[The Trail] Ten Hours at the Border, and What a Single Can of Beer Taught Me (3/3)

“Man, this is happiness.”

My friend said it after taking a long sip of beer. A single can of Harbin beer, procured through a covert mission with a friendly station attendant on a locked-down platform guarded by soldiers with guns. In that moment, that single can of beer held the entire meaning of our journey.

The border was a massive wall. Five hours of waiting in Zabaikalsk, Russia, followed by another five hours in Manzhouli, China. We were trapped on a train for ten hours to cross a distance you could walk in five minutes. Soldiers swept through the tense cabin, searching under beds and inside bags. The first question from the Russian border guards was, “You! North Korea?” (This was in English, after they had already asked in Russian—it seemed clear what they were getting at.)

When we replied, “No, South,” they brought over their highest-ranking superior.

We were led to a room that felt like an interrogation chamber. The officer eyed our passports, stamped with visas from all corners of the world, and his suspicion was palpable. “I’ve worked here a long time,” he said, “and you are the first South Koreans I have ever seen cross this border by train.” My heart sank. We were only allowed to leave after they had taken our photos and prints of all ten fingers. It was unnerving, as if all our information had been sold to Russia and China, but what could we do? We couldn’t stop here. We made it through with a combination of inspections, scanning, gestures, and desperate pleas via Google Translate.

After passing through the suffocating Russian border, the train clanked forward—though to say it ‘moved’ feels like an overstatement, it was probably slower than walking. It seemed to go on for about five minutes, then stopped. We were in China. We were told we had another five hours to wait. We got off the train, but the platform was under such heavy guard that a soldier even followed you to the bathroom.

Just when I thought I couldn’t stand the 답답함 (kind of boredome with frustration) anymore, I spotted the kindest-looking station attendant. I asked desperately, “请问 (Qǐngwèn)? 我能买啤酒吗 (Wǒ néng mǎi píjiǔ ma)??” (Excuse me? Can I buy beer??). To my shock, he burst out laughing, a loud “Hahaha!”, and gestured for us to follow. He led us through a winding, staff-only secret passage to a convenience-store-like shop next to the ticket office. The attendant and the shop staff pointed at us, talking and laughing. It was probably something like, “Haha, these guys want a beer! Go on, give them one!”

Clutching a can of beer each, we walked back, feeling as proud as triumphant generals returning from a victorious battle. We took a sip.

“Man, this is happiness.”

The Meaning of Travel

My friend’s words made us laugh for a long time. The grueling, ten-hour wait instantly transformed into a triumphant memory.

Perhaps this is what travel, and happiness, is all about. It’s the dopamine rush that comes from confronting unpredictable problems and solving them with everything you’ve got. It’s the small freedoms and achievements you earn along the way.

Completely disconnected from my life in Seoul, I could see my own path with a new clarity.

It wasn’t about a grand plan or a final destination. It was about the ability to feel the small joys of the present moment, to find happiness in a single can of beer earned against the odds.

The clattering train was telling me that this would be the most important compass for all the journeys I had yet to create.

(Fin.)

#Siberia #Russia #Travel #Railway #Founders