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RTW 14. Joy of Jameson’s

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Sunday, 16 May 2010

Irkutsk, Russia

Everyone is complaining about the noise and movement of the train last night during breakfast. No one had any sleep apparently.

I on the other hand slept very well. Didn’t hear a thing. A bomb could’ve gone off and I wouldn’t have heard it.

That’s the joy of Jameson’s you see.

Irkutsk is described as the ‘Paris of Siberia’. Stoke-on-Trent more like. Not the prettiest of places and very low rise. There’s a dusty feel to it.

The rusting boat on the river is the Angara ice breaker. Imported from…wait for it…Newcastle upon Tyne. To pave the way across a frozen Lake Baikal during winter. Built in the 1890s it’s now sadly decaying in its permanent mooring on the river. Once on board there’s a small exhibition of the boat in its heyday. Its sister ship, the Baikal, also from Newcastle, sank during the Russian Civil War. Both boats were transported by sea to St Petersburg then transported overland on the Trans Siberian Railway to Irkutsk. Baikal was named after the lake. Obviously. The Angara is named after the river that drains out of Lake Baikal and through Irkutsk to the Arctic ocean. Both ships were fitted out with guns during the civil war and one remains on the Angara, nearly a hundred years later.

It’s a 30 mile drive to the Taltsy Museum of Wooden Architecture located on the banks of the Angara in very scenic and peaceful surroundings. Well worth the trip. Reminds me of Skansen in Stockholm. Collection of Russian wooden houses and churches dating from the 17th and 18th centuries. Very impressive and very solid looking. Couple of wooden churches reminiscent of Norwegian stave churches. The wood keeps inside cool during summer and warm during winter.

The bus carting us around is very ‘characterful’. Decked out with flowery blue curtains, frilly bits and tassles.

Fun and good lunch with local delicacies. Cabbage salad, meat pie, soup, Omul fish from Lake Baikal. Followed by Baked Alaska (or should that be Baked Siberia?). The wine is also flowing, dear reader.  Am the youngest in the group. Am having my wine poured by a very attractive young waitress. Wine glass is then quickly topped up by a second attractive waitress a few seconds later. Am being looked after very well. Could get used to this.

There’s also a bottle of vodka for the table. You know. For the digestif.

Ask Rigsby if he is married. Suspect I know the answer.

“Ooh no. Oh God, no. Ooh no, no, no. Good God no. Had all that nagging when I was a child. Ooh no.”

You can imagine the scene, dear reader. I don’t need to spell it out.

You can imagine him at the Tunbridge Wells Camera Club can’t you.

Eating finished. Vodka digestif drinking starts. All rather enjoying the vodka.

The French lady (we’ll call her Edith…as in ‘Allo ‘Allo) has had vodka. Too much vodka. Edith goes around the flower beds in the main square picking a small bouquet of flowers. With a little ‘away with the fairies’ twirl and dance in the process. Bouquet is presented to Mrs WAMC. Who has to stifle a giggle.

Over on the bridge a young couple stand close together. Girl holds a single flower in her hand. Who said romance isn’t dead. Following the river walk, plenty of people sitting out on the wall drinking what appears to be alcohol out of bottles but which are covered by a lime green paper bag. Kiosks dotted about with old women selling bird food to feed the pigeons. There’s also a number of yellow coloured  bowsers with old women dispensing a brown liquid from the small tap at the rear. Assume it’s home brew. A very pleasant atmosphere on this sunny Sunday afternoon.

More Mongolian faces at the market. Fruit. Meat. Fish. Clothes. Electronics. You name it. Love markets. Spot a female stall holder having a crafty make-up session with a very small mirror and lipstick as she tends her cheese counter. So engrossed in the market that suddenly realise I’m late for the bus. Hells bells. Race back. Just about make it back in time. I’m not the latest though. No. LC is on the warpath. Edith and the Leftie are nowhere to be seen. MIA. Missing in Action. Eventually turn up ten minutes later. It’s always the French isn’t it. Some of you will be nodding agreement at that statement. They’re always late.

Treated to the first concert of the day. In a Russian Orthodox church. Women have to wear head scarves. No seats as everyone stands. Singing a capella is superb with amazing acoustics. Stand silently soaking it all in. An incredible sound.

Treated to the second concert of the day. In the Volkonsky House Museum. Dedicated to the Decembrist Movement.

What’s that you ask yourself.

Well.

