9 - The Nyet (Moscow)

St. Petersburg to Moscow, RUSSIA - 30 July 2002

St. Petersburg is located at such a high latitude that by summer, it has, what they call, ‘White Nights’ where the sky seems to stay bright late into the night and turn dawn in the wee hours of the morning.

I was not really sure which days in summer they would consider the real ‘White Nights’ but even at 11pm now, the sky was still light blue. By midnight, I could then see the intense blue of ‘after sunset’.

Because of this, for the past days here in St. Petersburg, I had been thronging the streets, out there, on the move… for up to 14 hours a day. Although I felt physically tired, I sometimes got a surprise when I realised the time! Then, I felt it necessary to hurry home although it seemed to be still day-time.

Today, with the accumulation of five days of hard walking, I decided not to join Karla who was going on a Peter’s Walking Tour. Instead, I headed to the Botanic Gardens and sat there the entire day, feeding mosquitoes. Some days were meant for doing nothing…

The mosquitoes were sucking my blood from my feet ravenously. After reading St. Petersburg Times, I wrapped my feet up with the newspaper. I must have been quite a sight. Sitting on the bench, cross-legged, reading a book, and I had, what would appear to the Russians, smoked fish wrapped in newspaper (that was how they were done here) sticking out from under my pants.

Karla later told me that they went on a very interesting Fyodor Dostoevsky’s ‘Crime and Punishment’ Tour with the tour guide Peter. Peter had taken them to all the places mentioned in the book. Although Dostoevsky did not write down the street names or bridges or whatever, scholars had traipsed around St. Petersburg and figured out the places. Karla highly recommended Peter’s Walking Tour to all visitors. He would meet at 10:30am at the Youth Hostel everyday and ask the participants where they want to go, what they want to see. So far, I had heard rather good reviews from other participants as well.

Hmmm… now I was interested to read ‘Crime and Punishment’.

By the way, I took the night-train to Moscow tonight and I bought the ticket by myself.


Moscow, RUSSIA - 31 July 2002

While in St. Petersburg, I had obtained a contact for a Russian lady, Galina, who rented out beds in her Moscow flat. I had emailed her and she had replied that a bed was available for a few nights. Her flat was a tiny one. But it was much cheaper than any hostels in Moscow and very central. Galina is friendly and speaks some English.

I dropped my backpack and immediately headed out to the Belarussian Embassy, hoping to submit my passport and transit visa application before 12 noon. I realised the staff working at the visa section did not speak English as well. This seemed really strange to me. I mean, I could understand those women working at train ticket windows did not speak English. But people working at the visa section had to meet people from all over the world, hadn’t they? And they did not speak English too? I was lucky to be queuing behind an American who could speak Russian and he helped me with my various queries. I submitted it right at 12 noon. Phew.

There was a haze over Moscow. It seemed there was a bush fire nearby because of the intense summer heat. So, it was really hot and humid today.

Since Irkutsk, I had long noticed that the young, gorgeous Russian women here mostly went braless. Everywhere in Irkutsk, St. Petersburg and now Moscow, nipples were poking out from tight shirts and skimpy tops. I supposed in a country which was cold for three quarters of the year, the ONE quarter of the year where it was sunny, these confident ladies would want to toss out all jackets and woollies and bras… and strut their stuff.

Guess we were lucky to find ourselves in Russia in that one quarter of the year. In Irkutsk, Ben and I had permanently popped-out eyes, staring at the nipples which were very nearly poking at us. Even under pressure from the visa thing in Moscow earlier, Pablo and I were going, “¡Qué tetas!” at the perky ones.

I was not alone to note the Nipple Safari. I came across an article in the Moscow Times where the reporters went and snapped photos of the various kinds of nipples. They had classified them into Handfillerus Mediumus, Perkius Androgynous, Siliconus Perfectus, Startingus Saggius, Pimplus Prepubescentus, Thrustus Maximus, etc…


Moscow, RUSSIA - 01 august 2002

I trotted over to Pushkin Fine Arts Museum, Moscow’s premier foreign art museum to savour more European art. There were more portraits with insipid titles like ‘Portrait of a Woman and a Girl’ and ‘Portrait of a Lady in a Toilet’ (I am serious about the last one). I found that by now, in some cases, I could waltz into a room and declare, “Boy, this has got to be Gauguin.” Not bad, not bad…

Once again, I failed in locating charming and affordable little cafés here in Moscow. I was not even picky about the taste of the food.

I finally settled for lunch at the food court in Okhotny Ryad Shopping Mall which was charmless and extremely expensive. The problem was that food was charged by the weight, something which I was not used to. I hesitantly pointed to something behind the glass counter, the lady scooped out a portion, microwaved it, plonked it down at the weighing scale and proceeded to convert it to roubles. Bang, R195 (US$6.50+)! Now, you could not say that was too expensive and you did not want it anymore, could you?? Then, you had to try and swallow the awful food in order not to waste it.

In the tiny apartment of Galina’s, sharing the tiny room where Galina managed to coax five beds out of it, was this Norwegian guy. Searching through my Scandinavian database to try and give him a name… let’s see, Anders, Bjorn, Erik, Frode, Hans, Lars… ow about Lars? Lars made several phone calls that evening and I could not help overhearing his conversations which were peppered with “How old are you?”, “How tall are you?”, “Do you have any children?”

Hmmm… This must be the Russian Bride Marriage Agency thingie we had heard so much about. Lars had come to inspect the ladies. He claimed to be under pressure as his visa was running out by end of August and he MUST find his bride by then. I would not worry if I were him. I had a peek at his list and it included ladies from Estonia, Latvia, Ukraine…


Moscow, RUSSIA - 02 august 2002

As expected, the Kremlin was crawling with throngs of tourists early in the morning. There were a few interesting and very beautiful Russian Orthodox Churches and Cathedrals with the typical onion-shaped domes located in the Kremlin. But, to me, the place most worth visiting was the Armoury.

