The ferry to Japan was excrutiatingly expensive and it turns out that it is actually cheaper to fly - so why you would ferry is beyond me (except to avoid flying as we are!) The journey takes 40 hours and the ferry looks like it hasn’t been refurbed or touched up since the 60’s or 70’s. The large halls and lounges were peppered with rows of office comfy seats and the strange choice of pictures had faded over the years. Save for a few Christmas decorations and the odd dying plant, it was the most dull passenger ferry I have ever had the mispleasure to be on. That said, it did actually have a pool (empty at this time of year of course, though I imagine always empty) and a bizzare little cinema room where the floor was strewn with hundreds of dvds (Russian of course). The bedrooms themselves were ok - we had opted for the cheap (ahem) cabin, which had two sets of bunks, but just us in it (the ferry was maybe only a third if that full). They were a good size, had their own bathroom and a tv which plays movies on tap, though of course no use to us. All meals were included and varied form not so bad to not so bad if you can bear it and after being told off at lunch on day two for not sitting in the same seats we had been in before (no one told us they were assigned) we learnt better of ourselves! After all, no one likes it when someone angrily wags their finger at you - especially not me,w hen I am 29 - so we thought we best not move seats again - we didn’t want to be thrown overboard and I wouldn’t have put it past the bunch of misfits running the ferry to do just that! The crossing was smoothe enough and we arrived at 9 in the morning on Christmas Eve. After immigration and customs (on board the boat) we headed into Toyama to find the train station to get to Takyama. We ended up being helped by a fellow (Japanese) passenger on the boat and so got our train tickets all sorted with not too much hassle.
We don’t know if it is just because it is such a contrast to Russia you can see this immediately in the smiles, organisation and neatness of everything) or if it because we truly will love it, but we are instantly happy to be in Japan and immediately get a good feeling that we will really really fall for this country!
Tuesday, 30 December 2008
Glad to be in Vlad - Vladivostok (20th to 22nd December 2008)
Vladivostok is our final destination in Russia and it has to be said one of the happiest that we have been to. It has all the promises of a charmed city but the results are only half measure at the moment and you can see that with some investment and a little TLC the city could be absolutely glorious. Sadly it seems that such investment is a long way down on Moscow’s agenda, in fact we were witness to a couple of days of protests as the government has laid a law that in five years time all cars driven in Russia must be Russian made, which for those as far East as Vladivostok, who get all their cheap cars form Japan, will have a major impact on. As we have been told by an English man we met, who runs an English tea house (that serves the best brownies) the people at this end of Russian are practically seen as foreigners, as their opinions and the way the impact of laws on their lives, are of little interest to the decision makers. That said, it is by far the happiest and most diverse city we have been to, including Moscow and St P. For the first time we saw groups of kids out and about, enjoying dinner together in pizza parlours, we saw comfy relaxed fashions and even a skate boarder! Sounds silly, but immediately you could really sense a difference.
The city is huge, spread around different ports and has what could be a glorious sea front. Sadly it is a right state, the beach huts are all crumbling down, the snack shacks all seemingly shut (though a quick knock on the window might wake the sleeping vendor, behind the blacked out windows and even the major tour attractions, such as the aquarium seem to have done everything they can to look dead and decaying and closed for the season. You get the feeling that things don’t change too much in the summer but it seems that it is almost nothing that a lick of paint wouldn’t solve.
There are a number of military museums in Vladivostok and we visited a couple. The first one beggers belief at how it stays open. Whilst it is a good enough little exhibition (although everything is is Russian) the visitor’s book, which they ask you to sign was only pages thick and the first entry was from 2004. The last entry was from a month earlier than our visit. We were the only ones in there and escorted throughout by a friendly enough security guard. The next museum we went to was on a small submarine, that would have held about 40 seamen and would have gone under the water for just a few days at a time. Again, all in Russian, the exhibits were interesting enough but being in the submarine was fascinating. We had a good talk to the naval recruit who was working in the museum, about the missiles back then and those of today and whilst it was fascinating, it did seem a little odd to be talking about the damage they can do, knowing that any future activity of said missiles wold probably be against either the UK or America. We had also wanted to visit another military museum, which is home to tanks and other machinery and was meant to be the best of the bunch, but after over two hours of searching for the entrance we could see exhibits but couldn’t get in) we gave up and instead headed for some tea and cake to console ourselves.
We had two full days in the city and as well as visiting museums we simply mooched around, strolling along the frozen sea front and ducking in and out of the odd little shopping malls that Russia is home to. We also treated ourselves to some good food (dodgy fast food Mexican aside) as we had about £30 extra Rubles to spend - so ate a delicious Thai dinner and some interesting and yummy Georgian food - best to stuff it in before two days on the ferry!
The city is huge, spread around different ports and has what could be a glorious sea front. Sadly it is a right state, the beach huts are all crumbling down, the snack shacks all seemingly shut (though a quick knock on the window might wake the sleeping vendor, behind the blacked out windows and even the major tour attractions, such as the aquarium seem to have done everything they can to look dead and decaying and closed for the season. You get the feeling that things don’t change too much in the summer but it seems that it is almost nothing that a lick of paint wouldn’t solve.
There are a number of military museums in Vladivostok and we visited a couple. The first one beggers belief at how it stays open. Whilst it is a good enough little exhibition (although everything is is Russian) the visitor’s book, which they ask you to sign was only pages thick and the first entry was from 2004. The last entry was from a month earlier than our visit. We were the only ones in there and escorted throughout by a friendly enough security guard. The next museum we went to was on a small submarine, that would have held about 40 seamen and would have gone under the water for just a few days at a time. Again, all in Russian, the exhibits were interesting enough but being in the submarine was fascinating. We had a good talk to the naval recruit who was working in the museum, about the missiles back then and those of today and whilst it was fascinating, it did seem a little odd to be talking about the damage they can do, knowing that any future activity of said missiles wold probably be against either the UK or America. We had also wanted to visit another military museum, which is home to tanks and other machinery and was meant to be the best of the bunch, but after over two hours of searching for the entrance we could see exhibits but couldn’t get in) we gave up and instead headed for some tea and cake to console ourselves.
We had two full days in the city and as well as visiting museums we simply mooched around, strolling along the frozen sea front and ducking in and out of the odd little shopping malls that Russia is home to. We also treated ourselves to some good food (dodgy fast food Mexican aside) as we had about £30 extra Rubles to spend - so ate a delicious Thai dinner and some interesting and yummy Georgian food - best to stuff it in before two days on the ferry!
Leg three of the Trans Siberian, Khabarovsk to Vladivostok (19th to 20th December 2008)
Our final part of the Trans Siberian, that would take us right to the East Coast, was the least interesting. We travelled overnight so it was a case of straight to sleep and arrive just in time to get off the train. Again we had a carriage for two, but it was s mall one as it only had two beds and would not be my first choice again - I would go insane if I had to spend any more time there - there was simply so little room and it was unbearably hot as all the train journeys have been. The train itself was much newer but other than that the journey was really not one of note. As we came in to Vladivostok there were plenty of ice fishers out on the sea and upon arrival we walked up a steep but short hill to find a local hotel, which finally let us in after about an hour of paper work. So there we were, in the very last port of call in Russia before heading to Japan - we could practically see the ferry from the hotel - exciting!
Kicking around in Khabarovsk (17th to 19th December 2008)
Khabarovsk proved to be our least favourite Russian city, not only because we started off on the wring footing - with an expensive hotel just outside of town as all others were full upon our 11pm arrival but because there was really not much to do and the city lacked any atmosphere or emotion. Stuck in a cold and windy location the coolest thing about the city (quite literally) was the river front that was entirely frozen and a more than impressive sight. The ice was inches thick and broken up as it froze as the waves crashed. It was actually more impressive than the ice at Baikal, which we thought would be hard to beat. Frozen solid as far as the eye could see we saw cars drive over and people borrowing holes and ice fishing - catching dinner we assume. We had fun skating on the frozen water and walking along the front - if only it wasn’t so cold. Jack Frost did more than nip at our noses - he bit right through them and I would be surprised if he didn’t freeze our brains to within an inch of their usage! It wasn’t the fact that it was minus 17 - that in itself would have been bearable, it was the wind that had it’s gnashers out on full display - biting hard on any part of our body open to the elements. Stuart’s beard and my eyelashes froze and our legs were whipped with a fierceness that I had not known existed (we had not put our thermals on the morning of the first day as we were meant to only be popping out for brekkie!). Taking a photo required a good five minutes of work up time - getting to the point of mind over matter. Then when the gloves were off it was a whole new battle of focusing and pressing the button as quickly as possible before you ended up suffering the consequences of your actions for the next half hour, with hands still bitterly cold even though stuffed back in gloves.
We had two days in Khabarovsk and spent the first just wondering around, slipping in to coffee shops for a quick warm up, here and there. We had an interesting but delicious breakfast at the local fast food joint, consisting of broth with hard boiled egg, chicken and chips and a a creamy chicken pancake - of course we went back on day two for breakfast. Sadly day one’s dinner was not so successful and we had a horrid mix of reheated disgustingness at a little Russian cafe. We promptly treated ourselves to Baskin Robbins to compensate and came across Spabro Pizza, where we went for dinner on day two. The second day was altogether a bit more jovial. We changed hotels to a cheaper one and like the others it had a manager for each floor, which we still find odd. Perfectly pleasant, even if it was a time warp from 1973, it was also closer to the centre of town and over looked Lenin Square, complete with intricate ice sculptures and a giant Christmas tree. In the morning we jumped on a local bus,which turned out to be a must as it was the funniest bus ever, all decorated for Christmas with monkey cowboys and tinsel and the fewest amount of seats they could possibly get away with! We headed towards a market we had read about in a magazine and the journey took us through the suburbs, which was interesting to see. The market itself was huge but relatively quiet and selling mainly shoes, tat and more shoes as well as the odd furs and kinky lingerie! In the afternoon we wandered through some of the city parks and then rested our weary feet in Spabro, scoffing pizza and salad before getting on our last leg of the Trans Siberian Train.
We had two days in Khabarovsk and spent the first just wondering around, slipping in to coffee shops for a quick warm up, here and there. We had an interesting but delicious breakfast at the local fast food joint, consisting of broth with hard boiled egg, chicken and chips and a a creamy chicken pancake - of course we went back on day two for breakfast. Sadly day one’s dinner was not so successful and we had a horrid mix of reheated disgustingness at a little Russian cafe. We promptly treated ourselves to Baskin Robbins to compensate and came across Spabro Pizza, where we went for dinner on day two. The second day was altogether a bit more jovial. We changed hotels to a cheaper one and like the others it had a manager for each floor, which we still find odd. Perfectly pleasant, even if it was a time warp from 1973, it was also closer to the centre of town and over looked Lenin Square, complete with intricate ice sculptures and a giant Christmas tree. In the morning we jumped on a local bus,which turned out to be a must as it was the funniest bus ever, all decorated for Christmas with monkey cowboys and tinsel and the fewest amount of seats they could possibly get away with! We headed towards a market we had read about in a magazine and the journey took us through the suburbs, which was interesting to see. The market itself was huge but relatively quiet and selling mainly shoes, tat and more shoes as well as the odd furs and kinky lingerie! In the afternoon we wandered through some of the city parks and then rested our weary feet in Spabro, scoffing pizza and salad before getting on our last leg of the Trans Siberian Train.
On the Road Again - Irkutsk to Khabarovsk (15th to 17th December 2008)
A decent departure time saw us getting on the train at 9.07 this morning (4.07 Moscow time, which makes it not so decent!) All the trains run on Moscow time, so we have ad to keep one watch on that and the other to local time - it gets all together very confusing when you walk into a train station and the clock is running hours behind! The train is identical as the last one, save for the Euro trash dance music blasting through the speaker system, which our last provodnista thought better off. Fortunately you can turn it off in your cabin, though it makes for a bit of amusement here and there. Our young female provodnista was also a lot more caring of her carriage than Sir Redgrave was of his. She was constantly hoovering the carpets, turning over the runners, wiping the blinds and clearing the rubbish - we think she was gearing towards promotion!
We had a cabin to ourselves, which was actually rather nice, as it meant I could catch up on typing up the diary and also was a little more chilled - that said Iit was somewhat more boring as there was no-one else to talk to and when you are stuck in one small room with just each other it can send you a little insane! After scoffing a puff pastry (which I was hoping had apple in it but was actually just puff pastry) I promptly fell asleep, as did Stu and we awoke half an hour later to the cry of market sellers flogging al sorts of goodies. Time for my last umal of the trip so we popped out and bought a fish to tuck into. Others bought tens of fish and whilst they taste like a slice of heaven they smell well and truly like all fish does and the heater on the train is in full swing - not so delicious. As we tucked in, the train passed the most beautiful scenes we have yet seen from the train windows. We were circumnavigating Lake Baikal and it never ceases to be wonderous. The icey shoreline is so striking and we searched it for seals, but no joy. We travelled along the water’s edge for kilometer after kilometer just a couple of meters from the shoreline and you could see just how crystal clear it is, at some points gently lapping the beach at others lashing the breakers, which were themselves covered in inches of thick milky ice. We simply can’t get over the ice and I just can’t imagine how the lake changes in the deep freeze of January and February where apparently it’s entirety ices over up to three meters deep - it must be incredible.
