Tom's diary Train Moscow-Irkutsk Days 7-11, 5152 Km

Train-trail diary_Tom

Tues 3 – Sat 7 July 2007, Days 7 - 11

Moscow – Irkutsk 5152 Km

The train pulled out of Moscow on time, and soon cleared the suburbs and the ring road. Villages with wooden houses and allotments with bizarre home-made huts, some of which seemed habitable. Our carriage (number 9) is five places ahead of the “PECTOPAH” (restaurant) car, which we went to. The waiter is a bit brusque but basically friendly, and sorted us out a couple of ham omelettes and beers, and the same to take back to the cabin for Martin who wanted to stay with Sue. The beer was cold and ok, and the average price for a main course, such as kebab with cheese and salad, was around five pounds which is not too bad. We were really excited to be going along in the “big train” and sat up for ages. The presence of a mains socket in the cabin allowed us to watch a video, and we went a long way towards finishing the superb Springbank malt whisky. Damn! Should have brought two bottles!

It started getting light again around 2.30 AM, time to go to sleep. We awoke to the sight which was to stay with us for several days – flat green fields, increasingly wet, with forests composed of silver birch trees and, on the west side of the Urals, other trees too such as spruce. East of the Urals (in Siberia) the trees are mostly birch. There are also lovely flowers in the wet fields – meadowsweet, giant hogweed, the ubiquitous willowherb, and occasionally pinks, daisies, lupins, and blue things that could be vetch (am rusty on my wild flower names).

We settled into a routine. Breakfast was taken in the cabin, with hot water from the samovar supplying tea and coffee. We had stocked up with lots of tiny cartons of UHT milk (MOΛOKO) for the tea, coffee, and cereal. We finished the last of the lovely Swiss muesli from Bristol and then started the fruit’n’bran from the millionaires’ supermarket in Moscow. Fresh fruit came initially from the millionaire peaches, and then from the wares sold on platforms. Every time the train stops we can get off to walk around. The larger stations, such as Omsk, have booths selling beer, cigarettes, water, and other useful but unexciting stuff. However, the smaller stops which have no stalls allow women to come and sell whatever they want, and that is where you can get delicious meat patties, boiled potatoes, roast chicken, apples, biscuits, chocolate, ice-cream, smoked cheese (platted from strands)… The prices vary but tend to be cheaper than the restaurant wagon.

The fellow travellers in our carriage are all western. An Australian couple (film-makers), a young lad called James who wants to be a stockbroker, two women from Geneva… we meet them in the corridor, and also in the restaurant car. Most are travelling through to Ulan Bator or Beijing, but a few, such as a wonderfully ebullient Italian now domiciled in East London, are getting off at Irkutsk as well in order to visit Lake Baikal.

I love the train. The days merge into a relaxed routine. I am doing much less than I thought I would. A bit of Teach Yourself Russian, some light reading, a bit of diary writing, and essentially looking at the view out of the window – flat wetlands, occasional wooden villages with wells in the gardens, factories, wagons with crude oil, little stations whose names are often too long for me to read in the time it takes for the train to rush past. Ponds with kids swimming in them. Level crossings with ramps that prevent cars driving past the barriers.

We usually eat lunch from the Moscow provisions and the instant soups from Waitrose, and dinner in the restaurant. Their Borshch is good, with plentiful lumps of chicken at the bottom. We watch videos at night. The moon shines in through the window. It’s great to have a shower, albeit cold, and a basin to wash ourselves and our clothes. The loos are OK, especially the one in the next carriage up (number 8) which flushes properly and therefore does not smell. Loo paper is provided. Our tablecloth in the cabin has been changed. The more you ask, the more you get. The staff are very attentive at stations, and wave us back onto the train in good time.

It’s the kind of journey which you settle into, and wish it would never end. A little moving world that occasionally stops and connects, briefly, to the real one which, for the rest of the time, only exists as a moving tableau outside the window. The railway paraphernalia are fun, such as the gas cylinders and pipes which are used to heat the points in winter so they don’t freeze up. The Bryn Thomas book is a very good guide to the world outside and within.

Poor Sue has constant back pain, and both that and the effects of the painkillers are having a bad effect on her. She has gone quiet and has lost appetite. Martin is concerned about her, and Carol and I are concerned about both of them. The beds are hard, and there are many jolts at night which will bother someone who is already in discomfort. We may try to buy an inflatable mattress in Beijing. Fingers crossed for Sue.