This required a special ticket, more expensive than the main entrance ticket and it was only open for a short time during our visit for crowd-control. I had already splurged on all the tickets and photo-charges, plus my baggage deposit, so why not toss in another R120 for the audio-tape explanation. But boy, was I glad I had the audio-tape with me, it surely made the Armoury exhibits come alive.

The Armoury contained a profanely extravagant collection of treasures hoarded over centuries by the Russian State and Church. The display cases were all glistening with diamonds, crystals, silver, gold designs for bible covers, icons covers, cutlery, vessels and all sorts of tableware. Then, there were fabulous jewellery, amazingly detailed Fabergé Easter eggs, weapons and armour, royal regalia, thrones, costumes (including the one worn by Catherine the Great during her coronation) and gold carriages. It was opulence in great abundance. My heart beat very fast throughout the visit. The Armoury was unbelievable. While the value of the treasure must already be overwhelming, the historical significance of these items had made them priceless.


Moscow, RUSSIA - 03 august 2002

I had a few friends to visit in Europe and I would be staying with some of them. I wanted to get them gifts. I had bought three snuff bottles in Beijing but I needed a few more for the rest of the friends.

Izmalovsky Park apparently had a huge weekend crafts market and so I found myself wandering up and down the stalls determined to buy something.

I had long grouped my financial expenses into a few major needs - Food, Accommodation, Transport, Must-dos (Sights and Visa stuff) and Ice-cream. So, to fork out money for souvenirs felt really odd to me.

Unfortunately, there was not a wide choice of interesting and affordable Russian souvenirs around. In the end, I bought the typically Russian but very kitsch matryoshka dolls. I felt a little embarrassed by them. I guess I had to assure my friends it was the thought that counted.

I finally located Moscow’s Anglia British Bookshop in an impossible location. I stared at the price of ‘Crime and Punishment’ and did mental sums. Well, I had to get it. Now that I had been to St. Petersburg, I had to read something by Fyodor Dostoevsky. Enough of trashy novels I had been exchanging in China. I was going to read a good book. The purchase pleased me immeasurably.


Moscow, RUSSIA - 04 august 2002

I spent 4 hours today walking around the centre, trying to locate a bankomat that worked. 4 hours!

I wanted to buy my train ticket to Warsaw, Poland first thing tomorrow morning. I had the approximate price for the ticket and I just wanted to withdraw R1500. I started to have Beijing flashback as I tried bankomats after bankomats, and all claimed the service was unavailable for the moment. I even crashed a machine outside a supermarket. It took forever to reboot. I hurried away, thoroughly guilty. I finally changed US$50 in a hotel to save my sanity.

By the time I tiredly staggered into the moody Sculptures Park, I dropped on the grass and dozed off at once. The park contained a collection of Soviet statues - Stalin, Dzerzhinsky, Lenin, Brezhnev, etc… These were ripped from their pedestals in the wave of anti-Soviet feeling after 1991 and were now, placed here. When I regained consciousness later, I came upon some sculptors working on new works in the corner too. The Sculptures Park is a really nice little place to spend an evening.


Moscow, RUSSIA - 05 august 2002

After purchasing the Moscow-Warsaw train ticket, I had very few roubles left for today and tomorrow. I would not be changing any more money. I calculated that if I ate sharwmas from the kiosks outside metro stations and McFood, I would just have enough to pull through.

In fact, I had been eating sharwmas the past few days. They were cheap, could fill my stomach well and were usually served by dark, handsome men of Turkish origins.

As this was my last day in Moscow, I decided to make one last quick round of metro-hopping, in order to re-visit the Moscow metro stations famous for the exquisite art and designs. After all, the whole excursion would cost me the fare of one ride.

Some of the more famous metro stations are like grand ballrooms or theatres. Walking down the steps, I sometimes imagined myself gliding in a beautiful evening gown… and then, tripping over the gown and crashing to the bottom of the steps in the most ungracious fashion, breaking a tooth in the meantime, with my luck.

I will list the more stunning stations for the benefit of readers who might be inspired to come to Moscow in the future, despite my er… non-too-favourable updates (I’m sorry, but I really felt a tad defeated here).

Komsomolskaya on the circle line has chandeliers and mosiacs of past Russian military heroes. Kievskaya on the circle line is also very beautiful. Mayakovskaya won the 1938 World’s Fair in New York for its design apparently. I liked Belorusskaya and Arbatskaya as well. Park Kultury, although I did not get off, seemed to carry some interesting sculptures when I zoomed by.


Moscow, RUSSIA to Warsaw, POLAND - 06 august 2002

I went to McDonald’s and scanned the board. Apparently, the names for the burgers were transliterated from English into Russian. So, McChicken would be pronounced as ‘M-C--C-H-I-C-K-E-N’ in Russian Cyrillic. They did not replace the word for ‘chicken’ with ‘kuritsa’ [‘chicken’ – in Russian], for example.
So, I walked up to the counter and said, “Hamburger” which was the cheapest, of course. The sour-faced lady frowned and shook her head. Oh no, not another ‘Nyet’! She was working in McDonald’s and she did not know ‘Hamburger’? My eyes returned to the board. Oh OK, there is no ‘H’ sound in Russian. ‘H’ is always replaced by the Russian’s letter for ‘G’. “OK. GAM-Burger…” Then, she threw me an unforgiving look before demanding payment.

