g&k

We were in the midst of the longest single leg of our journey. 3,369kms from Irkutsk to Ekaterinburg. Almost 48 hours with nothing to do but sit on the train. As such we didn't get up early, 11am was fine. At least we think it was 11am we were travelling through 3 different time zones so we were never really sure. More confusingly the train timetable, for stops etc., ran on Moscow time, some 5 hours behind. Or 4. Or 3, depending on where we were. But wake we did after a disappointingly poor sleep on these new, first class beds. Whilst beautifying these new compartments the designers had managed to find something quite difficult to achieve - a way of making the beds more uncomfortable. Harder and narrower. Well done.


After an hour of staring blankly we began to notice the slowly changing scenery. Most of what flashed by was large wood forest with small pockets of snow hanging on. But there were more settlements along with big, dirty industrial sites - very soviet. About this time we were offered lunch. This was tricky as a lot seemed lost in the translation from the menu to our order.


However a lot more was lost in the translation of the recipe into the food that was supposed to be our meal. Salmon with mashed potatoes became unidentified white substance with rice; beef with fried potato was brown bits with mushroom on pasta. Poor. And we'd really quite liked Russian food in Listvyanka. Fortunately we had brought a few supplies of our own to supplement our appetite. God bless Pringles & 2min noodles.


So we had to pass the rest of the day. Fortunately we were prepared to be amused. The power board was loaded with two laptops, iPad, iPhone, camera charger, MP3 player. Kathryn settled down to her laptop and a stoic resistance to ever use the toilet on board. This aversion was largely born of the last long trip where things were different - a stainless steel bowl with a foot pedal that opened the drain onto the tracks.


This could be suitably entertaining or even cathartic, if you were feeling vindictive against the country you were travelling over. Otherwise you could try (vainly, unfortunately) to photograph the results of your efforts as they flashed by the rear window of the train. Things on our current train were more modern. And boring. An aircraft like arrangement complete with ear-popping vacuum. Meanwhile Gavin sat down to write the blog. Somebody has to. Otherwise you'd have to do something else like make a cup of tea, peel a mango or scratch. Now don't go getting ideas, there's reading to be done.

The afternoon hours passed with a few unsatisfying interruptions - a man came selling books & magazines, for some reason they were all in Russian, even Cosmo!; we spent 20 minutes waited for an Obelisk that was described in our guidebook to be beside the tracks and marked the half-way point between Beijing & Moscow, an important milestone. It wasn't there; and perhaps the biggest let down was the absolute absence of 'platform food sellers'. Both our guidebooks made significant reference to the 'babushka mothers' and other hawkers that would, apparently, crowd the train sides at stations selling all & any manner of food stuffs. Both books suggested that you need not bring any food at all as you could support yourselves from these platform providers. Save for a few permanent station kiosks there were none. No 'fresh boiled potato with dill', no home pickled herring, no dangerous smoked sausage. Nothing. In fairness the book did say it could depend on the weather and season but if they're not coming out in 23 degrees blazing sunshine, what are they waiting for?

At the end of the day we did secure 4L beer, a bottle of vodka and a bag of skittles (Skittlebrau, anyone?) for Simon's birthday party. By the time we arrived at 7/8/9pm all in the 'Party Kompartment' were looking weary. They had seen the end of about 10 bottles of vodka in the 30 or so hours since boarding the train and were looking a little worse for it. Nonetheless they offered us a drink and the Russian/Ukrainian duo offered us a lesson in proper drinking. A round of vodka shots began with one local asking one of the British boys if there was something wrong with their hand; this was the cue to pour a round.


