Thursday, 31 January 2008
Moscow, 21st September
I’m catching the train to Yekaterinburg today (also confusingly called Sverdlovsk). I had a mad rush across the city to get back to the bank where I know they won’t charge me commission to cash my traveller’s cheques. I amazed myself by finding it again but was really pushed for time if I wanted to make the train. My knees were playing up as is now usual but I impressed myself by managing the whole transaction without a map or phrasebook just a little money and my wits.
Moscow, 21st September
I saw a darker side of the city today. A man dressed in rags was playing the violin on the train today and collecting change. He reminded me of the Dicken’s character, Fagin. On the old creaky train and the neo-classical surroundings of the stations he looked like a figure from a film about war-torn Europe, a Jewish refugee or something like that. The same day I saw a little girl doing exactly the same thing but in the street, she too looked like a street kid rather than a citizen of an affluent European city.
A guy got on the metro the other day on a kind of low trolley. He had no legs and propelled himself along with handgrips. He began shouting viciously at everyone the moment he boarded and though I couldn’t understand his words it was obviously some kind of recrimination. When a policeman entered the train at another station he ceased his rant and moved away down the aisle between the crossed legs occasionally swiping at a foot that was in his way. Imagine if your world is a forest of legs when you have none, scrounging for change and picking up cigarette ends.
I haven’t mentioned the subway yet. I’d been told about it before I left but nothing could have prepared me for the splendour. Each station is different but an absolute work of art. Most have enormous pillars and busts of famous Russians, chandeliers and spacious colonnades – sadly I lack the architectural jargon to do it justice but just imagine the most opulent stately home, imagine marble floors, archways, sculpted ceilings, gold-leaf and enormous paintings and you begin to imagine the Moscow underground. It seems Lenin wanted to bring the opulence that only the wealthy had enjoyed for so long to the proletariat and what better place for them to experience it than everyday on the underground as they travel to work.
Earlier today I was walking near my hostel and passed two men who were admiring a Jaguar car, noticing me suddenly one of the men put his arm around me and they both grinned with golden smiles. I froze and tried to remain absolutely calm. I was wearing my money-belt around my waist and underneath my clothes and so I felt quite secure and I’m sure they were just being friendly or drunk and wished me no harm. I got away by explaining that I was ‘An-glee-ski’ (English) and we all nodded and chuckled and parted the best of friends as if I’d just explained that I was about to explode at any moment and for everyone’s safety I ought to be on my way. Just a few yards down the road another man suddenly accosted me for a light and I nearly jumped out of my skin and mumbled something incomprehensible and made the universal signs for ‘smoking’ and ‘no’.
A guy got on the metro the other day on a kind of low trolley. He had no legs and propelled himself along with handgrips. He began shouting viciously at everyone the moment he boarded and though I couldn’t understand his words it was obviously some kind of recrimination. When a policeman entered the train at another station he ceased his rant and moved away down the aisle between the crossed legs occasionally swiping at a foot that was in his way. Imagine if your world is a forest of legs when you have none, scrounging for change and picking up cigarette ends.
I haven’t mentioned the subway yet. I’d been told about it before I left but nothing could have prepared me for the splendour. Each station is different but an absolute work of art. Most have enormous pillars and busts of famous Russians, chandeliers and spacious colonnades – sadly I lack the architectural jargon to do it justice but just imagine the most opulent stately home, imagine marble floors, archways, sculpted ceilings, gold-leaf and enormous paintings and you begin to imagine the Moscow underground. It seems Lenin wanted to bring the opulence that only the wealthy had enjoyed for so long to the proletariat and what better place for them to experience it than everyday on the underground as they travel to work.
Earlier today I was walking near my hostel and passed two men who were admiring a Jaguar car, noticing me suddenly one of the men put his arm around me and they both grinned with golden smiles. I froze and tried to remain absolutely calm. I was wearing my money-belt around my waist and underneath my clothes and so I felt quite secure and I’m sure they were just being friendly or drunk and wished me no harm. I got away by explaining that I was ‘An-glee-ski’ (English) and we all nodded and chuckled and parted the best of friends as if I’d just explained that I was about to explode at any moment and for everyone’s safety I ought to be on my way. Just a few yards down the road another man suddenly accosted me for a light and I nearly jumped out of my skin and mumbled something incomprehensible and made the universal signs for ‘smoking’ and ‘no’.
