, the officer shows the gnawed on visa to his colleagues and then disappears in an office - together with my passport which is gone now, too. All the others can keep theirs. I can sense major problems coming up with all the white paper written in a language that we don't understand. I try to find out to which office we have to go in St. Petersburg. I learn about the pitfalls of the Berlitz Dictionary. Though it contains words like "powder -puff" others like "office" and "institution" are lacking. Finally we are allowed to enter but only due to a mistake: in White Russia, an official forgot to tear off the entry visa. Now it turned out that we actually needed a double visa for Russia.
Eva, Doris, and Wolfgang are going "visitor hunting" again. They go to the other carriages, distribute brochures and invite people to the exhibition carriage. Our Russian attendants don't like that at all. I, too, decide to explore the train. Now I realize the difference to the other carriages: people are sitting crowded next to each other, are eating home-made food, reading or sleeping. Some of them give me puzzled looks. The carriages are quite clean, except that there is no carpet and, of course, no boxes. Compared to them we are living in sheer luxury. Are we representing the posh West that has been provoking those who have to struggle for their living for hours already? That idea makes me feel uncomfortable. This wouldn't meet the intention of the boxes at all. They signal variety to the observer, transgress their narrowness, and force communication - transgressing countries, one country next to the other. The boxes catch attention, are in constant motion and entail the global hope that communication is possible after all and borders can be transgressed. I finish cataloguing the boxes. While packing my things I come to realize that what had appeared almost impossible has turned into reality. At midnight we arrive with our boxes at the target station, St. Petersburg - exhausted and partly illegal but quite happy.
Hermine Posch: hposch@iaik.tu-graz.ac.at
Translated from german to english by Kaiser Annina
sanna@gewi.kfunigraz.ac.at