rakish richard's rants...

Snow Falling On Ladas

Greetings loyal readers, I come to you today wrapped up warm just next to the Kremlin. I’m pleased to let you all know that I’ve made it safe and sound, with just a few more spicy yarns under my belt, no more scars, and baggier pants than before.

I’ve just got in really, and am still spinning at my impressions of Moscow. Rakish Richard is all alone here, feeling like he’s a very long way from home. Moscow is, well, jeepers… I don’t know where to begin. Perhaps it’s just the fact that I’m in a space bigger than 3 square metres for the first time in a week, but I think Moscow’s just fab – more on that later.

I’m paying a dear price for the use of this computer, so I’m going to pull out the notebooks and recap on adventures since the day of departure…

I left you all a bundle of nerves in Beijing, packed up and ready to go. We’ll see how my inventory paid off shortly, but for now – it’s important that I confirm to you that on that list there was one item I didn’t take with me – and it wasn’t the grappling hook…

Anyway. Here we go...

SATURDAY 4th, BOARDING:
Packed up, and bundled into my big PLA jacket, I managed to run into Cam and Bo, an Australian couple Jules and I met on Rabbit Island in Cambodia. They’re good folk, and it was great to have someone to yak to as I got ready. Train #19, the direct express from Beijing to Moscow, is a mighty long beast – over 20 carriages. It’s a Russian train, with Russian staff, and the scene on the platform smacked of Harry Potter as the chubby guards tried to exert some order over the unruly (mostly) Chinese who were boarding at my end. The signage on the outside of the cars was of course in Cyrillic, my train name was ‘Vostok’, above a herald of two birds; Velcome to Mosva!

I was assigned to car #3, berth 19, while Bo and Cam were way down in car #17. The guards are fantastic, all wrapped up in matching blue hats and full length coats, but ill-chosen for a job involving so many narrow spaces. They look heartily fed, but low on vitamins…

On arriving in my cabin, the three other occupants (all Chinese, all women) exclaimed what I can only presume was (because it certainly wasn’t the usual catchcry of ‘foreigner’!), “it’s a guy!” This was followed up by the spoiler, “Moscva?”. You all know my mood over the preceding week, so you can imagine my joy at being able to relate that yes, we’d be sticking it out together for the full following week. They could barely contain their excitement.

Sheets and bedding were distributed, we made our beds up, and I hit the hay after an hour or so just making certain that we were actually leaving Hades.

End of Day - 400kms

SUNDAY 5th, DAY 1:
After a fairly good sleep, I promptly glued myself to the window to take in the first snow of the trip. My trusty compass, which Jules bought for me in Saigon, confirmed my northward route, and it was all pretty much barren, windswept countryside outdoors.

I've decided to name my cellmates The Three Bears; Papa, Mama, and Baby. They're travelling separately, but their association appears strengthened by my exclusion from it. Baby (in the bunk above me) seems to be rather, ahem, 'health conscious', carrying large bottles of pills and cutting cloves of garlic into everything. She washes everything down with powdered soymilk drink. It transpires that she speaks a little English, and we started with some cracking good 'internationalisation' ;

Baby: "In New Zealand, ahh, the sex is open?"
Me: "Um, no, not really..."

Baby : "You are very romantic! You love your country! Many people want to come to New Zealand, it is said the salary is very good in Europe,"
Me : "Can I help you book a ticket to Europe? I'd hate you to make a mistake..."

Mama is the quiet one, in the upper bunk opposite me, and spent two hours doing her make-up this morning. She's barely said a word yet, but I'm working on her.