Seeing the lake from the train clarifies just how big it is, it seems endless like a sea whose mouth passes through majestic mountains. Every time we thought that we had seen the last of it, we turned a corner of trees and a few minutes later were back on the water front, following the lake’s pristine landscape. We did of course pass some not so beautiful areas, where industry brings in money for the locals and as such also monstrous buildings but they were few compared to the delightful wooden houses, small buildings and little farms or allotment lands scattered around, which are blanketed in perfect snow right now as they don’t get used until the summer. I think one of the strangest things we saw as we passed by the little hamlets and villages was washing hanging up to dry. In up to in up 20 conditions as it is right now and with the trees coated in frost I am certain it is not the temperature for drying clothes - surely they freeze to a crisp... Mind you, I am sure they know better than me!
The next two days were spent snaking through arid land, alongside frozen rivers and gentle mountain ranges. At a number of points we could see the front of the train ahead of us as we passed the most dramatic changes in scenery - from one moment forests, albeit mainly sparse as all but one type of tree have lost their leaves, to arid land with nothing but scrub for miles. Minutes later their might be mountains in the background - which at sunset were bathed in the most glorious auburn with hints of mauve that gave to the land an incredible golden hue. The sun was shining and along the way we saw plenty of tiny communities scattered around, making for picturesque viewing but I am certain very harsh living. One little station that we stopped at had quite a large wooden city behind it, with very few lights on despite the pitch black. As the characters at the train station moved about, dressed all in black, their furs swayed to and fro the people seemed more like shadows or ghostly figures than real humans, sashaying through the darkness - the only colour the odd glow of orange from flickering cigarettes. This particular town reached minus 33 in the winter, whilst we passed another place that goes form minus 60 in the winter to plus 45 in the summer - giving it the most extreme in temperatures in the whole world. One question - why live there?
Despite the stunning scenery, after three days on the train and just each other and a couple of boring books - which we had finally started to read - we were ready to get off and just in time we reached Khabarovsk, where our first challenge would be to taxi around the city trying to find a hotel - finally we got a crazy expensive one (for what it was) and bedded down for the night - worried once again at how expensive Russia actually is.
We had a cabin to ourselves, which was actually rather nice, as it meant I could catch up on typing up the diary and also was a little more chilled - that said Iit was somewhat more boring as there was no-one else to talk to and when you are stuck in one small room with just each other it can send you a little insane! After scoffing a puff pastry (which I was hoping had apple in it but was actually just puff pastry) I promptly fell asleep, as did Stu and we awoke half an hour later to the cry of market sellers flogging al sorts of goodies. Time for my last umal of the trip so we popped out and bought a fish to tuck into. Others bought tens of fish and whilst they taste like a slice of heaven they smell well and truly like all fish does and the heater on the train is in full swing - not so delicious. As we tucked in, the train passed the most beautiful scenes we have yet seen from the train windows. We were circumnavigating Lake Baikal and it never ceases to be wonderous. The icey shoreline is so striking and we searched it for seals, but no joy. We travelled along the water’s edge for kilometer after kilometer just a couple of meters from the shoreline and you could see just how crystal clear it is, at some points gently lapping the beach at others lashing the breakers, which were themselves covered in inches of thick milky ice. We simply can’t get over the ice and I just can’t imagine how the lake changes in the deep freeze of January and February where apparently it’s entirety ices over up to three meters deep - it must be incredible.
Seeing the lake from the train clarifies just how big it is, it seems endless like a sea whose mouth passes through majestic mountains. Every time we thought that we had seen the last of it, we turned a corner of trees and a few minutes later were back on the water front, following the lake’s pristine landscape. We did of course pass some not so beautiful areas, where industry brings in money for the locals and as such also monstrous buildings but they were few compared to the delightful wooden houses, small buildings and little farms or allotment lands scattered around, which are blanketed in perfect snow right now as they don’t get used until the summer. I think one of the strangest things we saw as we passed by the little hamlets and villages was washing hanging up to dry. In up to in up 20 conditions as it is right now and with the trees coated in frost I am certain it is not the temperature for drying clothes - surely they freeze to a crisp... Mind you, I am sure they know better than me!
The next two days were spent snaking through arid land, alongside frozen rivers and gentle mountain ranges. At a number of points we could see the front of the train ahead of us as we passed the most dramatic changes in scenery - from one moment forests, albeit mainly sparse as all but one type of tree have lost their leaves, to arid land with nothing but scrub for miles. Minutes later their might be mountains in the background - which at sunset were bathed in the most glorious auburn with hints of mauve that gave to the land an incredible golden hue. The sun was shining and along the way we saw plenty of tiny communities scattered around, making for picturesque viewing but I am certain very harsh living. One little station that we stopped at had quite a large wooden city behind it, with very few lights on despite the pitch black. As the characters at the train station moved about, dressed all in black, their furs swayed to and fro the people seemed more like shadows or ghostly figures than real humans, sashaying through the darkness - the only colour the odd glow of orange from flickering cigarettes. This particular town reached minus 33 in the winter, whilst we passed another place that goes form minus 60 in the winter to plus 45 in the summer - giving it the most extreme in temperatures in the whole world. One question - why live there?
Despite the stunning scenery, after three days on the train and just each other and a couple of boring books - which we had finally started to read - we were ready to get off and just in time we reached Khabarovsk, where our first challenge would be to taxi around the city trying to find a hotel - finally we got a crazy expensive one (for what it was) and bedded down for the night - worried once again at how expensive Russia actually is.
Falling for Baikal, (14th December 2008)
Today we got up early to walk through the icy city and past the pretty little wooden houses, still in darkness, to board the local bus to Baikal - the largest fresh water lake in the world, which apparently would keep the whole word in supply of fresh water for the next 40 years, if we ran out today. Pretty impressive stuff. I slept the entire journey, cosied up under my thick jacket, literally unable to keep my eyes open - I think the cod os getting us more tired that we normally would be) and awoke, ten minutes away form our stop to the most almighty lake you have ever seen, shrouded in a low blanket of mist and overlooked by a striking mountain backdrop. It was simply glorious and I just couldn’t have imagined it being so impressive. We got off at the end of a little village and decided to walk back towards the start of it, several km from the direction we had come. It was the most incredible of days, crystal clear skies with the sun beating down (not to day it was warm) but we couldn’t have asked for a better day to be walking around the lake. We had heard that in the winter the whole lake freezes up to three metres thick, which is simply unimaginable when you see the sheer expanse of it, it goes beyond what the eye can see and had I not known any better I would have sworn it was a sea. The waves lapped the frozen shore line, building up the layers of ice to create the most incredible natural sculptures and walls of solid ice, we have ever seen and probably ever will. It took us significantly longer to walk the stretch of lake than we thought as we simply could not stop taking photos of the ice and stopping to admire, completely in awe the way it sheathed just about everything. Chain ropes were coated inches thick, jetties were layered up with a foot or so if ice and the breaks and walls were completely covered, so as to appear that they had been placed their on purpose by some ice queen, laying the boundaries of her land. All the while, the sun was beaming down, so when you looked behind everything glowed in different shades of silver and metallics, with the light bouncing between the water and the mountains.
We finally came to a little turning where our utterly useless book said there was a superb viewing point. Yes, there was but the book gave little if any real directions. We managed to find it though, first stopping off at a little ski centre for a cup of tea. Then we walked up to the top of the ski centre (which the book had neglected to inform us about) to the vantage point. the walk was lovely, tiring but gorgeous, walking right on the ski path (so we had to be quick on our feet to avoid any whoosers by) through thick forests, with the lake on one side - views of which were getting better and better as we got higher up. Only when we reached the top could we truly begin to understand the scale of this lake. On our way up we stopped to feed the sweet little birds as they darted around us. A couple actually landed on our hands as we held up crumbs of fruit bars for them, other just hovered by, a little too afraid to take the food. By the time we reached the top, the views were extraordinary. By the vantage point were a number of trees and bushes laced with paper tied to them for good luck - hundred of papers and ribbon and even the odd cigarette tied up blew in the wind, tying up people’s wishes. We had about ten minutes of relative peace to enjoy the views, before a hoard of day trippers descended upon us. The lake spread out vast distances to our left, right and ll in front of us, whilst behind us the snow sprinkled forests and pristine ski slopes glistened under the sun. Just ahead of us we could see the last tip of Shaman Rock, which is becoming increasingly submerged as the water level rises.
After soaking in the awe inspiring views and not really wanting to leave, we averted the crowds and opted for the ski lift down, which gave us yet another magnificent vantage point. We then walked back to the little market at the bottom, where we would get our return bus. As we walked we passed by this couple selling Umal, the venerated fish found only in this lake. Grandma and Irina had talked at great length about the fish and so we could not give up the opportunity to try some out. We bought one form the couple, forever etched in our minds as “Bear Couple” on account of their continuous bear like grunts! Not angry grunts, just bizarre little noises they kept making. In fact they were not angry at all, rather they were the happiest Russians we have come across yet, all smiles and jokes and insistent that we took photos of us with the fish, posing every which possible way there was to pose! Finally, we managed to get away with our fish and trotted off down the street to a quiet little spot where we could tuck in to the smoked delight. This was a a sheer heaven and hell moment. Heaven was the fish, which was like no other I have tried before. Mouth wateringly soft, smoked to perfection, full of the most magnificent flavours one could possibly expect - this was quite simply the best fish I have ever eaten. However, every mouthful was a painful one, with every second that we kept our gloves off to rip the fish apart with our fingers, our little digits crippled under the blistering cold. By the end of the few short moments it took us to devour the fish our hands were numb to the core and too smelly to put back in our gloves - not that it stopped us. Hands still causing no end of pain, we descended the last little bit of the path, just as the sun was beginning to fall and set, giving a gorgeous golden glow to the lake and surrounding ice and snow. We popped into a little market and picked up another fish, all for me this time - I couldn’t get enough, before we waited for our bus. A mini bus came by, which was going back to Irkutsk so we jumped on that, only to be driven a few minutes and then told it would not depart for 20 minutes. It actually turned out to be a blessing as it meant that we had time to witness the most incredible of sunsets I have seen in many many years, if not ever. Thy sky turned every shade of blue, purple, red, orange an gold, with flecks of green and silver gliding through the lines upon lines of colour as the mountains stood powerfully, silhouetted in the back ground. We could not have wished for a better, more beautiful way to end a lovely day, in the striking scenery - which we can only imagine is the best that Russia has to offer and which many claim ranks high in the world’s natural scenery offerings.
We finally came to a little turning where our utterly useless book said there was a superb viewing point. Yes, there was but the book gave little if any real directions. We managed to find it though, first stopping off at a little ski centre for a cup of tea. Then we walked up to the top of the ski centre (which the book had neglected to inform us about) to the vantage point. the walk was lovely, tiring but gorgeous, walking right on the ski path (so we had to be quick on our feet to avoid any whoosers by) through thick forests, with the lake on one side - views of which were getting better and better as we got higher up. Only when we reached the top could we truly begin to understand the scale of this lake. On our way up we stopped to feed the sweet little birds as they darted around us. A couple actually landed on our hands as we held up crumbs of fruit bars for them, other just hovered by, a little too afraid to take the food. By the time we reached the top, the views were extraordinary. By the vantage point were a number of trees and bushes laced with paper tied to them for good luck - hundred of papers and ribbon and even the odd cigarette tied up blew in the wind, tying up people’s wishes. We had about ten minutes of relative peace to enjoy the views, before a hoard of day trippers descended upon us. The lake spread out vast distances to our left, right and ll in front of us, whilst behind us the snow sprinkled forests and pristine ski slopes glistened under the sun. Just ahead of us we could see the last tip of Shaman Rock, which is becoming increasingly submerged as the water level rises.
After soaking in the awe inspiring views and not really wanting to leave, we averted the crowds and opted for the ski lift down, which gave us yet another magnificent vantage point. We then walked back to the little market at the bottom, where we would get our return bus. As we walked we passed by this couple selling Umal, the venerated fish found only in this lake. Grandma and Irina had talked at great length about the fish and so we could not give up the opportunity to try some out. We bought one form the couple, forever etched in our minds as “Bear Couple” on account of their continuous bear like grunts! Not angry grunts, just bizarre little noises they kept making. In fact they were not angry at all, rather they were the happiest Russians we have come across yet, all smiles and jokes and insistent that we took photos of us with the fish, posing every which possible way there was to pose! Finally, we managed to get away with our fish and trotted off down the street to a quiet little spot where we could tuck in to the smoked delight. This was a a sheer heaven and hell moment. Heaven was the fish, which was like no other I have tried before. Mouth wateringly soft, smoked to perfection, full of the most magnificent flavours one could possibly expect - this was quite simply the best fish I have ever eaten. However, every mouthful was a painful one, with every second that we kept our gloves off to rip the fish apart with our fingers, our little digits crippled under the blistering cold. By the end of the few short moments it took us to devour the fish our hands were numb to the core and too smelly to put back in our gloves - not that it stopped us. Hands still causing no end of pain, we descended the last little bit of the path, just as the sun was beginning to fall and set, giving a gorgeous golden glow to the lake and surrounding ice and snow. We popped into a little market and picked up another fish, all for me this time - I couldn’t get enough, before we waited for our bus. A mini bus came by, which was going back to Irkutsk so we jumped on that, only to be driven a few minutes and then told it would not depart for 20 minutes. It actually turned out to be a blessing as it meant that we had time to witness the most incredible of sunsets I have seen in many many years, if not ever. Thy sky turned every shade of blue, purple, red, orange an gold, with flecks of green and silver gliding through the lines upon lines of colour as the mountains stood powerfully, silhouetted in the back ground. We could not have wished for a better, more beautiful way to end a lovely day, in the striking scenery - which we can only imagine is the best that Russia has to offer and which many claim ranks high in the world’s natural scenery offerings.
