I am jarred awake by the phone which, when answered, plays what might well be a copyright-avoiding squawk of Vaughan William's the Lark Ascending, followed promptly by an automated bellowing voice - "THIS IS YOUR WAKE UP CALL".
Thanks.
Indeed it is. And thus my journey begins. I shower, shave, have a cup of coffee, and check-out. The taxi to Terminal 2 cots £13, so I'm going to have put the hotel's supposed savings (over taking a taxi from Islington to Heathrow on a Sunday morning) mainly into the "saved me from stress" category. I arrive to airport bedlam. Terminal 2 is a hideous, grotty little terminal, and check-in is on a floor with a ceiling so low, one can't help but wonder if the original architect forgot to install check-in and, realising his mistake, popped in a mezannine level as an afterthought.
I'm flying Austrian Airlines. Austrian, it would seem, are not fans of self-service check-in or online check-in. Or fast bag drops. Or anything but squeezing a full A321 of people through traditional check-in desks. The whole thing is a mess - as many passengers are interlining families transferring to longhaul, the snaking queue is full of suitcases. And backpacks. And DVD players. And bags of shopping. And the check-in staff are slow. And the baggage belts break down. I arrive at the airport at 4.40 am; I check in at 5.30am.
Security, too, is chaotic - frequented by that particular strain of traveller that elects to ignore the BAA staff, leaflets, notices, videos, audio warnings, and takes an age to remove their shoes and jacket, only to start an argument with the agent over having their liquids seized. By the time I clear security, it's 6.05am. Coincidentally, my flight also departs at 6.05am. I sprint through T2 to the gate, only to find that the urgent airport-wide "last call" PAs were more of a "Shouldn't we have some passengers by now?" calls. We board and, following a short delay where I'm able to note from my vantage point that several bags are being stealthily offloaded, potentially because we have too many, we depart for Vienna.
A delightful breakfast of rubbery, hard powdered egg and two hours of being subjected to awful candid camera type "gag TV" on the monitors (just do a BA and leave the map on, please!), we arrive in Vienna. A kind information woman in the terminal explains that, while I could wait in the tiny transfer area for a bus to my next plane, I'm Irish, so I'm best off just clearing passport control and officially entering Austria. So I do.
Inside, Vienna airport is quite 80s, quite hideous and definitely suffering from a chronic lack of toilets. After queueing for the facilities, I queue for exit passport control to leave Vienna. 5 minutes after I entered. And queue again for security at the gate (Schiphol airport does this too, and I really dislike it, as it prevents anyone from bringing bottled water on the plane. Granted, security is a concern, but hydration should be too!). I queue again for someone to scrutinise my visa. And again for someone to take my boarding card. And again to board the plane. And - hang on, I know that plane - grinning children and a whopping great big McDonald's logo? That's right. We're back on to the same plane after going round in circles. And I'm back in the same seat with the same dodgy recline. And the same sweet wrappers that some inconsiderate traveller on the last flight shoved in the seat pocket ...
I read David Sedaris' When You Are Engulfed In Flames, while half-watching a film with Juliette Binoche and Steve Carrell. I enjoy a rather tasty lunch of herb-infused chicken with ravioli and courgettes, washed down with a few glasses of wine. At which point I rather happily note that the rest of economy class seem to be scarfing down some rather foul and congealed-looking meatballs. Hurrah for me - sitting down the back has paid off, as they've run out of economy meals and passed a business-class lunch my way!
Migration cards are completed, and we land in Moscow. To say there was an immigration queue just wouldn't suffice: it is an absolute scrum. After 90 minutes, I have elbowed my way to the front, and after some standard glowering by an immigration officer, have my migration card and passport stamped, and enter Russia proper. Baggage reclaim is a circus, too: due to the length of time taken to clear immigration, our flight's bags have been dumped around the carousel, so there's a true scrummage as everyone searches for their cases.
Thursday, 7 August 2008
30.07.08
I have been somewhat pathetically remiss in keeping my diary, given that it's to be the aide memoire for my blog and, also, given the amount of crazed hilarity ongoing over the past ten days. To put 'remiss' in context, well, the previous page in this notebook is my shopping list for my holiday.