Wednesday, 30 January 2008
Moscow, Tuesday 20th September.
I phoned the Natwest Bank today to make arrangements to pay off my credit card automatically and I feel relieved it’s now sorted. I called from a payphone in the echoey hallway of my hostel building and took great pride in telling the clerk in London that “I’m calling from Moscow” as if I was an international businessman or a spy. He didn’t react at all and I may as well have said I was calling from East Grinstead.
I went to the park that Mary had suggested – the underage tour guide of my first day – it’s where the All-Russian Exhibition Centre is. I got completely lost there and was in agony with my knees again from very early on in the day – this does not bode well. The park was very weird. It’s a truly massive area, so massive as to be unmanageable and it seems like they’ve given up and left it to decay but at one time it must have been magnificent. The enormous area is criss-crossed by many roads and there are huge ‘follies’ everywhere but miles apart. They each represent a region of the former Soviet Union, a stereotype of each place, sentimental and garish – a Siberian log cabin here, a Balkan cottage there. Each one is a bar or a restaurant but almost everything is closed today and by the looks of it has been for some time. Everything here is dirty and neglected, the pavements are broken and all is deserted. I found an empty fairground too – depressing places at the best of times – but imagine one with no customers, with bored, dour looking attendants in colourful uniforms guarding rides that spin with empty seats. Over crackly speakers saccharine pop music is played constantly. This is not the Russian Federation, I am now in the Soviet Union.
I got pretty lost in the park and felt quite depressed, lonely and close to tears but I kept reminding myself that even these moments are a part of the journey. Even the main exhibition centre was really shabby and run-down. Today Russia is a depressing place to be and I feel sorry for them all. It seems to me that most people here are drinking most of the time. I see teenage girls with cans of beer in their hands and fags on at ten in the morning. I’ve seen lots of puke on the pavements and yesterday two men were sleeping it off on the subway train. They were stinking and snoring and hogging two whole seats in the rush hour much to people’s mixed and amusement and disgust.
I’ve been moved to another room and I’m now sharing with John (a PhD student studying soviet public art) Austin (an arrogant young, blond, bearded Yank) and Sean (a soft spoken Irish guy who’s travelling from Moscow to India by train).
I wrote my first update email today and far from being the literary masterpiece I had promised everyone I found it a bit of a chore. It seems that once I’ve written down my thoughts and experiences in this diary, I don’t much feel like doing it all over again, I feel like I’m labouring the point by creating an email summary of what I’m up to.
I went to the park that Mary had suggested – the underage tour guide of my first day – it’s where the All-Russian Exhibition Centre is. I got completely lost there and was in agony with my knees again from very early on in the day – this does not bode well. The park was very weird. It’s a truly massive area, so massive as to be unmanageable and it seems like they’ve given up and left it to decay but at one time it must have been magnificent. The enormous area is criss-crossed by many roads and there are huge ‘follies’ everywhere but miles apart. They each represent a region of the former Soviet Union, a stereotype of each place, sentimental and garish – a Siberian log cabin here, a Balkan cottage there. Each one is a bar or a restaurant but almost everything is closed today and by the looks of it has been for some time. Everything here is dirty and neglected, the pavements are broken and all is deserted. I found an empty fairground too – depressing places at the best of times – but imagine one with no customers, with bored, dour looking attendants in colourful uniforms guarding rides that spin with empty seats. Over crackly speakers saccharine pop music is played constantly. This is not the Russian Federation, I am now in the Soviet Union.
I got pretty lost in the park and felt quite depressed, lonely and close to tears but I kept reminding myself that even these moments are a part of the journey. Even the main exhibition centre was really shabby and run-down. Today Russia is a depressing place to be and I feel sorry for them all. It seems to me that most people here are drinking most of the time. I see teenage girls with cans of beer in their hands and fags on at ten in the morning. I’ve seen lots of puke on the pavements and yesterday two men were sleeping it off on the subway train. They were stinking and snoring and hogging two whole seats in the rush hour much to people’s mixed and amusement and disgust.
I’ve been moved to another room and I’m now sharing with John (a PhD student studying soviet public art) Austin (an arrogant young, blond, bearded Yank) and Sean (a soft spoken Irish guy who’s travelling from Moscow to India by train).
