Beer Pong 101 for Ukrainians

What?

You thought I was going spend my last day in Lviv waxing nostalgic about the beauty of the culture and the ephemeral feelings of the city, blah, blah, blah....?  As a cultural ambassador from the United States, I feel it is my duty to introduce the world to our vast amount of drinking games.

Drinking games are everywhere, but only the USA has managed to make them into physically demanding activities that often leave the competitors passed out; both due to physical exhaustion and alcoholic consumption.

"You Americans is different. We just drink the beer to get drunk. No games."

"We're a competitive cultural.  You see all the largest, most successful companies in the world are from the United States: Microsoft, IBM, Walmart, McDonalds, Facebook..."

"Mmmm.  Is true. How do you play?"

I was using my US business school education to rationalize playing beer pong.  It was one of my more elegant pieces of bullshit but it worked.  After buying a few large liter bottles of Ukrainian beer and acquiring some plastic cups, I had assembled a team of Retro Hostel guests, friends and staff who were curious.  America, Fuck Yeah.

Other than regional variations (based on what University you went to) the basic rules of Beer Pong are quite well known to all Americans, so I won't waste time explaining them.  The difficulty in the Ukraine was the logistics.  The Ukraine -and Europe in general- does not have those big, beautiful red SOLO cups that form a perfect basket for ping-pong balls.  We had to settle for smaller, dull clear plastic cups.  Such were the issues:


1. Inexperienced players who have no idea how to play
2. Smaller cups with less area to aim providing a greater challenge for beginners
3. Vast language barrier (fortunately alcohol usually fixes this)

For example, this guy couldn't even say, "hello," in English but that didn't prevent us from making a great start-up team.  Everytime we missed a shot he would yell and grab his head in a bizarre dance of agony.  Every time we made a shot he would high-five me and at times give me a big manly bear-hug while shouting at me in unintelligible Ukraine.  After 3 rounds we were leading the newly-found Retro Hostel Beer Pong League.



I couldn't have asked for a better and more dedicated team of rookies to coach.  The wild Ukrainian, a duo of Polacks and an African exchange student took to the game with enthusiasm.  The African in particular fought with a vengeance. He told me, "I will not stop playing until I have won against the 'professional'."

It took twelve rounds, but he finally beat me.  With my win streak broken, I conceded the game and everyone returned back to their regularly scheduled drinking activities.  I realized that I had to go to Romania at 2:30am.

The lovely Retro staff gave me some useful advice, namely, "The taxi trip is only about 35 Hrynia, but the taxi driver will tell you 70-80 Hrynia...because you are American."  The blond Veronika was particularly concerned with making sure this wouldn't happen.  I certainly listened, because its not everyday you meet hot Ukrainian cosplayers who like to dress up as Tekken characters.


Ukrainian cosplayers?  With sexy accents?

Awesome.  She didn't seem convinced that I could find enough guys in the USA who would help sponsor a plane ticket so that a tall, exotic, blond Ukrainian Nina Williams/Lili Rochefort would show up at the next Otakon or MAGfest....  Any sponsors?

  We bid our final farewells and I hopped in a taxi that the hostel called for me.  Veronika told the driver to charge me only 35 Hrynia, which he agreed to.  I asked if it was OK to pay with 100 Hrynia.  She confirmed that it was OK.  Secure with this knowledge, I jumped in the taxi and took the 10 minute trip.

When I arrived at the train station, the taxi driver 'conveniently' did not have change for 100 Hrynia.  I sat there and stared at him, wondering why I couldn't leave this fucking country without another scam.  After a 30-second staring standoff, the driver threw up his arms, got out of the taxi and gruffly placed my luggage on the street.  As with my previous experience with the staff in the Fashion Club, being an American asshole was the smarter option.

I have my luggage and I have my ticket to Romania and Bulgaria.  I successfully avoided being ripped off by another taxi driver.  Now all I need to do is exchange currency.  The gentleman at the currency counter is asleep, but what does it matter.   Nothing in the Ukraine is efficient anyway.

I have taken a little bit of the Ukraine with me and I have left a little bit of the USA with the Ukraine through our great cultural game of Beer Pong.

So what's the next step?

Flippy Cup.

Lviv Through Polish Eyes: Last Night At Dodgy Metro Club. Boze!

Two hours...

