Leaving the Istanbul hotel at 7.00 am on Sunday, the usually crowded streets were almost deserted. I made my way up the steep hill to the metro station and caught the tram, which in contrast to the streets was packed. A funicular railway was my next mode of transport, followed by the airport bus. So far so good. But what awaited me at the airport?
I am pleased to report that I was allowed out of Turkey, but only after the man checking my passport made a phone call. An extra check to get in the country and an extra check to get out! Clearly Robert Smith is a man to keep a close eye on.
I got through the baggage security check without even the threat of confiscation, but not entirely unscathed: I was asked to open my backpack and had to watch as it was unpacked. My investigator seemed very interested in both my ultraviolet water sterilising Steripen and my plastic egg shaped detergent container. Finally satisfied that neither was a threat, he allowed me to repack. Now, those of you who have read the Preparations page will know that I have a lot of items stuffed into my little bag. If I pack it very carefully I can just fit it into the overhead lockers on planes; any sloppy packing and it bulges horribly. So it took some time to reorganise and repack properly.
In need of refreshment I headed for Starbucks with thoughts of a cappuccino and Danish pastry on my mind. Coffee was the usual international offering but sadly, if the Vikings ever got this far south they clearly forgot to bring their confectionery. I opted instead for an ‘envelope’ pastry; it was aptly named, the stodgy pastry tasting for all the world like mashed up brown envelopes. Yum yum.
Later, as the plane approached Moscow, the farmland below could have been England: small towns and villages between fields of green and gold interspersed with woodland; what gave it away as we flew lower were the large unfenced and unhedged fields.
After a thorough examination of my passport I was allowed onto Russian soil, where I watched prosperous looking small towns of detached houses from the bus. Actually I should have taken the train, but, for reasons that I have not yet been able to adequately explain even to myself, I thought my destination was in another part of Moscow. Imagine my surprise when I arrived at my hotel district – and it wasn’t. Whoops! Luckily all turned out well though thanks to the Moscow metro system, which speedily carried me to the right place.
My first evening in Moscow passed pleasantly. I replenished my previously confiscated supply of insect repellent and nail scissors, and bought a Moscow map; I find Google maps on my phone difficult for planning, if ok for navigating when I know where I am going.
Sitting at the restaurant table waiting for my chicken Kiev I was reassured to read on my place mat that not only did they provide ‘Russian dishes in the best tradition’, but they also promised to ‘serve up every customer in a civilized manner’. I would not want to be served up any other way.
Moscow was somewhere I had to go to catch the trans-Siberian railway; Red Square might be interesting, but beyond that my expectations were pretty low. I realised things had moved on since the days of Stalin and Brezhnev, but I imagined Moscow to be rather drab and austere. How wrong can you be? Moscow is a delightful city to visit, especially on a beautiful late spring day. Although there are lots of people and traffic on the wide streets, it all seems so relaxed and spacious; I guess when you have the largest country in the world you can afford to spread out a bit. The capital certainly seems to have shaken off the Soviet mould.
Perhaps the best example of this is found just a stones throw from Red Square on the banks of the Moskva River. The site was occupied from the 1960’s until 2006 by Europe’s largest hotel, the Rossiya, a monolithic slab of a building. Now it is home to the marvellous Zaryadye Park, quite different to anything I have come across before. Innovative and graceful modern architecture is landscaped into areas of trees, grass and flowers with a little amphitheatre and a viewing platform that defies gravity as it extends over the river. It was a real pleasure to stroll around, the experience enhanced by music playing from speakers on poles – a gentle orchestral version of ‘If you’re going to San Francisco’ of all things!
Beyond the park is Saint Basil’s Cathedral. Wow! What crazy stuff was the holy man on when he dreamt this up? The profusion of spires, domes and you name it shapes is marvellously bonkers. I loved it – close up it was even more remarkable than I imagined from pictures; an incredible fairy story made real. Actually it’s proper name is The Cathedral of Vasily the Blessed, but officially it is known as The Cathedral of the Intercession of the Most Holy Theotokos on the Moat. Whew! Take your pick. And of course Basil did not build it; it was erected on the orders of Ivan the Terrible because he was so chuffed about capturing Kazan and Astrakhan. Good stuff Ivan.
I had lunch in an upmarket and, by Moscow standards, expensive restaurant called Bosco on the edge of Red Square, eating the best penne arrabbiata I have tasted anywhere.