I wrote my first update email today and far from being the literary masterpiece I had promised everyone I found it a bit of a chore. It seems that once I’ve written down my thoughts and experiences in this diary, I don’t much feel like doing it all over again, I feel like I’m labouring the point by creating an email summary of what I’m up to.
Olivio
My room-mate at the hostel, Olivio, is an interesting character and after a long conversation with him last night I want to write down some details of his life before I forget them and I may already have mixed them up or embellished them. I think he is the first really interesting character I’ve met so far and I hope there will be more to come.
Olivio has a mixed background and holds multiple passports – Australian, Canadian, US and Croatian. His mother was Croatian, his father Italian but he was raised in Canada and lived for most of his adult life in America. Needless to say, a person blessed with quadruple citizenship and gifted in many tongues is born to travel but at first this was not the case. He told me about his marriage to a ‘typical Jewish Princess’( I’ve never really understood this term to be honest and I take it to mean a spoiled, rich young Jewish girl since there is no royalty in the Hebrew nation as far as I am aware). He told me about a life of luxury, a small business empire of software companies, a 200K salary, weekends at the country club and houses all over the place. But as he was building this life he constantly vowed that when he turned forty he would give it all up to travel the world. His family, friends and colleagues mocked him and took it to be a joke but just after his fortieth birthday he did exactly that. He signed over the houses and the wealth to his wife and son packed a bag and left.
He’s been travelling now for six years and shows no sign of wanting to give it up. Every summer he returns to Miami and works as a casting agent for commercials. I didn’t find out the exact nature of his present finances but I guess, I hope, that he’s kept hold of at least some of that money, at least enough to allow him to continue his travels. He’s recently been in the Ukraine and has fallen in love with a young girl on a train and has gotten engaged after only a few days. They communicate with a dictionary and despite the language barrier he assures me he’s very much in love and he adds with a shrug, “but if it doesn’t work out…”
Two lines have stuck in my mind from my conversation with Livio. The first is a little obvious but nevertheless true, he says that: “everyone I meet is a character in a book” and I really understood what he means by this. It’s a way of looking at people you meet and appreciating their qualities in a more objective way. I’ll try to keep it in mind.
The other quote I want to remember is this, it was a casual remark but it’s gotten stuck in my mind: “I would change any plans for a pretty girl”. I admit I listened in awe to Olivio’s travel stories most of which feature a beautiful leading lady. At first I found myself recoiling a little at his mildly predatory nature but more and more as I listened, it awakened my own little predator that has lain dormant for so long and like a small worm it has lifted its head and tentatively, sleepily peered out from inside its hole.
Olivio has a mixed background and holds multiple passports – Australian, Canadian, US and Croatian. His mother was Croatian, his father Italian but he was raised in Canada and lived for most of his adult life in America. Needless to say, a person blessed with quadruple citizenship and gifted in many tongues is born to travel but at first this was not the case. He told me about his marriage to a ‘typical Jewish Princess’( I’ve never really understood this term to be honest and I take it to mean a spoiled, rich young Jewish girl since there is no royalty in the Hebrew nation as far as I am aware). He told me about a life of luxury, a small business empire of software companies, a 200K salary, weekends at the country club and houses all over the place. But as he was building this life he constantly vowed that when he turned forty he would give it all up to travel the world. His family, friends and colleagues mocked him and took it to be a joke but just after his fortieth birthday he did exactly that. He signed over the houses and the wealth to his wife and son packed a bag and left.
He’s been travelling now for six years and shows no sign of wanting to give it up. Every summer he returns to Miami and works as a casting agent for commercials. I didn’t find out the exact nature of his present finances but I guess, I hope, that he’s kept hold of at least some of that money, at least enough to allow him to continue his travels. He’s recently been in the Ukraine and has fallen in love with a young girl on a train and has gotten engaged after only a few days. They communicate with a dictionary and despite the language barrier he assures me he’s very much in love and he adds with a shrug, “but if it doesn’t work out…”
Two lines have stuck in my mind from my conversation with Livio. The first is a little obvious but nevertheless true, he says that: “everyone I meet is a character in a book” and I really understood what he means by this. It’s a way of looking at people you meet and appreciating their qualities in a more objective way. I’ll try to keep it in mind.
