Aurora in Norway

Part 4 - Russia

magnificent_glow — Mon, 19 May 2014 20:35:00 GMT

Out the window of the trans-Siberian buildings and towns begin to cluster tighter together and train staff begin to buzz as if coming out of hibernation. the two headed eagle on the Russian coat of arms we are told later by a guide looks to the east and to the west, and after five days aboard the train we are at our destination – gateway between Asia and Europe.

The suburbs of Moscow surround as we get closer to the centre but there is some huffing and puffing by train staff over a coffee stain on one of our sheets. Language barriers prevent us from being able to explain that surely the sheets will be washed anyway but we understand them when they say “fine”. We wash the sheet with a bar of soap in a tin pail bucket, say goodbye to our little cabin and disembark.

Our guide, Marina, meets us on the platform and leads us through an unremarkable train station into a palatial subway station. Chandeliers hang from the ceiling and gilded colonnades reach down to the floor with impressive grandeur – far away from any subway station I have ever seen, or train station or palace.

I had many expectations about Russia – a place where the people would be cold and bereft, unwelcoming – a century of political upheaval. After only a few hours, expectations are being smashed. They are a serious people but altogether welcoming and beautiful, strangers going out of their way to lead us to supermarkets and making sure it has everything we would want.

But they are serious; in red square, an old man in an old jacket stares in deep contemplation into the sky, hands clasped behind his back and I think what a pleasure it would be just to listen to what he has to say. We take our photos of the beautiful cathedral of St Basil – the colourful one on all the postcards and it is just as beautiful, before going to an unassuming bar. We order a few snacks and drinks and without much ado our guide asks “would we be able to marry a woman who earns than us”. I’m only visiting and know what I see is not always the whole picture but I like to think that this is one of many lunch time conversations going on in Russia at the moment, substantial and far removed from the daily lives of celebrity.

The next day we return to red square and enter the walls of the Kremlin which translates to the fortress. I know the word for Russia or Russian in Australian sign language is also a clenched fist. Serious. The Kremlin was the old home of the tsars and now holds the presidential residence and within its red walls are five palaces and four cathedrals, as well as so much history.

Located close to red square though is another chapter in Russian history – the gulag museum. The gulag, which administered forced labour camps around Russia is where millions where sent for petty crimes or as political prisoners.

In the museum – seemingly rare original photos are displayed along side doctored ones made publicly available. Always Joseph Stalin is displayed in a positive light while many others have had faces and bodies completely removed, from photos and from history. There are quotes attributed to Stalin,’Death solves all problems, no man no problem’. It is chilling to think also that KGB operatives were to assume a certain number of spies and thus had a quota they had to meet of spies caught – either they were found or created out of the regular population and then promptly sent away.

We leave.

Our guide, Marina, later tells us that Moscow is changing. I think back to Beijing and the scale of changes that are happening there. “Yes’ Marina continues “The Moscow of ten years ago is very different to what you see here and in ten years from now it will be different again.

For history buffs and lovers of good conversation, it is a must go travel destination.

Change seems to be a matter of course for Russia and it is currently in an uneasy political situation with the Ukraine and as a result several other nations around the world including the united states and the Australian department of foreign affairs recommends a high degree of caution if you are going.

Part 3 - 'Perfect nothing' on the trans siberian

magnificent_glow — Mon, 19 May 2014 20:24:00 GMT

From Beijing to Moscow via Mongolia. With out much ado, our party boards the train in Beijing and for nine days we snake our way on to the next horizon.

The cabins are clean and straight forward – four bunks, the top two fold up against the wall and the bottom two fold up for the storage of backpacks and luggage, there are hooks on the walls for smaller bags and one small table with enough room for one person to use - so they are comfortable and straightforward and even spacious - until four of us unpack all of our things. If you don’t want to disturb the person on the bottom bunk every time you need something, now is a good time to organise yourself; sort what you would need for two days into your day pack - toothbrushes and deodorant if your into that sort of thing, books, notepads, and a t-shirt. This trip sees us disembark in 24 hours time in Ulan Bator, so it’s a dry run for the second part of the journey from Mongolia’s Capital Ulan Bator to Moscow, Russia. A Journey where, for five days, these cabins will be home.

I leave the cabin and go for a walk. As I walk through the corridors, the berths reveal men and women travelling with boxes. Our neighbour tells us most likely goods being shipped for sale in Russia and Mongolia, jeans, t-shirts. He is from Kenya, he works in china and travels to see his family in Mongolia – he tells us there are many who make this train journey under similar circumstances.