Red Square was as impressive as I expected it to be, flanked by St. Basil’s Cathedral, the wonderful GUM department store / shopping mall and the imposing Kremlin walls. In pride of place half way down one side is the Lenin mausoleum, final resting resting place of the man whose revolution, many outside observers might say, ushered in 70 years of terror, famines and gulags. However, I guess there are still older Russians, and maybe some younger ones too, who hanker after the ‘good old days’.
What I did not realise was that you can go inside the Kremlin; it is not just the official residence of the president of the Russian Federation, but a whole fortified complex containing five palaces and four cathedrals amongst more modern buildings; it is huge, and well worth the visit. The cathedrals’ golden domes shine brightly in the sunshine, tempting one inside, where there are two surprises: firstly, how small the interiors are, and secondly how beautiful they are. Unfortunately no photos are allowed inside.
I rounded off my day with a late afternoon cruise on the river. On this occasion there was no dinner buffet, no entertainment and not even a taxi driver in sight. Pretty tame stuff you are thinking, but a pleasant way to rest my legs and take in some more of Moscow’s sights before I set off on the Trans-Siberian railway the next morning. I would happily visit again one day – if only the visa was not such a pain!
Mr Smith takes a train ride, a long train ride
I was excited: this was the start of the famous railway that 42 years ago I had thought to travel in the other direction before plans changed; it was unfinished business.
After confirming at the ticket office that I was indeed at the right station at the right time I settled down to a non too delicious cafe lunch and awaited the announcement of my train. Finally it was time to board. I found my coach and entered the door only to be turned straight out again by the aggrieved lady attendant. I had to wait, but after only another couple of minutes she opened the door and, after a careful check of my ticket and passport I was allowed to board and find my four berth second class compartment. I was soon joined by a young Russian man who it turned out was also travelling to Irkutsk and who spoke passable English – and by no one else; we had the compartment to ourselves. He introduced himself as Dmitrii and explained that he was a bookkeeper for the railway who was enjoying a free trip back to his home after visiting family in St. Petersburg.
I gazed eagerly out of the window as the train began its four day journey to Irkutsk, but it did not take long to realise that scenery wise this leg of the journey at least was not going to be stunning.
Now, I like trees and forests especially, but it has to be said that one birch tree does look much like another, especially when that is all you see for hour after hour. The landscape was flat and featureless apart from the occasional village of little wooden houses. Large towns are few and far between on this railway, although there were a couple that warranted a stop long enough to get out and stretch legs on the platform. I turned to reading the Lonely Planet Trans-Siberian guide on my Kindle, trying to find sights to watch out for. There are, apparently, kilometre markers along the track and the guide refers to those. Unfortunately, I could not spot the markers and I wasn’t even sure which of the various routes my train was taking.
There is in fact a whole network of routes across Russia that the Trans-Siberian train can take, not just one, and there is not just one train but many different trains that travellers can take. With the exception of one or two upmarket and very expensive tourist trains, they are just ordinary trains used by everyday people to travel all or part of the route. Whichever route I was on, it was clear that the term ‘express’ referred more to the restricted number of stops than to the rate of progress; this is not a high speed railway, the train rarely exceeding 50 mph in my estimation, and not infrequently slowing for reasons unknown.
Rather bizarrely, tickets for a four day journey may include just one meal; mine did and I chose the tasty sounding beef cutlet for dinner on day one. What turned up was a roll and some salami; I was somewhat alarmed until my room mate and guide Dmitry explained this was just the first course. I enjoyed it, which was just as well because the main dish when it arrived was not what I expected at all. The ‘cutlet’ was a sort of meat ball but they seemed to have forgotten to put the meat in. It sat in a large sea of buckwheat. Well, you have to be tough when you are travelling; I had a good stab at it and managed considerably more than I had of my Ryanair meal two weeks ago.
Considering I was on a train that travelled all night I slept fairly well, despite the carriage having a tendency when the track was not so smooth to set up a roll that sent the body violently wobbling from end to end like a jelly.
At some point on day 2 we crossed the Urals. Now, my expectations had been clearly set by repeated viewings of Dr. Zhivago, where a tunnel takes him through the mountains and out into a new and sunny world. It wasn’t quite like that. The Urals at this point are less mountains and more gentle rolling hills, a welcome change of scenery to be sure but not exactly spectacular. Another difference on a more positive note, is that the rolling stock has definitely improved since Zhivago’s days; luxury it is not, cramped it is, but relatively comfortable. Oblution facilities are thankfully better too, although two tiny lavatories to meet the needs of 36 passengers on a four day journey is stretching it a bit.
Lunch was another traditional Russian dish, Borscht, and very good it was too, a soup with beets, chicken, cabbages, potatoes, onions and carrots, it went down a treat. By this time Dmitrii and I had well established and orderly domestic arrangements, the spare bunks giving us plenty of room, comparatively speaking. That was about to change.