The blond-haired, blue-eyed Ukraine doll who I had been singing to the previous night wasn't coming.  I had been nursing two import beers for the past 2 hours at an outdoor tent by the Fashion Club where we had meet the previous night.  She had sent one text stating that she was arriving "late."  Late does not mean "two hours."  I paid my tab and walked back to the hostel.

Things had taken a downward spiral since the Polacks and I had visited Lyiv Stadium.  The bus breaking down wasn't the problem; it had only added to the ridiculous absurdity of the day. The problem started after this incident.  While walking back we stopped at a small restaurant for some much needed hot food.  It occurred to me that I would need more cash for the night.   I walked across the street to a nearby ATM and tried my card:

"An error processed read is in your card.  We are sorry."

Many idealistic people love to say that they don't need money to be happy.  These people have never been in the middle of Ukraine when their bank account stops working.  I had already called my bank and they had said such a thing might happen, so I had hard cash wired to me as 'Plan B.'   Plan B was now Plan A and it would have to suffice for the next weeks' travels through Romania, Bulgaria, Serbia, Hungary and Slovakia.  All of these countries had 'red flags' for my bank, so I had to assume the worst.  'Cheap' Ukraine was know a little less affordable.

I would have been only slightly annoyed with the credit card malfunction, but it got worse when we returned to the hostel because the Dutch University Orchestra had taken over the place.  They were impossible to avoid and they still didn't give two shits about socializing with our Polish/American group.  Despite this Rado and I continued dogging the girls with such clever pick-up lines like, "What instrument do you play?" and "Do you speak Polish?"

They continued to ignore us in a polite, proper Western European style.  And in proper European style, they decided to engage each other in a strip-ping-pong game just to test their drunken limits.  My Polish comrades and I watched for a while but eventually left when we realized the girls weren't getting completely naked.  I had a date to go on anyway...

My date was an epic fail, and was further compounded by the fact that my credit card wasn't working properly.  Even if my blue-eyed, blond-haired Ukraine doll hadn't shown up, I still would've drank my ass off...under normal circumstances.  I had to restrict my spending and return to the hostel to drink.  I am a hostel manager, so naturally the Retro Hostel manager and I had plenty to talk about.  She recommended that I go to 'Metro Club' to have a good time. My Polish comrades were already there.  But just one thing...

"Be careful because many girls are 15 and 16 years old. They make you buy drinks."

Thanks for the warning.  According to this Facebook graph, Metro Club is very popular in Lviv (at least I think that's what it is.)   I don't have pictures from the club.  I can only refer you to the website: http://www.metroclub.com.ua/   

 I imagine the frequent amount of girl-related activities explain the popularity, for example the monthly Miss Facebook Metro Club Competition.  Go ahead and vote.  The winner gets an iPad; which is probably equal to a typical month's salary in the Ukraine.  Holy Crap!

Yes, many pretty girls who I hope aren't 15 and 16.  If you really want to file through all of the pictures from their past events, you will find one of the Retro Hostel manager and I talking together, as well as the Polacks and the annoying Dutch Orchestra Students.  Metro Club is fun in a dodgy, sketchy way, but we had more interesting things to talk about:

"So, we both working in hostel...what country do you think was the best to sleep with?"

"For me, it was France.  French girls at my hostel were the best.  And you?"

"I looove Italians men.  I have a very good storys."

She told me the stories.  I told her my stories.

We ended up back at the hostel talking into the early hours.  She surprised me with her knowledge of world history, and I surprised her with my knowledge of Slavic History.  We mused over the Czech/Slovak division, the intricacies of the Balkan War and the similarities in the various Slavic languages.  She expressed pride over the common 'Slavic Brotherhood' that exists regardless of whether one is Russian, Czech or Serbian.  At some point I asked her for details about Viktor Yushchenko and his political opponents who tried a poison assassination attempt that caused his face to get disfigured.

She was amused that an American would know about this Ukrainian political shit.  Personally, I think it is one of the more amazing facts that I have read about in recent worldwide political history.

By the way, she was a Slavic History major...

"Ayyyyyyyyyyyyy.....!!!!!"
"Boze moj!!"
"Boze moj!!"
"Ohhhh. Boze!!!!"

After continued talks of which country in our respective hostels had been the best in bed, eventually we decided to try it ourselves.  We had been drinking for a long time, and she invited me to sleep in her private room rather than sleeping on the lobby sofa.  These are difficult decisions.