Yeah, I should have noticed the lack of ‘H’ by now. True, ‘Harry Potter’ was ‘Garry Potter’ everywhere. ‘Hercules’ would be ‘Gercules’. You get the idea…

For my Warsaw train ride, I originally shared a cabin with a middle-aged lady. When the train left the station, her friend kept popping over and eyeing me sternly. The train conductor was finally dragged over and he looked me over with a disturbed face. “Pa Russki? [You speak Russian?]” he tested. “Nyet.” My turn to use this word. “Pa Polski?” Y-e-a-h r-r-r-i-g-h-t, I can speak Polish. “Nyet.” I shrugged. Hey, I rather enjoyed this.

They furrowed their brows, consulted one another and muttered away disappointingly. OK, to put them out of their misery, I did a swapping gesture with my two index fingers dancing around. Their eyes lit up with delight. I was shown the new cabin. My new travel companion would be a hot-looking red-head. Sure, why not? Sometimes, they just thought it was impossible to communicate without Russian. They just did not try hard enough.

9 - The Nyet (St. Petersburg)

St. Petersburg, RUSSIA - 25 July 2002

It was drizzling when I stepped out of the St. Petersburg main train station. I waded to three hotels. I was met by receptionists or security guards who merely grunted, “Nyet nyet nyet” and waved me away impatiently. All these inexplicable ‘Nyets’ thrown at me… Frankly, I was beginning to feel a little defeated here in Russia.

1½ hours of walking around in the rain was enough. I tried my luck at the Youth Hostel finally, which had a dorm bed available but was very expensive.

At first glance, even in the drizzle, St. Petersburg looked resplendent. The whole city seemed to be lined almost entirely with old buildings of intricate 1800s architectural style. Naturally, the main thoroughfare, Nevsky Prospekt, had billboards, boutiques and fancy restaurants now but St. Petersburg looked like it was carefully preserved and lovingly restored.

Even at 8 or 9am in the morning, you would already see a number of drunk men tottering around with a bottle of vodka or a can of gin and tonic. For the rest of the day, groups or individual men and women could be spotted walking around with bottles and cans of alcohol, taking swigs. It was really common.

There were buskers, portrait artists, people wearing signboards telling all where to head off to buy CDs, elderly women selling little bouquets of flowers or a few cucumbers or carrots that came straight from their gardens, ladies announcing boat trips along the canals, men holding signs indicating currency exchange rates of nearby exchange houses and there was quite a number of beggars, including pet-beggars. Pet-beggars are people who take their dogs (or cats) out to beg. Sometimes, they make their dogs carry little pails in their mouths. These dogs are usually huge, luscious-looking ones. I guess they are there to get sympathy from people who love dogs.


St. Petersburg, RUSSIA - 26 July 2002

I decided to check out of the hostel. The cost each night would really hurt my pocket.

I trudged out to look for another hostel and half a day later, I eventually located it. But handing my passport over to the babushka at the counter resulted in more ‘Nyets’. Why? Why? Why?

There were two tourists in front of me, similarly exasperated. It seemed the lady at the counter wanted them to account for each and every night of their stays in Russia. She expected a registration stamp to be obtained upon arrival at each town.

This was not what we understood it to be. I thought we just needed to be registered within three days of arrival in Russia, and not each town. So, since I had no stamp for my last night in St. Petersburg, she was rejecting me as well. Arguing with her (in English, duh!) was useless. She just kept shaking her head and repeating her ‘Nyets’.

Argh!! This was so frustrating! Can you imagine hostels or hotels run by elderly women who did not appear to fully understand the system behind this registration thing? To be on the safe side, she simply rejected tourists and accepted only Russians, I supposed.

Three-quarters of the day gone. I returned to the Youth Hostel to make sure everything was alright with my visa registration, which it was… and sorely accepted that Russia was going to be a budget-breaker and not an easy place to travel in.


St. Petersburg, RUSSIA - 27 July 2002

No more home-hunting for me. I figured I could be here for days doing it and arguing with old crones fruitlessly! I decided to maximise my days here in St. Petersburg with the sights I wanted to visit.

The Hermitage is definitely a must-see. It must be one of the best museums in the world. The Hermitage is made up by three main buildings - the Winter Palace, Little Hermitage and Large Hermitage. The state-rooms in the Winter Palace are awesome. Many have the typical ‘wedding-cake’ architectural style where the rooms were painted a pastel blue, for example, with white ‘icing’ cornices everywhere. Most rooms are opulently decorated with gold, chandeliers, crystals, etc… They sent my head spinning.

Even without considering the important art collection here, the Hermitage is awe-inspiring enough. But the art collection here is truly magnificent. I cannot do it justice with my tepid descriptions so I shall leave it be. Just GO, I implore you.

Naturally, being the major sight in St. Petersburg, the whole place was swamped endlessly with tourists. These lemmings were trained to recognise the umbrella, wallet or flag held by their tour leaders and trotted behind him or her obediently. If the tour leader stopped in front of a painting, they would stop. If the tour leader walked off the cliff into the ravine, they would walk off the cliff into the ravine.

Almost every room sat a babushka with a watchful eye. From my observation, here in Russia, a babushka has plenty of job opportunities.

Another place with many sitting babushkas are the metro stations. They were employed there to sell the metro tokens (or cards in Moscow), watch people slot in their tokens or cards, and sit at the bottom of the escalator and watch people come down the escalator. The last job function was the one I never understood the purpose of.

I had not eaten a proper meal for the past three days in Russia. On the first day of arrival in Moscow, Pablo and I had only one meal that day and that was at McDonald’s. We were not proud of it but we were famished (and upset over the visa thing) and the huge McDonald’s (the first one in Russia, if I may add) was just THERE so we did not have to hunt all over for food. On the second and third day in St. Petersburg, I had eaten horrible, microwaved, tiny-portions of dodgy food from cafés and survived on some bread and jam.