In the afternoon I took a stroll when we stopped at the regional centre of Perm. I returned from the platform to find we had a third person in our compartment. He laid out on his bunk and peacefully slept most of the 6 hours to Ekaterinburg. He left the train here and was replaced by two others, an 81 year old German man, Kurt, and a Russian lady, Yelena, who it turned out was the group leader for his group of 16 Germans travelling to Vladivostok. Chaos then reigned for two hours as beds and luggage were organised, or not, with the group leader busy group leading as well. With a little help from Dmitry and me Kurt was finally ready for bed and we settled down to sleep, only to be awoken by Yelena returning from leading duties to organise her bedding. I could not get to sleep for a long time after that, and then was awoken early the next morning (day 3) by a seemingly never ending jelly wobbling session. Ah well, all part of the Trans-Siberian experience. And no extra charge.
Our new companions turned out to be very affable and pleasant people. I was relieved to be sharing a compartment with them rather than, well, who knows what characters? I hope they felt the same way.
The extended jelly wobbling was, I think, caused by the terrain we were now crossing. If most of days 1 and 2 had been flat, then day 3 was even flatter – and much of it was wet or marshy, possibly causing the track problems. Fortunately, it was much less noticeable sitting up. Mile after mile after mile went by with nothing but grass and trees in sight, not even any grazing animals except for one or two cows near the occasional village. And then, suddenly, there would be a large city. That day we stopped at Omsk and Novosibirsk, both islands of high rise housing in a sea of emptiness. And there were a couple of major rivers, the Ob for one, draining this vast landscape.
Eventually, in the evening, the landscape changed to low hills and we settled for the night; or, at least, we would have done if Kurt had not come back from the restaurant car at midnight after one or two too many. He went to bed and I was just nodding off when there was a blundering around in the blackness and someone half fell on top of me. I turned on the light and there was Kurt, sitting on his bunk looking completely disoriented. He got his bearings and headed down the corridor for what was to be his first of five noisy toilet visits that night. There was nothing to be done but smile through it; as I said, all part of the experience.
Day 4 passed much like days 1, 2 and 3: watching empty, if rather more undulating, landscapes through the (very grubby) windows; chatting with my fellow travellers; eating, drinking tea made with hot water from the carriage samovar, reading my Trans-Siberian Guide and resting. Once or twice we stopped for long enough to get off and stroll the platforms; at Krasnoyarsk I even ventured outside the station with a slight frisson of excitement – and fingers crossed that the police on duty would let me back in the station without the ticket that the attendant had taken on day 1. I am sure it is a lovely city, but I did not really want to be stranded in Siberia while my luggage travelled on without me.
Trying to sleep on night 4 did not get any easier. Yelena, a very caring lady who ensured I got back on the train in time after stops, was getting messages on her phone sorting out an issue for a member of her group. I finally dropped off about 1.00 am, before being woken a couple of hours later by cramp in my leg and again at 5.30 am by the train attendant making sure we were all awake and ready in time for our exit at Irkutsk at 06.22. After 82+ hours of travelling the train was spot on time!
I had expected the 4 day railway journey to be an experience that I would only want to do once. It was. The highlight was certainly not the landscape, which was, to be frank, monotonous. Nor was it the train food, which was sustaining and (mostly) moderately enjoyable rather than haute cuisine. Nor was it the cities we passed through, which were mostly bland high rise blocks – what we could see from the train at any rate. No, the highlight was sharing the experience with fellow travellers, talking with Dmitrii and Yelena and Kurt and joking about Brexit with the friendly Germans.
A walk in the Woods
Dmitrii had kindly arranged for a friend to pick us up from the railway station and take me to the bus station, where I caught the minibus to Listvyanka, an hour away. The hotel initially told me to wait in reception until 3.00pm, but took pity after I told them I had just spent four days on a train, and let me have the room early. Actually, thinking about it, it may not have been pity but the smell that persuaded them! I certainly appreciated having a shave and a shower, and, after sharing a room the size of a bathroom for four days, just having some space and privacy again was a relief.
Listvyanka has an enviable position on the shores of Lake Baikal, the world’s largest freshwater lake with a 1250 miles coastline and 20% of the world’s unfrozen fresh water. In the far distance across the lake snow capped peaks float above the water, lower slopes hidden in a haze. It is strikingly beautiful.