Papa is the tough cookie in the bunch, and opposite me on the other lower bunk. She speaks Russian, and serves as the communicative conduit between Mama, Baby and the staff. She's a pretty rough contender, and I didn't call her Papa for nothing. She's got a short back and sides, wears white long johns to bed, and throws a black leather waistcoat and jeans over it all for the day. The Kiwis amongst my loyal readers should be picturing a kind of Chinese Topp Twin, but that would be a little tough on dear Linda and Jules, so just throw in a sprinkling of Jake the Mus, and run with it. For me, the best demonstration of her character can be shared by this little anecdote;

Sitting in the morning light, as I was reading my second book (my war book was finished first thing this morning, I'm now onto 'The Base'...) I heard a melodious parp, and could only assume it had come from Papa Bear. I glanced up from my pages and saw she had fixed her steely gaze apon me. As she held my stare, and without as much as blinking, she dropped another of her maladorous expulsions. Those of you who now me will be surprised to hear that on this occasion I was the bigger 'man', and refused to be drawn into an unpleasant artillery battle. I returned to my book, and held my fire...

I still haven't ventured too far around the train, but am pleased to see that the Samovar dispenses superheated boiling water, and looks the part with dozens of dials, gauges and tubes. There's also detailed diagrams of all the appliances on the train, posted conveniently next to them. There's something really nice about piping diagrams labelled in Cyrillic... The toilets are fortunately of the 'western' variety - one of the many benefits of a Russian train. Sadly, they appear to be used with all the finesse of their eastern cousins, and just aren't that fun to visit.

End of day - 1988kms

MONDAY 6th, DAY 2:
Me: "Good Morning! Did you sleep well?"
Baby: "No! The train is very bad, up and down, up and down,"
Me: "Hmm, that's too bad..."
Baby: "Yes, this is the worst train I ever see. Do you think it is the worst?"
Me: "No, I've seen some that are worse..."
Baby: "Chinese trains are the best, do you think Chinese trains are the best?"
Me : "Um, no, I think Japanese trains are the best in the world,"
Baby: "Hmmm, I feel dizzy. Quiet please."

And so began the second day... It was a far earlier than normal beginning however, as we had just arrived in Manzhouli to begin the arduous border crossing procedures at 3am. Chinese immigration came through the train fairly briskly, and we were then told to get off.

As I said, we'd long ago seen the first snow, and it was starting to get progressively colder at each of the smaller stops I'd gotten off at prior to this, but stepping off at Manzouli is without a word of a lie - the coldest weather I've ever been in, in all my years. I admit now that every other time I've said I've been cold has been wrong. The cold is biting, and I understand more now than ever why Jules complains about winter so much. It also commends her tolerance all the more, for putting up with my id(i)otic chirping of, "but winter's nice!!!"

A local told us it was -25° Celcius.

I'm warm under my jacket, but extremities are cold-burned as quickly as flesh is scorched by flame. Walking the length of the platform, my eyes water and my nose run furiously. This is strange enough, but after a minute or so I can feel it all start to freeze in my beard, resulting in a crazy 'crunch!' as I smile. Cold weather people are special people. Make up the sticker and I'll put it on my next car...

I caught up with Bo and Cam for the first time since starting (hey, they're 14 cars away!) inside the customs hall, and we shared a beer before boarding to leave again at 7am.

From here, we crossed the border checkpoint (another Mig on a stand, old train engines, and Cyrillic starting to come on really strong, dude...) which was a large gate with 'Russia' written in Cyrillic; 'РОССИЯ', and a - get this - Radiation Detector - on the other...

We shortly stopped again, and were boarded this time by Russian Immigration. Everyone's dressed in matching baltic camouflage gear, and it all looks a lot like that old N64 game, Goldeneye. Our guard, a young woman with green eyes you could lose your wallet in, stared intently at us and asked our names as she inspected our passports. Come my turn, transfixed by her gaze, she read "Villiyam Bruand?" (my middle names) and all I could do was bleat a meek 'da' in reply. I have talked before of Evil Woman Magic, but these Russian lasses possess it in spades. Be careful, men of the world, be careful...

We waited around on the Russian side of the border for hours, as the bogies (wheels) under the cars were changed - Russia uses a wider gauge than China, and I changed my first Roubles and waited.