It's now 9.05am local time (or 4.05am Moscow train time - all Russian trains run on Moscow time at all times in Russia, leading to a unified time zone for the railway and endless confusion and frantic computation for everyone else).
I am travelling on train number 362 from Irkutsk to Ulaanbaatar. I had though the train continued to Harbin in China, but it turns out my cyrillic is pants. My entire carriage seem to be asleep - each of the nine compartments, each with four bunks, merrily slumbering. The view from here is fantastic - you can see for miles in both directions over glorious green and purple-hued steppes, to distand peaks shrouded in mists and fog.
I must admit that seeing the view was more accident by design - on the train, unless there's an important event at a peculiar time (alighting, worthwhile stop, border), you tend to let your own alarm clock take over, and sleep until you feel like getting up (usually called afternoon).
The provodnista - our carriage attendant - has started to clean down the carriage. I'm seated on a gold brocade seat half-way up the corridor, and she's started with the gent's toilet (this train, unlike others, has segregated toilets, rigorously enforced by the provodnistas), so I think I should be ok sat here for a while. Today is the 11th day of my adventure, and today will be the day I leave Russia. I have made myself a cup of coffee from the samovar - something of a curiosity on our study East German carriage and electric train, it's coal-powered or, in this case, wood-powered - a little stove providing an endless supply of boiling hot water. I swear our is held together by hair in a few crucial places. Also, the samovar is generally the only place to find hot water on board - it's noticeably absent (as is a shower!) from the train toilets.
I swear you can hear people breathing, snoring, turning in their sleep, although it may be my imagination amongst the constant clank and whirr of the train. Last night, we discovered the rather modern and spectacular carriage next door. I had hopped off to have a look at the wares of the platform hawkers (mainly smoked omul, the delicacy of local Lake Baikal, and something I was more than happy - after a few days of an omul diet - to forego). It was just as well, really - the Vladivostok train pulled in on the adjacent platform and, suddenly, every trader was shouting and scrabbling at its doors, omul flying everywhere. I guess the 362 just doesn't love its fish enough. Or had had a meal all too recently to recall that 5 day into a train journey desire for solid food.
The last 11 days have been wonderful: quixotic; intoxicating; intoxicated; and generally aa rather wonderful romp across Europe and Asia.
To put it in context, I'm currently around 6,000km and 5 time zones east of Moscow. I've made a note to think of some impressive comparisons (swimming pools a favourite!) of distances when I upload this. In fact I've travelled so far east that, when I reach Mongolia later today, I shall go back a time zone (that's not the actual reason for this time shift - it's just that Mongolia and China do not (or, in US terms, refuse to) acknowledge daylight savings time.
Speaking of daylight savings time, let's document the hilarity of the past eleven or so days. "Hilarity" reminds me of a contestant on this year's Big Brother, in turn reminding me that I haven't so much as seen a television or read a paper since July 19th, other than a quick and cursory scan of ft.com yesterday for the essentials (Ryanair shares down 23%, Mosley wins breach of privacy case).
We have just passed through the town of Zagustai, and I have been for my morning wash. The train bathrooms here are old-school (think BR Mark II or, better, Cravens): a flushing toilet that drops onto the tracks below; a sink (cold water only and bring your own plug if you want to avoid holding the tap in the on setting at all times); assorted hooks, handles and rails; and a hole in the floor. Through which I can see a moving train wheel. The bedding pack I bought from the carriage attendant included a small towel, the use of which happily allows me to forge ahead without resorting to my trek towel (very effective, but works by peeling the water from you in a rather unpleasant way).
Let's face it - onboard hygiene is a must, particularly as this train is not air-conditioned. It's also quite entertaining to have a wash - my general approach to date has been to make like a seal in an aquarium and improvise a shower by throwing water everywhere, a policy that worked well on our first train, the Rossiya, up until the point we pulled up next to a commuter train, and a startled bunch of besuited men got rather an eyeful through the half-open bathroom window of my nude shower improvisation. I felt that my refusal to break stride, and nonchalant continuance of luxuriant bathing, saved the day and, at least, hope I brightened up some office conversations that morning - "It was grotesque, Philomena. I could barely hold my breakfast down", etc.
