Six years later, once again into Ukraine. Once again for a ‘visa run’. And once again into the city of Lviv. But now taking advantage of an entire week in view of the previous shorter and rather superficial sojourn. More on that later.
The arrival: easy. Purchased bus ticket online. Company: Sindbad. Clever. Though ultimately some local liaison served the route, Sindbad nowhere ascribed.
Departed from Lublin, already close to the border. The entire border process consumed an hour.
Leaving Poland, exited bus without the luggage, questions hardly asked, exit stamp, photograph. On the Ukrainian side, official entered bus, collected passports, examining mine an extra five seconds. Left bus. No need to even budge. Twenty-thirty minutes after, passports returned, bus proceeds. I’m soon in Lviv.
The return journey, quiet a different story. Again, purchased a Sindbad bus ticket online, but this time a largely night ride all the whopping way to Poznań on the other side of Poland, an advertised thirteen-fourteen hours total. Quiet surprised to even find such a direct route.
Really struggled to locate that wretched bus. The company doesn’t have representation at the terminal, Lviv not the origin but an intermediary stop. Asking several random dignitaries, after some misunderstanding and frustration on both sides (bordering rudeness), I was made to understand the bus with such and such nomenclature merely passes through that parking lot without even stationing. The passengers board, the bus proceeds.
The said bus arrived with a twenty minutes delay. But there being not a tracking mechanism nor a feasible indicator, I’d by then effectively resigned to misinformation and perdition. Again, no mention of Sindbad the Saidlor.
This time, the immigration consumed not one hour but seven. I subsequently wouldn’t arrive in Poznań until roughly six hours past the advertised hour, twenty hours to have spent on that forsaken bus without a working lavatory (same case the week before, by the way).
Why seven hours? Hell if I knew. I suspect the nighttime travel to have something to do with it. By about 23:00, already close to the border, we effectively remained still like snails, along with a queue of traffic. Approaching 3AM we arrived somewhat close. Not sure if the migration building even shut down for a time?
Meanwhile, for hours on end the occupancy engaged in sighs, moans, snores, whimpers, noisy gulps of plastic bottles and consumption of degenerate food.
After 4AM a Ukrainian officer boarded the bus to collect passports. Interrogated someone for five or ten minutes. Examined my passport with apprehension, inquiring if I’d arrived on this very passport, if I’d not been carrying another, if I was sure … «Okay …».
In addition, this time we all had to exit the bus with the luggage for inspection. Would do the same at the Polish side.
I was happy once at that Polish side. Per past experience and the generalized dichotomy between the two nations, the official greeted with notably increased friendliness. But most importantly, the official asserted my additional ninety days (something of an inconsistency that always kept me in doubt): the Ukrainian trip thus not in vain.
Coffee machines next to the migration building. Last such opportunity for even remotely cheap coffee until the fifteen-minute stop at Warszawa Zachodnia.
By 6AM (5AM Poland) the bus set out full sail.
Frustrating the affair is the fact that my communication with most Ukrainians always takes place in Russian on my side and usually Ukrainian on theirs. This leads to misunderstanding, redundant Q&A, and increasingly discontent demeanor. Thus three extra reasons I prefer to be in Poland.
All that said, nothing else remarkable.
Questions, comments? Connect.