At 2:30pm (that's right - 11 and a half hours...) we rolled out again, into Russia.

Although there's snow, and plenty of it by my usual standards, there's a lot less than I was expecting. That which there is looks like it'll blow away any minute - it's a perfect spot for a labour camp, and my first thoughts were, why on earth does anyone want to live here? Tokoroa's bad enough, but at least you're not going to freeze to death on the way to the outside toilet...

I ventured down to the dining car today, and took my first bowl of Solianka, an oily meat soup. After nothing but noodles, mandarins and peanuts - it's a Godsend and is going down well. I can see this car being a handy refuge from my cellmates, as well as a good supply of ammunition, should I be forced to fire back at Papa...

Cam and Bo came down to see me as I was tucked up in bed reading book number 3. We halfheartedly talked about a beer, but they were so cold after coming through 56 doors (14 cars, 4 doors per car, two at each end) that we settled on some tea instead, and promises of more tomorrow.

End of day - 2939kms

TUESDAY 7th, DAY 3:
We turned west (over the top of Mongolia) early this morning, and I'm now making my first decent progress towards Moscva. Sunrise was loooooooonnnnng, late and extraordinarily beautiful, the sun lumbering up over little wooden cottages and puffing chimneys. There's plenty of ice on the windows inside our cabin, but it's still pretty warm inside thanks to the radiators - which are heated by the same furnace as the Samovar. Each time we stop at a station, the guards hop out and return with buckets of coal to fuel the furnace in each car, it does nothing to help thrust my impression of this experience into at least, say, the 1960's. I have three nights behind me, and will be halfway there by lunchtime today.

The landscape is still pretty much unchanged from yesterday. The sky is huge, and dusty grass pokes through the even dustier snow. It is thrown up in huge clouds by the train, and mists around the windows. There's very little sign of people or animals, but Ladas really are everywhere. Now, I thought it was all a bit of a have, you know, Spitting Image and shows like that trying to colour our opinion of Russia, but really - there's thousands of them! It's quite common to see 4 or 5 in a row waiting at the crossings, and even more surprising still - they're all running! The Lada showrooms are lush and new, and anything that can work in this climate deserves your Rouble, so get to your local Lada dealership today.

I'm dangerously low on books now, with only Ivanhoe to sustain me for the next 4 days. Drawing or sketching is difficult with the scenery rushing by, and stops are too brief to do anything more than scribble a few lines. Besides that, if you take your hands out of your pockets, you lose 'em, pal...

I'm starting to see more and more factories, also puffing away into the sky. It makes for some spectacular sunsets, and the emergence and disappearance of the sun takes up almost 50% of the daylight hours here in Siberia. Shucks, it's really beautiful...

I have a note here about how much I'm liking Russians, noting that they are just as I imagined they would be. Seriously people, they're Hagrid-sized, mustached, and have deeeeeep voices. The guards seem about 20% bigger than normal people; about 5% in height, the remainder in girth.

I started to the dining car around the middle of the day, and met Bo and Cam there shortly after, as I was sitting listening to some music on the trusty iPod. There's something extremely perverse about hearing the multiharmonied sounds of 'Kokomo' when you're watching the Siberian wastelands roll past.

What began as a social couple of beers, ended up accidentally turning into the biggest drinking session of the entire trip. We were soon joined by Bo and Cam's cabinmates; two Russians called (and I'm not kidding here,) Nikita and Anastacia. Cognac shortly appeared, which is shot and followed by either a piece of chocolate or a slice of lemon. Watching my diet, I naturally chose the lemon. We eventually managed to get through three bottles of the stuff, which is pretty uncharacteristic for a lightweight like me, who usually keels over after a teaspoon of Niaquil, let alone hard spirits.

