From: bakker@cs.uq.oz.au (Paultje Bakker)
Newsgroups: rec.travel,bit.listserv.travel-l
Subject: TRAVELOGUE: Trans-Siberian Rail Journey
Date: 12 Apr 92 06:14:53 GMT
Reply-To: bakker@cs.uq.oz.au
Followup-To: rec.travel
Organization: Depts. of Computer Science & Psychology, The University of Queensland, Brisbane, Australia

(* For all you Trans-Sibbers, here's a shortened version of my
brother's description of a West-to-East trip he made 3 years ago.
Enjoy! *)

A Trans-Siberian Railway Journey

Our train pulled out of Moscow on a hot and hazy day in the summer of
Perestroika. There we were wooshing eastwards through the Russian
landscape (the train averaged about 80 km/h) looking at portraits of
Lenin on hillsides, red banners with slogans about Perestroika at the
stations, and mud-splattered villages. Due to the rapid travel
eastwards (through eight time zones in all) we had to get up an hour
earlier each morning for breakfast. Travelling the other way
definitely has its merits!

About every three hours we had a stop ranging from two to fifteen
minutes. I'd bolt out and run up the steppes to see as much of the
surroundings as possible. As we got more behind schedule the stops got
shorter so I didn't dare go too far. The thought of being left behind
in one of those dusty villages prevented any great feats of daring.

As the journey progressed people dropped in on other compartments more
freely. On one side of us we had three hard-drinking old peasants, and
on the other was our Russian guide, Irina. She had once planned to
escape to Japan, she said.

Apart from the Urals it was fairly flat country all the way to
Irkutsk, our stopover. I must admit there wasn't all much to see due
to the trees planted along the track, which probably have the dual
purpose of foiling snow drifts in winter and prying eyes in summer.
Because the line is virtually the only one connecting East to West
there was also a near-continuous procession of goods trains going the
other way, provoking many a photographer's curse.

We discovered a phenomenon which none of the various books brought
along had made any mention of: there was a lot of soot coming in
through the window. Everyone's hair had gotten a few shades darker and
only a few dared blow their nose.

When we arrived in Irkutsk we were packed into the bus for a 90 minute
ride to Lake Baikal where our hotel was located. Lake Baikal is 600 km
long, millions of years old, and extremely clear. The bus ride was our
first close-up look at the Siberian landscape and it reminded me of -
Australia!  In fact it could have been Northern NSW. I can think of
worse places to be exiled to.


Upon returning to the train the next day, we asked if we could change
from second class to first class. When you book the ticket in the
West, first class on the Trans-Siberian is twice as expensive as
second class, but we only had to pay something like fifteen dollars in
roubles between us to move up to first class for two and a half days.
Despite what I'd always heard, the train was not packed out, even in
the middle of summer. The two of us were chuffed to bits with the
extra length of bed now that we both had a lower bunk and I enjoyed
the turbo airconditioning. No more queuing up to use a smelly dunny.

To relieve the encroaching boredom, we watched Police Academy on
video. The tape was dubbed by means of a single Russian voice doing
all parts, plastered over the original soundtrack (so you could still
hear the English when the Russian wasn't talking).

We were some seven hours behind schedule and everyone was wondering
why. Irina confided to me that it was a go-slow protest of the
drivers, a prelude to the coming nationwide strikes.

Chabarowsk, 8500 km and six days from Moscow, was the end of the line
for our group. It didn't look too appetizing on the map to me, but it
turned out to be a bit like Southern France with lots of hills, trees,
and boulevards and promenades.

That evening we visited the 'International Club' to "meet with the
young people of Chabarowsk". Most of the locals were descendants of
colonists from Western Russia, who had came voluntarily. At the end of
the meeting there was an "opportunity to exchange addresses and small
gifts". The Russians are genuinely happy with little trinkets like
lighters and pieces of soap and pens (as the guide books say), but I
just can't imagine myself giving something like that without turning
bright red with embarrassment. There's always the danger that they'll
give you an incredulous look and say "Hold on, what's this, you're
giving me a piece of soap!" I asked Irina about this dissonance
between our societies but she just shrugged and told me stories about
tourists giving unwashed clothes and used panty-hose.

Later that evening there was a swim in the suspiciously warm Amur
River and a long talk about the global music scene with a local
Midnight Oil fan. On the way back to the hotel we saw some bikies,
called Rockers, and a cinema where Crocodile Dundee II was playing.


We returned on an eight hour flight back to Moscow.

I can recommend the trip. I'm certainly going to do it again, but from
the other side and in the winter.

Rick Bakker




--
PaulBakker ------------------------------------- email:bakker@cs.uq.oz.au
Depts.ofComputerScience/Psychology,UniversityofQueensland,Qld4072,Australia

"He who slings mud is sure to lose ground" - Lady Flo