Finally I reach the dining cart- The pink upholstery is welcoming and the windows let the light in. I order black coffee and open my book

Adam, my travel buddy, slides in across from me. “Perfect Nothing” he says.

“Yeah” I say as I put the book down and pan across to look out the window. The train will go on in a straight line horizon to horizon, scenes will come and I begin understand the charm and appeal of long haul train journeys – the history, the engineering, the tales, the romance, the scenery. Perfect nothing.

Ulan Bator – the capital of Mongolia has a population of a little more than a million and the capital seems to be analogous to the rest of the country; spaces as wide and empty as the Mongolian countryside. The streets in the centre of the city are wide, as are the plazas, and it smacks of the communist grandeur which we saw typified in many parts of Beijing.

Mongolia at one point was the power house of the world thanks in large part to Genghis Khan. He and his descendents in a short time came to rule Asia and were spreading into Europe and were responsible for the introduction of one of the earliest systems of mail. The Silk Road also played an important part in the history of trade in Mongolia as well as the rest of Asia and Europe.

We spend some time in the countryside a few hours drive away from Ulan Bator in non-traditional traditional Ger. These ones are permanent replicas of the traditional nomadic home and allows, travellers the chance to get a taste of the real thing. We go off and meet a family who still lives the nomadic life. They say they may stay in this spot for a couple months more before they pack their things and move on. We are offered lunch and told these families can produce up to 150 different dairy products so lunch is various unsalted cheeses.

Back in Ulan Bator we go to a restaurant for Mongolian barbeque. There are trays of marinated meats. The customer is free to fill a plate and take it over to the chefs who cook up a storm with what look like swords, flipping them and smacking them in an elaborate display against the large round cook top.

The morning that we are due to reboard the Tran-Siberian for a train journey measured in kilometres by the thousands, I get coffee from a little French café. In my journal from the time I haven’t written only one line “maybe the best coffee I’ve ever had” and even now that title still stands.

The train again; for five days it goes on and on, past the Mongolian hills, past lake Baikal – record holder of the titles most voluminous and deepest in the world with at 1600 meters – it remains a fixture for hours out of the window, past deep forests and past villages where a blue tear drop roof of a Russian orthodox church will often rise above the rest of the buildings.

The Russian train doesn’t seem to be as welcoming as its chinese-mongolian counterpart. The wait staff in the dining cart are happy to see us as we walk in and are happy to shoe us out when we tell them we are not ordering. We leave and don’t go back. Our four bunk cabin is home for five days. Each car on the train has a dispenser of boiling water which melts our plastic bottles. I pour water into trans-Siberian branded coffee cup and let it cool down before drinking. I have with me 10 packs of various flavoured two minute noodles for breakfast and dinner each day, some chocolate bars to snack on and many man many sachets of instant coffee which I drink out of the same trans Siberian branded coffee cups. The train stops maybe twice a day though I’m not sure – the hours blend together and we travel through the equivalent of three time zones. I wake at one point and my mind cannot seem to resolve how the body feels, with how long I feel I slept with how dark it still is outside. We get off to stretch our legs and resupply at the small villages and find that they sell four litre bottles of beer – and it’s cheaper than water and we spend one day playing our own version of Russian roulette with a bottle of vodka.

The kilometres pass by and the seven of us are able to learn more about each other, two Norwegians, two Australians and three Brits, who have collectively been on the road for three and a half years. No doubt, travelling by plane always offers a wonderful sense of anticipation, but a long train journey offers the same…over five days, because it’s the journey not the destination right.

Part 2 - Weclome to Beijing

magnificent_glow — Mon, 19 May 2014 20:04:00 GMT

We are in the sprawling capital of the Peoples Republic, Beijing, as part two of four in a horse shoe adventure from Nepal now to China and around through to Mongolia and into Russia.

We clear customs and walk out into the terminal. We blew our budget months earlier and are low on ‘cash dollars’ so we forgo the airport hotel transfers and catch a bus; just a regular old city bus. We board and are assured it’s the correct one to get us to the centre of town and our hotel, we are in the city but not the centre, it looks like a regular suburb when the bus stops, the driver calls back and everyone turns and looks at us. We aren’t sure what anyone has said but it looks like this is our stop. but where are we.?

We never really find out.

There is a hotel a few blocks away and we ask the concierge where we are and he thinks we are trying to check in. On the street again, a tuk tuk driver stops and nods his head that he can take us to our hotel, scribbles a price on a scrap of paper, drives us around the block twice and then tries to get an exorbitant amount out of us. We heard a story that a traveller took a complaint over a taxi driver price gouging to a passing police officer. The officer promptly shot the driver.