It seems like an age since I set off on my journey - trekking off with my backpack on July 19th. I had reserved an airport hotel - the Jury's Inn Heathrow - to avoid an early-morning taxi ride and, bar the fact that I'm unable to find the hotel for a while (their directions should, ulaimtely, have been as simple as "We're opposite the large Concorde!"), all goes well. I check-in, have a glass of wine, and head for bed. An American college sports team are drunkenly noisy, pounding up and down the corridows, and playing their own absolutely hilarious version of hotel-door knock and run. When you've got around 4 hours of sleep ahead of you, what could possibly be more of a hoot?
It's now 9.05am local time (or 4.05am Moscow train time - all Russian trains run on Moscow time at all times in Russia, leading to a unified time zone for the railway and endless confusion and frantic computation for everyone else).
I am travelling on train number 362 from Irkutsk to Ulaanbaatar. I had though the train continued to Harbin in China, but it turns out my cyrillic is pants. My entire carriage seem to be asleep - each of the nine compartments, each with four bunks, merrily slumbering. The view from here is fantastic - you can see for miles in both directions over glorious green and purple-hued steppes, to distand peaks shrouded in mists and fog.
I must admit that seeing the view was more accident by design - on the train, unless there's an important event at a peculiar time (alighting, worthwhile stop, border), you tend to let your own alarm clock take over, and sleep until you feel like getting up (usually called afternoon).
The provodnista - our carriage attendant - has started to clean down the carriage. I'm seated on a gold brocade seat half-way up the corridor, and she's started with the gent's toilet (this train, unlike others, has segregated toilets, rigorously enforced by the provodnistas), so I think I should be ok sat here for a while. Today is the 11th day of my adventure, and today will be the day I leave Russia. I have made myself a cup of coffee from the samovar - something of a curiosity on our study East German carriage and electric train, it's coal-powered or, in this case, wood-powered - a little stove providing an endless supply of boiling hot water. I swear our is held together by hair in a few crucial places. Also, the samovar is generally the only place to find hot water on board - it's noticeably absent (as is a shower!) from the train toilets.
I swear you can hear people breathing, snoring, turning in their sleep, although it may be my imagination amongst the constant clank and whirr of the train. Last night, we discovered the rather modern and spectacular carriage next door. I had hopped off to have a look at the wares of the platform hawkers (mainly smoked omul, the delicacy of local Lake Baikal, and something I was more than happy - after a few days of an omul diet - to forego). It was just as well, really - the Vladivostok train pulled in on the adjacent platform and, suddenly, every trader was shouting and scrabbling at its doors, omul flying everywhere. I guess the 362 just doesn't love its fish enough. Or had had a meal all too recently to recall that 5 day into a train journey desire for solid food.
The last 11 days have been wonderful: quixotic; intoxicating; intoxicated; and generally aa rather wonderful romp across Europe and Asia.
To put it in context, I'm currently around 6,000km and 5 time zones east of Moscow. I've made a note to think of some impressive comparisons (swimming pools a favourite!) of distances when I upload this. In fact I've travelled so far east that, when I reach Mongolia later today, I shall go back a time zone (that's not the actual reason for this time shift - it's just that Mongolia and China do not (or, in US terms, refuse to) acknowledge daylight savings time.
Speaking of daylight savings time, let's document the hilarity of the past eleven or so days. "Hilarity" reminds me of a contestant on this year's Big Brother, in turn reminding me that I haven't so much as seen a television or read a paper since July 19th, other than a quick and cursory scan of ft.com yesterday for the essentials (Ryanair shares down 23%, Mosley wins breach of privacy case).
We have just passed through the town of Zagustai, and I have been for my morning wash. The train bathrooms here are old-school (think BR Mark II or, better, Cravens): a flushing toilet that drops onto the tracks below; a sink (cold water only and bring your own plug if you want to avoid holding the tap in the on setting at all times); assorted hooks, handles and rails; and a hole in the floor. Through which I can see a moving train wheel. The bedding pack I bought from the carriage attendant included a small towel, the use of which happily allows me to forge ahead without resorting to my trek towel (very effective, but works by peeling the water from you in a rather unpleasant way).
