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Published: August 2nd 2006
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I don't want to be mean, I really don't. And I know I'm really lucky because not a lot of people get the chance to do trips like this but I've got a funny feeling that you may think the following blog was written by Victor Meldrew. For starts there was Michelle. Did you ever get the feeling after meeting someone that it's only gonna be a matter of time before they tell you about their years of clinical depression and how they were beaten up as a child? For me one of the tell-tale signs is a demeanour of permanent cheer. Another is laughing at everything anyone says even when they're blatantly not joking. Such people come across in this uber-nice fashion, wanting to share their goodies, be your friend and you start to question yourself for not liking them. Well anyway it was this type of character I simply couldn't wait to get away from after sharing a cabin during our 24-hour train journey from Ulaan Bataar to Ulan Ude just north of the Russia-Mongolia border.
However, if there is such a thing as karma, it was just about to lift it's leg in my direction. I stepped
off the train in Ulan Ude, a picture of misery in itself, just in time to save my head from imminent explosion when I saw the fateful sign held up by the person who was obviously our tour guide: "McCormack, Donnelly, McGinty, Carter." I bet you can guess who Carter was. In a state of delerium we were transported to the apartment of the middle-aged Russian woman who would act as our landlady during our time in the city. I'm not exaggerating here but the Glaswegian equivalent would be housing tourists in the heart of Easterhouse. It was grim. Sure, our host was nice enough. I don't know if she could speak much English but Michelle managed to keep her busy.
The 'sights' in the city centred around the Buryat culture, some hybrid of Mongols and Siberians I think. To be honest, I'm not that sure as I wasn't really listening when they told us. The highlight for me was getting to dress up in the traditional outfits and act the bollocks. Perhaps my maturity isn't at the level it ought to be. I certainly didn't think much of the folk music or the dance the tried to teach
us. Not sober at 2pm anyway. Afterwards, they brought us round some of the temples that the lamas in the area had built. And there was me thinking that they just scratch around all day eating grass. Maybe I did learn something after all.
Next stop was Irkutsk and it was chucking it down. Literally, the place was swamped. Oh well, there goes that trek round Lake Baikal we had planned. What's that? We're still going? Happy days... We were well acquainted with Lake Baikal long before we reached it's shores. Having read the guidebook, Michelle astounded us with such facts that it held one-fifth of the world's freshwater supplies... at regular 15 minute intervals. Lucky then we were leaving her behind for our trip into the forest. Believe me the wet and mosquitoes were the more attractive proposition. Back as a threesome, the lads bought a couple of dodgy trackies to fend off the rain and we made the best of it. At least we didn't miss the chance to take in the spectacular scenery... in the fog. In fairness, it was a bit of an adventure and we were ably looked-after by Sascha, the dry-witted Phil Collins-lookalike
guide who somehow managed to get the campfire started and dinner cooked despite the miserable conditions.
Yekaterinburg was our final port-of-call and gave us a glimpse of the Russian architectural marvels that lay ahead in Moscow and St. Petersburg. The city had a few claims to historical fame, firstly as the site where the Russian royal family were murdered ahead of the 1917 revolution and also as the location where the ill-fated American Gary Powers was shot down in his U2 spyplane. I remembered both events from history class and thought it was pretty cool to be there.
The condition of our digs hadn't improved as we headed westwards but fortunately we didn't spend too much time there. Our second day was spend hiking around the Ural Mountains which formed the border between Asia and Europe. Promisingly there were three hot Danish burds on the tour but other than that it was yet another drab affair with the mosquitoes in the rain.
As we headed for Moscow I thought back to a children's fairytale which seemed to sum up our train journey across Russia rather well. The one where the Emperor ordered a new outfit to be
Oh cheer up!
Lenin looking as miserable as everyone else in Ulan Ude made by the local tailors for his royal parade only to be sent out stark naked. Everyone told him how well his new robe looked and in spite of his initial reservations he came round to believing them. Monkey Shrine, our tour agency told us of how exciting this rail trip was going to be and what wonderful places we'd encounter on the way. But looking back, considering the money we paid and comparing it with the other beautiful spots our travels have uncovered, I reckon we were duped. As a wise man once said, 'You can't win them all'.
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