I seemed to be always hungry in Russia. Affordable cafés were difficult to find. Regular Russians seldom eat out. I decided to check out a café mentioned in the Lonely Planet guide, something which I normally dislike doing as I prefer to stumble and tumble into charming local eateries by myself. However, so far, I had failed miserably in that. I convinced myself that starving three days for a proper (and naturally, expensive) hot meal was well-deserved. Hey, the café even served complimentary vodka! I had to pay for the stupid bread in the basket but vodka was free. You know you are in Russia when the cafés serve complimentary vodka.


St. Petersburg, RUSSIA - 28 July 2002

I checked out the Russian Museum today. In one room, I nearly reached down to pick up the papers dropped by a sitting marble statue.

Papers dropped by a sitting marble statue?!?! Had I just gone marbles? Yeah, the papers looked that real! If I really did it, I would have some explaining to do to the irate babushka in the room.

While the Hermitage had a gigantic and excellent European art collection, the Russian Museum held mostly Russian paintings and personally, it was great to get a flavour of Russian art too. There were many paintings about wars and a huge load of portraits, some with insipid names like ‘Portrait of a Woman with an Orange Background’ and ‘Portrait of a Man with a Diseased Arm’.

The price difference for tourists and Russians was really huge. For the Hermitage, it was R300 (about US$10) for tourists and R15 (about US$0.50) for Russians. For the Russian Museum, it was R240 for tourists and R20 for Russians. Ouch!

In St. Petersburg, there is a very beautiful church - Church of the Resurrection of Christ that was partly modelled after the St. Basil’s Cathedral in Moscow. It had the same clash of candy colours (here, mainly blue and yellow) on the onion-shaped domes and intricate works of mosaics on the walls. It apparently took 24 years to build and 27 years to restore.

Many times, when I encounter such stunning sights, I always get this feeling - that once you first spot it as you turn the corner or spy it between the arcade of a gate or something, they loom at you large, captivating, domineering. For a moment, you are awe-struck, stupefied, weak in the knees.

As you hurry towards it, the sight will strangely become smaller and smaller, as the sky around the arcade of the gate, for example, grow in size. It is very puzzling as the sight seems to shrink as you walk towards it, as if it is disappearing from you… Then, at a ‘break-even’ point, it will grow again. Well, it sounds a little strange but this is something that I have observed a few times, for St. Basil’s Cathedral and here. My two-cents.


St. Petersburg, RUSSIA - 29 July 2002

Now that I was in a new continent, I also observed a different kind of backpackers.

Sample 1:
Girl with an affected voice in my room: You know… I was in the toilet today. And I did not have any paper with me. So, I took out a R10 note…
Me: You didn’t!!
Girl: Yeah, I used it. Come on! It’s like only US$0.30 or something… I had no paper!

Sample 2:
Guy at the breakfast room: You can ask the travel agency next to the Reception to buy the train ticket for you.
Me: Yeah, I know, but I thought I should TRY to get it at the train station myself first (although I did fail at that once in Moscow). Do you know how much is the commission for your ticket?
Guy: Commission?? I don’t care.

Sample 3:
Another guy at the breakfast room: I’m heading to Moscow tomorrow.
Me: Are you? Which night-train are you taking?
Guy: I’m taking the express train that leaves at 4pm and arrives in Moscow at 10pm.
Me: But isn’t the night train better? You save on one night’s accommodation.
Guy: Ooooh, I hate night trains. I can NEVER sleep on night trains.

The travellers I met in China had mostly been travelling around South-East Asia or India, Nepal. I guess, these people were more frugal and more tolerant of discomforts; that was why they choose Asia.

But here, the travellers I met seemed to be richer and more pampered. I guess that was why they choose Europe. So, there were not only cultural changes in the locals, there were also changes in the travellers.

I got along splendidly with one lady in my dorm, however. Karla is a tour leader, taking ‘Premium Groups’ from Hong Kong to St. Petersburg and then another group back. These tourists pay US$4000 for a 26-day trip of train-hopping! Woah! She was having an in-between-groups break in St. Petersburg now.

I bade farewell to her in the morning when I left the hostel, only to meet her again at the Internet Café, by chance. Then, I bade farewell to her at the Internet Café, only to run into her at a restaurant later. I had once again decided to treat myself to a proper hot meal - starve one day and splurge at a sit-down restaurant the next.

Later, I wanted to walk to the Peter and Paul Fortress. But when I reached the bridge nearest to it to cross the Neva River, I found the bridge, Troitsky Most, was closed for repairs.

St. Petersburg was built around the delta of the Neva River, with a number islands at the mouth of the river where the Neva split into Malaya Neva and Bolshaya Neva. With this bridge down, I decided to walk to Vasikevsky Island and on to the Petrograd Side by a series of bridges, before going to the Peter and Paul Fortress.

Then, to top it off as a day of bridges, I made it back to the Petrograd Side, straight to the Vybord Side and back to the main side by crossing more bridges. I crossed six bridges that day. Walking is a great way to experience a city but I was thoroughly exhausted by the end of the day.

I was having dinner at a little sharwma (kebab) shop when in walked Karla… for the third time today! What a laugh!!

8 - Trainspotting (Trans-Mongolian Railway)

Irkutsk to Moscow, RUSSIA - 20 July 2002

Fat Hotel Woman banged on our door at 8am in the morning and woke us up. I opened the door and she indicated to Ben, demanding that he pay for the room tonight. What was her problem?? It was 8am! We ignored her and returned to sleep.

