Advertisement
Published: July 22nd 2010
Somtimes Trans-Siberian train journeys can be lots of fun .. this wasn't one of those times.
When boarding the train my spirits rose a little when I noticed it was a good quality train, but they were dashed oncer I discovered my bunk buddy. A quick survey of the carriage occupants revealed that I was paired up with the most repulsive charactere of the lot.
Plascartny '3rd class' standard means that there are no closed compartments in the carriage, but the bunks are arranged in groups of four, with additional sets of two, one upper and one lower, on the side passage. Mine was the upper side passage and my neighbour, 'Mr Stinky' was the lower. Mr S wore silky tracksuit with the top permanently unzipped to reveal his flabby verandah. He reaked of probably both vodka and beer and stale cigarette smoke, which explained his mustard-coloured teeth. I noticed he had bottles of alcohol and boxes of cigarettes stashed under his seat which he replenished, I think by purchasing from the restaurant car.
As Mr S was in the bunk directly beneath me, when not used as a bed this conveniently converted to a little table with 2 seats. I sat off centre at my seat, opposite him with my face turned away so as to try to avoid the full impact of his stench. I had no change of perhaps becoming immune to the smell as he regularly ambled to the smoking area bettween the carriages and returned with a full onslaught of foul, stinky smoke. I could not even find refuge lying in my overhead bunk as the stink wafted upwards.
In desparation I resorted to my old trick of hiding out in the restaurant car. It was not frequented very much and I could while away the hours going stir crazy with boredom but at least in clean air.When I thought it must be bedtime, I slunk back to my carriage and climbed straight up into my bed. Mr Sinky's smell penetrated upwards and I seriously considered stuffing my spongy earplugs into my nostrils!
DAY 2 -
The agony of another entire day trying to asmuse myself and avoid Mr S. This stoy might have been different if there had been some westerners to make friend with but I feared that if there were any on my train at all they were probably enhoying themselves in 2nd class. As for my Russian companians, there was not a smile to be had between them, and it was evident to me that this would be the trip from hell and I would probably have goine raving mad from boredom or at least forgotten how to speak by the time the trip was done.
By the time the 'Gulag' (my name for the 3rd class carriage), was full of heavy, stale air, unwashed inmates, dirty clothes and crumpled bedding. It was anything but a healthy environment.
Calculating how many hours left, check phone for messages, read Lonely Planet for 10th time, list to I-pod, check phone, calculate hours... A small relief came when we stoped at a station and there was time to quickly jump off the train, stretch legs and fill lungs with relatively fresh air. The stop could be only a few minutes upto half an hour and because I neverknew how ling it would be, I hoevered near the train, paranoid that it would leave without me. Eath time we stopped I hoped Mr S would end his journey but God was not listening to me.
When the cutlery and tablecloth where taken away from me in the resaurant car I knew I had overstayed my welcome and reluctantly returned to the Gulag to sleep.
DAY 3 -
Today I get off the train! Having worn out all my credits at the resaurant I had to swet it out in the Gulag for the rest of the journey. Considering I didn't eat meal there I had done pretty well staying there all day on one drink. I tried to sleep in as long a sI could but there's only so mch lying around a body can do. In any case I had to wait for Mr S to get up and convert his bed to a table and seats before I could sit down. 5 hours to go, 4 hours to go,...as the time to disembark approached the countdown became more excruciating. I alternated by counting down time on my watch with counting down the km (the number of km from Moscow is marked at 1km internals along the track).
To add to my woes I didn something really dumb and I don't know if I should admit this (at least not until safely out of Russia). I tried my dried packet of borsh out. I hadn't had borsh before (cabbage & beetroot soup) and thought it would be convenient on the train because I could use the hot water from the samovar at the end of the carriage to hydrate the powder and make my soup. Well I'm not sure howmany ots of soup the packet was meant to make because I couldn't read the instructions on how much water to add. But I'm pretty sure my concoction was far too strong andI couldn't drink it. The dilemma was what to do with it. In retrospect the smart thing would have been to give it to the providnitzia to dispose of. I thought of pouring it into the rubbish bin outside the bathroom but then tought the mixture too runny for the flimsy plastic liner. Brainwave - pour it down the toilet. Wste goes down there, so a bit of soup shouldn't hurt. Oh god what a mistake. For some reason it just sat there and didn't disappear when I flushed. For those who don't know, borsh is BRIGHT PURPLE/RED - like beetroot.
I slunk out of the toilet and slid into my seat. My heart skipped a beat every time the providnitzia waked past me as I feared someone would alert her to the dodgy toilet and my secret would be exposed. I calculated how many km it was until Vladimir (my stop), and I wondered how many hours it would take me to walk it if I was expelled prematurely from the carriage for disabling a toilet!
Advertisement
Tot: 0.385s; Tpl: 0.013s; cc: 10; qc: 50; dbt: 0.043s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 2;
; mem: 1.1mb
Travis
non-member comment
Third Class
Handy tip, always pay the extra for tourist class :oP You have my uptmost respect for making it through this!