Orlici is a railway town of a few thousand people on the border between Poland and Czechia – when we arrived there yesterday it meant that we had traversed Poland from North to South. It also meant that we would have to wait two and a half hours for the next train to Brno – something which caused a reaction in this traveller that Sigmund Freud might have been able to explain.

Perhaps it’s because Orlici reminded me of another railway town in the Bremer River catchment. I suspect that I may have been subconsciously aware of what it would be like to wait a few hours at the station in a place like Orlici, let alone grow up in this borough. Thankfully another train to Brno was delayed earlier that morning and we were able to catch that one to Czechia’s second biggest city after just a short wait: travel mercies indeed.

What’s more, the Czech conductor also took mercy on the Cunnington-Smytes. In the excitement of a fortuitous train delay and hence an opportunity to get to Brno without a wait … Farley may have inadvertently  bought tickets for the next day. As the conductor scanned the bar code there was a quizzical look and then a shoulder shrug.

We have travelled across other borders (e.g. Natalie and the famous Croatia – Slovenia crossing) where the wrong ticket or the absence of a passport means instant eviction. Some borders are much harder to cross.

A friend of mine, someone who kept me sane at work for many years, really understands stressful border crossings. She grew up in Ostrov, Czechoslavia in the early ’80’s at a pivotal historical moment for that country- it was after Dubcek’s ‘Prague Spring’ had been crushed by Warsaw Pact troops and during the following period of extended repression for Czech citizens. In the mid 80’s her courageous parents decided to escape the oppressive life of Ostrov: they would attempt to get to Austria via Yugoslavia. 

She recalls the Czech border where there were body and car searches and luggage was checked meticulously to ensure that it was a Croatian beach holiday, not an attempt to relocate to the West. She remembers that her mother had sewn bank notes into her bra so that the family would at least have some cash if they made it.  She remembers huddling on the floor of the car with her sister as the searches took place. And she remembers the men with machine guns everywhere. (Perhaps a little like the guards preventing young people from fleeing Rosewood in the ’70’s?)

Not all border crossings are as fraught as hers was in the ’80’s (thankfully!). Ours in Schengen Treaty Europe are frequent and fluent, often unnoticed- as innocuous as crossing from Coolangatta to the Tweed.  Though, come State of Origin deciders …

The joys of travel!

Farley C-S