I suppose it was done in a very professional (if blurry) way.  When all was finished, neither of us had won the competition.  She still believed that Italians were the best and I still believed that Frenchies were the best...

I don't have pictures to remember the craziness of that night at the hostel, and its probably for the best.  However my Polacks 'brats' did send a photo to me.  Here we are up to no good before going out.  I hope the next time we meet it will be even worse.  Stay 'debil' my brothers.

A whole lot of dupa at Retro Hostel Schevchenko

Lviv Through Polish Eyes: Euro 2012 Football Stadium

"Raleigh, do you like football?"

"I guess more than most Americans.  I was fortunate to be in Slovakia when they entered the World Cup for the first time in their history, and unfortunately it was because of you.  That own-goal was not good."

"Yes, we are bad.  Poland and Ukraine is only in Euro 2012 Championship because they are hosting."

 We spent almost a hour traveling by bus to the outskirts of Lviv to see the construction of the Arena Lviv.  Ukraine and Poland will play hosts to the UEFA Euro 2012 Championship and Lviv saw it fit to construct a new stadium for this epic soccer event.  The Euro 2012 will happen between June 8th and July 1st of this year. 

Soccer??  I realize most Americans have quit reading this so they can go watch a College Bowl game or find out which NFL teams have gained a playoff berth.  If you are one of those few Americans who follow soccer, or pretty much anyone not from the USA, keep reading...

Construction on the Arena Stadium began in November 2008 and continued despite much debate on whether the Ukraine even had the finances and infrastructure to host the Euro 2012.  The large stadium Adam, Rado, Matuesz and I saw being constructed before us would eventually have a capacity of 34,915 spectators.  At it's completion on October 2011 the construction costs totaled 211 Million Euro.  As impressive as these numbers are, it is actually the smallest of the eight stadiums that are hosting games.

Certainly my Polish comrades were quite happy to see this building that was contributing to the Euro 2012's - and Poland's - fame.  What I saw in August 2011 looked a long way off from the ambitious project that would include city tram connections, bus connections and an airport link and was meant to host one of the largest athletic events in Europe.  From the highway bus stop we had had to walk across a least a mile of open grassy farmland.  I assumed it would be plowed to make way for a connecting road to the stadium.

The construction workers seemed bemused that we were milling about the site.  They allowed us a little closer to the stadium and even obliged us a few touristy photos.  Rado and I considered jumping on a steamroller and seeing if we could ride it into the city.  We probably wouldn't get very far, but it would make getting across the farmland much easier.  We found the dirt road back to the highway and the bus stop.  There was a shopping center by the stop, so we went inside for a drink.  Coffee, beer or water...it was all the same.  It was a long way back to central Lviv.

 We got on the bus.  Adam fell asleep almost instantly.  Rado and I began talking of the amazing beauty of Ukraine girls again.  In particular we talked of one who we saw on the bus behind us.  She was brunette and could have won that year's award for "Highest Cheekbones."  I knew we were drawing attention to ourselves by speaking English quite loud.  Did anyone understand? 

Someone had been listening.  At the next stop, our beautiful Ukraine girl turned to us right before she got off the bus:

 "You know that some of us can understand you when you speak.  Its not polite."

I refuse to be fazed.

"Sorry.  We couldn't help talking about how beautiful you are.  I wish you would stay on the bus."

What passes for cheesy in the USA seems to work well elsewhere.  She smiled and laughed a little at my audacity.   I waved goodbye as the bus left her at her stop.  By that that time we had entered central Lviv.  The city became familiar again and the Polacks and I pointed out some of the buildings and places we had seen when we had left earlier that afternoon.  We were planning for the night and Lviv was ours again.  We started guessing how far we were from Retro Hostel.

As if to answer our question, the bus broke down.  Everyone off.

One Night In Lviv Is Never Enough

Hurry up and wait... 
                                Hurry up and wait... 
                                                                Hurry up and wait...


Now hurry up!  After a quiet train ride through the Ukraine countryside I found myself in a mass of people rushing off the train in Lviv.  For a few wild minutes I surged forward with the herd and suddenly....I was alone.

