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Mongolia is my new favourite country. We're in an unexpectedly plush room in the Bayangol Hotel in Ulan Bator now, but the two nights before that were in a felt ger tent on the steppes, and I'm aching all over from many hours of horse riding. It was worth every twinge and then some. But more of that later. For now, it's the Trans-Siberian Railway!
(Pictures are here)
Four days on a train
Moscow to Irkutsk, September 11-15
The departures board at Komsomolskaya station, saying ‘Vladivostok’ in Cyrillic, made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. Our driver argued with people in the ticket booth and then led us along the still-trainless platform, weaving between waiting clumps of people with stacks of cases and boxes wrapped in gaffer tape. I hoped he knew what he was doing. He stopped to talk to another driver, and his charges – two British girls – cried, ‘You two speak English! Thank God for that! Where are – ‘ But too late: our guy was leading us away again. He picked a seemingly random spot. We waited. The lamps hung above the tracks led away into the dusk. The sky was dark yellow with cityglow in the east, the way we were going. Then the train – looking warm and almost opulent from the outside, with tasselled curtains, our home for the next four days – began to back into the station.
( So what's it like on board? )
( The restaurant car )
( Stopping at Perm )
( Bad cop, worse cop )
( Night and fog )
( Doing the time warp )
( The sleeping land )
We staggered off the train at Irkutsk in the sleety dawn, body clocks gone haywire, stomachs in a mess from the moo and the oink, suffering cravings for bagels with cream cheese and eggs-in-a-cup-with-butter and all the things you can't get on the train, desperate for a shower. I can't say I was sorry to leave it (I nearly cried when we got to the homestay by Lake Baikal and a fabulous breakfast was waiting for us). But I'm very glad it happened.
(Pictures are here)
Four days on a train
Moscow to Irkutsk, September 11-15
The departures board at Komsomolskaya station, saying ‘Vladivostok’ in Cyrillic, made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. Our driver argued with people in the ticket booth and then led us along the still-trainless platform, weaving between waiting clumps of people with stacks of cases and boxes wrapped in gaffer tape. I hoped he knew what he was doing. He stopped to talk to another driver, and his charges – two British girls – cried, ‘You two speak English! Thank God for that! Where are – ‘ But too late: our guy was leading us away again. He picked a seemingly random spot. We waited. The lamps hung above the tracks led away into the dusk. The sky was dark yellow with cityglow in the east, the way we were going. Then the train – looking warm and almost opulent from the outside, with tasselled curtains, our home for the next four days – began to back into the station.
( So what's it like on board? )
( The restaurant car )
( Stopping at Perm )
( Bad cop, worse cop )
( Night and fog )
( Doing the time warp )
( The sleeping land )
We staggered off the train at Irkutsk in the sleety dawn, body clocks gone haywire, stomachs in a mess from the moo and the oink, suffering cravings for bagels with cream cheese and eggs-in-a-cup-with-butter and all the things you can't get on the train, desperate for a shower. I can't say I was sorry to leave it (I nearly cried when we got to the homestay by Lake Baikal and a fabulous breakfast was waiting for us). But I'm very glad it happened.