At 9am, she returned and hammered away again. She entered the room and badgered us for payment. She interrogated me for a while in Russian, until I sort-of figured that she wanted to know what time I was leaving. This was beyond weird. If Ben was paying for the entire room tonight, why did she care what time I was leaving? I was getting used to being yelled at inexplicably by Russian women by now.

I bought the train ticket for Train 5 without problems as the ticket-seller spoke English. Heaven-sent!

I boarded the train when it arrived and was issued a berth in a cabin with a Russian family - a very kindly babushka with her two beautiful 7-year-old grand-daughters. Although I did not speak Russian, the girls were chatting with me all the time and looking puzzled when I could not reply. I felt bad I could not communicate. So, I just played with them. They were a really sweet family.


Then, I walked down the wagons to see if I could locate Pablo. Many of the wagons were filled with Mongolians with huge baggage - China-Mongolia border flashback.

In one near-empty wagon, I found Pablo! He gasped in utter surprise, with jaws wide-open. We were overjoyed to see each other. He had gotten off the train earlier and walked around the Irkutsk platform for a while. As he did not see me, he figured I had decided to stay longer in Irkutsk.

Well, his cabin had a silent Japanese guy who spoke little English, always mulling over a map and in the next cabin, one Irish girl Liz. That was it. The wagon was a tad boring. Strange that they segregated the tourists from the Mongolians, we thought. My wagon was probably an add-on as the design was different and it was filled with Russians.

He later joined me at my Russian wagon. He had learned Russian for two years previously and was now eager to try it out. Yet, surrounded by so many friendly Russians asking him questions, he panicked and kept saying ‘Wo’ (‘I’ in Mandarin) and ‘Ni’ (‘You’ in Mandarin). This happened when you could not separate the various foreign languages in your head.

However, my Russian-made wagon was stuffy as the windows could not be opened. Perspiration was literally dripping off me. I felt claustrophobic again, my worst fear, and spent my time in Pablo’s breezy Mongolian-made wagon.

Soon, I realised why the Mongolians had such huge baggage. They were traders. At each stop, they would hurriedly rush down to the platform with shoes, lamp-shades, blouses, pants, umbrellas, blankets, etc… and sell them to the waiting Russians. Then, it connected! The Mongols I had seen with the huge baggage crossing the China-Mongolia border were actually going to sell the merchandises on the Trans-Mongolian Railway.

The train attendant on Pablo’s wagon was a Mongol-Russian woman. She was a huge, hefty whale of a woman, and in this heat, wore a tank-top with no bra. Her breasts dangled around and her teats poked through distractingly. Looking at her, my thoughts flashed to a milk lady milking her cow… left, right, left, right, squeeze, squeeze, squeeze, squeeze. She shall henceforth be known as Milk Lady.

She too took part in the hectic selling at each stop, promoting the flasks, blankets, pants, etc… with vigour. I wonder what was her take in these sales.

After dinner, Liz was harassed by a drunk Russian guy who followed her to her cabin. You could smell vodka from many men even early in the day. Either they had been drinking since morning or they used a popular brand of aftershave called ‘eau de vodka’.

Milk Lady drove him away and suggested Liz move her stuff over to Pablo’s and Silent Japanese’s cabin for safety. Then, she spotted an intruder and pointed her finger at me and wagged ferociously. She demanded to know why was I, a Mongol, hanging around with tourists?

She thought I was a Mongol? Geee… I am pretty much Pan-Asia, it seems. I had now been mistaken for a Japanese, Korean, Hong Konger, China’s Chinese, Vietnamese and now, Mongol.

Pablo explained to her in his halting Russian and she relented. Later, I popped my head into her cabin and asked sweetly for permission to take the last remaining berth in Pablo’s cabin since it was empty. She nodded and took a slow drag off her cigarette. Milk Lady was nice.

Late that night, close to 11pm or so, the sky still had that special after-sunset-blue and a faint orange spread. We were bulleting west. We were chasing the setting sun.

I stuck my head out of the window, smelling the taiga (and soot) in the glorious air, feeling the wind (and soot) on my face, soaking Siberia (and soot) in my hair…

I felt an immense joy bursting in my heart as I clung to the window, admiring the perfect blue in the sky, the vanishing orange in the distance. The moon danced about as the train rounded curves after curves. The taiga forests zipped by silently. The repetitive and now comforting ‘tuk-TUK tuk-TUK’ was the only sound in the night. Fog caused distant lights to be hauntingly vague and eerie. I still could not believe I was on the Trans-Mongolian Rail. This had always been a dream of mine. And it would eventually transport me one-third round the world. This was special. This was magic.

Giddy and giggly with joy, I returned to the cabin and announced, “I have Siberia in my hair.” I asked Pablo to come out. He was suspicious at first, thinking I was about to play a prank on him. Soon, he was really grateful to me for showing him the magic. We hung our heads out, gigantic grins on our faces, our hearts flushed with child-like gaiety.







To Moscow, RUSSIA - 21 July 2002

The Mongol traders had been hardworking throughout the night. At every stop, we were momentarily woken up by running footsteps, dashing down to the platform to sell things and returning to retrieve new items. By morning, the rest of the wagon was now filled with new Mongol traders.

We looked out at the platforms solemnly. Regardless of the time, weather and train delay, the Russians were waiting at the platform for this train. During the brief 20 to 28 minutes, they surged forward anxiously, crowded around and desperately inspected the goods hawked by the Mongol traders.

They placed the pants against their bodies, compared the shoes against their feet… and had to decide quickly there and then, whether to buy or not. They were not buying them in bulk. So, I believe, they were the end-consumers.