A large white concrete platform spread out in front of me.  Central Lviv was off in the distance.  The train passengers were dispersing and I quickly hailed down one of them before I ran out of options.  He was a large, young guy with an massive beard who spoke a little English.  He introduced himself as "VladakrunpronouncableSlavicname."  I showed him Maria's drawing of the two parallel roads and the directions for Retro Hostel Shevchenko.  Instead of simply pointing me the right way, he told me to follow him and walked me to the street where Tram 29A waited.  I thanked Vladakblahblahblah kindly and paid for the ticket.

The tram did a quick turn onto the main thoroughfare.  No sooner had I sat down when I saw the same bearded young guy running after the tram.  He quickly appeared at the door and apologized for putting me on the wrong tram.  As if I knew the difference.  He lead me to a tram immediately in front of the first.  He found two young, attractive girls on the tram and chatted with them briefly in Ukraine:

"This girls speak English.  They know where you are.  Follow them."

Here we go again.

Flirting with the girls was easy, since they were flabbergasted that some American guy would end up sitting behind them on a tram.  At that point I had been border-traveling for 14 hours and could barely entertain the notion of some wild, exotic Ukrainian girl sex fantasy.  I talked with them, but the only image that kept popping into my mind was me alone, sleeping in a warm bed.  We arrived at the Green Street stop and I found Retro Hostel easily enough.  I checked-in and slumped up the 6 stories to my 10 bed dormitory.  After a shower I passed out to recover for a few hours.  Before hitting the pillow, I saw several Polish guys drinking beer and vodka in the dorm.  It was only about 3 o'clock in the afternoon.  They would be ideal party comrades.

Team Poland (plus 1 American) at Kriyyika

 We did party.  By the time we found Kriyyika Pub on Market Square at 11pm, we had already helped ourselves to several liter beers at the hostel after sharing travel stories, establishing my proud Polish roots and finding a few Polish girls as well.  Retro Hostel staff tipped us off to the pub.  Its well hidden and quite a task to find if you don't know where it's at.  This is exactly what the bar wants.  Even the website has a password.

Two bottles of 'Mint Stagger' vodka

Kriyyika Pub is what I expect from a part of the former U.S.S.R.  You can only find the location by word-of-mouth, it's hidden underground, the bouncers don't blink and they don't let you in without a password (ask the Retro Hostel staff.)  Once you're inside it's a different story.

The place is a massive underground cellar with a Communist theme.  Its food menu is nice and the drink menu nicer...especially the homemade flavored vodkas.  A few fresh, delicious bottles of  "Mint Stagger" vodka set our group of Polish folks (plus one American) reeling.  They were good enough to demand a 2nd round.  Possibly there was a 3rd round or even a 4th, but we were quickly losing track of the bottles.  Ukrainian vodka is strong and potent when its this drinkable.  Drinking it with a group of rowdy Polish guys and girls further complicates the problem.

These large amounts of vodka caused my mind to drift back to the lovely Ukrainian girls from the bus.  They weren't the only ones I had noticed.  Our difficulty in finding Kryyvina pub was troublesome, but it had given me plenty of time to watch the locals girls walking around.  What I had seen this night simply made my jaw drop.  That is no easy thing to say after having lived in Slovakia for 2 years and traveled through Poland.  Slavic girls are already amazing in general and yet somehow they got better in Lviv.  Maybe a Ukrainian mail-order bride isn't such a bad idea?

Lovely Ukrainian & Polish girls. Plus one Polish guy.

I abruptly stood up from the table and declared my plans to start looking for my future wife.  The Polacks were very amused and said since I was American it would be easy.  I started stumbling around the cavernous bar in search of a soulmate.

She was tall, beautiful and had jet-black hair to contrast with her ivory skin.  I found her drinking champagne with her equally lovely blond "mother."  I couldn't honestly believe they were mother and daughter, but who cares?  They joined our table for more vodka rounds.    

Hold on.  When two lovely girls so willingly leave their table at the request of a drunken, loud American something is suspicious.  The words of my border-crossing guide, Maria, "No English. Speak English, more money" echoed in my mind.  This thought bothered me, but the 5, 6, 7..??? shots of vodka told me otherwise.  I told the Ukrainians we were ready to dance and asked their suggestion for the next stop.

"We go to Fashion Club.  You and mother and Polish."