The other quote I want to remember is this, it was a casual remark but it’s gotten stuck in my mind: “I would change any plans for a pretty girl”. I admit I listened in awe to Olivio’s travel stories most of which feature a beautiful leading lady. At first I found myself recoiling a little at his mildly predatory nature but more and more as I listened, it awakened my own little predator that has lain dormant for so long and like a small worm it has lifted its head and tentatively, sleepily peered out from inside its hole.
Moscow, Monday, 19th September, 5.38pm
I was up at ten today and had breakfast with Olivio. It was unusual to say the least: rice pudding with a knob of very salty butter, cheese and ham on 2 slices of bread topped off with a treacle cup cake!
I went to find the American Express office on the other side of the city today but found that they don’t cash their own traveller’s cheques there! I was given directions to another bank – the Impex Bank. It was a lonely old day really and my knees are playing up with all the walking on these uneven pavements which is very worrying at the beginning of a potential 2 year trip. I bought my ticket to Ekaterinburg, my first stint on the Trans-Siberian Railway. It cost 1800 roubles which is only about 36 quid! Yet the journey will take a couple of days. I leave at 3.30pm o Wednesday and arrive at 7.45pm on Thursday. I remember that it cost me something like 91 quid for a return ticket to Newcastle in the Summer.
I ended up in the centre of Moscow again and my knees were killing me as I wandered around trying to find food. I really didn’t want to cop out and go back to the same place as yesterday but I was sorely tempted. I suddenly felt really anxious about going in to order food but I must get used to it quickly. I really must make an effort to chat with people in the common room tonight – I failed last night. Perhaps I should make it a rule that I must meet one new person every day. Louise (my sister) left today for Australia via Bangkok – how different our two trips will be.
I saw a tiny grey kitten by the side of the road today but decided that there was no point in interfering with it. Several men walked past and glanced at it but ignored its plight as I had done though I was loitering uncertainly nearby. Then a middle-aged woman appeared and scooped the little thing up into her arms shaking her head at the retreating men and uttering some kind of admonition in thick Russian words. I felt chastened too. Why had I not helped?
I saw a women (headscarf and long overcoat) emerging from an apartment block today. As she crossed the road she paused and genuflected three of four times in the direction of the local church, a proud, dramatic building with golden details and the distinctive cross of the Russian Orthodox Church. She must perform this rite every time she leaves her building and perhaps every time she returns. That is faith.
I tried to remind myself today that this journey will be full of those ups and downs I’ve already experienced and I must remember too, that the downs are as much a part of the journey as the ups. In fact, without them, the journey would be flat and featureless like my life before I left (only three days ago!) I’ve got to respect both the highs and the lows.
Somehow, through fear perhaps, I’ve ended up in an ‘English’ restaurant called ‘Look In’. Well, I only did what the name suggested. Nevertheless, I feel like I’ve cheated somehow and to make matters worse I’ve inadvertently sat near a table of English people who are living and working here in Moscow from what I can gather. I don’t really want them to realise that I’m English too. Listening more closely it even sounds like they might be from London or Surrey (my home county) – how irritating! I’m hoping my unshaven appearance and functional, quasi-military attire will help me blend in and appear Russian as I sit here and drink my soup.
I went to find the American Express office on the other side of the city today but found that they don’t cash their own traveller’s cheques there! I was given directions to another bank – the Impex Bank. It was a lonely old day really and my knees are playing up with all the walking on these uneven pavements which is very worrying at the beginning of a potential 2 year trip. I bought my ticket to Ekaterinburg, my first stint on the Trans-Siberian Railway. It cost 1800 roubles which is only about 36 quid! Yet the journey will take a couple of days. I leave at 3.30pm o Wednesday and arrive at 7.45pm on Thursday. I remember that it cost me something like 91 quid for a return ticket to Newcastle in the Summer.
I ended up in the centre of Moscow again and my knees were killing me as I wandered around trying to find food. I really didn’t want to cop out and go back to the same place as yesterday but I was sorely tempted. I suddenly felt really anxious about going in to order food but I must get used to it quickly. I really must make an effort to chat with people in the common room tonight – I failed last night. Perhaps I should make it a rule that I must meet one new person every day. Louise (my sister) left today for Australia via Bangkok – how different our two trips will be.
I saw a tiny grey kitten by the side of the road today but decided that there was no point in interfering with it. Several men walked past and glanced at it but ignored its plight as I had done though I was loitering uncertainly nearby. Then a middle-aged woman appeared and scooped the little thing up into her arms shaking her head at the retreating men and uttering some kind of admonition in thick Russian words. I felt chastened too. Why had I not helped?