In and around Irkutsk (December 13th)
Grandma and Irina both got up at five in the morning to say goodbye to us and then we were out on the cold platform, still bleary eyed and not having a clue what to do or where to go. We quickly ran into the ticket hall, which was more like a living morgue than anything else, with characters of all sorts tucked into chairs, asleep or falling asleep, whilst a dodgy flick blared out form the tiniest of TV screens. It was another two hours until the ticket office opened and we were cold so we decided to head straight for a hotel and ended up in one of the biggest in the city, overlooking a lovely park with incredible ice sculptures in it (think bridges and huge slides and grottoes and labyrinths). Not a cheap hotel, but then nothing is in Russia and it was on a par with everything else - though there was nothing standard about it. We opted for the cheapest, non renovated rooms, which were perfectly fine but a complete throw back to the 60’s when the hotel opened. The curtains were the most amazing I have ever seen - all peach polyestered up and adorned with Hawaiian hula girls doing their thing. After our first shower in three days (though we still looked and felt perfectly clean) we headed down the corridor for breakfast in the Pink Flamingo, which we think is the breakfast room, just for our floor. Each floor seems to run as a separate entity with its own floor managers, security and housekeeping. Very bizarre. And if that was odd, breakfast was an even stranger affair. More like a night club than restaurant, the Pink Flamingo’s curtains were drawn, the girls were in short pink (obviously) skirts and the decor wouldn’t go amiss in Stringfellows (from what I hear)! Old school dance and Russian tracks were pumping out of the stereo and the clientele made us certain that we had stepped into the set of some slightly dubious movie set.
Back at the room, we simply couldn’t last and fell asleep for a few hours - this train travel malarky is weirdly exhausting. We woke up to find our bathroom ceiling had fallen in - as they do, so we promptly moved next door, before, still slightly weary, we headed out to discover Irkutsk. Irkutsk is known as the ‘Paris of Siberia’ though where the parallels are drawn, I can’t quite see. None-the-less it is a lovely city and has a small and homely yet up date and relaxed feel about it. On the surface it seems more like a town than a city but the landscape stretches beyond where you expect and in rush hour the roads on the outskirts of the central area become mayhem.
Amidst the newer buildings are cosy looking log cabins, all decorated with intricate fret work on the eaves and window frames. They are simply gorgeous and the streets where they are the predominant buildings take you back to a bygone era and you really feel like you have stepped back in time. This is where many of the Decemberists were exiled to and a number of their houses still exist. Some of the wooden buildings are truly striking and more like mini mansions than log cabins - these were the home to those who quite literally struck gold, in the gold rush era, making the equivalent of nearly hundreds of millions today, practically overnight. Other houses are more simple affairs, much smaller but still with the grandeur of the fret work. In some areas of town there were whole pockets of these wooden structures, whilst other stood in solitude next to newer, concrete buildings. There are far fewer wooden houses here than the city originally had as in 1879 a fire destroyed 75% of them and sadly, today many of them are falling into disrepair and some are quite literally sinking into the ground, perhaps as a result of the weather not being quite so cold as it used to be and layers of permafrost melting.
That said, it’s not exactly warm here in the winter! If you take your hands out of your gloves for more than a minute the pain kicks in, despite this, somehow the locals seem to have adapted and are happy to stand in the icey cold smoking away, sans gloves. There is little wind, which makes it pleasant enough if you are cosied up as we are in our extreme weather gear but the ground is frozen solid, with thick patches of black ice near drainpipes which see plenty of people skating over them for fun, although surprisingly few people slipping on them. This is especially odd as the local girls refuse to step out of their excrutiatingly high heeled boots, which are not practical for any day’s outing, let alone in such icy conditions. Dolled up to the nines with more fur than I ever thought possible, there are impossibly beautiful. Fur coats of all shapes, colours and patterns, accessorised with incredible hats in all manner of different styles, including the often favoured box hat with flaps (the bigger the hat the better) were out in force. It seems that everybody has furs and they aren’t cheap, despite Irkutsk being one of the major fur suppliers in the world. That said, £2,000 here gets you a lot more than Harrods would ever offer. The men do not miss out and whilst they favour leather jackets to fur coats, their hats are traditional and stylish and somehow make even the less attractive men look striking.
There is a far greater fusion of nationalities here than we have seen in St Petersburg or Moscow. This area of Russia is home to the indigenous Buryats, of Mongolian descent and there is also Polish heritage - this mixed with the already striking Russian women, makes for a model scout’s paradise. And everyone seems even more beautiful, with their strong faces framed by delicate and fascinating fur hats. Everyone looks super rich too, though of course they are not all. But you put a girl in heels and furs and give her a decent bag and she is going to look all cashed up.
There is a main area of activity in the centre of Irkutsk, which is home to a huge Central Market and also a wonderful food hall - again Harrods eat your heart out - your hall is nothing compared to this, which has everything you could imagine from bright fruits, colourful flowers, rows of pastries and pasties and nuts and dried goods, plus lines of fish including the famous Umal that Grandma told us so much about. In the actual Central Market you can buy everything you could imagine, from tacky dolls and tit bits to underwear, hideous clothes and amazing furs. Whilst on the main roads were expensive jewelers and top end high street brands, mixed in with fast fashion chains and the like. For lunch we opted for a pancake with fillings that we think were chicken, some other meat, cheese and some white soure that they put on everything. Regardless of not quite knowing what was in them, they were scrumptious and perfectly filled the hole, created on our long walk around town.
There are also a number of lovely cathedrals and churches in the city, and though we popped into one, we decided to spend the day walking around and enjoying the atmosphere rather than spending it in museums and such. We walked along the river’s edge that was covered in snow, with patches of the river frozen solid, making perfect little islands for the ducks to escape to. We passed a number of monuments and statues and some impressive but utterly ugly Soviet buildings and sculptures that stood powerfully above all those near it.
In total contradiction to anything Soviet, we were hoping to experience a night out in the pink Flamingo, but sadly, despite its decor it wasn’t in fact a night club but was simply just a restaurant so we opted for fruit we had bought at the market and some nibbles from the ‘London Pub’ downstairs, where the girls were rather oddly for a London pub, in tartan. It didn’t surprise us though, this hotel is all about slightly odd uniforms, from the short pink skirts at breakfast to the angels in the downstairs lobby bar - why would the London pub staff not be wearing tartan?
Back at the room, we simply couldn’t last and fell asleep for a few hours - this train travel malarky is weirdly exhausting. We woke up to find our bathroom ceiling had fallen in - as they do, so we promptly moved next door, before, still slightly weary, we headed out to discover Irkutsk. Irkutsk is known as the ‘Paris of Siberia’ though where the parallels are drawn, I can’t quite see. None-the-less it is a lovely city and has a small and homely yet up date and relaxed feel about it. On the surface it seems more like a town than a city but the landscape stretches beyond where you expect and in rush hour the roads on the outskirts of the central area become mayhem.
Amidst the newer buildings are cosy looking log cabins, all decorated with intricate fret work on the eaves and window frames. They are simply gorgeous and the streets where they are the predominant buildings take you back to a bygone era and you really feel like you have stepped back in time. This is where many of the Decemberists were exiled to and a number of their houses still exist. Some of the wooden buildings are truly striking and more like mini mansions than log cabins - these were the home to those who quite literally struck gold, in the gold rush era, making the equivalent of nearly hundreds of millions today, practically overnight. Other houses are more simple affairs, much smaller but still with the grandeur of the fret work. In some areas of town there were whole pockets of these wooden structures, whilst other stood in solitude next to newer, concrete buildings. There are far fewer wooden houses here than the city originally had as in 1879 a fire destroyed 75% of them and sadly, today many of them are falling into disrepair and some are quite literally sinking into the ground, perhaps as a result of the weather not being quite so cold as it used to be and layers of permafrost melting.
That said, it’s not exactly warm here in the winter! If you take your hands out of your gloves for more than a minute the pain kicks in, despite this, somehow the locals seem to have adapted and are happy to stand in the icey cold smoking away, sans gloves. There is little wind, which makes it pleasant enough if you are cosied up as we are in our extreme weather gear but the ground is frozen solid, with thick patches of black ice near drainpipes which see plenty of people skating over them for fun, although surprisingly few people slipping on them. This is especially odd as the local girls refuse to step out of their excrutiatingly high heeled boots, which are not practical for any day’s outing, let alone in such icy conditions. Dolled up to the nines with more fur than I ever thought possible, there are impossibly beautiful. Fur coats of all shapes, colours and patterns, accessorised with incredible hats in all manner of different styles, including the often favoured box hat with flaps (the bigger the hat the better) were out in force. It seems that everybody has furs and they aren’t cheap, despite Irkutsk being one of the major fur suppliers in the world. That said, £2,000 here gets you a lot more than Harrods would ever offer. The men do not miss out and whilst they favour leather jackets to fur coats, their hats are traditional and stylish and somehow make even the less attractive men look striking.
There is a far greater fusion of nationalities here than we have seen in St Petersburg or Moscow. This area of Russia is home to the indigenous Buryats, of Mongolian descent and there is also Polish heritage - this mixed with the already striking Russian women, makes for a model scout’s paradise. And everyone seems even more beautiful, with their strong faces framed by delicate and fascinating fur hats. Everyone looks super rich too, though of course they are not all. But you put a girl in heels and furs and give her a decent bag and she is going to look all cashed up.
There is a main area of activity in the centre of Irkutsk, which is home to a huge Central Market and also a wonderful food hall - again Harrods eat your heart out - your hall is nothing compared to this, which has everything you could imagine from bright fruits, colourful flowers, rows of pastries and pasties and nuts and dried goods, plus lines of fish including the famous Umal that Grandma told us so much about. In the actual Central Market you can buy everything you could imagine, from tacky dolls and tit bits to underwear, hideous clothes and amazing furs. Whilst on the main roads were expensive jewelers and top end high street brands, mixed in with fast fashion chains and the like. For lunch we opted for a pancake with fillings that we think were chicken, some other meat, cheese and some white soure that they put on everything. Regardless of not quite knowing what was in them, they were scrumptious and perfectly filled the hole, created on our long walk around town.
There are also a number of lovely cathedrals and churches in the city, and though we popped into one, we decided to spend the day walking around and enjoying the atmosphere rather than spending it in museums and such. We walked along the river’s edge that was covered in snow, with patches of the river frozen solid, making perfect little islands for the ducks to escape to. We passed a number of monuments and statues and some impressive but utterly ugly Soviet buildings and sculptures that stood powerfully above all those near it.
In total contradiction to anything Soviet, we were hoping to experience a night out in the pink Flamingo, but sadly, despite its decor it wasn’t in fact a night club but was simply just a restaurant so we opted for fruit we had bought at the market and some nibbles from the ‘London Pub’ downstairs, where the girls were rather oddly for a London pub, in tartan. It didn’t surprise us though, this hotel is all about slightly odd uniforms, from the short pink skirts at breakfast to the angels in the downstairs lobby bar - why would the London pub staff not be wearing tartan?
Trans Siberian or should that be Trans Fatty Acids? (9th December to 13th December 2008)
We were pleasantly surprised by the standard of our train and by the companions who we were going to be sharing with for the next four days - Marina Petrovana (from now on referred to as Grandma on account of her checking her daily blood pressure reminding me of Grandma testing her blood sugar levels every day) and her daughter Irina. Grandma is simple adorable - her whole face scrunches up as she laughs and though she speaks not a word of English it is obvious we would get on from the start. Irina is much more reserved but as sweet as can be and her odd words of English help us have the most fruitful conversations throughout the next few days. Other companions on our journey include our provodnista (carriage attendant) aka Steve Redgrave (as he was the spitting image) and a drunk, rather smelly fellow called Sparo, known to us as Flat Cap (seen as he never once took his flat cap off - or changed once his clothes for that matter!)