Fashion Club?  Sounds posh.  In our drunken mess, we managed to pay the bill and stumble out of the cellar.  The Ukrainians guided my Polish crew and I to a place right on the main drag.  It looked posh, intimidating and screamed "cover charge."  The line to pay cover had several supermodels and their big Mafia-looking boyfriends.  I wondered if my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles "Party Wagon" shirt was up to code.

Despite my drunken state, what happened next sobered me up quickly.  "Mother" and daughter had kindly gotten entry tickets for us foreigners.  Yet somehow we were all getting quoted different prices.  Men do pay more than women, but oddly one of the Polish guys was charged an additional fee because his shoes were "wrong."  Not surprisingly, I being the "rich" American got charged the most.  Mother and daughter said I was paying for them plus "added" fee.  I tried comparing single ticket prices.  Something wasn't adding up.  I could've spent more time calculating but drunkenly converting Ukrainian Hryvna to American Dollars while being scammed by beautiful foreign women is not something I learned in university.  I did the asshole backpacker thing.

"I'm not paying for you."

The golden ticket

At the risk of getting my ass beat by the skinhead bouncer with probable ties to the Russian Mafia, I argued with the ticket doorman.  By waving my arms, shouting and gesturing enough the man finally figured out I wasn't going to pay for the girls.

He ripped up my first ticket and gave me a new, single ticket.  I paid the new amount and stomped into the club, ignoring the fashionable Ukrainian spectators who were eyeing me with disgust.  Life is good.

My Polish comrades hadn't been so lucky.  One had paid the "shoe fee" and the others seemed unsure of what had just happened.  I myself wasn't so sure.  How had one ranting, jeans and t-shirt American convinced the Ukrainian staff of a fashionable Lviv club that he had been ripped off by two scheming Ukrainian women?

The rest of the night slipped away as we consumed more vodka and danced to bad Ukrainian pop music.  One of the Polacks fell victim to too much vodka.  Two Polacks fell victim to each other and left early.  I fell victim to another beautiful Ukrainian girl.  Somewhere around 5 in the morning I found myself sharing breakfast and singing "Just The Way You Are" off-key to a blond-haired, blue-eyed Barbie doll in a 24-hour casino.  This is only the first night.

   

 

The Wrong Way To Cross Polish-Ukraine Border to Lviv

Working in a hostel has made me realize how many backpackers blindly allow 'Lonely Planet' guidebooks to dictate their entire travel plans.  Their travel mantra is, "If it's not in 'Lonely Planet,' it doesn't exist."

 Thorn Tree travel forum

meczko

Oct 14, 2008 4:23 AM
Posts:  998

7

Re catching train on the Ukrainian side - it's not practical. The border railway station in Mostyska is several kilometers from the road/pedestrian crossing in Shehyni, actually in a middle of nowhere, so you'd have to catch a cab and I am not sure how would it be with tickets availibility there.

If I had taken this Thorn Tree advice to heart, I wouldn't have enjoyed eating lunch in scenic 'Middle Of Nowhere,' Ukraine.  Although it seemed more dangerous at the time, blindly following a strange Ukrainian lady from Krakow to Lviv was a better decision than repeating the advice of a guidebook.

Maria had gotten me from Krakow to Prsymsymsysm to Medyka and across the Ukrainian border into Shehyni without problems.  She had helped me get food in the ugly bordertown convenience store and had even scared away an evil taxi driver who had followed us inside.  I could trust her now and stop imagining she was somehow leading me into a trap involving a roving band of gypsies, corrupt police and her ugly gold chain and tracksuit clad Mafia boyfriend.

Besides...who else could I trust here?

With food in hand, we walked out the store into the hot summer sun.  The bordertown vultures saw us exit immediately and we rushed down the road in the opposite direction of the border while ignoring the shouts of "Taxi, Taxi" and "Money, Money."  A short walk past some garbage piles and homeless winos brought us to a large rock lot like the one in Medyka.  Minibuses waited for us there.

"Minibus, minbus," said Maria.  And then in a more hushed tone she added,

"You. No English.  Speak English, more money."

Those who know me would say its impossible for me to keep my mouth shut in any language.  This particular time I did follow her advice very well.  We boarded in silence and took off once the bus filled up.  My mouth was shut, but I imagine that pulling out the camera on the ride raised the rate a few Hryvnia.

Stupid tourist.

