When I call this a train station, it should call up no grand images. There was only one train line, and that one is now rarely used since the collapse of the Soviet Union over a decade ago. Inside were just a few grungy rooms -- a ticket room, a waiting room with hard plastic seats and a couple kiosks selling pornography and candy bars, a cafe of sorts, a small bookstore and a few other odds-and-ends rooms.

There were two signs on the closed ticket window. One said that the window was open 24 hours. The other said tickets would be on sale from 9 A.M. No other business was conducted in that office other than selling ferry tickets.

The women at the front of the line began assembling a written list of everyone, something under thirty altogether. This is an old system born of decades of experience. Our place in line would be held even if we wandered off-- not that there was anywhere to wander off to, it being before 6:00 A.M. I was 23rd on the list.

We waited. And waited. I tried to read in the dim light. Another train arrived and more people joined the line. Directly behind me now were a few teenage conscripts on leave. We chatted; in remote areas of Russia like this, as a foreigner I am a celebrity.

The ticket window "opened" ahead of schedule at 8 A.M. Just then, a new line arrived. These were the people who had reservations for tickets. There were 20 or so of them, and they would all go ahead us.

At 9 A.M., the station cafe‚ opened. I was starving, but I didn't want to miss my turn. I asked where we were in line.
"Person #3"
On the second list?
"No, the reservations list."

There were forty-some people ahead of me in line, the window had been open an hour, and only 2 had bought tickets.

This was going to be a long day. I went to have breakfast in a small cafe that served microwaved pre-packaged meals and grilled fish of unknown species.

After breakfast, the line hadn't moved appreciably, so I wandered off to find an Internet cafe. I was on deadline for an article and could use the time. I found one at the town post office -- a half-dozen old computers in a converted office. I wrote home; it had been days since anyone had heard from me, and for all I know it would be days before I found another computer.

I had lunch in the station cafe, which was surprisingly good. We were still on the reservations list. What on earth were they doing up there? I couldn't really see. Filling out forms, it seemed. At this point, one middle-aged man in fatigues, so drunk he could barely speak, began to curse. Others in the line cursed back.

Bored, I wandered about the station. There was a bookstore. As I browsed, I asked the workers if it was always like this.
"Always."
Why don't they open a second window or speed up the process or something?
"They enjoy it," said the bookstore clerks, enjoying it.
Don't they want to sell all the tickets for their ferries? Don't the ferries end up leaving long before they've sold all the tickets?
"No, they hold the ferry until they've sold all the tickets."

At 1:00 P.M., the ticket window was scheduled to close for a lunch-break. Murmurs began. Perhaps fearing a riot would break out, the ticket seller took only a several-minute rest.

Finally, around 3 o'clock, they announced that the ferry was sold out and closed the window. How they could be sold out if only two dozen tickets had been sold was beyond me. How big was this ocean-going ferry?

The ticket-seller announced that anyone who wanted to go "without a ticket" should hop on the bus with the other passengers. I had no idea what this meant, but I went running. About six of us had decided to go sans tickets. The others had done it before and as we waited for the bus to the ferry, explained the rules to me. "The ferry always has extra space. One time, they said it was sold out, but it was almost empty."

What gives?
"Somebody must make money out of this," they shrugged.

There were two problems, though. One was that it wasn't clear you'd get a sleeping birth. The second was that the ferry would run about 12 hours, meaning we'd arrive at 3 or 4 in the morning. This being Russia, likely as not the station would be dark and no hotels would be in the vicinity. In fact, I didn't even know if there was a station on the other end. I didn't want to face that in the middle of the night. So I decided to take the next ferry, rumored to be leaving later in the evening.

The ticket window was to reopen once they had finished boarding the ferry. When that would be was anyone's guess, but they said it wouldn't be before 4. So I went back to the Internet cafe.

The window opened soon after 4 P.M. Now, the line was small. Either a lot of people had given up, or more people had gone sans tickets than I thought. Within a few minutes, I was next in line.

"Let the soldiers go first," someone said. An officer had convinced the ticket seller to let the half-dozen soldiers directly behind me in line to move ahead of me. I knew several of them at this point, having spent the better part of a day in their company. "Look," I said, "It won't take so long for me to buy a ticket. You guys are right behind me. You aren't going to get your ticket all that much faster. I, on the other hand, am going to have to wait who knows how long for the 6 of you to get your tickets. The difference to me is huge." Be that as it may, they took my place in line. Perhaps the ticket taker was tired of her game or perhaps she was getting faster with practice, because at about 5:15 it was my turn.

"You don't have permission to go to Sakhalin," she said, reading my visa. Theoretically, a Russian visa should list any city you plan to visit. However, the Russian consulate now often issues visas with no cities listed on the visa, presumably signifying that you have permission to go anywhere. I explained this. The seller seemed unconvinced, so she called the transportation police over. A police officer shortly arrived, took a look at my visa and asked me a few questions. Finally, he said, "You have permission to go. But the last place you registered was Birobidzhan yesterday. You have 2 days to register some place else."

That's not how the rules work, but I wasn't going to argue the point. I had my ticket. It was 5:30. I'd been in line for 11 hours and 45 minutes.

I went for a stroll around Vanino. When I returned at just after 6, the ticket window was still open, still selling tickets for the 8 P.M. ferry.
There was no one in line.