Wanderlust Heaven!

The run-up to my Trans-Sib trip was a bit more hectic than anticipated.  I still hadn’t heard from Tania, the owner/manager at the Moscow hotel where I wanted to stay…she just dropped off from our email exchange and I didn’t have my room confirmed.  Russians are pretty relaxed about these sorts of things, but I’m not.  I had Zaya try to ring Tania on my mobile – didn’t get through.  I finally tracked her down using Skype, and I thought that did the trick.  Just to be sure, I sent one more email to Tania before heading to the train station.

Shared a taxi there with two Perth residents, Brian and Margie – he’s originally from South Africa, she from New Zealand.  It was pouring out, naturally, and we and our baggage got a little message between the guesthouse and the train.  But we made it…and we were looking forward to the adventure, to be punctuated by plenty of vodka consumption.  I had 3 bottles, Brian and Margie a couple more.

When I got to my compartment, a South Asian fellow was already in there.  Thomas was enigmatic – I couldn’t quite get his story straight, but methinks he was originally from Pakistan, or of Pakistani parentage, grew up in Kerala, India, and had just come off two years teaching English in UB.  Now he was en route to Poland to get work there.  A few minutes later Ivo, a German student, showed up.  An amiable guy, with an active sense of humor.  The fourth bunk was unoccupied for a while, but later a Mongolian clothes smuggler came by – actually, it wasn’t clear which of two Mongolian female smugglers had the bunk, but one of them eventually got it.  Talk about duck-duck-goose.

Besides the vodka, I had brought along a fair amount of food/junk food and got started on that right away.  Cup noodles were a major staple – every train car had a samovar, or elaborate coal-powered hot-water heater, so you would (nearly) always get hot water for tea, soup, and drinking.

As we departed UB I looked out into the hallway of the train car and saw the ‘train ladies’ lifting up the carpeting, exposing a ‘secret door’ in which some passengers (smugglers?) stowed some things.  I don’t think this was found at the Russian border…very random.

As we went by various signs I was happy that I’d taken the time to teach myself Cyrillic – hugely helpful.  Without that, you’re nearly helpless around here.  So many words work out phonetically into English equivalents, and you can always at least tell what town you’re passing by.

We got to the border around 9 p.m. or so.  By then we had started in on the vodka and had eaten much of our food stash.  I’m all about lightening my load, but this was ridiculous.  Still, I told myself the dining car would be attached at the Russian border (true – but not cheap or that good), and that we’d come across loads of vendors at the main stations (to be proven false, unfortunately).

A cute blonde Russian border guard came to our car, asking for passports.  This was the start of a hellacious process that probably went for 5 hours.  The highlight?  Thomas, the mysterious Paki/Indian/Keralan teacher of English en route to Poland, did not have a Russian visa.  Hmmm.  The guard was visibly astounded…and Thomas didn’t seem to have a real story.  He tried to explain (in English, unhelpfully) that he had finished his work in Mongolia, that he was en route to Poland (but lacked a Russian transit visa or a Polish entry visa), and that he ‘had nowhere else to go.’  Throwing yourself on the mercy of the Russian border police – nice.  Plus he was a ‘brown person’ – and we all know how openminded the Russians are.

By this point I had little empathy/sympathy for old Thomas.  In the first few hours of the voyage he had already become tiresome – he was not that well-informed about the world, despite occasional flares of opinion on topics like the global spread of the English language and how that might backfire on England/America.  And he didn’t drink…whereas Ivo and I were bonding over Mongolia’s famous Chinggis brand vodka.  So when they took Thomas and his shit off the train a couple hours later (the blonde guard came by again, and didn’t really hide her smirk when she told him to disembark), I just wished Thomas good luck, but wasn’t particularly broken up.  I imagine they kept him around the rest of the night and put him on a local, slow train back to UB first thing in the morning.