It was a story that stuns and we felt the pressure to treat our situation with the appropriate level of gravitas. We argue and argue in the back alley the driver has driven us down before we remember the price he scribbled down – we show him this and he quiets down, for a second, we pay him a fraction of the original amount and walk away. Two hours in Beijing and we are lost. After another half hour of walking we find a subway station, match up the hanzi – the Chinese characters on the map with our printed page and through the now desperately well appreciated assistance of a polite local who calls our hotel for directions, we check in.

“Welcome to Beijing”

We have blisters on our feet from Nepal, so a hotel is a welcome change from hostels and guesthouses. We watch movies and rest our feet and eat McDonalds. We knew that China was opening up its borders to western franchisees and brands so we had expected a Mcdonalds, what we hadn’t expected was three…in one block.

After a couple more recovery days we start to explore Beijing and in front of the catholic St josephs church there is a crowd of people dancing. We are told they come here to exercise and in front of restaurants along the street peoples are doing the same moves and it is a wonderfully communal event. At the hotel I Skype home for the first time in months from the corridor because the wi-fi doesn’t reach into the room. Later I walk back in and my travel buddy tells me I missed it.

“Missed what?”

“There was a courtyard of kids practicing Karate. Like in the movies”.

When we meet up with our team who will join us on the Trans-Siberian express we find what we call meat street, an avenue not far from the church with vendors selling everything. Cat, Dog, snake, spider, ostrich, silkworm, starfish and most of the rest of the animal kingdom. We explore The Great Wall of China and great is an understatement. It rolls over peaks and into valleys and finds the line of best fit over them but seems to be rising over this hill and that hill and that hill and that hill impossibly and trying to trace it with a finger I seem to get lost. It is immense and rightly so included as one of the Seven Wonders of the World.

There are two Norwegians in our company, they rode bicycles from Vietnam to Beijing over three months but arrived early and have had time to explore Beijing. They take us to Beijing’s only micro brew – established by a couple of American ex-pats and is a hub for foreigners - journalists on assignment and more than anything men and women in Beijing on business. The new great economy in motion.

The night goes on a while longer through an unexpectedly buzzing night life and in the morning we board next adventure – the Trans Siberian express.

Part 1 - Under Giants

magnificent_glow — Mon, 19 May 2014 19:46:00 GMT

Nepal has a population of 26 million, the currency is the Nepalese rupee, and the capital is Kathmandu and it is where we start a journey of which takes us in a horse shoe shaped adventure that starts in the Nepalese capital and goes around to china, through Mongolia and into Russia.

We meet our company in the lobby of the hotel – Australians from up and down the east cost and a New Zealander and together we will get to base camp and see the top of the world. Our guide, Devon, gives us the run down. Sherpas will carry our gear, the porters will guide us and he, Devon, will be our leader. From the way he talks and jokes – he knows mountains. They are his life and the mountains the heart of his country.

From Kathmandu our company gets on a plane – a twin propeller job that buffets in the wind and it flies us to Lukla; often regarded as one of the most dangerous airports in the world. After 15mins we see through the grey atmosphere into the distance; mountains. Snow capped masses of rock imposing into the large sky.

Inside the noisy cabin, we joke to ease the tension as we get closer. I see through the front windscreen of the plane, a first for me and I’m sitting all the way at the back, just how short the runway is. It’s at an angle so that planes coming in stop sooner and planes going out speed up quicker. We are getting closer and closer and the wheels touch down and the brakes come on and when the roughness of the landing eases and it feels like the pilot is in control of the plane again we all yell and cheer. We made it and have breakfast at 2,800 metres.

Along the trail, Devons earlier briefing makes sense now – there is a right of way we need to adhere to. The yaks first, for your safety; then the Sherpa’s out of respect and then us. We step to the side as yaks pass by, large sharp horns sway left to right as they pass us. Behind the yaks, Sherpa’s and my eyes go wide – there is a man carrying a section of tree as large and wide as he is and it is suspended from a strap that goes around his head. We joke that in the distance there is another man carrying a fridge in a large cardboard box on his back. He gets closer and the large box on his back reveals itself to say this side up. It is a fridge. While we are stopped I chat with one of our Sherpa’s and have a go at carrying one of the large packs of gear ,strapping it to my own head and it feels like my neck is being crushed down to my feet. Our guide explains Sherpas are paid by lots of 12 kg - up to 124 kilos.

Over the first two days of hiking we pass over swaying bridges where below a river runs glacier white, carving its story of a million years. At our first over night rest spot I dip my feet in. It’s freezing cold and rushing past ceaselessly on.