Flat cap took an instant liking to me, on day one he chatted and stroked my face, on day two bought me an apple, by day three he had told me he loved me and bought me a box of chocolates from the restaurant carriage and finally stumped up for the big stuff - champers - though that was mainly as I had mentioned it was Stu’s birthday recently - when he asked how old we were. Flat cap claims to be 35, we think more like 40 and I’m certain he will feel 50 plus when his wife gets her hands on him as he rocks up at home, having been away for two years (working as a carpenter) - drunk and smelly from the train! Actually - he starts to drink less as the journey goes on. Day one and two he was on full form - repeating his hilarious one sided conversations with us that reminded us of a London Comedy Club sketch we had seen, where the actors make up languages and talk jibberish with the addition of sounds and gesticulations. Flat cap was just like this - he spoke loud and fast Russian to us at great length even though we only speak “English Minglish” as he says - though I doubt he realises the humour of this. He adds in little sounds - ‘zzzzzzp’, ‘derup derup’ and then just throws his hands up laughing - knowing we just don’t have a clue. By day three and four, Flat Cap is remarkably quiet - he knocks his head with his hand telling me it pounds and he is suffering - but still he smiles sweetly at me and continues to stroke my face - I’m faintly flattered, highly amused and perhaps a touch scared!!!! Poor harmless Flat Cap. Although he literally didn’t have a word of English and we clearly no Russian - we got on perfectly fine and he was no end of amusement for us on our journey. Though his all too familiar smell of body odour did put a wee dampner on our relationship!
So entertained were we that during the entire four days we never once read our books (save for the guide book) or turned on our ipods. Grandma and Irina were our main source of constant entertainment and we spoke with them at length about so many things despite again not sharing a language. From what I can gather Irina works in Moscow and Grandma has been visiting for three months, to get help for her high (or is that low) blood pressure. It might help if she stopped eating raw sugar cubes and ladening her eggs with salt. She flew over to Moscow but they are travelling back to Ulan Ude together by train. Irina has two daughters, one studying medicine and the other economics. One of them has either been to England in 2006 to learn English or is going to England for six weeks (or months) - I can’t quite work it out. Grandma has five grandchildren from five to 20 years old and loves them all - of course she does - she is so full of love and sweetness - at one point even playing with my toes like I was a little girl. She hugs me a lot and we all laugh a great deal together and share huge excitement when lengthy conversations finally bring about a very small, obvious or menial point.
They teach us how to play the most pointless Russian card game imaginable. First point of concern was that Russian cards only go from card six upwards, second point of concern was that this game seemed to be made up as they went along and thirdly they were cheating (though in a funny way). They found it hysterical when I pulled them up on their cheating - we found it hysterical when they simply seemed to make a new rule up and everyone found it hysterical that Stuart, despite not having a clue of the game, kept winning and I, actually beginning to understand the silly game, kept losing. It might sound trivial but to us, this simple way of breaking down boundaries, brought so much fun and laughter to our journey - I really felt we had known Grandma and Irina for so much longer than just a few days - we had better more intricate conversations with them than I have had with many long term acquaintances back home!
We talked about the Buryat Tribe, of which they are part of; about our jobs; of Umal fish in Lake Baikal and where to eat them; of our families; and of Checkov. They were amazed that we met in Africa and laughed at how long it took Stuat to finally marry me! Grandma lies on her own and does all the work at home and as far as I can tell that includes working some land.
It is amazing how with time and care you can break down the barriers of language and how with patience and creativity you can get any message across. Every conversation was rewarding, though sometimes frustrating and always tiring. Grandma doesn’t stop talking to us - in pure Russian of course and sometimes Irina just roles her eyes at her and tells her to be quiet as there is no way she can translate it! Inevitably we manage to understand at least part of the message anyway. Grandma talks fast and with excitement, directly to our face as if she thinks we can understand and we just nod and smile and patiently work things out.
They are the perfect roomies. We quickly get ourselves into a set pattern - they eat their dinner first and then move over so we can make use of the little table and eat our food. They never mind us sitting on their beds (as we had the top bunks) and we respect their space by spending good time “upstairs” mainly sleeping. It is amazing how much sleeping goes on in the train. Of course there is not much else to do in terms of activity - eating makes you tired so you sleep and sleeping makes you tired so you eat. Stuart thinks it should be called the Trans Fatty Acids Train as we just can’t stop scoffing - ok, I can’t stop scoffing - especially when we pick up street food from the platforms - delicious dumplings and meatballs.
Concentrating so hard on every second of conversation is also very tiring and the heat is almost unbearable. That was the biggest surprise of all. Here we were expecting to be freezing our wotsits off, sitting wrapped up like the Michelin Man, when instead I had my tracksuit pinned up and would have happily lounged about in my bikini (which I am sure Flat Cap would have loved!) You cannot open any windows as they have been screwed down for the winter and so the rooms were steaming hot from the heater that you could not turn down. At night I had to sleep with a wet towel to keep cool and we had the door open every evening and throughout the night to try and let just any cool air in. Meanwhile the back cabin, which had the only remotely clean window to look out of, totally iced over and there was ice filling up the corners of the floor. To begin with we laughed at all the ice cream sellers on the platform - but they had a point!
Each carriage has their own attendant who looks after everything from the passengers to the coal to keep the hot water boiling (free hot water throughout the journey). You can buy tea from them and they get off at every strop, whatever the time, suited and booted to see passengers off and others on. They keep check of everything - locking the toilet doors before we get to new stations, all the cleaning, and even knocking the ice of the train parts as it freezes up. Some station stops are longer than others and often this is simply to give time to chisel off the inches of ice over the cogs and mechanisms of the train. It is amazing how at up to minus 30 (more later on in the year) and travelling through metres of permafrost, mountainous land and huge stretches of nothing the trains run completely on time. Not once were we late - in fact more often than not we rolled in a few minutes early.
On the last night I had left a card for Grandma and Irina, just to say thanks for their company and had written a little message in Russian. Strangely none of us could sleep that night and Grandma was feeding me cornflakes at midnight. They found the card, earlier than I had expected and as I lay pretending to be asleep Grandma dictated the message she wanted to write back to us. In the middle of the night, still all awake she thanked me for our card, holding it to her heart and kissing it and in return they gave us their addresses to send photos to and the deck of Russian Cards so we could carry on playing the pointless game forever! At five in the morning, on day four, we were both actually very sad to say goodbye to them - but on with the adventure!
Flat cap took an instant liking to me, on day one he chatted and stroked my face, on day two bought me an apple, by day three he had told me he loved me and bought me a box of chocolates from the restaurant carriage and finally stumped up for the big stuff - champers - though that was mainly as I had mentioned it was Stu’s birthday recently - when he asked how old we were. Flat cap claims to be 35, we think more like 40 and I’m certain he will feel 50 plus when his wife gets her hands on him as he rocks up at home, having been away for two years (working as a carpenter) - drunk and smelly from the train! Actually - he starts to drink less as the journey goes on. Day one and two he was on full form - repeating his hilarious one sided conversations with us that reminded us of a London Comedy Club sketch we had seen, where the actors make up languages and talk jibberish with the addition of sounds and gesticulations. Flat cap was just like this - he spoke loud and fast Russian to us at great length even though we only speak “English Minglish” as he says - though I doubt he realises the humour of this. He adds in little sounds - ‘zzzzzzp’, ‘derup derup’ and then just throws his hands up laughing - knowing we just don’t have a clue. By day three and four, Flat Cap is remarkably quiet - he knocks his head with his hand telling me it pounds and he is suffering - but still he smiles sweetly at me and continues to stroke my face - I’m faintly flattered, highly amused and perhaps a touch scared!!!! Poor harmless Flat Cap. Although he literally didn’t have a word of English and we clearly no Russian - we got on perfectly fine and he was no end of amusement for us on our journey. Though his all too familiar smell of body odour did put a wee dampner on our relationship!
So entertained were we that during the entire four days we never once read our books (save for the guide book) or turned on our ipods. Grandma and Irina were our main source of constant entertainment and we spoke with them at length about so many things despite again not sharing a language. From what I can gather Irina works in Moscow and Grandma has been visiting for three months, to get help for her high (or is that low) blood pressure. It might help if she stopped eating raw sugar cubes and ladening her eggs with salt. She flew over to Moscow but they are travelling back to Ulan Ude together by train. Irina has two daughters, one studying medicine and the other economics. One of them has either been to England in 2006 to learn English or is going to England for six weeks (or months) - I can’t quite work it out. Grandma has five grandchildren from five to 20 years old and loves them all - of course she does - she is so full of love and sweetness - at one point even playing with my toes like I was a little girl. She hugs me a lot and we all laugh a great deal together and share huge excitement when lengthy conversations finally bring about a very small, obvious or menial point.
They teach us how to play the most pointless Russian card game imaginable. First point of concern was that Russian cards only go from card six upwards, second point of concern was that this game seemed to be made up as they went along and thirdly they were cheating (though in a funny way). They found it hysterical when I pulled them up on their cheating - we found it hysterical when they simply seemed to make a new rule up and everyone found it hysterical that Stuart, despite not having a clue of the game, kept winning and I, actually beginning to understand the silly game, kept losing. It might sound trivial but to us, this simple way of breaking down boundaries, brought so much fun and laughter to our journey - I really felt we had known Grandma and Irina for so much longer than just a few days - we had better more intricate conversations with them than I have had with many long term acquaintances back home!
We talked about the Buryat Tribe, of which they are part of; about our jobs; of Umal fish in Lake Baikal and where to eat them; of our families; and of Checkov. They were amazed that we met in Africa and laughed at how long it took Stuat to finally marry me! Grandma lies on her own and does all the work at home and as far as I can tell that includes working some land.
It is amazing how with time and care you can break down the barriers of language and how with patience and creativity you can get any message across. Every conversation was rewarding, though sometimes frustrating and always tiring. Grandma doesn’t stop talking to us - in pure Russian of course and sometimes Irina just roles her eyes at her and tells her to be quiet as there is no way she can translate it! Inevitably we manage to understand at least part of the message anyway. Grandma talks fast and with excitement, directly to our face as if she thinks we can understand and we just nod and smile and patiently work things out.
They are the perfect roomies. We quickly get ourselves into a set pattern - they eat their dinner first and then move over so we can make use of the little table and eat our food. They never mind us sitting on their beds (as we had the top bunks) and we respect their space by spending good time “upstairs” mainly sleeping. It is amazing how much sleeping goes on in the train. Of course there is not much else to do in terms of activity - eating makes you tired so you sleep and sleeping makes you tired so you eat. Stuart thinks it should be called the Trans Fatty Acids Train as we just can’t stop scoffing - ok, I can’t stop scoffing - especially when we pick up street food from the platforms - delicious dumplings and meatballs.
Concentrating so hard on every second of conversation is also very tiring and the heat is almost unbearable. That was the biggest surprise of all. Here we were expecting to be freezing our wotsits off, sitting wrapped up like the Michelin Man, when instead I had my tracksuit pinned up and would have happily lounged about in my bikini (which I am sure Flat Cap would have loved!) You cannot open any windows as they have been screwed down for the winter and so the rooms were steaming hot from the heater that you could not turn down. At night I had to sleep with a wet towel to keep cool and we had the door open every evening and throughout the night to try and let just any cool air in. Meanwhile the back cabin, which had the only remotely clean window to look out of, totally iced over and there was ice filling up the corners of the floor. To begin with we laughed at all the ice cream sellers on the platform - but they had a point!
Each carriage has their own attendant who looks after everything from the passengers to the coal to keep the hot water boiling (free hot water throughout the journey). You can buy tea from them and they get off at every strop, whatever the time, suited and booted to see passengers off and others on. They keep check of everything - locking the toilet doors before we get to new stations, all the cleaning, and even knocking the ice of the train parts as it freezes up. Some station stops are longer than others and often this is simply to give time to chisel off the inches of ice over the cogs and mechanisms of the train. It is amazing how at up to minus 30 (more later on in the year) and travelling through metres of permafrost, mountainous land and huge stretches of nothing the trains run completely on time. Not once were we late - in fact more often than not we rolled in a few minutes early.
On the last night I had left a card for Grandma and Irina, just to say thanks for their company and had written a little message in Russian. Strangely none of us could sleep that night and Grandma was feeding me cornflakes at midnight. They found the card, earlier than I had expected and as I lay pretending to be asleep Grandma dictated the message she wanted to write back to us. In the middle of the night, still all awake she thanked me for our card, holding it to her heart and kissing it and in return they gave us their addresses to send photos to and the deck of Russian Cards so we could carry on playing the pointless game forever! At five in the morning, on day four, we were both actually very sad to say goodbye to them - but on with the adventure!