Camaraderie and company versus peace and space – I can live with both, but being stuck in the middle is not tenable.  If I’ve got to have roommates, I want them to be super-cool.  Ivo was great, and the female smuggler had her own charms…they’d be fine.

Before we got to the border that night, our smuggler roomie signaled that she wanted me to hide some of her surplus shirts in my bag.  I weighed the options…and given what I saw around the train, including the trap door and such, that I didn’t really mind hiding a few shirts.  I picked out some men’s shirts (different makes, of course), and stuck them in my backpack so that it would be fairly hard to prove that I was smuggling them.  Now the woman was in my debt, although I wasn’t too sure how she’d repay me for the favor.  Just as well…an unreturned favor isn’t the worst thing you can do.

I wondered if the trains originating in Moscow or Beijing (or Vladivostok) had a different composition of passengers.  Our Mongolian-originated train was probably 80% smugglers – I wonder if the Russian or Chinese trains are similar.  And I wonder if the ‘platform life’ at the stations differs as a result – perhaps few food vendors or moneychangers come up to the Mongolian trains, whereas they might find better customers on the others?…On second thought, I imagine smugglers (or, within national borders, petty traders) make up most of the passenger count on any of these trains…

Crashed that night after the train started up again, around 3 a.m.  I slept a bit, then awoke at 5:30 or so.  Went to the window and looked out – massive Lake Baikal was right there.  The world’s largest freshwater lake, it even dwarfs Lake Michigan, which I always found ocean-like and impressive.  I slept a bit more, looked out again around 11 a.m., and the lake was still in front of me.  We spent the rest of the day working our way around it, en route to the city of Irkutsk, about 70 km west of the lake.

Checked out the resto car, wanted something different to eat.  Got there just in time to run into a package tour of Chinese tourists, led by a very annoying group leader and a translator, who teamed up to torture poor Sasha, the waiter and the babushka cook in the kitchen.  I finally told these two to relax – did they think they were in a 5-star restaurant?  If this lot is the future of global tourism, I may just settle down.  Meanwhile, I was eventually able to order something for myself, and got a tasty little dish of mushrooms baked in cheese and sour cream.  Typically Russian, but at nearly US$10, a bit pricey for a small plate of food.  Clearly, I’d have to get creative the rest of the way to ensure a decent dining experience…

Thankfully, the Chinese crew were getting off shortly, in Irkutsk.  Unfortunately, I’d also be losing Ivo, who was proving a terrific traveling mate.  Before he got off, we discussed studies and work, and Ivo mentioned his interest in consulting…so at some point I’ll probably put him in touch with Monitor folks in Germany.
Got to Irkutsk.  Ivo got off…I looked around the platform and station to find 1) food and 2) somewhere to get more rubles.  I was frustrated in both.  I did observe the locals, though – there was a Stalin type lurking around the station entrance…and most of the others were pretty damn earthy, with spiky crimson-dyed hair, jean jackets, tight shorts, you name it.  I knew we were out in the provinces, and in the States you probably wouldn’t get a better-looking group of people either.  In fact, it might be worse – some of our fatties would put these Russians to shame!

Also saw Brian and Margie on the platform, hadn’t seen them in an entire day, since we set off from UB.  I told them to swing by my car and have a couple vodkas with me, or to meet me in the dining car that night for a meal.

That day was the summer solstice, I think – and while it was cloudy and rainy (poor Ivo, who planned to spend a night or two on an island in Baikal), it stayed light until well past 10 p.m.  Which brings up the topic of timezones…on the train and at all stations, Moscow time is shown and prevails…but that’s meaningless to the passengers, who need to adjust to the local time zones.  I kept my Treo on Moscow time, and just adjusted my watch to local time…which kept me busy reviewing my guidebook as to time zone boundaries.  People were constantly asking each other what time it was…the only solution was to consume more vodka and eat more junk food, then go to sleep.