Russian Army officers led a failed coup against Tsar Nicholas I on 26 December 1825 in St Petersburg. Exiled to Siberia and became the Decembrist Movement. They were followed by their wives who set up a social scene in Irkutsk commensurate with their high social standing and lives in St Petersburg and Moscow. The museum is in the house of Maria Volkonsky, a typical early 19th century wooden building fitted out not unlike something you would see in England at that time. Main reception room houses a grand piano. Chairs are laid out.

Our Russian tour guide has changed from jeans and jumper into a long flowing silver dress with a white pashmina. Hair done up. Make up done. She looks stunning.

Concert is given playing music and opera from the era of Maria Volkonsky. Figaro. Schumann. Mozart’s Don Giovanni. Chopin.

A really good and enjoyable end to the day is rounded off with a glass of Russian champagne.

Even though it was warm Russian champagne.

RTW 13. Tough audience

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Saturday, 15 May 2010

Novosibirsk to Irkutsk transit, Russia

Full day’s journey on the rails such is the distance between Novosibirsk and Irkutsk. Leisurely day.

Excruciating talk on the construction of the Trans Siberian Railway. Talk goes on as long as it took to build the flipping thing. It’s by our Russian train leader. Half of us fall asleep. You’ll note the ‘us’ in that sentence rather than the ‘them’.

Now seeing remnants of winter snow by the trackside as we trundle eastwards.

Platform stop for half an hour at Krasnoyarsk. Jump off for some fresh air and leg stretch out through the large chandeliered station hall to the piazza outside. A large Nelson’s column like monument stands proud in the centre. Surrounded by the usual assortment of people, passengers and pissheads. You know. The usual assortment of people you find near every station entrance. All over the world.

Definitely a lot more Chinese/Mongol looking faces as we head east and more Asian style architecture. Much less European. Increased numbers of cars with right hand drive imported from Japan rather than the usual left hand drive.

Time up scurry back to the train. Old lady selling newspapers sidles up to me. Ask if she has the Daily Telegraph.

She doesn’t.

Bizarrely, the platform kiosk selling snacks and drinks has a Cadbury’s Fruit & Nut box on display. Sadly. They’ve sold out.

Dinner with the old ladies tonight. Hinge & Bracket from Devon. Fanny from Omaha, Nebraska.

Am normally good with little old ladies. Tough audience tonight though. Hard work, dear reader.

There’ll be a large Jameson’s waiting in my cabin to recover.

RTW 12. Rigsby

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Friday, 14 May 2010

Novosibirsk, Russia

Building up a rapport with the septuagenarian South African couple in the cabin next door to mine over the past few days. We’ll call him WAMC. He used to have business interests in Siberia selling machinery and equipment so knows this region slightly.

Each morning the train prints a few copies of the international news on a couple of A4 sheets of paper which is left in the ‘library’. Except they have a penchant for going missing. One is slipped under my door just before breakfast. It’s WAMC. My newspaper boy. It was the train’s sole copy of The Spectator yesterday. Words have been said by the crew to the effect of please replace the papers when you’re done. People are getting annoyed.

It’s the start of a lasting friendship with WAMC and his delightful wife which continues to this day, ten years on.

Not due to arrive at Novosibirsk until 1730hrs this afternoon so a day on the rails. Interspersed with a few platform stops. Of about fifteen minutes. As we’re being pulled along by the native train.

Like yesterday, landscape is a grassy, flat, featureless plain. And silver birch trees which look stunning against the bright blue sky. Small villages pass by. Consisting of wooden houses built in a ramshackle way. Each with its own garden which is only now beginning to be cultivated now the snow has melted away. Trees haven’t begun to leaf yet though. Flora and fauna still in winter mode.

Sit with the other blokes travelling on their own. The Leftie from the first day’s argument in Moscow. One who is ex-Army. And an Anorak. Keeps talking in depth about his camera club. And his car club. In that nasally way. Beat a hasty retreat.

Arriving at Novosibirsk station the first thing you realise is that the station is built to look like a locomotive. See photo below.

Two excursions available for Novosibirsk. Railway museum. Or. Tchaikovsky’s Queen of Spades opera.

Hmmm.

The first and last opera I went to was at the Bolshoi in Moscow in 2004. It. Was. Crap. And has put me off opera ever since.

Railway museum it is. Which includes a city tour. And the first stop is the opera house. A massive building and actually Russia’s largest. Possibly the world’s largest too. Designed in Stalin’s era such that military equipment like tanks and missiles could be driven on to the stage by entering the building one side before driving off the other side. The parkland in front of the opera house has big, solid and muscular statues including the ubiquitous statue of Lenin.