Sunday, 21 December 2008
Moving on to Moscow (8th to 9th December 2008)
We arrived in Moscow slightly dazed at 4.45 am and in our typical disorganised fashion had no idea where we were going or even the address written down and no way of accessing it as it was saved online. Our guide book didn’t have the hotel in it and after an hour of wandering around bleary eyed I ended up ringing another top notch hotel to get the number for the Ritz Carlton, which luckily they gave us. We promptly rang them up to get their address and ran out of credit just as they were about to give us the metro station we needed to go to so we made a not particularly educated guess and jumped on the metro. By some stroke of luck we got off the metro just metres away and so walked into the most glorious hotel looking more than a little bit dishevelled - we are making quite the habit of turning up at luxury properties looking like hobos! Fortunately they not only let us in but also let us into our room, where we promptly showered and fell asleep. When we woke up the weather was still atrocious - wet, gray and thoroughly miserable and we had little if any inclination to head out but of course we were in Moscow so head out we did. We headed straight for the Red Square which was just seconds away. It was actually rather like entering Disney World as there was a big ice rink set up in the middle and at the end of the wide square was the iconic St Basil’s Church, which if I didn’t know better I would have thought was a modern day made up fairy tale castle - I half expected Rapunzel to appear out of a window! Inside was the most lovely interior, with impressive frescoes adorning the maze of corridors and rooms. The church, nicknamed the Pineapple Church, by Victorian travellers, was commissioned by Ivan the Terrible and apparently he was so happy with the results of the completed church in 1561 that he gauged out the eyes of the architect so that he could not create anything more beautiful - a story not quite as beautiful as the building itself.
Still the rain persisted so after a quick walk past Lenin’s Mausoleum, the surrounding walls of the Kremlin, and a moment at the Tomb of the Unkown Soldier, we headed for the GUM (Generalny Universalny Magazin) the most glorious of shopping malls I have ever been to. It used to be an old market that was torn down for health reasons. After the revolution it was nationalised and turned into a huge department store, which now helps to make the city of Moscow a shoppers paradise - full of designer and high end boutiques. We actually spent a little bit of time wandering around and then even more in the underground shopping mall just opposite, trying to avoid the hideous weather and looking for some smart shoes to help see us through the dinner we were having in the hotel as well as future five star places we were staying. I picked up a pair or not as bad as they sound pink patent heels and Stu some as bad as they sound tan slip ons - we weren’t going to spend good money on them and Moscow is not remotely cheap - there is no “Primarni” here!
Back at the hotel we went to the cub lunge and gorged on food and then after I was shown around the hotel, cocktail included, we headed downstairs for dinner, which was divine (thank goodness for the new shoes, the trainers would not have cut it). We had seven delicious courses, prepared by a Michelin starred chef, with beautiful wines.
On our second day in Moscow, we sadly didn’t see much more. We went for a wet and windy walk around the walls of the Kremlin, though decided against going in (something to return for) and instead walked to the Church of Christ Our Saviour, where we waited for about an hour in the pouring rain to witness the funeral procession of the Orthodox Patriarch - a glam way for Stuart to spend his birthday! We expected a huge and dramatic affair, particularly with the incredible display of police and blacked out secret service vehicles whirring by for ages before the procession. No one seemed to know what was happening, when the procession would start or any other details and everything and everyone was in confusion. The streets were not so heavily lined with mourners as we thought they would be and there was none of the wailing or crying, that we expected. In fact, it was such a low key procession in the end that we didn’t even realise the hearse had actually gone by and those who had bought flowers to throw didn’t get the chance as they missed it too. So totally soaked and rather disappointed in missing out on what we thought would be a true moment in history we briskly walked back to the hotel for a Russian lunch of pickled veg; cow tongue (I wish I never asked what it was); Russian salads and a scrumptious soup for Stuart.
Full to the brim, we took it as the right time to attempt to buy our Trans Siberian ticket, so we crossed back to the main station via metro and sought out the actual station we needed (there are nine possible stations in Moscow). Now - this we thought could be real fun. The first attendant pointed us to another. The second was fast asleep and the third, in true Russian style was none to interested in serving us and was happy to show her contempt. Somehow we managed to get across what we were after (a good bit of foresight from Stu and writing things down, in Russian helped us out) and by the end of the relatively harmless affair we had even gleaned a smile from her. This was a result!
Then, seen as it was Stu’s birthday we popped to the hotel spa for a spot of pampering and then a quick final shower before dragging our bags up and down a multitude of metro stairs and having a few doors slammed in our faces.
We had picked up a few supplies for the train journey - some fruit; plenty of chocolate; biscuits; water; and what we thought was soup but would later (after thinking it just very thick) would realise was in actual fact instant mash!
So there we found ourselves - on the famous Trans Siberian train in winter - and still no snow...
Still the rain persisted so after a quick walk past Lenin’s Mausoleum, the surrounding walls of the Kremlin, and a moment at the Tomb of the Unkown Soldier, we headed for the GUM (Generalny Universalny Magazin) the most glorious of shopping malls I have ever been to. It used to be an old market that was torn down for health reasons. After the revolution it was nationalised and turned into a huge department store, which now helps to make the city of Moscow a shoppers paradise - full of designer and high end boutiques. We actually spent a little bit of time wandering around and then even more in the underground shopping mall just opposite, trying to avoid the hideous weather and looking for some smart shoes to help see us through the dinner we were having in the hotel as well as future five star places we were staying. I picked up a pair or not as bad as they sound pink patent heels and Stu some as bad as they sound tan slip ons - we weren’t going to spend good money on them and Moscow is not remotely cheap - there is no “Primarni” here!
Back at the hotel we went to the cub lunge and gorged on food and then after I was shown around the hotel, cocktail included, we headed downstairs for dinner, which was divine (thank goodness for the new shoes, the trainers would not have cut it). We had seven delicious courses, prepared by a Michelin starred chef, with beautiful wines.
On our second day in Moscow, we sadly didn’t see much more. We went for a wet and windy walk around the walls of the Kremlin, though decided against going in (something to return for) and instead walked to the Church of Christ Our Saviour, where we waited for about an hour in the pouring rain to witness the funeral procession of the Orthodox Patriarch - a glam way for Stuart to spend his birthday! We expected a huge and dramatic affair, particularly with the incredible display of police and blacked out secret service vehicles whirring by for ages before the procession. No one seemed to know what was happening, when the procession would start or any other details and everything and everyone was in confusion. The streets were not so heavily lined with mourners as we thought they would be and there was none of the wailing or crying, that we expected. In fact, it was such a low key procession in the end that we didn’t even realise the hearse had actually gone by and those who had bought flowers to throw didn’t get the chance as they missed it too. So totally soaked and rather disappointed in missing out on what we thought would be a true moment in history we briskly walked back to the hotel for a Russian lunch of pickled veg; cow tongue (I wish I never asked what it was); Russian salads and a scrumptious soup for Stuart.
Full to the brim, we took it as the right time to attempt to buy our Trans Siberian ticket, so we crossed back to the main station via metro and sought out the actual station we needed (there are nine possible stations in Moscow). Now - this we thought could be real fun. The first attendant pointed us to another. The second was fast asleep and the third, in true Russian style was none to interested in serving us and was happy to show her contempt. Somehow we managed to get across what we were after (a good bit of foresight from Stu and writing things down, in Russian helped us out) and by the end of the relatively harmless affair we had even gleaned a smile from her. This was a result!
Then, seen as it was Stu’s birthday we popped to the hotel spa for a spot of pampering and then a quick final shower before dragging our bags up and down a multitude of metro stairs and having a few doors slammed in our faces.
We had picked up a few supplies for the train journey - some fruit; plenty of chocolate; biscuits; water; and what we thought was soup but would later (after thinking it just very thick) would realise was in actual fact instant mash!
So there we found ourselves - on the famous Trans Siberian train in winter - and still no snow...
Strutting about St Petersburg (5th to 8th December 2008)
If anything is going to spur you on to dieting it is Nevsky Prospekt; St Petersburg's most splendid avenue, where the women have legs up to their armpits, slenderly wrapped in the skinniest of jeans and the tightest and highest knee high boots imaginable. It seems that whatever the weather - ice, snow or rain - nothing is going to rid them of looking gorgeous in their heels. Meanwhile their shapely top halves are swathed in the most glamourous and sumptuous furs I have ever known, swishing with sheer elegance as the girls sashay down the street. Even though we have seen so little of Russia we can already see that the people have a certain physical quality about them. The women’s beauty far outweighs the men but both have striking features with strong characteristics. Most of the girl’s faces are framed with perfectly lined, bold fringes and they range between cute as a button and striking as hell. The men meanwhile don’t seem to have been as blessed in the looks department - particularly when they have such a penchant for mullets and beer bellies. That said, the men with a Mongolian influence are often incredible looking, with a unique quality of stern slash come hither good looks.
Nevsky Prospekt is like the greatest catwalk show ever, as the girls in their designer threads with their millionaire (and inevitably older) arm candy by their side, pop into boutique after boutique, picking up the latest must haves. But it is not just the rich people who doll up and look gorgeous, everyone is at it. Quite simply the style is to be glamourous and ladylike at all times and here I am looking and feeling totally out of place as I clomp about in my clodhopper snow-boots and thick down jacket. Quick - get me to a beauty salon for some nail extensions, hair extensions and whilst you’re at it, leg extensions. That way I might actually look as if I fit in at the Grand Hotel Europe - Russia’s finest and most historical hotel, where we are staying for two nights.
After our pleasant enough train journey here we had tried to look our best as we were picked up by private transfer form the station to check in. No use - we still looked well and truly like travellers! Oh well, they still let us in! First things first we ran a bath and soaked away the train journey, sipping champagne as we relaxed. Feeling particularly decadent I poured a little champers in to the bath - it was free after all and there was no way we could drink it all anyway - it was gone 2am. Champagned out and tubbed up we fell asleep on the sumptuous bed, catching up on some much needed zeds.
We woke up in the morning to the most glorious day (still no snow, whilst ironically there is plenty of the white stuff back home apparently) but the sun is out and it is perfect weather for walking around the glorious city (breaking in my not comfortable at all new shoes as we go).
Strolling down Nevsky Prospekt is perfect for people watching and right at the bottom of the long avenue, as if out of nowhere, we stumble across a striking mint green and white building, adorned with gold - the State Hermitage. Situated in a huge square, right on the river (all important buildings were designed to be entered from the water front) the Hermitage looks every inch the royal residence - palatial but not imposing. As it was such a beautiful day we thought we would continue walking in case the weather didn’t hold throughout the rest of our stay and so we crossed the river, taking in sights such as the Peter and Paul Fortress, with the cathedral where most of the Russian rulers are buried. On our way back we passed the fairy tale like Church of the Spilt Blood (neither the name or reason behind it are fairy tale like at all), St Issacs Cathedral and Kazan Cathedral.
As we walked we came across six or so wedding parties, which were stopping off for photos in front of all the great sights. All the girls wore the most meringue inspired dresses, topped with beautiful fur stolls and one couple even had their own party bus which drove around the city and every so often they would jump off, drink some vodka, have a boogie and smoke a fag or two! It seems to be the trend to drive around the city to have your photograph taken in all the important places and it was quite fun to watch.
We attempted to have dinner at a typically Russian restaurant but after I managed to pry open the heavy wooden door against the force of the wind, I boldly strode in on a private function - so quickly exited and opted for authentic Vietnamese next door, which was delicious. Full to the brim it was time for bed, back at the lovely hotel. As we walked back, the first flutter of snow began to fall - I was so excited - snow in St Petersburg - I almost wet myself!
I totally expected the whole city to be blanketed in gorgeous white snow but was disappointed when I woke up. By the time we got outside the roads had turned to black mush though off the beaten track, the parks still had inches of show carpeting their ground and all the buildings were covered in a soft sprinkle of glittering sugary snow. It was a bit of an effort to find the Russian Museum but it at least took us to the back streets of the city, where we passed a couple more weddings and some interesting local scenes.
The Russian Museum was worth the effort to find and we spent about four hours admiring some of the most extraordinary art work, all of Russian origin and about another hour getting lost in the maze of corridors of the equally lovely building Whilst many could get spend days submerged in the art, we could only last about half a day before we were all arted out - that said we would not have wanted to miss it.
For dinner we popped into the equivalent of Starbucks and ate veal and chicken bagels, before heading back to the second of our five start hotels, the Corinthia Nevskij Palace - perfectly pleasant but more business like than the decadent and historical Grand hotel Europe. It’s free though - so who am I to complain?! We attempted to scrub up well for the ballet, but needn’t have worried as most people were tourists and dressed as such and apparently the sense of occasion for the ballet is not what it used to be and people to not dress up the way they used to. I was hoping for ball gowns and diamonds, I got smart casual and relaxed. Fashion aside, the theatre was glorious. We went to the Hermitage Theatre as the other more famous ones both here and in Moscow were playing opera. It was intimate and understated but beautiful and royal at the same time. We saw Swan Lake and were totally blown away. I had seen some amateur ballet before but I have to admit it made me rather dizzy. This performance with live orchestra from the St Petersburg Philharmonic Orchestra was incredible - it was so peaceful and magical - and to be in such a unique setting as the private theatre of the Tsars made it all the more special. Of course, on the way back, I was pirouetting and leaping all over the joint - convinced with a little effort I could be the next prima dona. Hmmm - no chance.
