Elenka, and I came across a deal that was too good to pass up. So we flew off to Warsaw, the capital of Poland, and then on to Lviv, the cornerstone of culture in Western Ukraine. More on the "deal that was too good to pass up" in a week or so.


Warsaw's Palace of Science and Culture was a gift to Poland from their new friends, the Soviet Union, not long after the end of World War II. Building commenced in 1952 and it was completed just three years later. In Europe, such an over the top structure first reminds you of a stationary Godzilla. If such an edifice was erected in America it would somewhat resemble a lame-dwarf, or a distant cousin of the Empire State Building. In early days 60 cats were kept to stem the rodent population. Now there are less than 30 cats. No one's quite sure if the rat numbers have decreased or if the cat jobs were outsourced with the fall of Communism. 
   
The friendly Varsovians (people of Warsaw) have some interesting nicknames for the palace: The Elephant in Lacy Underwear; the Russian Wedding Cake, and my favourite, Stalin's syringe are but a few. Moscow, Kiev, Bucharest, Prague, and Riga were also presented with these wondrous building-gifts. 


I was so excited about the next stage of our adventure that I started writing song lyrics. I haven't gotten far, but here goes:


Gonna take the night train, night train, night train,
Too-oo-oo the Oookraine, Oookraine, Oookraine






I wanted to do this trip because of the night train from Warsaw to Lviv - living the life of Len Deighton's and Alan Furst's Cold War spies. Elenka reads these authors too, but can't get into my - she calls it a fetish - night train thing. The first three hours moving slickly along the welded rails of Poland were magic. Flat farmland, with a soupy, atmospheric fog, that took us from dusk to darkness. I was completely relaxed, Elenka even smiled a little as we turned off the light and put our heads to pillows. Then we came to an abrupt stop. Hammers and iron bars came out, workers began beating at the bloody wheels of our train car for God knows what reason. The noise went on for an hour. Then we went backwards for way too long before stopping and sitting for close to another hour. 


The next thing I knew there was a knock on our door. I'd been asleep and the train was moving. It was the Polish border police. They'd come to give us our exit stamp. Twenty minutes later the Ukrainian border police came calling. They took our passports and b*****ed off with them. Next thing you know more border cops were there. These guys didn't bother to knock, they had their own key to our compartment and walked right in. After a quick examination they left too. Then suddenly, Elenka broke into a lengthy swear - later she said it was about all the other people, but she'd been looking at me through the entire tirade. An hour later our passports were returned. Neither of us got much sleep on the night train to Lviv. And Elenka, I could tell, was not amused with any aspect of my nocturnal adventure. Remarkably, after all the craziness, we arrived in Lviv right on time.          


The cobblestone streets of Lviv's Old Town are filled with mostly happy-go-lucky Ukrainians. Outsiders are few, and I'm sometimes asked, in Ukrainian, for directions or some such thing. It might well be that upon first noticing Elenka's Eastern beauty they think I'm one of them too. In any event, when I stare back blankly they ask in English if I'm from Poland. 


The Baczewski Restaurant in Lviv's Old Town might well be our #1 culinary find of all-time. Baczewski opens at eight in the morning and there's always a line up to get in. You buy an admission ticket and then you're seated. After working your way through the magnificent buffet of buffets you call your waiter and ask for the eggs and crepes menu. Along with all the food comes a flute of bubbly and a glass of vodka. All this for little more than the price of a cappuccino at home in Toronto. It's insane. I'll not go on about the dinners at this place, but we've eaten roast duck every night, and tonight, our final night in Lviv, Elenka's dessert came on the glass top of a wooden box. Dry ice fumes came from within the box and smothered her cake in a fog. And this was the one time she didn't bring the camera.