Railway museum is notable for its train carriage used by the Tsar at the turn of the last century. Very ornate. As you would expect. One locomotive has a huge snow plough attached. And by huge, I mean it soars up to about 15ft off the ground. Suppose it needs to be that big for the amount of snow they have.

Railway museum is near Akademgorodok. Siberia’s science city complex built in the 1960s. Until recently, Novosibirsk was a closed city that you needed special permission to travel to. All the scientists are given free housing in one of the many five storey apartment blocks we pass by. All look the same. All look in need of a good re-furb.

Dinner with a mix on the table. Couple I’ve not really spoken to. So it’s the usual small talk. Ask him what he did before he retired. “I ran Virgin Trains”, he replies. Oh. Ok then.

Other couple I have got to know already. Being on the same wavelength. Young at heart and good for a laugh. We’ll call her Lily the Pink. Anorak, grey and in his 60s, who I sat with at lunch, is in full geek mode with some Americans on another table. Holding forth about why he doesn’t have internet at home. Because he can go to the library and use it for free. They know him so well that he gets free cups of coffee from the library staff. And a biscuit sometimes. Americans must be wondering if this is English eccentricity. Lily the Pink leans over to me and tells me she has a nickname for him…

Rigsby.

(for those that weren’t in the UK in the 1970s…Rigsby was an eccentric landlord in a TV sitcom called Rising Damp, played by Leonard Rossiter. He kept trying to woo his tenant, Miss Jones, played by Frances de la Tour)

All burst out laughing. It’s so appropriate.

Returning to the train, meet Lily the Pink talking with LC (our guide) in her cabin. LC is told about Rigsby. She collapses on her bed in a fit of laughter. It gets better, dear reader. Her maiden name is Jones.

You’ll hear more about Rigsby, dear reader.

RTW 11. Ra-Ra-Rasputin

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Thursday, 13 May 2010

Yekaterinburg, Russia

A further 2hrs forward of GMT as we cross the Urals overnight. Thus missing the opportunity to see some hills. Scenery has morphed from flat landscape to flat landscape with silver birch trees.

Land of the silver birch…

Now we’re in Siberia.

Yekaterinburg to be precise.

Famous for being the scene of the murders of Tsar Nicholas II and family in 1918. O level history lessons come flooding back.

Now a fairly cosmopolitan city home to Gazprom, Russia’s monolithic gas company responsible for its new found wealth, and skyscrapers and shiny new office buildings.

First stop of the day is for the train buffs on board. The railway museum housed in Yekaterinburg’s old railway station with fantastic facades and some very good street art made of bronze showing various station tableau. Signal John asks a simple question on rail signalling which needs to be translated for the museum curator. You know when you used to see Game for a Laugh with Jeremy Beadle and there’d be someone asking a simple question in English to a translator, the translator would then spend five minutes ‘translating’, then the other person would spend five minutes answering and then the translator would reply with a simple ‘yes’ answer. And you’d all giggle. On Saturday night prime time TV. Well it’s like that.

The scene of the murder of Tsar Nicholas II and family is now covered by the Church on Blood. Newly built in the 1990s on the exact spot where the Bolsheviks executed them. Actually shot in the basement of an engineer’s house, located where the church now is, but then carted away to be buried in the woods. The church has a lower floor with a chapel in the exact location of the basement. Have always been fascinated by Russian history since being taught it by one of my favourite teachers at school. One of two. The other was physics.

Having previously been to the Tsar’s memorial in St Petersburg on my trip to Russia in 2004 and subsequently in 2013 on my Cape to Cape trip (read it here: https://touringtaurean.com/2018/07/24/chicken-fish/), it’s good to finally see where it all happened. As we’re listening to the guide giving details, a monk from the church walks past. He’s the spitting image of Rasputin. Quite startling.

It’s apparent that the house the Romanovs were murdered in was in a very nice location with a forest backdrop and overlooking the Iset river, judging from the black and white photos dotted around depicting the Romanovs.

Far too much time is spent at the Urals Mineralogical Museum. Private collection of rocks which is worth a quick two minute waltz around not the half hour allotted. Notable for the most disgusting toilets I’ve seen in a ‘civilised’ country. Probably not been cleaned since Stalin’s time.