From what I can recollect, it was a great time, sadly cut short when all my companions had to get off at Irkutsk. I somehow made it the 13 cars back from the dining car to say farewell, snapped some strange photographs, and made it back to my cabin where I can neither confirm nor deny that I lost my dignity, but I guess I'll never really know. How I made to it my car, let alone my berth, is a wonder paralleled only by the fact that I didn't lose anything else on the way. I slept.

Deeply.

End of day - 4478kms

WEDNESDAY 8th, DAY 4:
I woke up in a dark, abandoned neglected neighbourhood of HELL. Racked by all those feelings that accompany a poorly remembered night, I debated getting up, and bought some time by drying my parched (oooo, parched... like someone gentled toweled out my mouth before blasting it with a hair dryer for half an hour) mouth with a couple of slices of mandarin, before arising.

There was little to say to the Three Bears, who were well aware of the root of my ill temper, but stayed well out of my way fortunately. Nothing I could eat all morning seemed keen to stick around (Bec and Mike, your suggestion to bring baby wipes will be well paid, I shall cross your palms with gold!), but by 3 o'clock I was able to nibble on a cookie and sip some tea.

Everything was painful, movement especially so, triggering deathly attacks of nausea. My teeth felt like jagged bones jutting from my jaw, and the train seemed to be pitching extra wildly...

As for the journey, the snow has started to thicken up now, great blankets of it rounding out all the edges on the countryside. There are birches growing along the whole length of the track, and they're now dripping with snow, as are the adjacent telephone wires, it's all pretty idyllic - or as idyllic as an unpopulated wasteland can be in winter.

I made it back to the dining car, head hung in shame, and ate a gratefully received meal. Such was my hunger that in a gargantuan break in precendent, I ate, raw, the evil 'red weed' that most of you know as tomato.

End of Day - 5961kms, and three years off my life.

THURSDAY 9th, DAY 5:
Today's the last full day on the train, and the best morning yet. My horrific hangover has subsided, so I'm feeling a lot better. The change in time zones is pretty confusing - there's a 5 hour difference between Beijing and Moscow, but no zones are announced, and all the clocks are on Moscow time! According to my watch, the sun rose at midday today. I'm starting to get pretty flaky, having already gone through 4 time zones over 5 days. Just going to be when it's dark and waking up when it's light doesn't really work either, as there's only about 7 hours of useful light per day. Good practice for sunny old England tho!

Outside are perfect fields, snow covered trees, and little villages - making up the most picturesque vistas I've ever seen. Everything seems the same as I imagine it would have been 50 years ago, even when we stop at stations, where little shops have faded labels in the windows, and service is through a little 20cm square window to keep out the cold. Even the people look like faded photographs of themselves; I propose a concerted airdrop of brocolli, as soon as Bob Geldof can be contacted to lend his support.

Bread and cheese for breakfast again, as my remaining roubles run low. Scurvy is a constant worry, so I chew discarded rinds as a precaution. It's now so cold outside that my hands freeze to the door handles between the cabins, and water poured between the cars freezes immediately on the floor. You don't even want to look at the outflows from the toilets, eeeewwww...

As if my hangover wasn't enough of a punishment, I'm now racked with - to draw an analogy with "The Scottish Play" - "that ailment that comes from too many prunes" - something they say is inevitable when you're travelling, but could really have chosen a better time to rear its ugly head. I'll shake this mantle of 'Fatty' by the time I get to the UK.

Dinner is pork schnitzel again, which comes out better garnished to me than when the large crowds of Chinese order it. I'm hoping the restorative powers of the vegetables outweigh the possible harm of them being unwashed...

End of day - 7564kms

FRIDAY 10th, DAY 6, ARRIVAL DAY:
The change to Moscow time meant waking particularly early, but I'm really just counting the hours now until I arrive. I've run out of books (should have tackled Anna Karenina!) and am now re-reading 'The Victors' over my bread and cheese breakfast. It's interesting to think that this is the sort of climate that Easy Company endured for an entire month exactly 60 years ago in their stockade of Bastogne, in the Battle of The Bulge - and they didn't have half the clothing I have, let alone a nice warm train.

