The train ride to Vilnius: My first impression as I got into the Polish-Russian train was that I was in a James Bond film. It was dreary, shabby, and definitely not luxurious. A rather heavy square-shaped woman in a uniform, and thin legs and clumsy shoes, walked quickly down the corridor shouting: “Tchai” (Tea). My Polish travel companions in the compartment smiled at me. She was a caricature of the Soviet employee. One could immediately feel the difference between the Polish people and the Russians. The Poles were not as subjugated as the Lithuanians. Their country was still Poland, a separate, identifiable country. Lithuania was the “L” in the L.S.S.R., no longer belonging to itself.
I learned that to travel to the U.S.S.R. by train, you were obliged to sit in a specific car, in a specific compartment, in a specific seat. Everyone obeyed for fear of being arrested. We settled in. Then the military security came in to verify our documents. I was quite a sensation having an American passport. The young soldiers were polite, clean-shaven, and all carried machine guns. They were pleasant and departed. I thought that would be it for the security check, but this was repeated several times until we got to the Polish-Lithuanian border. At the border, something quite extraordinary took place - the changing of the wheels on the train cars. Since the gauge on the Russian tracks was wider than on the Polish tracks (or vice versa) to prevent the hijacking of a train across the border, every car of the train had to be lifted, the wheels changed, and replaced by wheels appropriate to the tracks. This knocking and clanging lasted for four hours, during which time, no one was allowed to use the toilets (they were locked; someone might hide and try to escape into the Russian zone). There was a lot of banging under the cars, ostensibly looking for escapees. Once again, the armed guards came in to check our documents and asked if we were bringing in any pornography or any religious articles. I had some holy medals for my aunts, which were confiscated.
But later, in Vilnius, I saw women selling rosaries on the Church steps. Throughout the night, we were hardly allowed to sleep. They came in to check periodically. I presumed that it was a Soviet tactic - to exhaust people. As the train pulled into the station in the early morning mist, I saw the sign - VILNIUS!