Walking around St Petersburg at night is really lovely with its pretty canals which under the cover of darkness give off an air of mystery, as everyone’s warm breath resonates in the air under the street lamps - it totally felt like a spy film! It was good to see how the city changed from day to night and week to weekend. It certainly seemed to have a more relaxed feel to it now that everyone was off out to enjoy themselves. We had read that the Russians are great givers of gifts and they never go to a house party empty handed. This was clear by the many people walking down the street with gift bags and flowers, obviously off for a night of entertainment at a friend’s house.
On our third and final day in St Petersburg we spent the morning being typically disorganised, trying to buy our train tickets. After about an hour of waiting (the queues were short, the staff impossibly slow) we realised that we didn’t have our passports and I had to let plenty of people sneak by in line, as I waited for Stu to go get them. Of course, he took such a long time I thought he had been knocked down by a car which had spun in the ice! Just as I was about to leave the line and raise the alarm (though I hadn’t quite thought through which alarm I was going to raise and how I was going to do it) he sauntered in through the door. By now I was less worried and more annoyed - we could have half walked to Moscow in this time. I was not nearly half as angry as the attendant was mind you. There is certainly a Russian way - they make everyone (locals included) feel as if they don’t like you, have no time for you and simply wouldn’t care if you spontaneously combusted in front of them - they would probably just side step you and walk on. Actually to be fair, its kind of a cool attitude and one if I had the balls I might adopt - there is no bull s**t or time wasting, if they can’t be bothered to help they wont and they mostly don’t; if it takes time out of their day to hold a door open they won’t waste said time and if it requires any effort at all to smile unnecessarily they would rather save that energy to keep warm, or I guess cool in the summer! And showing gratitude or emotion to them is totally wasted - already we are beginning not to bother.
After getting our tickets, which Stuart was most concerned about as we have open carriage sleeper tickets and he thinks we will be pillaged and mugged (as it turns out the carriage was fine, everyone was quiet and we live to tell the tale - we even got our own sheets and pillows), we trot on down to the Hermitage for another afternoon of culture. It has been suggested to us that we should simply choose one area of the Hermitage that we wanted to concentrate on otherwise there would be just way too much to see. We headed for the Russian culture and palace interiors section and were not in the least disappointed. The rooms were as royal as they come, with gold decor and art beyond belief. The chandaliers were to die for and the building itself awe inspiring. Along the maze of corridors to the different exhibits we spied a few Cezzane’s and Piccasso’s as you do. It is an absolutely mind blowing collection of art housed within the building.
Before heading back to the hotel to collect our bags and drag them to the station we swung by the ice sculpture competition outside the Hermitage to see how the kids were getting on - very impressive! We then meandered back through a few parks and even had time to make the worst imaginable snowman and pop into Kazan Cathedral. Being that it was Sunday and the Russian Orthodox Patriarch had just died, the church was heaving with people lining up to pray and it made interesting viewing - beyond that the Cathedral was incredible in itself.
We dragged our bags to the station and managed to find the platform pretty easily and so we boarded the train for four nights of Trans Siberian adventure.
Nevsky Prospekt is like the greatest catwalk show ever, as the girls in their designer threads with their millionaire (and inevitably older) arm candy by their side, pop into boutique after boutique, picking up the latest must haves. But it is not just the rich people who doll up and look gorgeous, everyone is at it. Quite simply the style is to be glamourous and ladylike at all times and here I am looking and feeling totally out of place as I clomp about in my clodhopper snow-boots and thick down jacket. Quick - get me to a beauty salon for some nail extensions, hair extensions and whilst you’re at it, leg extensions. That way I might actually look as if I fit in at the Grand Hotel Europe - Russia’s finest and most historical hotel, where we are staying for two nights.
After our pleasant enough train journey here we had tried to look our best as we were picked up by private transfer form the station to check in. No use - we still looked well and truly like travellers! Oh well, they still let us in! First things first we ran a bath and soaked away the train journey, sipping champagne as we relaxed. Feeling particularly decadent I poured a little champers in to the bath - it was free after all and there was no way we could drink it all anyway - it was gone 2am. Champagned out and tubbed up we fell asleep on the sumptuous bed, catching up on some much needed zeds.
We woke up in the morning to the most glorious day (still no snow, whilst ironically there is plenty of the white stuff back home apparently) but the sun is out and it is perfect weather for walking around the glorious city (breaking in my not comfortable at all new shoes as we go).
Strolling down Nevsky Prospekt is perfect for people watching and right at the bottom of the long avenue, as if out of nowhere, we stumble across a striking mint green and white building, adorned with gold - the State Hermitage. Situated in a huge square, right on the river (all important buildings were designed to be entered from the water front) the Hermitage looks every inch the royal residence - palatial but not imposing. As it was such a beautiful day we thought we would continue walking in case the weather didn’t hold throughout the rest of our stay and so we crossed the river, taking in sights such as the Peter and Paul Fortress, with the cathedral where most of the Russian rulers are buried. On our way back we passed the fairy tale like Church of the Spilt Blood (neither the name or reason behind it are fairy tale like at all), St Issacs Cathedral and Kazan Cathedral.
As we walked we came across six or so wedding parties, which were stopping off for photos in front of all the great sights. All the girls wore the most meringue inspired dresses, topped with beautiful fur stolls and one couple even had their own party bus which drove around the city and every so often they would jump off, drink some vodka, have a boogie and smoke a fag or two! It seems to be the trend to drive around the city to have your photograph taken in all the important places and it was quite fun to watch.
We attempted to have dinner at a typically Russian restaurant but after I managed to pry open the heavy wooden door against the force of the wind, I boldly strode in on a private function - so quickly exited and opted for authentic Vietnamese next door, which was delicious. Full to the brim it was time for bed, back at the lovely hotel. As we walked back, the first flutter of snow began to fall - I was so excited - snow in St Petersburg - I almost wet myself!
I totally expected the whole city to be blanketed in gorgeous white snow but was disappointed when I woke up. By the time we got outside the roads had turned to black mush though off the beaten track, the parks still had inches of show carpeting their ground and all the buildings were covered in a soft sprinkle of glittering sugary snow. It was a bit of an effort to find the Russian Museum but it at least took us to the back streets of the city, where we passed a couple more weddings and some interesting local scenes.
The Russian Museum was worth the effort to find and we spent about four hours admiring some of the most extraordinary art work, all of Russian origin and about another hour getting lost in the maze of corridors of the equally lovely building Whilst many could get spend days submerged in the art, we could only last about half a day before we were all arted out - that said we would not have wanted to miss it.
For dinner we popped into the equivalent of Starbucks and ate veal and chicken bagels, before heading back to the second of our five start hotels, the Corinthia Nevskij Palace - perfectly pleasant but more business like than the decadent and historical Grand hotel Europe. It’s free though - so who am I to complain?! We attempted to scrub up well for the ballet, but needn’t have worried as most people were tourists and dressed as such and apparently the sense of occasion for the ballet is not what it used to be and people to not dress up the way they used to. I was hoping for ball gowns and diamonds, I got smart casual and relaxed. Fashion aside, the theatre was glorious. We went to the Hermitage Theatre as the other more famous ones both here and in Moscow were playing opera. It was intimate and understated but beautiful and royal at the same time. We saw Swan Lake and were totally blown away. I had seen some amateur ballet before but I have to admit it made me rather dizzy. This performance with live orchestra from the St Petersburg Philharmonic Orchestra was incredible - it was so peaceful and magical - and to be in such a unique setting as the private theatre of the Tsars made it all the more special. Of course, on the way back, I was pirouetting and leaping all over the joint - convinced with a little effort I could be the next prima dona. Hmmm - no chance.
Walking around St Petersburg at night is really lovely with its pretty canals which under the cover of darkness give off an air of mystery, as everyone’s warm breath resonates in the air under the street lamps - it totally felt like a spy film! It was good to see how the city changed from day to night and week to weekend. It certainly seemed to have a more relaxed feel to it now that everyone was off out to enjoy themselves. We had read that the Russians are great givers of gifts and they never go to a house party empty handed. This was clear by the many people walking down the street with gift bags and flowers, obviously off for a night of entertainment at a friend’s house.
On our third and final day in St Petersburg we spent the morning being typically disorganised, trying to buy our train tickets. After about an hour of waiting (the queues were short, the staff impossibly slow) we realised that we didn’t have our passports and I had to let plenty of people sneak by in line, as I waited for Stu to go get them. Of course, he took such a long time I thought he had been knocked down by a car which had spun in the ice! Just as I was about to leave the line and raise the alarm (though I hadn’t quite thought through which alarm I was going to raise and how I was going to do it) he sauntered in through the door. By now I was less worried and more annoyed - we could have half walked to Moscow in this time. I was not nearly half as angry as the attendant was mind you. There is certainly a Russian way - they make everyone (locals included) feel as if they don’t like you, have no time for you and simply wouldn’t care if you spontaneously combusted in front of them - they would probably just side step you and walk on. Actually to be fair, its kind of a cool attitude and one if I had the balls I might adopt - there is no bull s**t or time wasting, if they can’t be bothered to help they wont and they mostly don’t; if it takes time out of their day to hold a door open they won’t waste said time and if it requires any effort at all to smile unnecessarily they would rather save that energy to keep warm, or I guess cool in the summer! And showing gratitude or emotion to them is totally wasted - already we are beginning not to bother.
After getting our tickets, which Stuart was most concerned about as we have open carriage sleeper tickets and he thinks we will be pillaged and mugged (as it turns out the carriage was fine, everyone was quiet and we live to tell the tale - we even got our own sheets and pillows), we trot on down to the Hermitage for another afternoon of culture. It has been suggested to us that we should simply choose one area of the Hermitage that we wanted to concentrate on otherwise there would be just way too much to see. We headed for the Russian culture and palace interiors section and were not in the least disappointed. The rooms were as royal as they come, with gold decor and art beyond belief. The chandaliers were to die for and the building itself awe inspiring. Along the maze of corridors to the different exhibits we spied a few Cezzane’s and Piccasso’s as you do. It is an absolutely mind blowing collection of art housed within the building.
Before heading back to the hotel to collect our bags and drag them to the station we swung by the ice sculpture competition outside the Hermitage to see how the kids were getting on - very impressive! We then meandered back through a few parks and even had time to make the worst imaginable snowman and pop into Kazan Cathedral. Being that it was Sunday and the Russian Orthodox Patriarch had just died, the church was heaving with people lining up to pray and it made interesting viewing - beyond that the Cathedral was incredible in itself.
We dragged our bags to the station and managed to find the platform pretty easily and so we boarded the train for four nights of Trans Siberian adventure.
Friday, 5 December 2008
Hopping off at Helsinki...
Hopping off at Helsinki... (4th December 2008)
“Would you like beer or juice... it’s free” said the buxom, bottle blonde train attendant in her short little jewelled encrusted skirt, with long slits up the sides, from where her thunder thighs (which rather matched her thunderous personality) poured out. As she stood, chomping on her gum, staring at us blankly, some kind of magic occurred. Maybe it was the affect of the romantic glistening snow outside, or perhaps her heart melted with the over zealous heating system. No, it was actually the puppy dog eyes of the somewhat more mature train driver, who was coming towards her. Suddenly, out of nowhere, her harsh ‘am I bothered’ glare was transformed into the cutest and wryest of girlie, come get me smiles imaginable. As he inched passed the small space between her and the seats, she arched her back and her heaving bosom gave him every bit of reason to stay awake throughout the journey. Their hands touched and lingered on each other enough for one to feel uncomfortable both around them and for them, and for just those few seconds they were transfixed by each other, as if no one else was around. In that very moment, their lives had intertwined in some deep and meaningful way, much like their bodies would do so in just a few short hours....
And so it was, the most exact moment of lust I have ever beared witness to, right here on the train to St Petersburg. It was a moment of sheer comedy and so unreal that I literally had to contain myself, before I burst out laughing and had to check that I wasn’t on some dodgy train that was in fact the set of a, shall we say, grown up movie?! Meanwhile, there was a skinny ‘Matt Lord” a like in the seat in front of me (Matt's a friend from home) all very surreal, but the perfect way to leave Finland, after a not so perfect day in Helsinki, which begun like this...
We awoke rather groggy from a long night’s sleep on the ferry and I succumbed to Stuart’s wining and allowed him breakfast. After tucking into the overpriced but actually delicious cinnamon Danish pastries, we wondered around the deck, watching as we pulled into Helsinki. Even after just a few days we have grown used to starting off in new cities and countries with wet, grey and cold weather. Helsinki refused to break the trend. Trudging through town we reached the station, bought our tickets to St Petersburg and crammed our ever expanding (despite not buying anything new) bags in to the lockers, reluctantly throwing four whole euros into the locker feeder.
We thought we would spend the next four hours walking around town and maybe taking in a site or two. In fact we marched on, heads down, trying to avoid the rain. No use, it was relentless, however when we popped into this tiny little worker’s cafe, we did see our first flutter of snow, though it didn’t settle. I have informed Stuart that I will be turning right back around and coming home if there is no snow in St Petersburg. Having made our own hot chocolate in this cafe and taking our mugs back up (and paying for the pleasure!) we headed back into town. Whilst we didn’t see much of Helsinki at all I think we may have covered a few distinct areas, including the “Chelsea” of the city, which actually had a rather Boston-esque feel to it, in terms of the architecture and street layouts. Back in the centre we dipped into a shopping complex and picked up a few essentials (i.e. jam to go with the left over cracker bread from the ferry) for the train journey and grabbed ourselves some fodder - chicken and pineapple sandwich on rye for Stu and a scrumptious salad for me (gotta get those five a day in). Then we had some time to kill in the station, as we sat people watching on the only available seats next to this sh*ty little toe rag who was causing no end of grief for his family and everyone around.