I imagined a conversation that went like this: “Gee… nice lamp-shade / blouse / blanket / sandals… Where did you get it?” “Oh. Don’t you know? From Train 5 Sale. It arrives once a week on Sunday, 2205 hours.”

It was a little sad. These Russians were rather fashionably-dressed too but all this seemed a little ‘desperate’. But I guess, we would never be able to understand how it was like living in a remote and possibly bleak town in Siberia, so far away from anywhere… where the train would be like magic, appearing once (or rather twice for the return journey) a week in the main town, with goodies for sale.

I had read about these Mongol traders on the Trans-Mongolian Rail in a National Geographic issue. Still, seeing it was a different experience. I believe this only happened on Train 5. The other trains, originating from Russia, would not carry Mongol traders.

An appropriate quote at this point: “The use of travelling is to regulate imagination by reality, and instead of thinking how things may be, to see them as they are.” Dr. Johnson, English writer, poet and conversationalist (Conversationalist??? Oh, whatever) 1709-1784.

Now, to contrast this with what I usually saw on other train journeys was the lack of people at the platform selling things to the passengers on the train. Previously, whether in Peru or Egypt or China, at each train stop, vendors would materialise from nowhere to sell souvenirs and food. Deprived and grateful passengers would scramble down to try and buy something to eat. Here in Russia, amongst the shopping crowd, the vendors were difficult to spot and I suspected, very, very few.

We had run out of bread after my first day. I stuck my head out and yelled, “Bread!! Bread!! Gee… What’s ‘bread’ in Russian??”

An elderly lady walked by with a shopping bag and a loaf of bread under her arm. We were uncertain. Was she selling? Or did she just complete her shopping? “Madam!! Er… What’s ‘madam’ in Russian?” I had to improve my Russian.

She held up her cucumbers, tomatoes and finally, her loaf of bread… “Nyet… Nyet… Da! Da! Da!! Skol'ka? [No… No… Yes! Yes! Yes!! How much?]” A quick exchange transacted through the window and the train chugged away.



To Moscow, RUSSIA - 22 July 2002

Out of character, Silent Japanese muttered something to us and indicated the train window along the corridor.

I heard “Muttermuttermutter”. But Pablo intelligently inferred it to mean that today would be the day we cross the Ural Mountains and there was apparently a monument indicating the end of Asia and the start of Europe. All clamoured to the train window and waited.

“I bet it would just be an obelisk that has two arrows - one pointing east to Asia, one pointing west to Europe.” I stated.

Then, we saw an obelisk that had two arrows - one pointing east to Asia and one pointing west to Europe. We hugged one another symbolically. A new continent for all of us now.



Moscow, RUSSIA - 23 July 2002

Arriving in Moscow, after so many days on the train resulted in mixed feelings for us. On the one hand, YES!! Llegamos! [We arrive!]. ‘Moscow’ sounded so romantic to our ears. On the other hand, we had grown comfortable and secure in our swaying cabin and used to Milk Lady’s dangling assets. Stepping out meant fussing over new currencies, new metro stations, new maps, new language… and being able to walk steadily on firm ground.

Pablo and I bade farewell to Silent Japanese and Liz.

The hostel we went to said they could not accommodate us because we had no reservations. They suggested a hotel in the centre of town. We plunged into the centre of the earth, traversed a few more metro lines, wandered around town totally lost, before finally finding the hotel, about 2 hours later.

We paid for two nights and left our passports at the reception. Finally, we thought we could relax and celebrate our arrival in Moscow tonight. Tomorrow, we would visit the Kremlin and the day after, Pablo would leave Russia as his visa ended on 25 July.

However, bad news awaited us. The hotel receptionist informed us that Pablo was on a transit visa and hence, he had to leave Russia in 24 hours. This was strange. His visa stated he had until 25 July. The Russian Embassy in Ulaan Baator knew he would arrive in Moscow on 23 July and fly off on 25 July, and even told him he had two nights in Moscow.

The receptionist was firm but polite. She refunded one night’s payment and insisted Pablo must leave Russia tomorrow. Pablo, who had been rusty in his Russian on the train-ride, argued politely with her and even managed it in past, present and future tenses. But, to no avail.

Sigh… nowhere on the transit visa mentioned anything about a 24-hour time period. If the hotel was right, Pablo had been grossly misinformed by the Russian Embassy in Ulaan Baator. He was miserable. He had been looking forward to spending the precious day tomorrow at the Kremlin.

We were tired. We were hungry. We had not showered for days. And now, we were miserable. We had no choice but to accept the Russian bureaucracy as it was for now. We discussed and decided he should visit the Argentinian Embassy tomorrow morning and see if they could advise him on what he could do - could he stay one more night, or did he have to change his flight to tomorrow?

I tried to console him as best as I could. Let’s treasure this night in Moscow and not fret over things we cannot control.

After shower and some food, we walked towards the first place we had to see in Moscow - the Red Square.

The sun was setting, casting a brilliant orange towards the reddish Kremlin walls. We sat down to admire the beautiful red and white State History Museum. Then, Pablo gasped, “Look at that!!”

We spied a tiny portion of the St. Basil’s Cathedral through the Resurrection Gate. My goodness!! We were stupified beyond words! We hurried across the gate and onto the Red Square, totally dazed, our hearts palpitating.

The sky was wondrously blue, the clouds pink. Before us, glistening like a cluster of gems, basking elegantly and surreally in the orange spot-light, was St. Basil’s Cathedral.

I do not gush normally… and I hope I am NOT being cliché here, but the world around us seemed to move in slow motion for a while and strangely, everywhere felt quieter. We really could not believe our eyes. The sight was incredible to behold. The lights, the mood, everything was perfect out here on the square. We were jumping up and down the square, squealing like happy mice.