I saw my first 'people fishing through holes in the ice' today. Not so much ice, but through the snow, which covers the ice, which covers the river. The snow obviously covers everything, which removes all hints of infrastructure like roads, paths, and even rivers. Looking out on a small town you just see a bunch of unrelated features; a service station here, a smokestack there, but all sitting in no apparent relationship to each other.

My suspicions that I'm getting preferential dining car treatment were confirmed at lunch today, when my pork schnitzel...

Me: "Can I have the stroganoff please?"
Dining Car Attendant: "Nyet, yit is finiszhed."
Me: "How about the chicken?"
Dining Car Attendant: "Nyet."
Me: "OK, I'll have the pork,"
Dining Car Attendant: "Da,"
Me: "again."
Dining Car Attendant: "Da."

...arrived fully garnished, while the 8 other dishes of same arrived at the Chinese tables nothing more than a piece of pork on rice. After my experiences in Beijing, the temptation to say, "Well, if you just a little more polite to people..." was desperately resisted, as I enjoyed a juicy piece of tomato more that I have in all my life. It took me three days to get a smile out of the dining car ladies, but I'm reaping the benefits now. They're my ladies, and we're solid...

Disembarking came with all the hubbub of boarding, but inverted now. Inside the train, instead of on the platform, there's just as many bags and people, but less room and ergo, less places to spit. Our bedding was collected, the guards did their level best to clean and vacuum, and everyone tucked into their last remaining bowls of instant food. The approach into Moscow was pretty cool; apartment blocks all lit with incandescent lamps (as opposed to the nasty bluish pulse of fluorescent lighting you see in Japan) each with an embroidered cover. I saw the first of Stalin's Seven Sisters on the way in, as well as the massive Ostankino Tower.

I was met and taken to my hotel (by another one of those disarming Russian women, sigh...) where I checked in and 'registered'. I'm required to be accounted for for every night of my stay in Russia, and have to carry my passport with me all the time, lest I be checkpointed by the many guards.

After settling in, I did exactly what you would expect anyone to do who has been on a train for a week; I used a clean toilet, ate a good meal, (I kid you not, all they had was - drum roll please - pork schnitzel) took a bath, and slept in a stationary bed - without much time to let the buzz of being in Moscva hit me.

End of day, end of trip - 9004kms

Yesterday and today I've had a quick look around the Kremlin (magnificent), caught the Metro (astounding, check out these two sites - 1, 2), surveyed Red Square (site of this famous incident) and wandered in the snow trying not to look suspicious; I've already had my passport checked once already today, by a Kalashnikov weilding teenager in uniform.

Moscow is the schiznit, I love it already. Russians are great, despite their vegetable deprivation induced gruffness, the buildings are incredible, and all the media has a highly refined and hip sense of style. I hope they get the 2012 Olympics, it'd be a blast.

So, that's it, Rakish Richard's account of the journey here, I hope it hasn't kept you from putting up the Xmas decorations. At worst, it's just a really long train journey, at best - and all I was hoping from it - it's unlike anything I've ever done before and it was worth it just to meet someone called Nikita.

But,

On a somewhat more crap note, my Grandfather passed away while I was on the train, so when I checked my email yesterday I found various reports of the news and subsequent service, over which I was incommunicado. We knew he was pretty sick, but he went more quickly than we expected - at least, before he received my last letter from Beijing, about which I'm feeling very sad and guilty. He was a wonderful grandfather and a pillar of his community. He did a huge amount for my family, and is the reason I sport such trendy male pattern baldness. I will miss him.

Y'all be nice to your grandparents this Christmas, y'hear?

Your man, who wouldn't be here were it not for Jack Brand,

Arch :(

posted by Arch @ 7:28 PM