Finally it was time to board the train, where we promptly fell asleep for an hour. Everything is very official (apart from aforementioned slightly dubious encounter and the fact that we are pretty certain that the female train attendants substitute their incomes by substituting male passengers’ “needs”). We had our passports checked, returned and checked again; immigration cards sorted, food handed out and if we wanted to we could have changed money, though like every other country we have entered we decided (perhaps foolishly) to wait until we arrived.
Now we wit on the train with about another four hours left before we are greeted at the station with our own private transfer to the best hotel in all of Russia, things really aren’t all that bad in a traveler’s life today....
“Would you like beer or juice... it’s free” said the buxom, bottle blonde train attendant in her short little jewelled encrusted skirt, with long slits up the sides, from where her thunder thighs (which rather matched her thunderous personality) poured out. As she stood, chomping on her gum, staring at us blankly, some kind of magic occurred. Maybe it was the affect of the romantic glistening snow outside, or perhaps her heart melted with the over zealous heating system. No, it was actually the puppy dog eyes of the somewhat more mature train driver, who was coming towards her. Suddenly, out of nowhere, her harsh ‘am I bothered’ glare was transformed into the cutest and wryest of girlie, come get me smiles imaginable. As he inched passed the small space between her and the seats, she arched her back and her heaving bosom gave him every bit of reason to stay awake throughout the journey. Their hands touched and lingered on each other enough for one to feel uncomfortable both around them and for them, and for just those few seconds they were transfixed by each other, as if no one else was around. In that very moment, their lives had intertwined in some deep and meaningful way, much like their bodies would do so in just a few short hours....
And so it was, the most exact moment of lust I have ever beared witness to, right here on the train to St Petersburg. It was a moment of sheer comedy and so unreal that I literally had to contain myself, before I burst out laughing and had to check that I wasn’t on some dodgy train that was in fact the set of a, shall we say, grown up movie?! Meanwhile, there was a skinny ‘Matt Lord” a like in the seat in front of me (Matt's a friend from home) all very surreal, but the perfect way to leave Finland, after a not so perfect day in Helsinki, which begun like this...
We awoke rather groggy from a long night’s sleep on the ferry and I succumbed to Stuart’s wining and allowed him breakfast. After tucking into the overpriced but actually delicious cinnamon Danish pastries, we wondered around the deck, watching as we pulled into Helsinki. Even after just a few days we have grown used to starting off in new cities and countries with wet, grey and cold weather. Helsinki refused to break the trend. Trudging through town we reached the station, bought our tickets to St Petersburg and crammed our ever expanding (despite not buying anything new) bags in to the lockers, reluctantly throwing four whole euros into the locker feeder.
We thought we would spend the next four hours walking around town and maybe taking in a site or two. In fact we marched on, heads down, trying to avoid the rain. No use, it was relentless, however when we popped into this tiny little worker’s cafe, we did see our first flutter of snow, though it didn’t settle. I have informed Stuart that I will be turning right back around and coming home if there is no snow in St Petersburg. Having made our own hot chocolate in this cafe and taking our mugs back up (and paying for the pleasure!) we headed back into town. Whilst we didn’t see much of Helsinki at all I think we may have covered a few distinct areas, including the “Chelsea” of the city, which actually had a rather Boston-esque feel to it, in terms of the architecture and street layouts. Back in the centre we dipped into a shopping complex and picked up a few essentials (i.e. jam to go with the left over cracker bread from the ferry) for the train journey and grabbed ourselves some fodder - chicken and pineapple sandwich on rye for Stu and a scrumptious salad for me (gotta get those five a day in). Then we had some time to kill in the station, as we sat people watching on the only available seats next to this sh*ty little toe rag who was causing no end of grief for his family and everyone around.
Finally it was time to board the train, where we promptly fell asleep for an hour. Everything is very official (apart from aforementioned slightly dubious encounter and the fact that we are pretty certain that the female train attendants substitute their incomes by substituting male passengers’ “needs”). We had our passports checked, returned and checked again; immigration cards sorted, food handed out and if we wanted to we could have changed money, though like every other country we have entered we decided (perhaps foolishly) to wait until we arrived.
Now we wit on the train with about another four hours left before we are greeted at the station with our own private transfer to the best hotel in all of Russia, things really aren’t all that bad in a traveler’s life today....
Stopping over in Stockholm...
Stopping over in Stockholm... (3rd December 2008)
The key to happiness in Stockholm at winter time is to dress right. By local standards that means skinny jeans, converse and a waterproof jacket topped off with a lovely thick scarf and for the little ones full on ski suits (oh to be them). By our standards, however, it means puffed up warm as warm down jacket, waterproofs, snood, hat, gloves, layers, warms socks and plenty of cuddles whilst walking! And walk we did. After waking up from a pleasant night’s sleep in a six berth carriage, complete with snorer (who was decent enough to wait for us to all fall asleep before he did) we hung about, as all travelers do, in the not so shabby Stockholm central train terminal. An hour later and we could finally buy our ferry ticket to Helsinki, change some money, cram all our property in a locker and head out, heads down to keep the wet and wind off our pathetically weak English foreheads! First we strutted to the old town, which was gorgeous but we were far to early to see it in full swing so instead we took an extended walk to Hammerby, a place that Stuart has been itching to get to. It’s this really well designed sustainable housing development that apparently is somewhat iconic in Stu’s world. Actually, it was rather nice, with everything a development should have, though it seemed to lack a little bit of the pizazz that we have in say, Putney Wharf which has more of a central hub to it - well that’s the wisdom that I have imparted to him, to impart to the powers that be at his company, who aim to develop something similar in Reading, of all places!
Limbs feeling somewhat weary after hours of walking, we headed back to the city on the hunt for hotdogs. We found pizza instead, with cabbage salad. Delicious. Fuelled up and ready to go again we went back to the old town to explore the little nooks and crannies of the perfectly lined backstreets, stumbling across the royal residences as we went. These were really lovely and the bearded guards seemed particularly chilled out and so not bothered about the ridiculous rituals that they had to perform. We also happened across a sweet little Christmas market, selling the typical Christmas tat you expect from them, along with sweets, candy floss and huge chocolate pigs, though there was a distinct lack of toffee apples, that we had seen in the Copenhagen markets. After popping into a gorgeous church we headed back to the newer parts of Stockholm, taking in some uber cool design shops en route, though we held back and didn’t buy. After all, our backpacks are well and truly spilling over anyway.
With nothing left in us but exhaustion we decided to get ourselves to the ferry so grabbed our bags and hit the tube, though not before helplessly doing little to solve this poor man in a mobility scooter who was well and truly jammed in the lift. If only we hadn’t let him in before us!
15 minutes later and we were hugely surprised when we reached the ferry. I was under the impression it would be some dodge old affair, which would see us scanning the life boat situation immediately. Instead it was in fact this huge cruise ship, complete with shopping promenade, acrobatic shows, live music, a choice of restaurants (though we ate stinky cheese, salami and bread with bananas in our room) and so much more. I like to see that we are well and truly slumming it on our travels! Next night’s pit stop - the Orient Express Hotel in St Petersburg - it’s a tough life!
The key to happiness in Stockholm at winter time is to dress right. By local standards that means skinny jeans, converse and a waterproof jacket topped off with a lovely thick scarf and for the little ones full on ski suits (oh to be them). By our standards, however, it means puffed up warm as warm down jacket, waterproofs, snood, hat, gloves, layers, warms socks and plenty of cuddles whilst walking! And walk we did. After waking up from a pleasant night’s sleep in a six berth carriage, complete with snorer (who was decent enough to wait for us to all fall asleep before he did) we hung about, as all travelers do, in the not so shabby Stockholm central train terminal. An hour later and we could finally buy our ferry ticket to Helsinki, change some money, cram all our property in a locker and head out, heads down to keep the wet and wind off our pathetically weak English foreheads! First we strutted to the old town, which was gorgeous but we were far to early to see it in full swing so instead we took an extended walk to Hammerby, a place that Stuart has been itching to get to. It’s this really well designed sustainable housing development that apparently is somewhat iconic in Stu’s world. Actually, it was rather nice, with everything a development should have, though it seemed to lack a little bit of the pizazz that we have in say, Putney Wharf which has more of a central hub to it - well that’s the wisdom that I have imparted to him, to impart to the powers that be at his company, who aim to develop something similar in Reading, of all places!
Limbs feeling somewhat weary after hours of walking, we headed back to the city on the hunt for hotdogs. We found pizza instead, with cabbage salad. Delicious. Fuelled up and ready to go again we went back to the old town to explore the little nooks and crannies of the perfectly lined backstreets, stumbling across the royal residences as we went. These were really lovely and the bearded guards seemed particularly chilled out and so not bothered about the ridiculous rituals that they had to perform. We also happened across a sweet little Christmas market, selling the typical Christmas tat you expect from them, along with sweets, candy floss and huge chocolate pigs, though there was a distinct lack of toffee apples, that we had seen in the Copenhagen markets. After popping into a gorgeous church we headed back to the newer parts of Stockholm, taking in some uber cool design shops en route, though we held back and didn’t buy. After all, our backpacks are well and truly spilling over anyway.
With nothing left in us but exhaustion we decided to get ourselves to the ferry so grabbed our bags and hit the tube, though not before helplessly doing little to solve this poor man in a mobility scooter who was well and truly jammed in the lift. If only we hadn’t let him in before us!
15 minutes later and we were hugely surprised when we reached the ferry. I was under the impression it would be some dodge old affair, which would see us scanning the life boat situation immediately. Instead it was in fact this huge cruise ship, complete with shopping promenade, acrobatic shows, live music, a choice of restaurants (though we ate stinky cheese, salami and bread with bananas in our room) and so much more. I like to see that we are well and truly slumming it on our travels! Next night’s pit stop - the Orient Express Hotel in St Petersburg - it’s a tough life!
Coping in Copenhagen..
Coping in Copenhagen... (2nd December 2008)
The key to happiness in Copenhagen at winter time is to dress right. By local standards that means shiny calf length boots of any variety (think gold, bronze, silver, pewter, silver etc...), a warm jacket, Santa Clause hat and perhaps, if you are feeling weak, some gloves. By our standards, however, it means puffed up warm as warm down jacket, waterproofs, snood, hat, gloves, layers, warms socks and plenty of cuddles whilst walking! And walk we did. After our first evening in Copenhagen which saw us taking in the Christmas market in the main square, including random rap-slash-pop act as well as an expensive Mexican meal (start as we don’t mean to go on) we woke up to a wet, windy and bitterly cold day. We started happily with a lovely shower before checking out of the youth hostel, going back up to get all the sheets and towels we were meant to bring down with us, leaving, coming back to retrieve the camera we forgot and heading to the internet cafe to get a few admin things done we should have sorted weeks ago. Admin done and cockles warmed by delicious hot chocolate we headed off for a full afternoon’s walking, following the red dots of our map to take in all that Copenhagen has to offer.
Our route took us through some gorgeous back streets with unique curio shops and past some of the most stunning architectural delights including, cathedrals; town halls; theatres; museums; galleries; 17th century navel houses; the royal residences and much more. We walked along Europe’s longest shopping street (one to come back to with a few more pennies in our pockets) and meandered along the gorgeous Nyhavn, a delightful area with a canal that leads to the water’s edge. The canal is dotted with stunning traditional boats and the pretty tree lined streets have beautiful pastel coloured and perfectly formed buildings from start to finish. Just before you reach Nyhavn there was the loveliest seasonal ice skating rink I have ever seen. Going around in one big circle with trees decorated with pretty icicle lights, the rink was full of kids and adults alike enjoying the fresh and breezy air. From Nyhavn we walked north of the city to the military fort, which was home to a gorgeous parkland, perfect for strolling through, if it wasn’t quite so cold and wet! Then it was on to another park, this time King’s Park, but not before stopping in a delicious organic cafe to savour a scrumptious pizza and the best hot chocolate ever. Kings Park is perfectly pretty, with it’s own castle and symmetrical boulevards and after we left it we found ourselves heading back towards the city centre on the hunt for postcards and stamps, dodging the abundance of bikes as we went. Copenhagen is truly a cyclist’s city, whatever the weather and you can even pick yourself up a specially sized baseball cap or summer hat to fit over your bike helmet.