Moscow to St. Petersburg, RUSSIA - 24 July 2002

The Argentinian Embassy was closed until afternoon, it seemed. In our misery yesterday, we had decided the embassy was the solution to our problem. We did not envisage it would be unavailable to assist us.

Pablo could not wait until afternoon. Last night and this morning, we had seen many tourists being stopped by police to inspect their passports. Actually, I had been stopped once in Irkutsk too. So, Pablo never felt secure in Moscow, knowing that he might be ‘illegal’ by tomorrow. He headed to KLM and changed his flight to today. So, he was leaving today.

I felt rather disappointed and sad. We had become good friends and now, we had to say goodbye one day earlier.

I had to check out of the hotel as well as I could not afford the room myself. I did not know where to go. I was still quite tired from the train-ride and still felt quite apprehensive here in Russia. I did not fancy trudging around town again looking for a hotel. Also, I wanted to go with him to the airport to see him off. So, I decided to try and take the night-train to St. Petersburg tonight. That would, at least, solve my accommodation for tonight and I could leave my backpack at the train station.

I hurried to the train station and queued at a counter for 15 minutes. The lady tapped away at her keyboard when I told her ‘St. Petersburg’. But when she asked me further questions, most likely, which train, what time, what price, I could not answer her. I just repeated the Russian word for ‘cheap’. She got fed up and yelled at me, waving me away.

Argh!! It was so frustrating to get anything done here without Russian. I did not expect them to know English, of course, but if they at least tried with numbers and some patience, I would be able to buy the ticket. I walked around, terribly harrassed, and spotted a travel agency. To my relief, the agency managed to get me a ticket in 5 minutes flat. Then, I quickly left my backpack at the Left Luggage and sped back to the hotel.

Pablo waited for me. I was not sure what time I would return so he agreed to wait until 12:30pm. Well, I was late but I was really glad he waited. We then headed to the airport.

Now, it was really ‘adiós, hasta la vista’ for us.'

8 - Trainspotting (Irkutsk, Listvyanka)

Ulaan Baator, MONGOLIA to Irkutsk, RUSSIA - 16 July 2002

As it was my last day here in Ulaan Baator, I had wanted to visit two main sights that I had not gotten the chance yet.

However, after the Museum of Mongolian History, Pablo’s diarrhoea and my insufficient Mongolian Togrog prevented further activities.

We returned to Nassan’s Guesthouse and negative-energy couple was… Wait, hang on. They had packed up and left. This was great! Well, although they had left with their guitar, they had left behind their guitar pick. Pablo picked it up, eyes twinkling with evil glee.

The couple had been selfish and inconsiderate when we shared the room and we had schemed to rip off the last page of the books they were reading. But, we respected books. We could not do it. We, however, did not share the same respect for guitar picks.

I reached for my pair of scissors and snapped the guitar pick into two. I kept the left side, Pablo the right side. For a laugh, we promised to reunite the two halfs of the guitar pick when we meet in Buenos Aires in six months’ time, or when I eventually get there.

Ulaan Baator had not been the most pleasant city we were in. We had been victims, near-victims and witnesses to quite a few crimes. Many buildings and parks appeared to be neglected and some buildings were downright dilapidated. To me, it never really felt safe at night. But Mongolia in its entirety had been unexpectedly wonderful because of the things we did together as a group and the friends I made in Beijing. Outside of Ulaan Baator, Mongolia is breathtaking. The people are hospitable and incredibly friendly; the smiley children here have great personalities. There are picturesque rolling hills and steppe all around. Then, out of nowhere, you spot a few gers or a lone horsemen or some two-humped camels and horses grazing in the wild…

I was leaving for Irkutsk today and Pablo would be leaving for Moscow on 19 July. Pablo struck upon an idea for a meeting - that I should wait at the Irkutsk Train Station when his train pulled up on 20 July and we would meet for 20 minutes. Imagine: dark, misty night, steam from the train, a platform crowded with jostling passengers and porters, me in a hat (with feathers) and a mink coat… Leo Tolstoy’s popped into mind (minus the part where she threw herself under the train, of course) and we could not stop giggling about it.

Then, he suggested I try to get on his train on 20 July to do the rest of the Trans-Mongolian ride together. That would be great but I was not sure as it would give me very little time in Irkutsk and Lake Baikal.

He saw me off at the train station. Well, we would meet again… maybe in Moscow, maybe in Buenos Aires… Hasta la vista.


To Irkutsk, RUSSIA - 17 July 2002

The train had stopped at the Mongolian border for at least 4 hours before some sort of border activities began after 9am.

The border guard took my passport away. The French guy in my cabin had stayed 31 nights in Mongolia, including last night on the train. In a way, he had overstayed by one night as he was given a 30-day visa. The other Austrian couple did not even have entry stamps. They said no one was at the counter when they arrived at the Ulaan Baator airport. So, with these dodgy train companions who seemed more ‘illegal’ than I was, I could not understand why the border guard stamped their passports and yet took mine away.

After 1½ hour’s wait, I happened to stand by the train-door and spotted the border guard chatting with his cronies on the steps in front of the office and passing my passport around. Ah, must be my gorgeous photo again.

Finally, they returned it to me wordlessly and the train moved off eventually. 2 hours later, we arrived at the Russian border and played the same waiting game. In total, we spent at least 8 hours on the border.

I had expected to arrive in Irkutsk in 24 hours time but no… it seemed I had another night on the train.


For dinner, I cracked open my pack noodle into my lunch-box and added hot water. The train jerked and my lunch-box made a spectacular crash to the floor, spilling the water on me and scattering the noodles everywhere.