Afghan War Memorial is set at the end of a public square with fountains. They do like their fountains. Again, statue of a grieving soldier holding an AK47 is solid and muscular. Sweeping columns soar up to the sky. One for each year. 1980 to 1989-ish. With the names of the dead. Reminds me of my East German colleague. Enlisted for National Service in the Soviet Army in the 1980s he was put in a shed with his comrades who were then subjected to a gas to see what effect it had on them. Not that this affected him in later life. Ahem.

Local guide tells us about her father. He worked in factory producing military equipment and had to get a letter from his bosses to say that although he could see secret documents pertaining to the military equipment he hadn’t actually seen them, so he could obtain an International Passport. As opposed to a National Passport permitting travel within the USSR. The authorities were frightened that he might defect and trade secrets about the equipment.

As we travel out of Yekaterinburg, the bus stops and a Russian ‘official’ jumps on board shouting something in Russian. Guide comes on the PA, “Have you got your passports?”

We haven’t.

They were taken off us to check visas etc on the train.

It appears the ‘official’ wants to inspect our passports and visas. Guide is winding us up. If we don’t have our passports it’s not great news. Can sense that this is a load of nonsense but there’s a few old ladies getting their knickers in a twist that they don’t have their passports.

Guide and ‘official’, who it turns out is from the tour company and in fancy dress with a peaked cap, suddenly start giggling.

Oh.

I see.

It’s a joke.

Deary me.

The reason?

We’re actually at the European/Asian continental divide. The watershed has been scientifically proven to be here.

So there.

The occasion is marked by drinking a glass of champagne with one foot in Europe and one foot in Asia.

RTW 10. Small world

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Wednesday, 12 May 2010

Kazan, Russia

Introduced to tea Russian style. Served in a cut glass mug in an ornate pewter holder. Very posh.

Having travelled the 500 miles to Kazan overnight it’s an early morning visit to its UNESCO listed Kremlin. Technically, we’re in the Republic of Tatarstan, an autonomous region for Turkic Muslims, the Tatars.

Greeted by a beautiful young woman in national dress bearing traditional sweets. A sort of sticky/treacly rice concoction. The highlight of the Kremlin complex is the Kul Sharif Mosque built in 2005 to replace the original 16th century mosque that was destroyed by Ivan the Terrible. The bluest sky imaginable really sets off its striking white minarets. Once inside though it’s pretty basic as mosques go. On the other hand, the nearby 16th century Anunciation Cathedral has a large and impressive iconostasis screen and is notable for its cast iron floor tiles. Presumably for heating in the winter and keeping cool in the summer.

Whilst on a river cruise along the Volga start chatting with a couple from Sheffield. Turns out they’re dentists. Turns out they went to Uni with my dentist. Small world. Now have a few stories to wind my dentist up with.

Flying visit to Kazan as the train departs 1330hrs for Yekaterinburg. In anticipation of our visit to Tsar Nicholas’s murder scene there’s a one hour video presentation put on. I’d like to say how informative it was.

But.

Fell asleep.

Along with a few others.

RTW 9. All aboard the Golden Eagle Trans Siberian Express

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Tuesday, 11 May 2010

Moscow, Russia

Finally, after a number of times trying to enter the Kremlin, I make it. Not Putin’s office obviously. The armoury museum. ‘Kremlin’ means a fortress within a city. Sitting on the bank of the Moskva River it’s a large complex of buildings such as palace, church, museum, armoury, offices, accommodation and of course the Presidential building and senate, all surrounded by a high and thick wall with large fortified gates to prevent intruders. Pretty impressive complex.

Security scanners at the museum entrance are a waste of time as they go off as I wander through but don’t get checked. Got a wonderful Faberge egg if anyone wants one.

Highlight of the museum is the collection of rare Faberge Eggs. Simply stunning. Produced by the House of Faberge, a jewellery firm dating back to the 1840s from St Petersburg, Russia. Made famous by the jewel encrusted eggs they produced for the Tsars way back when.

One is themed around the Trans Siberian Railway and has a small gold train set in it. Stunning and intricate and having seen a few up close now understand why people rave about them.

Once outside the Kremlin and standing in Red Square you realise how diminutive 16th century St Basil’s Cathedral is. Its bold colours adorn its bulbous domes looking like someone has produced an assortment of fruit ripple soft ice cream in a cone. The darkened inside is lightened by the sound of an a capella male voice quartet. Acoustics are brilliant and atmospheric.