I saw a women (headscarf and long overcoat) emerging from an apartment block today. As she crossed the road she paused and genuflected three of four times in the direction of the local church, a proud, dramatic building with golden details and the distinctive cross of the Russian Orthodox Church. She must perform this rite every time she leaves her building and perhaps every time she returns. That is faith.
I tried to remind myself today that this journey will be full of those ups and downs I’ve already experienced and I must remember too, that the downs are as much a part of the journey as the ups. In fact, without them, the journey would be flat and featureless like my life before I left (only three days ago!) I’ve got to respect both the highs and the lows.
Somehow, through fear perhaps, I’ve ended up in an ‘English’ restaurant called ‘Look In’. Well, I only did what the name suggested. Nevertheless, I feel like I’ve cheated somehow and to make matters worse I’ve inadvertently sat near a table of English people who are living and working here in Moscow from what I can gather. I don’t really want them to realise that I’m English too. Listening more closely it even sounds like they might be from London or Surrey (my home county) – how irritating! I’m hoping my unshaven appearance and functional, quasi-military attire will help me blend in and appear Russian as I sit here and drink my soup.
Sunday, 27 January 2008
Moscow, 18th September, 5.44pm
I can’t believe I’m finally in Russia! I’ve dreamed about this for such a long time. It’s amazing to think that I planned this trip and actually ‘activated’ it and it just proves that so many things are possible if you tackle them one bit at a time.
I said goodbye to Dina at the station this morning. She looked amazing today, really ‘dolled-up’ in a tight black top, jeans and high boots. I gave her my email address which we both knew was pointless since we can’t speak each other’s language and you can’t draw pictures in an email. I’d like to think there was a certain light in her eyes as we parted today, a light that communicated an affection for me but perhaps it was just the low autumn sun slanting in through the transparent roof of the station. As I walked away from her and the friends who’d come to meet her I felt weird but also I knew that this is how things will be from now on.
The Youth Hostel is fine. I took a taxi across the city after getting a girl from a shop to help me orient myself- there is a definite pattern emerging here already and I’ve only been travelling for three days! I withdrew some cash from a ‘bankomat’ and was somehow amazed that I could actually do that so far from home. A primitive part of my brain was wondering how my money had managed to follow me here to Russia. I met Livio, my room-mate at the hostel. It’s in a pretty rough looking part of town on the tenth floor of a massive grey tower block, identical to all the other massive grey tower blocks around. It’s old and tatty but clean enough. I took a nap and had a lovely shower, a real treat after three days with minimal ablutions.
I went to a supermarket and then took the subway to the centre of the city. I asked another pretty girl (they seem to be everywhere!) the way to the Kremlin and she ended up by walking with me and acting as a kind of guide for a few hours. Her name was Mary and she’d lived in New York for five years so her English was excellent. I had guessed her age at about 25 but when I casually asked her she told me she was 16! I was shocked and suddenly a little uncomfortable, going over our conversation in my head to decide how much I’d flirted with her. I made my escape and gave her my email address too, why, I don’t know.
I wandered around Red Square again alone taking in St Basil’s Church (sometimes called the Pineapple because of its exotic appearance), Lenin’s modernist, red marble tomb and the Kremlin behind. I met Lenin, Marx and Engels (three actors) who seemed quite jolly and apparently not at all bothered by the fall of the Soviet Union. On the other side of the Kremlin I found a large park with soldiers (wearing over-sized flat caps) guarding some sort of eternal flame.
I had a wander about and something to eat – fish as there was no veggie option. It’s been some time since I’ve eaten fish but that’s OK, I decided before I left that for health and convenience I would eat fish again while travelling. Anyway, fish are not hairy so they can’t have feelings.
In Red Square I saw people sitting outside a bar or café drinking and wearing blue blankets over their knees to keep warm. There are stray dogs everywhere here too like I saw in Rome and I can’t bear to watch them in the road.
My plan tonight is to make some friends in the hostel, (there’s a kind of common room where people tend to hang out), then I’ll have a read and a decent sleep. Having said that, if something else comes up maybe I’ll go along for the ride. As I wandered round today a phrase entered my mind and it became a refrain, a mantra: ‘whatever happens now, no one can take this day away from me.’
