I’m on the train bound for Odessa. The Ukrainian night is starkly black. I see no towns outside my window. In a way, I feel like I’m in Dr. Zhivago, traversing the lonely and foreboding Russian wilderness, yet I know that I’m passing through some of the richest farmland in all of Europe.
It’s a twelve-hour ride to my destination. At first, I was going to fly, even though the price tag was $299, an amount I was not thrilled to pay. My brother’s girlfriend, Marina, told me to take the train, so I acquiesced. It was only a nineteen-dollar ticket. Continue reading