Let's face it - onboard hygiene is a must, particularly as this train is not air-conditioned. It's also quite entertaining to have a wash - my general approach to date has been to make like a seal in an aquarium and improvise a shower by throwing water everywhere, a policy that worked well on our first train, the Rossiya, up until the point we pulled up next to a commuter train, and a startled bunch of besuited men got rather an eyeful through the half-open bathroom window of my nude shower improvisation. I felt that my refusal to break stride, and nonchalant continuance of luxuriant bathing, saved the day and, at least, hope I brightened up some office conversations that morning - "It was grotesque, Philomena. I could barely hold my breakfast down", etc.
It seems like an age since I set off on my journey - trekking off with my backpack on July 19th. I had reserved an airport hotel - the Jury's Inn Heathrow - to avoid an early-morning taxi ride and, bar the fact that I'm unable to find the hotel for a while (their directions should, ulaimtely, have been as simple as "We're opposite the large Concorde!"), all goes well. I check-in, have a glass of wine, and head for bed. An American college sports team are drunkenly noisy, pounding up and down the corridows, and playing their own absolutely hilarious version of hotel-door knock and run. When you've got around 4 hours of sleep ahead of you, what could possibly be more of a hoot?
Things to come ...
The following posts are taken from the diary I wrote during the course of my trip. I hope they allow you to join in my adventures. You'll also find my photos here.
Saturday, 2 August 2008
Shooting Stars
Firstly, thanks to everyone who's commented - glad to know I'm not echoing myself in the Gobi desert!
Regarding weather questions, it's got progressively warmer as we've headed east. The Mongolian climate is unusual - it's a fiercely cold country in winter and gets down to -30C. However, in the summer, it hits 30C easily on a summer's day ... but, as it's quite arid desert land, drops right down at night, so the fleece that I never thought that I would need has been an absolute godsend on those cold Mongolian nights.
Last night, I sat out and looked at the stars, the planes clogging up the night sky, and the occasional shooting star - so strange to be able to step outside and see the night's sky!
Regarding weather questions, it's got progressively warmer as we've headed east. The Mongolian climate is unusual - it's a fiercely cold country in winter and gets down to -30C. However, in the summer, it hits 30C easily on a summer's day ... but, as it's quite arid desert land, drops right down at night, so the fleece that I never thought that I would need has been an absolute godsend on those cold Mongolian nights.
Last night, I sat out and looked at the stars, the planes clogging up the night sky, and the occasional shooting star - so strange to be able to step outside and see the night's sky!
From Mongolia, with love
Greetings from Ulaan Bataar (aka UB), Mongolia, where it's swelteringly hot in the world's coldest capital city. It's currently 6pm and a rather toasty 34C.
I'm now most of the way through my journey, and only a few thousand miles from Beijing. Irkutsk proved lovely, and I was able to take in a very interesting tour around the house of a Decembrist, one of the number of people exiled to Siberia for political reasons in the 19th century. I also saw umpteen churches, a smattering of monuments, and an incredibly out of place catholic church - it's pure neo-Gothic, but the only neo-Gothic church in the whole of Siberia, and looks very quaint and peculiar sandwiched between a few Russian Orthodox churches.
That evening, I boarded the 362 train from Irkutsk to Ulaan Baatar, and our long train snaked off into the night. I was more than a little surprised to wake up and find that most of the train had vanished through the night, including the restaurant car. That situation got worse as the day got on: after a 6-hour stop in Naushki and a hike through the meadows stuffed with, oddly enough, wild marijuana, we returned to find that the international train was more like an international donkey ride: the train now consisted of two carriages.
Russian border control was relatively efficient, and didn't really much care for tourists. Mongolians crossing the border were quizzed and searched, while we enjoyed the tea run our provodnistas did. Our provodnistas on this train were fantastic: the entire carriage, toilets included, were scrubbed to within an inch of their life every few hours, and the train kept spotless. After Russian officers took the train apart looking for contraband, we crossed the border (large Russian control post with lots of saluting and military hedge clipping going on, big electric fence, no-mans land, small fence, little Mongolian control post) and pulled into Sukhe Bataar, on the Mongolian side of the border.
The Mongolians were evidently keen not to be outdone, and passports were taken and held next to one's head, while the passport officer engaged in all manners of officious squinting. Customs didn't really seem to care for us either at the Mongolian side, and just stamped all our forms, then the train was searched - revealing all manner of trapdoors and hidey holes we'd previously had no clue about!