We then thought we might like to readdress this quirky area we stumbled across yesterday, by quirky I mean edgy and by edgy I mean slightly unsafe! Well no, that’s not true, there was one somewhat dodgy area but we had liked the streets around it and Stuart had read about the cool meatpacking district that was close by so we went on the hunt for this happening hood. The district was in fact totally “us” and, even though it was dark and cold and the wrong time of day to see it at its best we got a great feel for the area and inevitably looked in the odd estate agent’s window! We found this super local little eatery where all the meat packers turned to stare as you walked in before going back to their dice games and bottles of beer. The food was hearty and cheap and as much as we had loved our day we had just got toasty and didn’t really fancy going back outside. But this was no time to be weak, in just a few days we will find ourselves in Russia and that’s when we will know what cold really means. So with all my three hoods back on we walked back to the hostel, passing lit up Tivoli Gardens for the penultimate time of the day. Back at the Y, where we find ourselves now, we get ready for our overnight train (sans beds) to Stockholm, where we look forward to tucking into a hotdog or two.
The key to happiness in Copenhagen at winter time is to dress right. By local standards that means shiny calf length boots of any variety (think gold, bronze, silver, pewter, silver etc...), a warm jacket, Santa Clause hat and perhaps, if you are feeling weak, some gloves. By our standards, however, it means puffed up warm as warm down jacket, waterproofs, snood, hat, gloves, layers, warms socks and plenty of cuddles whilst walking! And walk we did. After our first evening in Copenhagen which saw us taking in the Christmas market in the main square, including random rap-slash-pop act as well as an expensive Mexican meal (start as we don’t mean to go on) we woke up to a wet, windy and bitterly cold day. We started happily with a lovely shower before checking out of the youth hostel, going back up to get all the sheets and towels we were meant to bring down with us, leaving, coming back to retrieve the camera we forgot and heading to the internet cafe to get a few admin things done we should have sorted weeks ago. Admin done and cockles warmed by delicious hot chocolate we headed off for a full afternoon’s walking, following the red dots of our map to take in all that Copenhagen has to offer.
Our route took us through some gorgeous back streets with unique curio shops and past some of the most stunning architectural delights including, cathedrals; town halls; theatres; museums; galleries; 17th century navel houses; the royal residences and much more. We walked along Europe’s longest shopping street (one to come back to with a few more pennies in our pockets) and meandered along the gorgeous Nyhavn, a delightful area with a canal that leads to the water’s edge. The canal is dotted with stunning traditional boats and the pretty tree lined streets have beautiful pastel coloured and perfectly formed buildings from start to finish. Just before you reach Nyhavn there was the loveliest seasonal ice skating rink I have ever seen. Going around in one big circle with trees decorated with pretty icicle lights, the rink was full of kids and adults alike enjoying the fresh and breezy air. From Nyhavn we walked north of the city to the military fort, which was home to a gorgeous parkland, perfect for strolling through, if it wasn’t quite so cold and wet! Then it was on to another park, this time King’s Park, but not before stopping in a delicious organic cafe to savour a scrumptious pizza and the best hot chocolate ever. Kings Park is perfectly pretty, with it’s own castle and symmetrical boulevards and after we left it we found ourselves heading back towards the city centre on the hunt for postcards and stamps, dodging the abundance of bikes as we went. Copenhagen is truly a cyclist’s city, whatever the weather and you can even pick yourself up a specially sized baseball cap or summer hat to fit over your bike helmet.
We then thought we might like to readdress this quirky area we stumbled across yesterday, by quirky I mean edgy and by edgy I mean slightly unsafe! Well no, that’s not true, there was one somewhat dodgy area but we had liked the streets around it and Stuart had read about the cool meatpacking district that was close by so we went on the hunt for this happening hood. The district was in fact totally “us” and, even though it was dark and cold and the wrong time of day to see it at its best we got a great feel for the area and inevitably looked in the odd estate agent’s window! We found this super local little eatery where all the meat packers turned to stare as you walked in before going back to their dice games and bottles of beer. The food was hearty and cheap and as much as we had loved our day we had just got toasty and didn’t really fancy going back outside. But this was no time to be weak, in just a few days we will find ourselves in Russia and that’s when we will know what cold really means. So with all my three hoods back on we walked back to the hostel, passing lit up Tivoli Gardens for the penultimate time of the day. Back at the Y, where we find ourselves now, we get ready for our overnight train (sans beds) to Stockholm, where we look forward to tucking into a hotdog or two.
Finally...
Finally.... (30th November 2008)
Seven years ago when I went on the first of my big travels, people thought I was mad. Traveling solo from Southern India to Singapore, overland, I was met with sighs of exasperation and amazement from friends and family who thought I was nuts to up sticks and leave, straight after graduating, with just myself for company. Would I be safe? Would I enjoy being alone? Would I come back? I of course thought it was the only sane thing to do. Traveling alone meant that I had none of the hassles of worrying about staying where I wanted to stay, worrying about whether my partner could stomach the street food or if he/she wanted to sleep in or get up early. I had only myself to answer to and to be accountable to. Sheer bliss.
Seven years and a lot of talk later, I am finally heading off with my husband, Stuart. This time round, ironically, people think it is great that we are up sticks and leaving the rat race (the rat race being the careers that we both thoroughly enjoy and have worked hard to get to where we are). They think it is a great idea to travel together (together being 24 hours a day, no time off from each other for work or any other reason) and they feel that we will be perfectly safe as we can look after each other (I on the other hand am not sure how useful I will be when a big Russian Serf wrestles Stuart to the ground, after we drop his bottle of vodka) And in general, contrary to last time, I of course think it is somewhat slightly insane to go traveling together (though this might be a shock to Stu). What if he doesn’t want to stay where I do, or his stomach can’t handle the street food or what if he wants to get up early when I am tired and sleep in late when I am raring to go? This time round we absolutely have each other to answer to and each other to account for. But I think we will be ok though. It’s healthy to bicker after all. Right? Hmm, well we will see...
The start wasn’t the smoothest that either one of us could have hoped for. After a night of relaxing in sheer bliss with my mom at the glorious Berkely Hotel, I headed home, with just hours to go before our big trip and was welcomed by an empty house (Stu was scoffing a full English down the road) and cupboards full of paper work he had promised me he would go through! The flat was still a state with plenty to be packed and Stu had stuffed enough underwear in his bag to last the entire trip! My bag wouldn’t stand up for the weight it was carrying and I had a check list as long as my arm of admin things still to be done. We had promised ourselves we would be organised - we weren’t (and yes Stuart, I am admitting I wasn’t fully on top of things, but I’ll caveat that by saying I was at least far more sorted out than you!) Mom and Jim were legends, that is when mom wasn’t crying in the living room! The tears started to well and truly roll with the first of the day’s goodbyes to Rachel and Stuart. I had mom in the corner sobbing, and Rachel and I were crying and laughing at the same time!
Mom and Jim drove us to Liverpool Street, though Mr Sat-nav was having a bit of an off day. We hugged goodbye and with tears still sitting in the corners of my eyes we trudged in to the station to be met by more engineering works than we hope to encounter on our entire travels. First we had to detour by tube to Stratford (we thought our London Underground days were over) and then jump on an overly crowded train to Manningtree where a grumpy old ex naval rail attendant would tell us his life story. He reckons he’s moving to New Zealand but is still “working on the wife”. Well, he says he’s been working on her for 34 years so I reckon he’s sitting tight in little old Manningtree for a good while yet!
There were no taxis in the village (the local service did have one working that day but it was busy) and the replacement bus service we had been promised was nowhere to be seen. Fortunately we were ok and the trains to Harwich were, contrary to what we had been told, actually running and we made it to the port dead on time to board the ship. Checking in was smooth, security was lax and we were given our tickets which included, to our surprise, dinner and drinks. First things first, after getting to our room we scoffed the salad mom bought us (wev’e eaten like pigs of late so I was determined to get some fruit and veg down us) and then headed to the dining room, after a little walk outside to say goodbye to the UK! The food was actually lovely and back in the room we relaxed and watched TV - a smooth and happy transition from home owner and resident to lowly traveller.
After a perfect night’s sleep we woke to a drizzly seascape but delicious breakfast, before a non productive search for the front (or is that the port, or starboard) of the ferry. Next thing we knew we had pulled into the dock and were in the rather decent town of Esberj. Dragging our bags behind us (loving the wheels we have) we walked in to town, exchanged some money and set out for the station. With a minute to spare before the train departed we bought our tickets and jumped on (we were originally getting a later train, so this was a bonus, more time in Copenhagen - perfect).
Tucking in to the rest of Mom’s dinner we relaxed in comfort, admiring the passing scenery and marvelling at the abundance of non intrusive wind turbines. We had certainly taken our rose tinted glasses from our bags and slipped them on but even without them Denmark appears immediately great. Within minutes we were talking about how we had found our new ‘home’ and that’s three hours before Stuart even steps on to Copenhagen’s pavement for the very first time.
Seven years ago when I went on the first of my big travels, people thought I was mad. Traveling solo from Southern India to Singapore, overland, I was met with sighs of exasperation and amazement from friends and family who thought I was nuts to up sticks and leave, straight after graduating, with just myself for company. Would I be safe? Would I enjoy being alone? Would I come back? I of course thought it was the only sane thing to do. Traveling alone meant that I had none of the hassles of worrying about staying where I wanted to stay, worrying about whether my partner could stomach the street food or if he/she wanted to sleep in or get up early. I had only myself to answer to and to be accountable to. Sheer bliss.
Seven years and a lot of talk later, I am finally heading off with my husband, Stuart. This time round, ironically, people think it is great that we are up sticks and leaving the rat race (the rat race being the careers that we both thoroughly enjoy and have worked hard to get to where we are). They think it is a great idea to travel together (together being 24 hours a day, no time off from each other for work or any other reason) and they feel that we will be perfectly safe as we can look after each other (I on the other hand am not sure how useful I will be when a big Russian Serf wrestles Stuart to the ground, after we drop his bottle of vodka) And in general, contrary to last time, I of course think it is somewhat slightly insane to go traveling together (though this might be a shock to Stu). What if he doesn’t want to stay where I do, or his stomach can’t handle the street food or what if he wants to get up early when I am tired and sleep in late when I am raring to go? This time round we absolutely have each other to answer to and each other to account for. But I think we will be ok though. It’s healthy to bicker after all. Right? Hmm, well we will see...
The start wasn’t the smoothest that either one of us could have hoped for. After a night of relaxing in sheer bliss with my mom at the glorious Berkely Hotel, I headed home, with just hours to go before our big trip and was welcomed by an empty house (Stu was scoffing a full English down the road) and cupboards full of paper work he had promised me he would go through! The flat was still a state with plenty to be packed and Stu had stuffed enough underwear in his bag to last the entire trip! My bag wouldn’t stand up for the weight it was carrying and I had a check list as long as my arm of admin things still to be done. We had promised ourselves we would be organised - we weren’t (and yes Stuart, I am admitting I wasn’t fully on top of things, but I’ll caveat that by saying I was at least far more sorted out than you!) Mom and Jim were legends, that is when mom wasn’t crying in the living room! The tears started to well and truly roll with the first of the day’s goodbyes to Rachel and Stuart. I had mom in the corner sobbing, and Rachel and I were crying and laughing at the same time!
Mom and Jim drove us to Liverpool Street, though Mr Sat-nav was having a bit of an off day. We hugged goodbye and with tears still sitting in the corners of my eyes we trudged in to the station to be met by more engineering works than we hope to encounter on our entire travels. First we had to detour by tube to Stratford (we thought our London Underground days were over) and then jump on an overly crowded train to Manningtree where a grumpy old ex naval rail attendant would tell us his life story. He reckons he’s moving to New Zealand but is still “working on the wife”. Well, he says he’s been working on her for 34 years so I reckon he’s sitting tight in little old Manningtree for a good while yet!
There were no taxis in the village (the local service did have one working that day but it was busy) and the replacement bus service we had been promised was nowhere to be seen. Fortunately we were ok and the trains to Harwich were, contrary to what we had been told, actually running and we made it to the port dead on time to board the ship. Checking in was smooth, security was lax and we were given our tickets which included, to our surprise, dinner and drinks. First things first, after getting to our room we scoffed the salad mom bought us (wev’e eaten like pigs of late so I was determined to get some fruit and veg down us) and then headed to the dining room, after a little walk outside to say goodbye to the UK! The food was actually lovely and back in the room we relaxed and watched TV - a smooth and happy transition from home owner and resident to lowly traveller.
After a perfect night’s sleep we woke to a drizzly seascape but delicious breakfast, before a non productive search for the front (or is that the port, or starboard) of the ferry. Next thing we knew we had pulled into the dock and were in the rather decent town of Esberj. Dragging our bags behind us (loving the wheels we have) we walked in to town, exchanged some money and set out for the station. With a minute to spare before the train departed we bought our tickets and jumped on (we were originally getting a later train, so this was a bonus, more time in Copenhagen - perfect).
Tucking in to the rest of Mom’s dinner we relaxed in comfort, admiring the passing scenery and marvelling at the abundance of non intrusive wind turbines. We had certainly taken our rose tinted glasses from our bags and slipped them on but even without them Denmark appears immediately great. Within minutes we were talking about how we had found our new ‘home’ and that’s three hours before Stuart even steps on to Copenhagen’s pavement for the very first time.
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