Once everyone had a drink a toast was offered. These were usually something international but the local favourite was a Russian expression I wish I could remember - shouldn't have had that vodka. The rough translation was 'Here's to us, and f**k the rest', although more literally "Us, penis the rest". The process of working out the literal translation was a highlight of the night. The other important lesson of the night was that a shot is always followed by 'zakooska', a little bit of food. Any food. But usually bread, meat, biscuits, cheese. This helped soothe the burn and settle the stomach. Any tapas/antipasto platter would serve the purpose perfectly. And so the process would repeat in 5 or 10 minutes. The rate of drinking was very different to what we were used to where you normally have a drink in hand that you sip from over a while. Instead each drink was shared and in between were periods of frivolity whilst the last drink had 'time to work'. It was good. It is to be emulated. We left the boys to it - they still had another night on the train. Tomorrow we get off, and shower, in the Urals, the dividing line of Europe & Asia. Ekaterinburg.

It snowed. The forecast on the internet said it should. The meteorological observation station was next door to the hotel so the information couldn't be more relevant. But we didn't get our hopes up til we saw it for ourselves first thing in the morning. But there it was and Siberia looked the way it should. White.







The clouds had snuck in under the cover of darkness, deposited the snow, made it stick and then left, leaving a sunny white world behind. Kathryn was particularly ecited and rushed out to take photos. Here we discovered another Siberian speciality - frozen winds. It was like 100 chinkles of yesterday’s kryptonite poking through your clothing. It was time to rug up. After days of lugging around heavy winter coats, jackets, gloves, scarves, etc. through sunny mildness it was time to put them to use. Just as soon as Kathryn's fingers unfroze.



We repeated part of our stroll towards Listvyanka to appreciate the new wintery appearance. However we noted another completely unexpected change in the landscape, the ice had all but gone! We had noted quite a lot of ice passing down the river the previous evening but had never expected the lake, as far as we could see it, to have unfrozen. Now there was water and waves to the far shore. A few small pockets of ice remained, being churned away by the relentless washing of the waves so that it seemed it would be consumed in front of our eyes. It seemed the most extraordinary pair of weather conditions any two days could produce. Yesterday a dry shoreline butting a frozen lake, now the roles reversed with white snow on the land and active blue water. We would have described our experience with the weather so far to be lucky but this was truly remarkable.



At the far end of our walk we spied 'something' out on what was left of the ice. On closer inspection it was a person. With even closer inspection, via a zoom, it was a diver. Or at least someone dressed up as one. They had a rope leading into the water which they tugged on occasionally. Either they were looking for a very big fish or there was another diver down there. Probably looking for the Dutch backpackers from yesterday.



Coming back we passed an area of grassland that yesterday was literally on fire. The melting of the winter snow leaves huge areas of dry, dead grass. These are frequently seen to be burning. Whether this is the result of cigarettes tossed from car windows or deliberate burning to reduce the risk of fires from cigarettes thrown from car windows we weren't sure. What did seem evident was that the fires burnt randomly and incompletely and never seemed to be supervised. This process was common all over Siberia. The pitch of grounds that we passed today though was now patchily covered in snow giving it a black & white appearance considerably more deserving of the title Dalmatian Coastline than the one in Croatia.



Also along the way was the graphic work of some very intuitive entrepreneurs. The walk into Listvyanka was popular but could be longer than expected, especially if it suddenly turns, well Siberian on you. Recognising this, various taxi owners had stenciled their number all along the promenade into the town. Well played, sirs. Had we been given the choice we would have employed one for our transfer back to Irkutsk to catch our train. But we didn't, so, too bad.



At Irkutsk station we boarded the Rossiya train. Service number 1. The supposed flagship of Russian Railways. And it was, on initial inspection, certainly a pleasant update from the wood panelling of previous trains.



But what was most pleasant was the twin berth compartment. Our own little private room. Power point, tv and all. Luxury. And very soon after setting off we were brought our first meal. Things went downhill from there. The food, although sufficient in quantity did make you miss being hungry and not having this taste in your mouth. The beds too, although being more pleasing to the eye, had found some way of being more uncomfortable than previous offerings. Oh well, who cares, we always have a blog to write.