Kilometers clicked by as the driver randomly dropped off and picked up people along the highway.  It seemed everyone knew where exactly where they were going except me. Were we taking the bus all the way to Lviv?  I resisted the urge to ask Maria and assumed she knew what was next.

After 15 minutes we pulled off to a muddy road on the side of the highway.  Large puddles dotted the route.  Maria nodded her head.  I got off, grabbed my bags and turned around to see Maria heatedly arguing with the driver.  They wildly gesticulated and yelled as the other passengers stared.  Hastily Maria got off the bus with her luggage.  Some old ladies were departing as well so I helped them with their bags.   Maria continued arguing with the driver.  Finally she stopped and told me to pay 3 Hryvnia for the trip.  I paid and the driver left in a hurry.

Maria and the old ladies discussed her mystery problem for a while before they left.  I gazed around the empty countryside, oblivious to the issue.   Eventually Maria and I were standing alone on the muddy path that stretched into the distance.  She was pissed.

I asked Maria, "Katastrofea??"  She responded immediately with, "Tak, Katastrofea!!"  In my bad Slovak I found out that less than 200 meters down the path was the train station that would take us to Lviv.  For this short distance the driver wanted to charge us an additional 3 Hryvnia; that's double the price for a small detour.  His reason??  The mud was dangerous.

Train structure with chickens

We meandered to the train station...or rather train structure.  To call it a station would give it too much credit.  A tin roof topped 3 concrete walls.  Two broken benches, some graffiti and a few stray chickens were inside.  There were no schedules nor employees to say when trains came.  Maria assured me we could leave our bags alone by the tracks with no problem.  Given the desolate location, I believed her and gladly dropped my heavy luggage.  I asked her when the train arrived.  She held up one index finger.  It was 11am.  

"Woda?"

"Tak. Woda je dobra...where?"

I hadn't drank anything in fourteen hours.  The train structure clearly had no electricity nor plumbing, so I wondered why Maria would offer me water.  She waved her hand and led me around the structure to a low-built wooden shed with a crank sticking out the right.  Inside there was a tin bucket for an old well leading deep into the ground.  I momentarily thought of how the Chernobyl accident had occurred in the Ukraine, but the incredible dryness in my throat quickly cast this thought away.  After several times of lowering and raising the tin bucket we had quenched our thirst with fresh water straight from the aquifer.

My throat was no longer parched but my stomach was rumbling.  We returned to our luggage besides the tracks and prepared a simple lunch of bread, cheese and yogurt.  It was sufficient to kill the hunger that had been building up since I had left Krakow several hours ago.  Following the madness of running by train, minibus and foot from border to border all night, it felt good to have some peace.  Now was the best time to enjoy that first Ukrainian beer I had bought at the border town.  After a moment of panic when I realized I had no opener for the bottle, I remembered an old Polish saying my friend Marcin taught me: "anything can open a beer."  I walked over to the railroad tracks, set the cap against an edge on the steel beam, then pulled the bottle down quickly.  *Psssshhhh!*  The quiet Ukrainian countryside looked much better now.  Who wants a beer?

The first Ukrainian beer

Maria received a call on her phone and disappeared into the bushes to talk.  The sounds of the countryside filled up the silence: birdsong, some cricket chirps, a light breeze blowing and the occasional cow moo in the distance.  The mind wanders easily in a idyllic setting like this.

...What do I know about the Ukraine?
The bad: Chernobyl, high AIDS rate and mail-order brides.
The good: Yalta Conference, Orange Revolution and mail-order brides.
The just plain weird: Jonathan Safran Froer's novel, 'Everything is Illuminated.'

Sitting alone in this empty, never-ending countryside by an isolated railway emphasized how little I knew about the largest country in Europe.  What do they eat?  Are they friendly?  Do they like Americans?  Is it -in fact- still Europe?  Many questions and thoughts ran through my head, and soon the moment took on a surreal quality quite like one of the stranger passages from 'Everything is Illuminated.'  Perhaps the train will never come...and it won't matter.

I always thought words like 'enchanting' and 'magical' were reserved for places like Paris, Dresden and Prague, yet this little, dilapidated corner of western Ukraine affected me more than any of those great cities.

Maria returned from her hiding place in the bushes.  We finished our food then took a nap on the concrete in the hot sun.  The train arrived exactly at 1pm.