Lunch is on the outskirts of the city. Sharing a table with the train’s doctor, her husband and another traveller. All early 60s. We’ll call the doctor’s husband Tom. The other fella, Jerry. Tom is right wing. Jerry is left wing. We’ve only just introduced ourselves when Tom & Jerry get into a discussion on politics. Deary me. A massive argument soon erupts. Jerry takes great exception to be called a ‘Leftie’. As with most lefties, they don’t like people who have different views to their own. Brilliant fun watching two grown men argue like children. It reaches the point where Tom’s despairing wife shouts at him loudly to shut up. They spend the rest of lunch in silence like scolded children.

Arrive late afternoon at Kazan Station. For the start of the Trans Siberian Railway.

Find the platform to board the Golden Eagle Trans Siberian Express (https://www.goldeneagleluxurytrains.com/journeys/trans-siberian-express/eastbound/) home for the next couple of weeks. Most had thought it would be a dedicated engine pulling us all the way. But no. We’re hitched to the back of the standard ‘local’ Trans Siberian train set.

Greeted at our carriage by white gloved provodnitsas in a smart uniform. Am in Silver Class. Ensuite you see. There’s Heritage Class. Toilet at the end of the carriage. No thanks. Also Gold Class but advised that wasn’t value for money.

Enter my cabin. This is more like it. Sofa which converts to a wide bed. Table. Jump seat. TV. AC. Ensuite toilet, shower and basin. Wouldn’t want to swing a cat though. Best of all. A bottle of vodka on the table. We’ll see how long that lasts.

In need of a shower before dinner. Am fully soaped up. When. There’s a power cut on the train. Sod it. The water stops flowing. The lights switch off. Now what. Stand there in the dark. Lathered in soap. Some minutes pass before power returns. Hastily finish just in case it happens again.

Moving through the carriages to the bar car is not the easiest. Like an assault course. Heavy doors have to be opened and shut when crossing between carriages. Then you have to step up to a plate over the coupling which has a three inch gap to the plate of the next carriage. Then step down. Open and close heavy doors. Repeat five times until you arrive at the bar car. Small bar at one end. Lounge seating line the sides. And. A piano. Yes, dear reader. A pianist plays piano each night after dinner. Restaurant car has tables of four. Silver service. Wine flows. Food superb.

Ah yes, this will do very nicely for the next couple of weeks.

All very civilised, dear reader.

Very me.

RTW 8. I donated my husband’s brain

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Monday, 10 May 2010

Moscow, Russia

Despite the hot, stuffy, noisy, bouncy, small, cramped cabin and lumpy bed I must have dropped off at some point as there’s a knock on my door at 0730hrs with LC (our guide) asking if I’d like a cup of tea.

No.

I’d like some sleep.

Like lunch and dinner yesterday, breakfast could be stale bread, dodgy cheese, sweaty salami and warm olives.

Or.

A free plastic wrapped croissant with chocolate filling provided by Rosa Klebb the provodnitsa. Yum. Not.

Provodnitsa provides perfect plastic cup of steaming hot black tea from the samovar. With a small plastic carton that I naturally assume is milk so pour it in. To discover it’s not. It’s lemon juice. In dire need of a brew I drink it. Twinings English Breakfast Tea, milk and one sugar it is not.

Being a large cube shape, Rosa Klebb the provodnitsa is too wide for the corridor and nearly drags the curtains off their rails as she stomps down the corridor. Creating a vacuum in her wake. Thanks for the memory LC!

Arrive Moscow Belarusky station pretty much on time. After last night’s zero star accommodation it’s pleasing to check in to the Marriott Aurora Hotel (https://www.marriott.com/hotels/travel/mowdt-moscow-marriott-royal-aurora-hotel/) at the back of the Bolshoi Theatre. Ah yes. The Lesser Spotted Taurean back in his natural habitat. Having not washed for over 36hrs and slept in my clothes on the train a much needed shower is required.

So.

Back in the USSR.

First came to Moscow in 2004 and loved it. One of my favourite cities. Feels very safe. Despite what you may think.

My favourite place in Moscow though is VDNKh. The Exhibition of Achievements of National Economy. Built in the 1930s under Stalin, it’s a large parkland with architecturally stunning pavilions along a wide boulevard. Good, solid and muscular architecture. Love this style of architecture.

My memory from 2004 was the smell of the street food stalls lining the central boulevard. Made you want to try everything. Walking along again now I smell the street barbeques and the memory kicks in. Wonderful smell. Exactly as I remember it. Lots of various meats and salmon being grilled.

Actually a public holiday to celebrate VE Day. Party atmosphere. Plenty of people promenading and picnicking.