For the first time in five nights I did get plenty of sleep – in the end. Saturday night seems to be party night for weekending Russians; I was awoken at 11.30pm by music from somewhere, and then by the couple next door first conversing and then, well, coupling. I read my Agatha Christie novel until the excitement died down.
After a good breakfast on Sunday morning – a personal mini buffet including three heart shaped fried eggs (was the waitress trying to tell me something?) – I set off for a hike on the Great Baikal Trail. This ambitious project aims to create a trail right around the lake; I don’t think it is finished yet, but I did not expect to get quite that far in one day in any case. Now, I had been told the previous day at the Information Centre that to enter the national park I would need to pay a fee and be interviewed by the ranger to check I was suitable. They wrote the name of the place to go in Russian and English and told me to look for a wooden building seven minutes walk away. Twenty fruitless minutes later I decided I must have missed it and turned back; well, if it was there I missed it again. I have my doubts because they also told me the trail started in the wrong place, and they had no maps. They did manage to recommend a good place to eat and sell me a bus ticket to get back to Irkutsk on Tuesday, so my visit was not completely useless. The upshot was that as I started my walk I was not sure how far I would get before being challenged and possibly sent back. I passed a kiosk at the entrance to the trail, complete with a large sign in Russian and English saying I needed permission. I carried on and there was no tap on the shoulder or shout behind me. Sorry, park service; I did try, really I did, but you don’t make it easy.
At the end of a one hour climb through mainly silver beech woodland I was rewarded with views over the lake through the trees, and a further one hour descent took me down to a little picnic area. From there I did explore the ‘Dangerous Trail’ for a few hundred yards before deciding that if I slipped down the cliff into the lake no one was going to look for me, and that was not how I wanted to end my days, so I headed back the way I had come. In total the walk was about 2550 feet up and down and my knees were feeling it on the steeper parts of the second descent; they had better toughen up before the sacred mountain in China and Mt Fuji in Japan!
Listvyanka has an interesting little market. Half of it is dedicated to the local delicacy, the omul, a fish unique to Lake Baikal that is gutted and smoked and sold from people’s gates as well as the market. Not being a fish eater, I had no trouble passing up on those stalls, but did linger to look at the very nice woollen clothes, some made from cashmere and others from Mongolian yak hair; they honestly looked very high quality. Other tourists were buying up attractive pendants of polished local stone, or carvings of Baikal marble in the shape of a wolf or even Stalin!
I liked Listvyanka. But it could be so much better. Russians, please do not be offended, I realise this is not Europe, you have different standards and customs, and long very cold winters with late springs. But it hardly appears that Listvyanka is making much effort to win the Best Kept Small Town in Siberia prize or the Baikal in Bloom competition. In short, the citizens appear to lack a sense of civic pride. Both private properties and public spaces are poorly maintained, rubbish is dumped in open spaces and little attempt is made to smarten and beautify the town. Clearly some money is arriving, as evidenced by the sprinkling of upmarket modern dwellings, but that money does not seem to find its way to the local populace, who mostly appear to drive old bangers and to live in run down little buildings or ugly old concrete flats; or to the local council, who leave roads unrepaired. So much more could be made of the lake front: restrict traffic and parking (perhaps a park and ride scheme) and create a beautiful promenade. Create more trails in the forest with views of the lake and remove rules about access to the local forests; goodness knows you have plenty of them. Perhaps charge a small tourist tax (say, 100 roubles per night) and create a fund to maintain the town properly, build new facilities and promote the place. It could be wonderful.
Travelling in Russia Lesson 1: How to pay for the bus – twice
I carefully checked my personal breakfast buffet on day 2 at Listvyanka to see whether there were any more affectionate messages coded in the eggs, but, alas, I just got a square omelette. Clearly, my lack of response to the heart shaped fried eggs the previous morning had caused offence and I was now persona non grata. It was time to go.
I had my ticket for the 13.00 Irkutsk bus, carefully bought in advance from the tourist information office. It arrived looking exactly like the minibus I had taken previously, and I checked with the driver that he was going to Irkutsk. What could go wrong?
I was glad I boarded early because the bus left promptly at 12.50. It is quirk of the local buses that you pay on exit if you have not already bought a ticket from a kiosk. Or, in my case, even if you have. On getting off I innocently handed the driver my ticket, whereupon he exploded into violent exclamations and arm waving. While I did not understand a single word, the gist of his message was quite clear: my ticket was not valid on his bus and I better pay up or else. I considered my options carefully (the fare was nearly £2.00 so not to be taken lightly) and immediately offered him money. He took it and ushered me off his bus with disgust.
There must be a moral or lesson from this story, but damned if I know what it is.
Rob's Roads 