On the afternoon of the second day we reach Namche Bazaar at 3,440 metres where we will have our first acclimatisation day. Devon explains – we will need these days to prevent altitude sickness. When we reach a designated height we will go up higher – enjoy the views – often late in the afternoon after an already long day and then come back down to sleep so our bodies can adjust. The acclimatisation for Namche takes us 400 metres higher to come back down again. Numbers like this may be hard to visualise but in my journal for that day, for our first sighting of Everest, of Sagamartha as the Nepalese call it, the title says it all “Under Giants”.

On the fifth day, I remember seeing our first set of proper looking mountaineers.

There are three of them, they are sunburnt or frost bitten or both. They are speaking a Slavic language and amongst ourselves we try to figure out where they are from. We finally ask and they say the Czech Republic and they tell us they tried to conquer Lhotse – an 8300 metre peak. “But that was where there was five of us” they say. One will never return, the other broke his leg but was rescued. They raise their beers in a toast.

The dangers of summiting these mountains becomes even more clear when we are told 20 people were blown off the mountain – just like that, gone. There is a euphoria and intoxication to climbing these mountains I may never understand. I ask Devon about this and he tells us the locals aren’t happy. They want to introduce new laws to prevent people from dying. The locals and the guides don’t want these mountains to become a grand cemetery. It’s a bad tradition and a bad reputation but somehow it isn’t bad for business. $60,000 minimum and a few months spare will get you to the top of Mt Everest.

Here in the Himalayas – its not distance travelled across but up which matters and for nine days the trail gets steeper and higher and it gets harder to breathe but its all worth it when on the ninth day we reach base camp at 5364m. From this point people there is a sign which reads, Mt Everest this way, as if it was just another town along the trail and not the highest point on earth. Base camp is on a large glacier and when everyone is quiet you can hear it crack and move underneath and in the distance avalanches fall.

The nine days have seen us waking early and finishing late, through fog and cloud and for one last time we wake early, 3am, and hike up Kala Patthar to an altitude of 5,550 metres. We hike through the night. With less than 50 meters to go I feel like I could collapse, I had exerted more than I should have to achieve a false peak. Every step now needs two breaths, one to move and one to recover but I’m at the top sitting on a rock with prayer flags fluttering in the wind around me I watch the sun rise over the top of the world.

Back in Kathmandu there is a sense of accomplishment and pride which I think each member of our group takes with them for the rest of their lives, and all of a sudden the intoxication of climbing up these mountains makes sense.

Like Magic

magnificent_glow — Sun, 11 May 2014 23:52:02 GMT

Norway, Tromsø, the arctic circle.
It’s cold and wet but I will never forget.

I’m hugging myself in a clearing surrounded by pine trees and I’m wrapped up in two jackets, one donated and one found; a rainbow beanie, also found, two shirts and a pair of thick socks and it does not seem to be enough. A dog has ripped open a bag of flour used to make biscuits of breakfast, lunch and dinner and it is irretrievably soaking in to the dirt.
In our clearing and put away underneath a shelter of what amounts to flotsam and jetsam, made of rotten floorboards and ripped tarpaulins incredulously found in a forest, there is a single skin tent and it is has been home for eight days so far. It is a poor excuse for a shelter. Under a lean to of more rotten timber my travel companion and friend tends a fire where the wet timber produces more smoke than heat.
Across the way there is a mountain; it is our thermometer and clock. Everyday the frost marches further down its spine and our time is running out. We decide that we must stay and bare this cold and these poor rations until we feel that we have earned the northern lights
The Aurora is one of the seven natural wonders of the world and whereas the other six are of solid rock and unmoving, the aurora is elusive and adheres to no schedule. For many it is a dream trip into the northern latitudes and the Arctic Circle, but many go home with out a glimpse. Plan all you want and you can still miss them.
Acutely mindful of how far a back backer budget extends in Norway’s high priced economy, the shallow wilderness on the outskirts of town becomes our uneasy home. I have expectations for the lights, how they should make me feel when I see them. I am intoxicated by awe; by things which are awesome and create a sense of wonder as new neural connections are made as the brain justifies its own remarkable existence, here on our lonely planet, and it is a feeling worth chasing through the bitter cold and physical and emotional discomfort and if the road has taught anything it is that in a day or two, when the dust settles it will be a funny story to share, If we make it that long.
Though, wandering around a lake on a cold night in Tromsø away from the small comfort of a small fire, I look up and see colorful bands of green and purple with waves of pale white like moon-glow, running through in shots of electricity. Not vivid like in the postcards, a trick of photography I suppose, but the sky is dancing, “like magic’.