The elevated 5km long Moscow monorail goes around the perimeter of VDNKh and out into the suburbs. Has to be travelled. More to add to the different modes of transport taken. No other reason to go out to Soviet suburbs seeing slum apartment blocks. Grim. Communist era.

Like Pyongyang in North Korea, Moscow’s underground stations are cavernous ornate affairs. Unlike Pyongyang, the entrance gates to the underground don’t slice you in half. Ouch.

Surface at Red Square. The remnants of the VE Day parade are being cleared away. As a kid in the 1970s and 80s, always remember seeing the big military parades through Red Square on the TV. A massive expanse of cobbles bordered on one side by the Kremlin with the GUM department store opposite, with its three long glazed arcades joined together. St Basil’s cathedral stands at the far end near the river.

The dozen of us that have travelled by train from the UK to Moscow meet up with those that have flown in tonight.

For the welcome dinner.

You know how it is. All the small talk. And introductions. Getting to know each other.

There’s always a dreary grey one. Little Miss Sociable. Light and cheery she is not.

Having dinner. Dreary announces that she donated her husband’s brain to the local university for research.

Jolly good.

Glad you told me that as I’m eating. Thanks for sharing.

RTW 7. New bogies

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Sunday, 9 May 2010

Minsk, Belarus

Warsaw Wschodnia station is grim. Very grim. Very communist era. It’s the departure station for the overnight express to Moscow. For ‘express’ read ‘trundle’.

Cabin is small. Thankful it’s just me as I only just fit in. A small wash hand basin is hidden under a table in the corner of the cabin. The toilet is down the corridor. It’s disgusting. I shall be holding it in.

Depart 1300hrs. Moscow here we come.

Time to settle in. There’s not going to be a whole lot to do for 20hrs. Crack open my provisions bought at Carrefour yesterday evening.

Lunch is stale bread. Warm cheese. Sweaty salami. Olives. Peanuts (not exactly jungle fresh).

Watch the scenery go by.

Trees.

Trees.

More trees.

Thankful we’re in First Class. Economy is grotty. Six to a cabin on bunkbeds.

One of our number is a real train buff who gives talks about rail signalling to the Royal Trainspotters Society. Or some such thing. I’ll gradually introduce you to the cast of characters in the rest of the group, dear reader. We’ll call him Signal John. Rail signalling is his thing. What he doesn’t know about rail signalling.

Eventually arrive at the Polish/Belarus border. Customs and immigration officials jump on board. Not to be messed with. All are armed and we’ve also got armed guards on the platform. Instructed to sit down in my cabin by border guard. Duly comply. Passport checked. Depart Poland and cross into Belarus about five miles up the line.

Barbed wire is the new Iron Curtain. Armed guard in a sentry box overlooking the river forming the border. Pass under a large sign which denotes entry to Belarus and the train immediately stops in the middle of nowhere. Belarus Gestapo get on. Not to be messed with either. Even more authoritative than the Polish. Cabins checked. Passports taken away for processing whilst we fill in an immigration card. A female customs official walks down the corridor demanding to see each cabin. Bleach blonde hair, black leather jacket and stilettos. Rocking that communist look. She shouts at me and points at my rucksack. “I’m English”, I say. And with a scornful sneer moves on. Taurean charm you see.

Passports and visas stamped, train trundles into Brest station a couple of minutes away and pulls up at the platform. Load of local women suddenly appear at the windows flogging food and drink. We’ll get used to this as the weeks progress.

Then they board the train and go from cabin to cabin. Beer and chicken seems to be the day’s speciality. Although there seems to be something else on offer when one of the women quietly enters the cabin of a lone male traveller further up the carriage and the curtains are quickly shut. I’ll leave you to work that one out, dear reader.

Now that we’re in the former Soviet Union the train’s bogies need to be changed from the 4ft 8½ inch European gauge to the 5ft Russian gauge. Fascinating watching the process which I was allowed to video. See video below.

The train set with nine carriages enters a large sidings shed with overhead gantry cranes. Carriages uncoupled from each other and the bogies disconnected from the carriage before the entire carriage is jacked up about 6ft on massive screw jacks. Mechanics swarm all over the bogies disconnecting hoses and couplings. The disconnected European bogies are then rolled out and replaced with Russian gauge bogies and the whole process is reversed. Takes about an hour.

With the Russian bogies fixed the train returns to Brest railway station, a nice building with a Communist feel, where it waits the forty minutes until its scheduled departure time.