Irkutsk was also where I got my first glimpse of the purpose of this train ride for most of the passengers, who were not ‘civilians’ but instead Mongolian clothing smugglers.  I had been told about this, but really had to see it for myself – whenever a train reached a major station, dozens of Mongolians got off, or stayed on, and shopped jeans, blankets, shirts, etc. to the locals, who seemed more than eager to snap things up.  My sole existing compartment-mate was a Mongolian woman who was kept very busy hawking shirts and jeans…it looked to be a pretty trying business and she didn’t seem that healthy or happy.

A few shots of platform commerce in action – come on down:

I still had about US$75 worth of Mongolian tugrugs, as I was too busy in UB securing my Moscow hotel booking to go and trade ‘em for rubles.  As a result, I was becoming desperate to unload them – they’re nearly worthless outside Mongolia.  I finally found a Mongolian fellow who was returning in a few days, and we traded his US$ for my tugrug.  He was willing to give me a normal exchange rate, but I gave him about US$7 as a ‘gift’ for his assistance.

Went to the dining car that night.  Met a French dude named Steve in there, chatted for a while.  Then Brian and Margie came in and joined me.  We polished off a few Baltika beers (Russia’s #1 brand!) and ate borscht and bread.  Trades tales of South Africa, New Zealand and Oz with them – we were probably there for 3 hours drinking and chatting.  Then back to my cabin for a nip or three of vodka, then some sleep.

Chiminai, a Mongolian lass in a nearby cabin, came over and asked if I had any spare  books.  I gave her one from my stash – which has been decreasing, thankfully.  I think Chiminai had a crush on me – she kept stopping by to offer me food or ask dumb questions.  I didn’t mind at all.

I had started reading ‘The Adventures of Augie March’ by Saul Bellow, a book/author I’d meant to get into for years.  Made some progress that night…but Bellow is long-winded and late in the night I found myself drifting off and missing large chunks of text, so I put the book down and passed out.

At 3 a.m. we reached the next major station (I could get the guidebook out right now but am too lazy).  All the smugglers, including my cabinmate, got up and went out to hawk.  There were quite a few locals lined up waiting for them – again, I was astounded to see all this.  And again, nothing in the way of good local food offerings or a working ATM to get rubles.  This was to become a theme – while the scenery along the way was often beautiful, and I had fun with many of the other passengers, the stops themselves were not that gripping and towards the end of the four days on the train I was not thrilled with my diet.

After going back to sleep, got up again around 11.  Went to the café car and worked to put together a cheap yet filling meal – I had a decent amount of rubles, but wanted to get into Moscow with enough to get to my hotel.  Moscow’s rep as an $$ city preceded it, and I didn’t want to be desperately seeking cash with 20 kilos of baggage dragging me down – I’d be perfect bait for the local scammers.

Ate black bread with slices of salami and a boiled egg with mayonnaise.  Very Russian meal.  No wonder the average life expentancy of a Russian male is 59.4 years.  Meanwhile, there were 3 Mongolians sitting there smoking and drinking Baltika beer.  And to think that I was worrying that I wouldn’t get in any running during the four days…

Lent a couple Lonely Planet books to Steve the Frenchman so he could find somewhere to stay in Moscow.  Quite a laid-back fellow – not as laid-back, of course, as Thomas the South Asian who showed up at the border sans visa…

Finally one stop had a little taverna with real Russian snacks – I got a piece of fried bread filled with chives and sour cream, and a potato/corn/meat salad.  Cheap and tasty, and a change of pace most importantly.