I said goodbye to Dina at the station this morning. She looked amazing today, really ‘dolled-up’ in a tight black top, jeans and high boots. I gave her my email address which we both knew was pointless since we can’t speak each other’s language and you can’t draw pictures in an email. I’d like to think there was a certain light in her eyes as we parted today, a light that communicated an affection for me but perhaps it was just the low autumn sun slanting in through the transparent roof of the station. As I walked away from her and the friends who’d come to meet her I felt weird but also I knew that this is how things will be from now on.
The Youth Hostel is fine. I took a taxi across the city after getting a girl from a shop to help me orient myself- there is a definite pattern emerging here already and I’ve only been travelling for three days! I withdrew some cash from a ‘bankomat’ and was somehow amazed that I could actually do that so far from home. A primitive part of my brain was wondering how my money had managed to follow me here to Russia. I met Livio, my room-mate at the hostel. It’s in a pretty rough looking part of town on the tenth floor of a massive grey tower block, identical to all the other massive grey tower blocks around. It’s old and tatty but clean enough. I took a nap and had a lovely shower, a real treat after three days with minimal ablutions.
I went to a supermarket and then took the subway to the centre of the city. I asked another pretty girl (they seem to be everywhere!) the way to the Kremlin and she ended up by walking with me and acting as a kind of guide for a few hours. Her name was Mary and she’d lived in New York for five years so her English was excellent. I had guessed her age at about 25 but when I casually asked her she told me she was 16! I was shocked and suddenly a little uncomfortable, going over our conversation in my head to decide how much I’d flirted with her. I made my escape and gave her my email address too, why, I don’t know.
I wandered around Red Square again alone taking in St Basil’s Church (sometimes called the Pineapple because of its exotic appearance), Lenin’s modernist, red marble tomb and the Kremlin behind. I met Lenin, Marx and Engels (three actors) who seemed quite jolly and apparently not at all bothered by the fall of the Soviet Union. On the other side of the Kremlin I found a large park with soldiers (wearing over-sized flat caps) guarding some sort of eternal flame.
I had a wander about and something to eat – fish as there was no veggie option. It’s been some time since I’ve eaten fish but that’s OK, I decided before I left that for health and convenience I would eat fish again while travelling. Anyway, fish are not hairy so they can’t have feelings.
In Red Square I saw people sitting outside a bar or café drinking and wearing blue blankets over their knees to keep warm. There are stray dogs everywhere here too like I saw in Rome and I can’t bear to watch them in the road.
My plan tonight is to make some friends in the hostel, (there’s a kind of common room where people tend to hang out), then I’ll have a read and a decent sleep. Having said that, if something else comes up maybe I’ll go along for the ride. As I wandered round today a phrase entered my mind and it became a refrain, a mantra: ‘whatever happens now, no one can take this day away from me.’
Germany/Poland Border, 17th September, 3.46 am
I’ve had a shit sleep on this train as it races through the night like a maniac thing. The bed is quite hard and the train has definitely sped up to make time. While I couldn’t sleep I decided to learn a few Russian words from my rather antiquated phrasebook. It has the most ridiculous system of pronunciation:
Hello: zdrahz-tvooy-tyeh
Please: pa-zhal-sta
Thank you: spa-see-ba
Excuse me: eez-vee-nee-tyeh
Now I’m up and awake again and I’ve decided that the best thing to do is to interact with my fellow passengers as much as possible by hanging out in the aisle and keeping my cabin door open as they all seem to do.
I just had a nightmare form filling episode for the Russian customs. I have to be really careful to get both forms signed or I could get done on leaving Russia at Vladivostok (this according to my guidebook).
I’m looking at polish fields and there are actually roughly dressed people working out there among the furrows filling up carrier bags with root vegetables. I’m kinda pleased the scene fits my stereotypes of eastern Europe so well.
I’ve learned some more words from the customs form:
Exit: VIH-khut
Entrance: fkhawt
The number ‘two’: dvah
And here are some useful greetings(note that the capitalised parts represent stress – I told you the pronunciation system was weird!):
Good morning: DOH-broyeh-OOtro
Good afternoon: DOH-broyeh-DYEN
Do you speak English? Gava-REE-tyeh-lee-vy-pa-an-GLEE-skee?