Clocks have moved forward one hour and will move forward another hour as we enter Russia in the early hours of tomorrow morning.

So what to do for another 14hrs. In my cabin. Well. There’s dinner to look forward to.

Like lunch, dinner is stale bread. Warm cheese. Sweaty salami. Olives. Peanuts (not exactly jungle fresh).

Unlike lunch there’s a bottle of Jacobs Creek Shiraz Cabernet to moisten the mouth. Why on earth they don’t have screw tops in this neck of the woods I don’t know. Use the free corkscrew which came with the bottle. A corkscrew which will be much used over the next two months, dear reader.

Pacing myself with the red wine as I’m not intending drinking a whole bottle tonight.

But.

As the cork snapped in half when opening.

You know where this is going.

Hic.

Roasting hot in the cabin and nothing I can do to turn the heat off. Having the window open is too noisy. With the occasional whiff of diesel fumes.

Arrive Minsk 0100hrs. Damp, foggy and quite cold. Enjoy the cold fresh air whilst we wait in Minsk. Security guards with their large peaked caps patrol the platform. Other side of the train are troops waiting for a train to some unknown destination.

I next came to Minsk on my Cape to Cape trip three years later. You can read about my few days in Minsk which starts here: https://touringtaurean.com/2018/07/24/disinfection-is-made/

Struggle for sleep in the hot, noisy, bouncy cabin.

Having enjoyed the wine, need a pee in the middle of the night.

Do I…

A) walk down the corridor to a grotty toilet…

or…

B) use the small washhand basin in the corner of the cabin…

Decisions. Decisions.

RTW 6. You can spot a Brit a mile off!

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Saturday, 8 May 2010

Warsaw, Poland

Having travelled independently thus far am to meet up with the rest of the Trans Siberian group. One set are also travelling to Moscow by train from London which I could’ve done but wanted to stop off to see Miss Braunschweig. Other set are flying into Moscow.

Wait in hotel lobby for British guide to arrive mid morning to meet up with the group travelling by train from London. They having travelled overnight by train from Germany.

Jolly young looking woman appears and says, “Are you Mr Taurean?”

“Yes”

“You can spot a Brit a mile off!”, she retorts. We’ll call her LC. Our escort and guide to Vladivostok.

Meet up with the eleven travellers that have also travelled by train from London. Safe to say I’m the youngest by some margin.

Orientation tour of Warsaw begins with the Royal Baths Park (Lazienki Park), the largest in Warsaw. Typical European park with assorted 17th and 18th century buildings and palaces. Hearing a concert by the lake discover a load of disabled kids in wheelchairs watching a disabled pop singer in a wheelchair on a stage on an island in the lake with TV cameras, lights and sound rig, belting out a rock ballad. Nearly become disabled myself when I slip and very nearly break a leg.

Last came to Warsaw in 1997 driving back from Istanbul. My recollection was that it was a nice place and felt safe. Still is today. Seems to be a younger generation milling about. Must be some festival as there’s a large group salsa dancing outside the Town Hall. Fantastic atmosphere on this warm sunny blue sky day.

The other good thing about Warsaw are the granite street benches. You push a button on them which then plays a few minutes of Chopin. Warsaw’s famous composer. Great idea but can’t see it working in the UK. Soon get vandalised.

Passing the Palace of Culture, Poland’s tallest building, see what appear to be people on a viewing terrace at the top. I’ll have a bit of that. Go to the nearest entrance. But directed to another entrance the other side of this large building. To find a ticket kiosk. But. She directs me to the other side from whence I came. Playing ping pong with Touring Taurean aren’t they. Find yet another entrance and directed to another side of the building. Have now practically walked the perimeter of the building in the search of the sodding entrance. Building reminds me of the Seven Sisters buildings in Moscow. Entrance finally found it’s a lift that whizzes up to the 33rd floor observation deck in 20 seconds at 6m/s. Poland’s fastest lift. Female lift attendant with a dodgy hairstyle and colouring sits on a little stool spending the whole day pushing buttons 1 and 33.

Amazing views from the top and like Koln Cathedral a reminder of how flat the landscape is.