At Ulaan Bataar, I transferred to a nomadic encampment in the desert for a few days, where I enjoyed pursuits such as hiking, trying nomadic cuisine (all rather cheesy), horse riding, getting a lift in the back of an open truck from some Kazakhs, digging a truck out of a sand bank after the Kazakhs took a wrong turn, and having a very intensive massage where the masseuse ended up walking up and down my back! I also met a trio of theology undergrads from my alma mater, Trinity - of all the places!
Mongolia is a wonderful, inviting, and friendly country, and surprisingly western and cosmopolitan: after 12 days in Russia, it was something of a welcome change to see people so welcoming and smiley! It's also incredibly cheap (2,500T is about 1 pound sterling - that gets you 3.5 hours in this internet cafe, a pizza, one and a half beers, or ten bottles of mineral water!).
Tomorrow, it's back on the train and off for Beijing. This trip has proven to be an absolutely amazing, and quite bizarre experience. On the last train, I started chronicling things a little better, so hope to flesh out the blog a little with the odd and strange events that have taken place from Moscow to Ulaan Baatar: I'm not quite sure that this is the tour that was intended, but it's turned out to be absolutely marvellous as a result!
I'm now most of the way through my journey, and only a few thousand miles from Beijing. Irkutsk proved lovely, and I was able to take in a very interesting tour around the house of a Decembrist, one of the number of people exiled to Siberia for political reasons in the 19th century. I also saw umpteen churches, a smattering of monuments, and an incredibly out of place catholic church - it's pure neo-Gothic, but the only neo-Gothic church in the whole of Siberia, and looks very quaint and peculiar sandwiched between a few Russian Orthodox churches.
That evening, I boarded the 362 train from Irkutsk to Ulaan Baatar, and our long train snaked off into the night. I was more than a little surprised to wake up and find that most of the train had vanished through the night, including the restaurant car. That situation got worse as the day got on: after a 6-hour stop in Naushki and a hike through the meadows stuffed with, oddly enough, wild marijuana, we returned to find that the international train was more like an international donkey ride: the train now consisted of two carriages.
Russian border control was relatively efficient, and didn't really much care for tourists. Mongolians crossing the border were quizzed and searched, while we enjoyed the tea run our provodnistas did. Our provodnistas on this train were fantastic: the entire carriage, toilets included, were scrubbed to within an inch of their life every few hours, and the train kept spotless. After Russian officers took the train apart looking for contraband, we crossed the border (large Russian control post with lots of saluting and military hedge clipping going on, big electric fence, no-mans land, small fence, little Mongolian control post) and pulled into Sukhe Bataar, on the Mongolian side of the border.
The Mongolians were evidently keen not to be outdone, and passports were taken and held next to one's head, while the passport officer engaged in all manners of officious squinting. Customs didn't really seem to care for us either at the Mongolian side, and just stamped all our forms, then the train was searched - revealing all manner of trapdoors and hidey holes we'd previously had no clue about!
At Ulaan Bataar, I transferred to a nomadic encampment in the desert for a few days, where I enjoyed pursuits such as hiking, trying nomadic cuisine (all rather cheesy), horse riding, getting a lift in the back of an open truck from some Kazakhs, digging a truck out of a sand bank after the Kazakhs took a wrong turn, and having a very intensive massage where the masseuse ended up walking up and down my back! I also met a trio of theology undergrads from my alma mater, Trinity - of all the places!
Mongolia is a wonderful, inviting, and friendly country, and surprisingly western and cosmopolitan: after 12 days in Russia, it was something of a welcome change to see people so welcoming and smiley! It's also incredibly cheap (2,500T is about 1 pound sterling - that gets you 3.5 hours in this internet cafe, a pizza, one and a half beers, or ten bottles of mineral water!).
Tomorrow, it's back on the train and off for Beijing. This trip has proven to be an absolutely amazing, and quite bizarre experience. On the last train, I started chronicling things a little better, so hope to flesh out the blog a little with the odd and strange events that have taken place from Moscow to Ulaan Baatar: I'm not quite sure that this is the tour that was intended, but it's turned out to be absolutely marvellous as a result!