No: nyet
Yes: da
Good: ha-ra-SHAW (sounds like ‘horror show’ so it’s easy to remember)
Bad: pla-HOY (I remember this one by thinking of ‘land ahoy’)
Cheap: de-SHO-vee
Expensive: da-ra-GOY
A middle-aged woman with a full top set of gold teeth just tried to sell me vodka, chicken or beer. She seemed convinced that I needed at least one of them. I’m now through border control at the Poland/Belarus border effectively beginning my entry into the Russian Federation. They’re changing the bogies to the wider Russian gauge and we’re inside what seems like a giant car-wash. The toilets are locked during this process as the men must work underneath the train. Naturally I’m suddenly bursting for the toilet and I’m eyeing up a water bottle that I might have to piss into in a moment.
From out of nowhere a man is suddenly holding up wooden vase at the window and grinning like a used-car salesman. They are hideous things but I can’t seem to look away.
I had a massive long chat with Dina (pretty Russian girl in the cabin next-door). It was obviously pretty difficult as there is a huge language barrier but somehow we managed to communicate and some pages in this notebook are now filled with sketches and diagrams as if we’d just played Pictionary. She is 25 and is studying architecture in a place called Nast outside Moscow. She also has a boyfriend (shit!) who is a student there too.
At first before speaking to her I was pretty nervous but I just thought ‘bugger it!’ and I went for it, tackling the poor girl on her way back from the toilet with a big smile and a dreadful Russian accent. She turned out to be a really friendly girl and extremely tactile which was nice but maybe that’s just the Russian way. The two of us ended up sitting in my cabin chatting, albeit rather stiltedly, for a couple for hours. I even managed to get a couple of photos of her. When I first suggested it she suddenly disappeared into her cabin and I thought I’d somehow offended her but she returned five minutes later looking stunning with her hair down and a little make-up on. She allowed me to take two pictures and vetted them for quality.
The restaurant car is closed now and all I’ve had to eat all day is water, apples, cereal bars and fruit juice.
I’m really starting to enjoy this experience and I can see how it might become addictive. I think I will be a lot more likely to push myself into new situations while I’m travelling – this could be really good for me!
It’s seven pm and I have just 2 bottles of water and 2 apples until we reach Moscow at nine am tomorrow. Outside the Belarus countryside is flying past with silver birch forests going on forever and occasional grey buildings hidden deep in the woods that appear to be military bases. Sometimes I can see real Hansel and Gretel type huts huddling together in the woods and there are people still out in the fields at 8pm with their carrier bags and headscarves as I’d seen them in Poland, plunging their hands into the cold earth for vegetables. Little wonder that Eastern Europeans are taking the opportunity to come to Britain if this is their lot at home.
Now I’m starving to death in my cabin, my stomach is grumbling and so is my mouth. I’m pretending to read but really I’m waiting to speak to Dina again who is standing nearby in the corridor with two other women. Now and then we exchange little smiles or a glance. She has the brightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen.
Hello: zdrahz-tvooy-tyeh
Please: pa-zhal-sta
Thank you: spa-see-ba
Excuse me: eez-vee-nee-tyeh
Now I’m up and awake again and I’ve decided that the best thing to do is to interact with my fellow passengers as much as possible by hanging out in the aisle and keeping my cabin door open as they all seem to do.
I just had a nightmare form filling episode for the Russian customs. I have to be really careful to get both forms signed or I could get done on leaving Russia at Vladivostok (this according to my guidebook).
I’m looking at polish fields and there are actually roughly dressed people working out there among the furrows filling up carrier bags with root vegetables. I’m kinda pleased the scene fits my stereotypes of eastern Europe so well.
I’ve learned some more words from the customs form:
Exit: VIH-khut
Entrance: fkhawt
The number ‘two’: dvah
And here are some useful greetings(note that the capitalised parts represent stress – I told you the pronunciation system was weird!):
Good morning: DOH-broyeh-OOtro
Good afternoon: DOH-broyeh-DYEN
Do you speak English? Gava-REE-tyeh-lee-vy-pa-an-GLEE-skee?
