As we boarded train 005 a storm whistled in from the Gobi and cloaked Ulan Baatar in a cold, gritty cloud of yellow dust. Peering from the window of the train we were glad to be out of the action and not exposing ourselves to the sand blasting that the tearful relatives of our Mongolian travelling companions were receiving. The weather had been kind to us in Mongolia but seemed to be on the turn.
The freezing temperatures outside mean that Mongolians and Russians have a real knack for heating things. They like to keep the inside of their homes, offices, shops and particularly their trains uncomfortably hot. The result is that a peculiar and, we find, very amusing train boarding ritual has evolved. It goes something like this: Having satisifed the provodnitsa (carriage attendant) of your identity you may board the train. On entering the compartment one must stow ones baggage and swap shoes for carpet slippers. It is then polite to sit down and briefly greet your fellow travellers. Salad vegetables, smoked fish and sausages are arranged on the table before gentlemen vacate the compartment to allow the ladies to change their clothes for what is often an astonishing set of garish, ill fitting pyjamas. Ladies now reciprocate, allowing the menfolk to change into wife-beater vests and tracksuit trousers. The provodnitsa then collects tickets and distributes bedding. Having made their beds passengers either crowd into a single compartment to drink and make merry, or simply submit to a heat induced narcolepsy.
The provodnitsa is the boss. Get that straight at the start and your journey will be a happy one. Hairdos that wouldn't look out of place in a cabaret club and frequent costume changes prove to be a strangely fascinating part of each journey. A formal suit with long fur coat for greeting passengers, a nylon tabbard with miniskirt and knee high boots for cleaning and, of course, ill fitting pyjamas for kicking back between shifts. Crucially, she who must be obeyed also controls the lock on the toilet door and making a good first impression may result in unhindered access to a clean toilet that is usually out of bounds.
Petty smuggling of goods from Mongolia to Russia is a popular pastime and as we travelled towards the border our fellow passengers busied themselves with removing the tags from piles of clothes and blankets and distributing them around the train. We were keen not to be complicit in anything that might attract the attention of the customs officers but still ended up with a few bottles of vodka, several thousand cigarettes and twelve identical quilted jackets stuffed into our compartment. I reached for the phrasebook and memorised the russian for "that is not mine". As before, we reached the border at night and the crossing seemed to take forever. The smugglers in our carriage survived the zealous search by Russian customs but some further up the train were not so lucky and got thrown off at the border.
We arrived in Irkutsk, Eastern Siberia feeling rather drained and attempted to buy the rest of our train tickets from the service centre in the station. There seemed to be a problem. All the stoney faced lady would say was "nyet". We had heard tales of Russian customer service and were not entirely surprised when the very helpful owner of our homestay arrived and helped us to successfully purchase what we needed. It wasn't that the tickets weren't available, it was simply that the attendant didn't fancy selling them to us. Happily the Russians are fair handed and it seems that the same, basic level of service is also offered to the locals, so at least we didn't feel that we had been singled out.
From Irkustsk we made a trip to Lake Baikal, a 600km long lake that contains 20% of the fresh water on earth. Baikal is on a rift between two tectonic plates, is over a mile deep in places and the water is drinkably pure. After a long Siberian winter the surface of the lake had frozen solid and the ice was thick enough to walk, and indeed drive a Lada on. We stayed in a village called Listvyanka. In summer Listvyanka is a playground for Siberia's nouveau riche, but off season it is a silent and hauntingly timeless place. Tumbledown wooden cottages and rusting boats dotted the shoreline and across the ice the views of the distant mountains were rendered a cool blue. We had read about the opportunities for dog sledding and Sam was keen to give it a go. We made some enquiries and booked ourselves in for a short ride through the woods on a five dog sledge. It was great fun and surprisingly fast. I was doing well until the last corner when my feet slipped off the runners and I ended up being keel hauled through a frozen river. In retrospect I'm not convinced that being tied to the sledge by a "safety" rope was a great idea. Apart from some interesting bruises on my knees I escaped without injury. Sam's turn was less eventful as after my tumble we had a misunderstanding with the dog man and she ended up doing just a little driving at the end. Still, one more to cross off the list!
Train 037 left Irkutsk for Yekaterinburg around lunchtime. This was the nicest train we had been on so far and we were lucky enough to have the compartment to ourselves. That is until two drunk Russian army men hammered on the door and came to join us. Trains in Russia all travel on Moscow time. In a country that spans eleven time zones this means that it is tricky to work out when you should be awake or asleep and when your meal will be served to you. Sam and I had both been sound asleep for a couple of hours, but this didn't seem to matter to our new cabin mates who still had several bottles of vodka and a preposterous length of greasy garlic sausage to get through. Russians are unfortunately generous in sharing what they have. In my dozy state I was not quick enough to decline and was soon sat in front of a large glass of neat vodka, a lump of sana (salted pork fat) and a chunk of garlic sausage. Sam managed to excuse herself from proceedings which was considered acceptable as vodka is a gentleman's drink. We made introductions and drank several toasts: "to friendship!", "to Queen Elizabeth II!", "to success!" and "to women!". Speaking a mixture of pidgin russian, french and english we covered some uncomfortable topics of conversation such as "Why are you friends with USA but not Russia?", "We think you are a spy" (a joke it turned out although the deadpan delivery had me shifting uncomfortably in my seat) and a few other topics that it would not be expedient to list here. With the first bottle of vodka finished I was feeling plastered and increasingly uncomfortable with the way the conversations were headed so when asked if I would like another one politely refused. However, they had other ideas and insisted on opening a second bottle as I still seemed too composed for their liking. I can't really remember what time I was allowed to go to bed but suffice to say the next day was not one of the best I have had on this trip.
We were both relieved when the train arrived in Yekaterinburg and we could say goodbye to our new friends. After a short wait and a change of trains we boarded number 327 to Kazan. This time we had better luck in the cabin mate lottery and found ourselves sharing with a couple of affable, rotund Russian gentlemen. "We're from England", we said. "Ah" he said "do you know Tupperware?". Assuming we had misheard we asked for clarification. "One minute" he said and ran off to the next compartment only to return with the Russian Spring/Summer 2008 Tupperware catalogue. He proudly explained that he and his companions were returning from the plenary meeting of the Russian National Tupperware Congress 2008. He waited anxiously, mopping his brow, while I perused the catalogue. Sam bit her lip in an effort to avoid laughing. I nodded my approval and he beamed with delight. I gave him back the catalogue but it seemed that I had missed something important as he gave it straight back and enthusiastically directed me to a page of vegetable peelers. "They're great" I said. I think he may have had a tear in his eye. "Do you like to drink vodka?" he asked. "No, I'm sorry. I don't drink alcohol" I replied.
