On Rails: Part One

Breathing is a very healthy exercise. It helps fuel the body, providing energy and calming your nerves. Perhaps this is why in situations like this, a pause followed by a period of just breathing is advised. Its 12:30 and suddenly my life has turned into an episode of 24. In precisely one hour my train leaves the station, the station on the other side of Moscow. And I… I'm still searching for the offices holding my ticket. A mix of poor planning, crappy opening hours and my fair share of bad luck left me running very late.

Emerging from a disorienting metro I check the $2 compass I've been using for navigation, failing to notice the large Iron bridge just to the south of where I'm standing, throwing the needle off. A though which only occurs to me having jogged 300 meters down the road, only to notice my compasses change of heart. Stupid piece of junk.

So perhaps understandably when I DID FINALLY make it to my train, minutes to spare and with freshly pressed ticket in hand, I was somewhat disheveled. Add to this the fact that my compartment, nay… my entire carriage seemed to be populated by slightly angry looking Russians- who didn't speak any English – and I think its safe to say my first impressions of trans-Siberian travel were not too good. Fortunately, yet again my first impression was proved wrong.

The train itself is slightly aging, but comfortable. It has a solid air about it. Though I cannot fail to notice the maintenance staff who bash hammers into the wheels peering inquisitively for any sign of cracks or weakness. Over all it reeks of character. As, do the people inside.

I am joined by a motley crew through the first few days, from a one eyed man, with a hearty laugh and crushing handshake, to the woman who either is -or strongly aspires to be- a nun. Yet again things feel slightly surreal. I continue to practice my new found still of conversation without language. It makes of an interesting time as even the most basic of sentiments take hours to put across, and inevitably receive a resounding cheer when everyone finally understands what your trying to say. I am given lots of time to brush up on my Russian phrases, though sadly, my previously proud attempts and Russian pronunciation seem to be a great source of amusement… if a little frustration. A fact I compensate for by loudly praising my Chinese vocabulary, which I've become convincingly skilled at faking.

For the first time on this trip I see snow. Moscow giving me a true Russian send off in a blanket of white. The bitter drops that assaulted me around Red Square and the Kremlin look particularly pretty when your separated by glass and central heating. Heating which, if anything is a little high a measure I'm convinced is an attempt to put everyone to sleep and create the least hassle for the attendants.

So I sit… slightly worn out and more than a little dozy. For hundreds of miles silver Burch trees fly past with delicately iced branches waving in the fierce wind. But by then I'm oblivious to most of it. Emptying my pockets before I finally fall for the attendants heated trap I notice my compass reliably pointing us west and we turn away from the setting sun… Someone remind me to bin that thing.
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Lunch: ... yeah kinda missed this one