No: nyet
Yes: da
Good: ha-ra-SHAW (sounds like ‘horror show’ so it’s easy to remember)
Bad: pla-HOY (I remember this one by thinking of ‘land ahoy’)
Cheap: de-SHO-vee
Expensive: da-ra-GOY
A middle-aged woman with a full top set of gold teeth just tried to sell me vodka, chicken or beer. She seemed convinced that I needed at least one of them. I’m now through border control at the Poland/Belarus border effectively beginning my entry into the Russian Federation. They’re changing the bogies to the wider Russian gauge and we’re inside what seems like a giant car-wash. The toilets are locked during this process as the men must work underneath the train. Naturally I’m suddenly bursting for the toilet and I’m eyeing up a water bottle that I might have to piss into in a moment.
From out of nowhere a man is suddenly holding up wooden vase at the window and grinning like a used-car salesman. They are hideous things but I can’t seem to look away.
I had a massive long chat with Dina (pretty Russian girl in the cabin next-door). It was obviously pretty difficult as there is a huge language barrier but somehow we managed to communicate and some pages in this notebook are now filled with sketches and diagrams as if we’d just played Pictionary. She is 25 and is studying architecture in a place called Nast outside Moscow. She also has a boyfriend (shit!) who is a student there too.
At first before speaking to her I was pretty nervous but I just thought ‘bugger it!’ and I went for it, tackling the poor girl on her way back from the toilet with a big smile and a dreadful Russian accent. She turned out to be a really friendly girl and extremely tactile which was nice but maybe that’s just the Russian way. The two of us ended up sitting in my cabin chatting, albeit rather stiltedly, for a couple for hours. I even managed to get a couple of photos of her. When I first suggested it she suddenly disappeared into her cabin and I thought I’d somehow offended her but she returned five minutes later looking stunning with her hair down and a little make-up on. She allowed me to take two pictures and vetted them for quality.
The restaurant car is closed now and all I’ve had to eat all day is water, apples, cereal bars and fruit juice.
I’m really starting to enjoy this experience and I can see how it might become addictive. I think I will be a lot more likely to push myself into new situations while I’m travelling – this could be really good for me!
It’s seven pm and I have just 2 bottles of water and 2 apples until we reach Moscow at nine am tomorrow. Outside the Belarus countryside is flying past with silver birch forests going on forever and occasional grey buildings hidden deep in the woods that appear to be military bases. Sometimes I can see real Hansel and Gretel type huts huddling together in the woods and there are people still out in the fields at 8pm with their carrier bags and headscarves as I’d seen them in Poland, plunging their hands into the cold earth for vegetables. Little wonder that Eastern Europeans are taking the opportunity to come to Britain if this is their lot at home.
Now I’m starving to death in my cabin, my stomach is grumbling and so is my mouth. I’m pretending to read but really I’m waiting to speak to Dina again who is standing nearby in the corridor with two other women. Now and then we exchange little smiles or a glance. She has the brightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen.
Köln, 16th September
I’m on the train from Brussels to Moscow and all the staff are Russian. I didn’t expect that so soon. I’m in at the deep end and floundering at first. I’m trying to win them over with my phrasebook and a smile. Last night I stayed at Martin and Isabel’s place in Ghent, Belgium and was treated to a free dinner at the expense of his company credit card.
It has just occurred to me that the pretty blond Russian girl in the cabin next door is travelling alone and that I might fancy her. Since deciding that I’m up and down each time I think I hear her opening her door.
My friend Nic was right so far – travelling is a series of ups and downs. One minute I’m in a blind panic because I can’t order food and the next I’m giggling because I’m on a train to Moscow!
I’m reading Sons and Lovers by DH Lawrence as we’re passing through Germany. Neat tidy, functional Germany, utilitarian Germany. Is this true? This is how it all looks to me from the train.
In Dusseldorf I see a big beautiful girl at a window waiting to go out. She’s all dressed up and I realise with a jolt that it is Friday night after all.
It has just occurred to me that the pretty blond Russian girl in the cabin next door is travelling alone and that I might fancy her. Since deciding that I’m up and down each time I think I hear her opening her door.
My friend Nic was right so far – travelling is a series of ups and downs. One minute I’m in a blind panic because I can’t order food and the next I’m giggling because I’m on a train to Moscow!
I’m reading Sons and Lovers by DH Lawrence as we’re passing through Germany. Neat tidy, functional Germany, utilitarian Germany. Is this true? This is how it all looks to me from the train.
In Dusseldorf I see a big beautiful girl at a window waiting to go out. She’s all dressed up and I realise with a jolt that it is Friday night after all.
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