The scenery was often compelling – Siberia is very green in the summer (and, I suppose, very white in the winter).  A few shots from the ride:

Unlike Monglia, there were not many horses or cows – I think I only saw one horse in the distance.  Russian land’s not communal – that’s probably the biggest difference.  Also, grazing animals near the rail line is probably a good way to lose a few…

This day, our second full day, was hot and the sky was blue.  We reached the largest Siberian city, Novosibersk – the hometown of Anna, the Russian woman I’d met in Moron, Mongolia.  The scene on the platform was insane – the smugglers were presiding over a wide-open commercial lovefest, and at one point a fight broke out.  I didn’t get that on film…

It was early evening when we pulled out again.  I still had a lot of vodka left, and got going on the next bottle.  I had picked up a liter bottle of Sprite in Novosibersk, and that proved a nice mixer for the hard stuff.  The night got a little weird after a few cups…I think I drifted off or blacked out for a while…at some point Brian and Margie showed up and we polished off the rest of the vodka.  I don’t really recall them leaving my cabin…I don’t recall my cabinmate around that night (she often spent her time in other smugglers’ cabins – honor among smugglers, I guess), and that was that.

I awoke the next morning in very bad shape – perhaps the worst since Alan and Janine came to visit me at Bean Me Up in Goa and Alan and I’d done a bunch of feni, then red wine, then gallons of beer at BMU and another spot.  That time, I’d gotten up and spent much of the day either lying down or puking.  This time felt like a reprise – I was weak and a bit depressed about feeling weak.  I had consumed so much that I had slept right through that night’s stop at Omsk, a major city, where apparently the smugglers had another big sale.

I spent a few minutes in the cramped bathroom attempting a manually-driven puke – a sort of Russian vomitorium.  But I couldn’t get anything to come up and lighten my stomach, so I let it be and went back to my cabin to fester and let things settle.  And eventually they did, with the help of a couple cups of instant noodle soup, one of mankind’s great inventions (unless you have hypertension).

We were now leaving Siberia and coming up on the city of Yekaterinburg, where the Tsar and his family were executed in fine brutal Russian fashion in 1917.  I was hungry and it would be a few hours before Y’berg, so I went to the café car and had the usual bread/salami/egg combination.  I had my first ‘chat’ with the old lady cook, who asked me where I was from.  I told her America…she asked me ‘shtadt?’ which could mean ‘city’ (a la Dutc h/Afrikans – Cap Staadt is Cape Town) or ‘state.’  I guessed the latter and told her Massachusetts, and she told me, with some effort, that she has a friend there.  Random.  After that my portions got significantly larger, although not any cheaper.  And I always noticed that she and Sasha the waiter smoked in there incessantly, despite a prominent sign forbidding smoking right above the café car entrance…clearly Russia would be a different animal altogether.

Went back to my cabin to read and further rest my spent frame.  My smuggler roomie was also in there, she had a bellyache too and looked exhausted.  I don’t think, of the various job offers I’ve gotten along the way, that I’ll be taking up smuggling goods.  I imagine the smugglers turn right around in Moscow (they probably pick up some Russian crap there) and head back to UB.  I also noticed them rebalancing their respective inventories along the ride – perhaps the best sellers get more items to sell, or they might pick up/drop off loads at various stops.  There truly seemed no end of jeans, magically dozens/hundreds would appear off the train at each stop.

Got to Yekaterinburg…another commercial bonanza.  My roomie’s tummyache appeared gone, she was hawking like a demon.  A local was passed out drunk on the platform…eventually local staff showed up and discussed how to handle him:

A few hours later we passed through the former secret city of Perm, where various industrial projects were carried out and people were locked away in Perm-36, a notorious prison.  This stop had lots of stalls on the platform, which was a nice change of pace, but they mostly sold large containers of alcohol and not much appetizing morsels.  Plus, I was running low on rubles and wanted to make ‘em count, so I just bought some cup noodles and bread and counted on my remaining vodka to get me through the rest of the ride.  Actually, my bad hangover wasn’t gone yet and I wasn’t particularly up for another big night.