Tuesday, 29 July 2008
Иркутск
Greetings from Иркутск, or Irkutsk, over 5,000 kilometres and 5 time zones from Moscow (BST + 8 hours).
I set off last Monday, which seems an age ago, on a trip that traversed two continents and brought me to the heart of Siberia. I travelled slowly but steadily across those 5,000 kilometres aboard the Rossiya, the Moscow - Vladivostok service that's the queen of the Russian train fleet. By which, read twee: I have never before travelled on a train with green tasseled curtains, tapestries of Russian landmarks, and quite such lovely runner carpets.
The train journey was great - hopping on and off at stations, buying food from local traders - but, at 5 days, very, very long. It's also quite disorienting that the train continues to run on Moscow time throughout, while you inch your way across 5 time zones.
The whole experience was very entertaining, nonetheless, and highlights included: making friends from Poland, Russia, Germany and France; a couple of nights with rather copious amounts of alcohol; squeezing 17 people into a compartment as a result of the previous two highlights (no mean feat!); our provodnista (carriage attendant) getting rather drunk one afternoon and passing out in one of the compartments; making friends with the other provodnistas and provodniks; and a rather bizarre evening that involved flagging the train off at a rather remote station while wearing the provodnista's hat!
After 5 days of rather rudimentary facilities (hot water from the coal-fired samovar, cold water "showers" in the rather horrific track-drop toileted bathrooms, not enough room to swing a goat), it was a relief to get off the train and travel to Lake Baikal for a few day's relaxation. And some hot showers!
Listvyanka, where we stayed, was beautiful, and not just because of hot running water: I've enjoyed hikes to the local landmarks and beauty spots, swimming in the (freezing!) lake, and lots of omul, the local fish (nice fried, less so smoked).
Now, it's a day in Иркутск, then back this evening at 20.25 (15.25 Moscow time) on board another train for 2 days. Next stop, Ulaanbaatar and Mongolia!
I set off last Monday, which seems an age ago, on a trip that traversed two continents and brought me to the heart of Siberia. I travelled slowly but steadily across those 5,000 kilometres aboard the Rossiya, the Moscow - Vladivostok service that's the queen of the Russian train fleet. By which, read twee: I have never before travelled on a train with green tasseled curtains, tapestries of Russian landmarks, and quite such lovely runner carpets.
The train journey was great - hopping on and off at stations, buying food from local traders - but, at 5 days, very, very long. It's also quite disorienting that the train continues to run on Moscow time throughout, while you inch your way across 5 time zones.
The whole experience was very entertaining, nonetheless, and highlights included: making friends from Poland, Russia, Germany and France; a couple of nights with rather copious amounts of alcohol; squeezing 17 people into a compartment as a result of the previous two highlights (no mean feat!); our provodnista (carriage attendant) getting rather drunk one afternoon and passing out in one of the compartments; making friends with the other provodnistas and provodniks; and a rather bizarre evening that involved flagging the train off at a rather remote station while wearing the provodnista's hat!
After 5 days of rather rudimentary facilities (hot water from the coal-fired samovar, cold water "showers" in the rather horrific track-drop toileted bathrooms, not enough room to swing a goat), it was a relief to get off the train and travel to Lake Baikal for a few day's relaxation. And some hot showers!
Listvyanka, where we stayed, was beautiful, and not just because of hot running water: I've enjoyed hikes to the local landmarks and beauty spots, swimming in the (freezing!) lake, and lots of omul, the local fish (nice fried, less so smoked).
Now, it's a day in Иркутск, then back this evening at 20.25 (15.25 Moscow time) on board another train for 2 days. Next stop, Ulaanbaatar and Mongolia!
Wednesday, 23 July 2008
So long, farewell ...
And so it's goodbye to Moscow.
After a very sunny final day taking in the sights, I'm off for Siberia on the number 2 train tonight.
Moscow has proven to be quite an experience, squeezing in everything from the usual (Kremlin) to the slightly less usual (Lenin's Mausoleum) and the downright bizarre (assisting someone in my tour group who had been robbed with the militsiya). Altogether great fun, though, and a heartily recommended city to visit.
As I'm on a train for the next 5 days, scaling 6 time zones, I'll be doing some confused sleeping, a lot of reading, and a little memoir writing ... so see you in 5!
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