And of course we could always visit our train-mates Simon & James back in 2nd class. This time they found themselves shacked up with a Russian & a Ukrainian pair of blokes who were giving a lesson in how to drink vodka. As the boys pointed out, if there was any easy stereotype of the Trans-Siberian being about meeting gregariously friendly and proudly nationalistic Russians who helped you consume prodigious amounts of vodka then these two men fulfilled those stereotypes to a t. By the time we met up with them they had already finished four bottles. In just four hours. We shared a couple of shots before going to bed. We were assured that tomorrow, Simon's birthday, would be the big one.

The four of us 'woke up' to the alarm at 6:30am. I use the term 'woke-up' loosely as we were about as awake as a computer can be 'asleep'. It is a convincing approximation. We stared, unmoving, through the window to the passing Siberian country-side approaching Irkutsk with an, albeit muted, sense weariness, excitement and trepidation.


None of us really knew what to expect. Having been reading reports of the towns murderousness, desolation and desperate sorrow from excerpts of a guide written in 1902 we wondered how much had changed. Is the Cold War still going on here? Do they stab you for not accepting sausage or not speaking politely? Or is it one great vodka-fuelled party town with cheap limos for all? We stepped out into the relatively mild cold (still no polar frigidity yet) and looked for driver who was to pick us up. Our driver wasn't there to pick us up. We shouldn't have been surprised really. Neither had they in Beijing or Ulaanbaatar, at least initially. However this time we had a long distance into the countryside to cover and we still hadn't worked out if Irkutsk was a 1902 gulag or the site for the next 'Hangover' film. After a calm little panic we managed to secure a taxi and our onward tickets into the bargain as well. Once in the taxi Kathryn fell instantly asleep leaving Gavin to assess the contrasts of Russia to Mongolia. Most immediately evident was the traffic. While there was still a sense of 'freedom' with the road rules it wasn't quite the manic free-for-all of UB. Similarly the presentation and approach of taxi touts and street sellers was less insistent. Despite being closer to UB than Moscow the European 'politeness' seems to have filtered across the miles. Indeed, nobody even tried to kill us and dump our bodies in the woods.

Our destination was a hotel on the mouth of the Angara River as it meets Lake Baikal. Lake Baikal, the Pearl of Siberia, is the largest fresh water lake in the world.


600kms long, 30kms wide and 1.6 kms deep. It contains 1/5 of the world's fresh water, more than all the U.S. Great Lakes combined (another Soviet Cold War victory). It is a UNESCO World Heritage list site with several unique species including the Omul fish which is ubiquitous in its smoked form to eat. Not being fish eaters we can't tell you how it tastes but it is fun to say: "Omuuuuuuuuuuullll". What do you call an endangered species with a cigarette in its mouth? Smoked Omuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuull.


Our hotel was as advertised with a lovely view, a terrace overlooking the lake and river and staff that spoke more English than we did Russian. It also oversaw the Anman Rock. This stoney outcropping is subject of a local legend - Lake Baikal had a daughter and 336 sons (the lakes tributary rivers). The father had wanted the daughter to marry a particular man who, to the daughters dislike, was a bit of a spiv. So she ran away to marry some other guy. In anger the lake father threw a rock after her. She got away but the rock remains. Unfortunately the rock itself is no more impressive than this shitty retelling of the story.


Our ridiculously large room was a welcome change to the cramp train compartment. There was race to the bathroom then simultaneous collapse to sleep.


A brief exploration of local TV found RT.com. An interesting channel that spruiked itself as an alternative to mainstream western media. Interestingly it previewed Julian Assange’s (of Wikileaks) new show in which he interviews people by Skype from his home detention - his first guest was the leader of Hezbollah. More interest was seeing how RT TV would try to implicate 'the West' as being responsible for every calamity and Russia as the saviour. The weather was threatening to be bad due to Washington and Britain's mistakes but fortunately Vladimir Putin himself rescued the sun from Afghanistan.


Our day ended in a traditional way with a constitutional walk to the lake-side allowing us a view of the ice sheet over it and then a hearty Russian dinner. The food, despite warnings, was really very good. Our attempts at Russian in ordering it were not.