We’re to depart on the 20hr overnight train to Moscow tomorrow so need some provisions. Carrefour is the nearest to hotel. The alcohol section is gated off and you have to purchase wines and spirits from a separate cashier. Stock up on bread, cheese, salami, nuts, olives and other snacks for tomorrow’s journey. Enter the gated alcohol section. Decide on a Jacobs Creek Shiraz Cabernet on account of the free travel corkscrew that comes with it. And a bottle of Jamesons. On account of the screwcap. Single malt is preferred, dear reader, but this invariably comes with a cork top. Touring Taurean’s Top Travel Tip: don’t travel with a cork top Single Malt whisky…there’s a risk it’ll come off in your bag. Lessons have been learnt, dear reader.

Long slow queue for the alcohol check out. Everyone is getting fractious especially when the cashier disappears for 10 minutes. Having paid for the alcohol at the dedicated alcohol check-out now have to queue at another till to pay for groceries. This is faff central. Put the wine and whisky on the conveyor simply so I can put it all in one bag. She scans the wine and then asks for the till receipt for the whisky which I show her. The grocery bill comes and I can see that she’s charged me for the already paid for wine. Pointing this out it’s made out that the wine has been cancelled. Don’t believe it but pay up and have to move to a side table to sort out the paper bag full of groceries and check the bill. Patently obvious she’s charged me for the wine. Pick the heavy paper bag up to go back to till but the entire top handle section rips apart from the main bag spilling contents everywhere.

Bugger.

Grumpy now.

The toss is argued in fluent, well spoken English. She in Polish. It’s going well, dear reader. You don’t need to understand any language as to what is being said. You can guess.

I’m right. She’s wrong. Takes some time, dear reader, for her to realise she’s wrong.

But we get there.

Now have to go to her supervisor. No one speaks English in the shop. That’s not a barrier though. Soon fully reimbursed the bottle of wine. And provided with two new plastic bags.

RTW 5. No overall majority

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Friday, 7 May 2010

Warsaw, Poland

0300hrs by the time I got to bed last night. General Election in the UK yesterday. Stayed up to watch the results come in. Old friend emailing until the early hours over the results. David Cameron’s Conservatives need a national swing of 7% to win. Awake to discover it’s the Conservatives with no overall majority. A hung parliament. And so the bunfight begins.

So somewhat shattered as I board the train to Warsaw. A 6hr journey. Don’t worry, dear reader, am travelling First Class. Thinking it would be the same superb standard as the German ICE train.

Ho. Ho. Ho.

It’s a six seat compartment like in the old fashioned trains. You know. The ones you see in the old films. Three of us in this compartment as we depart Berlin Hauptbahnhof. A young Polish girl student studying English language textbooks on magnetics and geophysics. A middle aged Polish bloke. He sits in the middle seat one side. Whilst we sit either end on the other side. I with the window seat. Moderately comfortable as we can each stretch our legs out to the vacant seat opposite us. It works. It won’t last though.

Travel through a lot of forest which becomes quite hypnotic seeing green trees pass by for hours. Frankfurt an der Oder is the German/Polish border town but the train only stops at Rzepin, about 15 minutes further on the Polish side for border checks and to change engines.

Border guards with guns jump on inspecting all the undesirables. We three in our compartment are bypassed and ignored. Asians in adjacent compartment given a grilling.

Arriving at Poznan it’s clear the train is going to be full judging by the volume of people waiting on the platform. Having enjoyed reasonable comfort the compartment now becomes full. And cramped. Polish businessman with laptop asks to plug his computer into the socket by the window. Now have a power cable trailing over my head rest. Mother and son enter with bags galore along with a rather rotund woman with dodgy haircut and fashion. Your stereotypical East European.

Pass the time by reading my Lonely Planet Trans-Siberian guide book. Prompts the woman to ask if that’s where I’m going. Yes and explain that I’m actually travelling by train around the world. Which starts the whole compartment asking questions for the next twenty minutes.

Disembark Warsaw Central station only 10 minutes late. Its dark underground station reminds me of the horror of Birmingham New Street so quickly find my way to daylight and the Radisson Hotel (https://www.radissonhotels.com/en-us/hotels/radisson-collection-warsaw-centrum). After a 6hr rail journey a kilometre’s walk seemed like a good idea. With a 22kg rucksack it’s not.

Despite being an experienced traveller quickly realise Poland is not in the Eurozone and so all those euros I have on me are of no use. Zloty required.

It’s been a long day, dear reader. Looking forward to a nice long sleep.

2300hrs when the racket starts. Jack hammers and heavy machinery being used to prepare the road three floors below my hotel room for tarmacking through the night.

Right.

Not having that.

Grumpy ogre presents himself at reception.

Grumpy ogre gets an upgrade to a Business Class room.

Grumpy ogre not so grumpy.