The locals still looked scruffy out here…I had a feeling I’d only see glamor and sophistication once in Moscow.  No big deal, although seeing mostly down & dirty people day after day does get old…

Back on the train, Chiminai gave me some Mongolian noodles, very tasty, thereby reducing my food anxiety.  As I ate the noodles, a skirmish broke out between a few of the (female) Mongolian smugglers down the hall.  This was sort of interesting…I stood there and observed until one of the ‘train ladies’ broke it up.  I should mention these ladies – there are a couple on every car, and they keep the samovar fired up, clean the halls and cabins, get to wear cute little blue outfits, etc.  My Trans-Sib voyage was on Mongolian trains, so the staff was Mongolian.  There are also Russian and Chinese versions of the trip, with various routes.  There isn’t really a single ‘Trans-Siberian’ train, what you have are the following:

-Trains run between Beijing, Ulaan Bataar, and Moscow.  As with Moscow and Beijing, UB is an origination point (my train started there – which was best for me, otherwise you might get on and find your seat already taken/fouled).

-The classic Trans-Sib line is between Moscow and Vladivostok, a 7-day journey.

-The line from Beijing-UB-Naushki on the Russian border is called the Trans-Mongolian line, and joins the Trans-Sib near Ulan-Ude, Russia.

-There’s also a line between Beijing to the east, up through Harbin/Manchuria (doesn’t enter Mongolia at all).  This line is known as the Trans-Manchurian and joins the Trans-Sib near Chita, well to the east of Ulan-Ude.

That all clear?

Took it easy that night.  Read my Bellow book for a number of hours and finally finished at 3 a.m.  Very good tale, rich in detail – a bit old-fashioned in its language, to be expected as the book is 50 years old.  It won the Nobel Prize for Literature back then, and has aged fairly well.  Only read it if you can deal with long out-takes and philosophizing…as I wrote earlier, Bellow is long-winded.

Slept right through our stop at Russia’s third-largest city, Nizhny Novgorod (fka Gorky), sometime around 5 a.m.  No big deal.  This was our last night on the train and I did need a bit of sleep – all the vodka and stops at all hours had worn me down a bit.  I was getting slightly cranky as a result…might have been different if I had ‘my crew’ in my cabin, or perhaps no roomies therein…but anyway the end was in sight and I had to say it had been a real adventure.

Got up and started packing my stuff – which took about 7 minutes as I’d hardly unpacked anything.  Early concerns about security and theft didn’t pan out – I never bothered wearing a moneybelt and had just locked my papers, wallet and phone inside my daypack, and stuck that under my seat.

Stopped in Vladimir, a former Russian capital, about 200km from Moscow.  Some famous cathedrals on the hills there…I went looking for an ATM, went through the gates inside the station, looked across the street.  Might have been an ATM or two over there, but wasn’t sure…and I did not want to stray too far from the train.  The train waits for no one, when it’s time to go it just goes.  Walked back towards the train – the station gates shut on me.  I didn’t have my ticket in hand, the train ladies keep those until you disembark.  I was in a bit of a bad spot, but I motioned toward my train and the staff just let me through.  Whew.

Read somewhere that in 1894 Mendeleyev (periodic table) himself invented the ideal formulation for vodka, which is 40% alcohol (grain) to water.  ‘Vada’ is Russian for ‘water,’ so ‘vodka’ is quite close to that.  Useful little factoid…

Around 14:30 the train pulled into Moscow’s Yaroslavsky Station.  We were all keen to get the hell off the train, despite the random fun and adventure we’d experienced together on the ride.  I smiled at my smuggler roomie (whose name was unpronounceable), and wished her luck on her next ride – which was probably in the next few hours.

I was slightly shocked I’d actually pulled this off – the notion I had 5-6 weeks earlier of doing this train trip and coming to Moscow seemed a distant memory.  As did the presence of Ivo and of Thomas, my two original cabinmates – Thomas who was likely back in UB, and Ivo whom I might be seeing again in St. Petersburg in a week or so.

I’ll stop here and write about my Moscow experiences and impressions in a few days.  Lots of those to share with you, gentle readers.  Over and out.

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