The Russian train attendant, with a full set of gold teeth no less, rushed out and ooohhed and aaaahhed over my predicament. She tossed me a wash-cloth to clean myself and proceeded to pick up the noodle to throw it out.

“Er… Nyet nyet nyet! [No no no!]” I hazarded, a tad embarrassed by what I intended to do next. I picked up the main unbroken square of the noodle sheepishly and indicated I was still eating this. “Spasiba. I’m sorry for the mess. Spasiba… Spasiba… [Thank you]”

Well, when you're hungry, you're hungry.


Irkutsk to Listvyanka, RUSSIA - 18 July 2002

We arrived eventually after 8am. I had several things to do first and I wanted to get out to Lake Baikal by today, if possible.

Left my backpack at the Left Luggage. Plodded into town on foot to try and find a bank. Had the presence of mind to stop and buy a sketch book, pencil and sharpener because now, I felt inspired to start drawing on my trip. Hunted for a café for food. Unable to locate one. By then, had walked across tiny Irkutsk to the bus station. Used the phrasebook and the universal language of numbers to buy a bus-ticket to Listvyanka, by Lake Baikal. Searched for a café for food again. Finally, found one. Ate awful microwaved food. Returned to the bus station. Boarded the bus. Realised I FORGOT to register my visa.




In Russia, it was not enough for you to have a visa for entry and an entry stamp at the border. You still need to register your visa with a hotel or tour agency within three days of arrival into the country. I officially crossed the border on 17 July. Today was 18 July and I had just hopped on a bus to a tiny village by the lake. So, 19 July would be my third day and I would need to register it if I did not want trouble in Russia. Argh!!!

I guess I had to return to Irkutsk the next day and get the registration done. It seemed I would be able to get on Pablo’s train on 20 July, after all.

Found a youth hostel for only R50 [R31 = US$1]. The toilet was an out-house with a hole dug in the ground… China flashback. But for the life of me, I could not find running water. When I asked the babushka [grandmother] of the hostel where I could wash my hands, she simply yelled at me and waved me away.


So… after toilet, where did I go? I furtively trudged out to Lake Baikal to wash my hands.

Lake Baikal, if I may briefly impress you with some statistics here, is the ‘Pearl of Siberia’ - crystal clear, drinkably pure (er… not for long) and surrounded by mountains and little wooden cabins. It is the world’s sixth largest lake and the world’s deepest lake (1637m) and contains nearly one-fifth of the world’s fresh water. There!







Listvyanka to Irkutsk, RUSSIA - 19 July 2002

Back in Irkutsk, I tracked down Hotel Arena without much problems. But the fat middle-aged woman in the hotel could not register the visa for me and would not accept me if my visa was not registered. With no Russian, I tried my best to inquire where I could get it registered. It got frustrating as we simply could not understand each other.

Then, I looked up and saw a familiar face with a huge grin. “Hi” he nodded. “BEN!!! B-E-N! Oh great!! How are you??” It was Ben from USA whom I had met briefly in the hostel in Beijing. So GREAT to see a familiar face in this daunting country! And even better if he spoke Russian. “Do you speak Russian?” Nope. Rats. We agreed to share the room to split the cost but first, I had problems to solve.

The fat woman very kindly (!!) gave me the address of the Registration Office. OK, I would try and get myself registered.

I waited for the office to open at 3pm and by then, there were already about 50 men and three women waiting outside.

When the office finally opened, everyone bull-dozed their way in. The building was in one of those old eerie buildings that was not designed as waiting rooms. It was tiny and had no ventilation. I had no idea where to queue. The 50 men, some fat, some skinny, all smelly, had glued themselves behind one another in some queue or other. I asked a few ‘staff’ and was directed to different doors and the last door pointed out to me was shut.

With the summer heat and no ventilation, I nearly blacked out. My claustrophobia took over. I felt a sense of panic surge from within me. I knew I could not do this alone, especially with no Russian and with no one willing to smile or help. I staggered out towards a more expensive hotel.

I had thought I needed to be a guest before this hotel would register me. That would mean I had to ditch Ben in Hotel Arena. Surprisingly, for a fee, they registered my visa there and then within 5 minutes. Strange bureaucracy.

Ben and I headed out for dinner later and stumbled upon a delightful little local café. The voluptuous babushka from the next table, we learnt later she was the owner of the café, came up to us and tried to explain each and every item on the menu.



She was probably half-drunk by then, as it appeared she was celebrating something with her friends or family. When she reached ‘kuritsa’ [chicken], she did a wing-flapping thing and then, literally grabbed her ample right breast to tell us, this one was breast meat. Then, she slapped her buttock to indicate the next item was the chicken thigh. She was splattering her saliva away in Russian, trying to read the menu with her reading glasses, licking her fingers to flip the pages in rapid speed. She was hilarious.

We found that the party was celebrating the birth of her grand-daughter. Everyone at the table was offering us cognac and vodka and toasting us frequently. Soon, Voluptuous Babushka was using my phrase-book and telling Ben ‘It is nice to meet you’, ‘Hope to see you again’, etc…

Later, they wanted photos and Voluptuous Babushka wanted some where we planted kisses on her cheeks and yelled, “Mama!!” and then, she would squeeze us with one gigantic hug. One of the guys at the table, some half-pissed fat guy named Igor (IGOR, for heaven’s sake!) got me to dance. To my surprise, Igor lifted me up with his right arm (and only with his right arm) and I found myself ‘dancing’ with my feet in the air! Ben waltzed around, looking for a partner and the half-crazed Voluptuous Babushka elbowed her way into the café to snatch Ben up. It was one crazy, fun and very drunk night.