July 1-9, 2003

(NikiAnne) Our departure from St. Petersburg was bitter-sweet. It was difficult leaving and not knowing when I'd be back or see everyone again, yet I was excited to be on the road again and see more of Russia. We purchased an 8 hour plaskartny (3rd class) ticket on the train from St. Petersburg to Moscow. It wasn't bad at all, considering it cost about $16/each. We had top bunks which weren't horrible for sleeping, but they gave no head space for sitting up, if desired.

After blowing our kisses to all the Lukarevskys, Andre, Carolina, and Kate, we zonked out in our sauna of a cabin and eventually woke up in Moscow at 5:30am the next day. The sleeping city of Moscow was one of the prettiest sites we saw there. We exited the metro station and unbeknownst to us the Kremlin sat at our feet. The morning fog gave the main tower a fairytale ambiance.

Full of energy at dawn, we got back on the metro and ventured to the opposite end of the city in hopes that the Lonely Planet's hostel listing had a room for us. It was a failed attempt. After not even finding the location of the listing we made our way back to the metro in this unknown neighborhood on the outskirts of Moscow when an angel approached us.

A woman of Russian tongue began spattering off Russian as fast as her lips could move. I understood that she wanted to help us so i spat out in broken Russian "Where hotel here?" She pointed in one direction and continued in Russian faster than I thought was possible. I asked how much it cost for a room and she responded with "How long are you in Moscow?" "3 days," we said. And before we knew it she was offering us a place to stay at her house. She said her daughter spoke English, so we could communicate through her. In a moment of desperation we looked at each other for agreement, looked at her again and then said "Da-vie, pashley" (Let's go!) She guided us to the metro and got on with us. When we asked why she was where we were and where were we going now, she said she worked near where she found us and then pointed to a green dot on the other side of the metro map, indicating that that was where she lived. It was the last stop on the other side of town. I imagined it was in the suburbs and it was.

It was a 40 minute metro ride and a 5 minute walk before we reached her communal flat and barged in on her sleeping naked daughter. Poor girl didn't know what hit her when she peered out from under the covers to hear her mother speaking a mile a minute and saw two Americans clothed in enormous backpacks standing at the foot of her bed.

When her mother finally explained to her that she picked these two Americans up off the street, they're staying with us for a couple of days and you'll be their translator, she politely said ok and welcomed us with open arms (after getting dressed, of course).

Throughout our 3 days in their home we were well fed and taken care of. If it wasn't for Zoya (50), we don't know where we would have stayed in Moscow for under $40/night.

Zoya and her daughter Aliya (18) lived in the old Communist-style flat. They shared the flat of 3 bedrooms with 4 other people. Zoya and Aliya have a room to themselves which served as their dinning room and living room by day, and bedroom by night. Aliya slept on the balcony while we were there to create enough space. They are from Tajikistan and moved to Moscow 1-2 years ago so Aliya could get a better education and Zoya could find better work. She's a tax auditor.

In just 3 short days Aliya became a great friend. We all shared similar thoughts on life and impressions of Russia. She was not your typical girl in Russia (or even in Tajikistan I imagine). She dressed how she pleased, had a strong sense of self, and had a huge heart like her mother. I think it was also refreshing for her to meet two people who could relate to her, whether they lived in Moscow or not. She was supposed to begin university this fall (2003). I asked her what she wanted to study. She said sound and recording would be her dream, but that she'll probably end up studying tax because her mother wants her to. I told her to not lose sight of her dream and study what she thinks will make her happy. She replied with, to study sound is very expensive. My stubborn yet creatively ambitious self wanted to encourage her to follow her dream and believe that where there's a will there's a way. But before I opened my mouth again I realized that it is Russia she is living in, not the States, therefore there probably aren't as many, if any, scholarships, grants, loans, etc. In that moment, I felt very fortunate to have the luxuries and privileges of the U.S. The next couple days only solidified my appreciation for being American rather than Russian.

Aliya helped us buy our train Trans-Siberian train tickets from Moscow to Yekaterinburg as well as the next leg, Yekaterinburg to Irkutsk. Piece of cake, relatively speaking. So when we were to actually leave on July 3rd, we got our stuff ready 2 hours ahead of time to be on the safe side. Zoya came home early from work to see us off. She insisted we go to the station by taxi rather than metro because she claimed it'd be quicker and easier. However, when we went to fetch a taxi none will take us- all claiming that there's too many traffic jams. It was rush-hour, so I assume they were right. With only one hour until our departure we hopped on the metro with Zoya and Aliya. We thought the station was Yaroslovskaya because that's what the Lonely Planet told us. So without being told any other station we headed there. At our metro transfer Aliya got separated from us and was pushed on the metro train. We didn't make that one and had to wait for the next one. Zoya is confident that we'll all meet up at our final destination, while Andy and I become nervous since she has my carry-on bag. When we get off at the final stop Aliya is no where in sight. However, we're pushed for time with our train about to depart in 5 minutes. We just hope she'll be at the platform when we get there.

We rush to the platform, weaving ungracefully through the crowds of impatient Russians getting off work. We finally reach the platform at 6:57pm for our 7:00pm train. Our train number is nowhere to be found on the schedule boards. After Zoya frantically asks about 10 people where this train was a security guard says it's at the Krudsky Station, not the one we were at. She didn't need to say anything to us, we knew we had screwed up royally and had told her the wrong station. So much for relying on the Lonely Planet when in doubt.

Still no sign of Aliya. The three of us head to the "other" station...tired, frustrated and achy. Four lines later we receive a 40% refund for our now expired tickets. I tried to explain to Zoya that we also wanted to buy another ticket to ensure we made our connecting train in Yekaterinburg, but due to the huge communication gap between us and the long lines, I backed down on buying the ticket then and went back to her house hoping that Aliya would be there with my bag. We got home at 9:30pm. Aliya was already at home and she was as exhausted and emotional as us. It turned out that Aliya got off a station after the one we were at on accident and by the time she went to the correct station we were elsewhere. Zoya took all her pent up aggression out on Aliya for not having known the right station and getting separated from us. I'm sure it was more satisfying to take it out on someone who understood what you're saying than on us, who understand squat. The emotional and adrenal roller coaster we were all on had us all at wit's end. Zoya had had enough for the night and was trying to convince us all to get some sleep and wait until the morning to get a ticket. I, on the other hand, was convinced that there were no morning or early afternoon trains and that we needed to get one tonight, so we could still make our connecting train in Yekaterinburg. I was ready to hike our stuff back down there before Zoya said that all the ticket offices were closed. Fortunately, her neighbor said they were open and that we should go down there to reserve spots for the next day.

I couldn't believe we were about to make a second trip to that nightmare of a place, but the bright side was that we weren't taking our packs. We were banking on the fact that we wouldn't be able to get out tonight anyway so it wasn't worth bringing them. So at 10:45pm we got back on the metro for the 5th time that day to make the courageous 45 minute trip to the station.

Once at Yaroslovskaya Station we got bounced around four different counters before we forced someone to tell us how we buy a ticket for the 3:00pm train. And this ill treatment wasn't because we were foreigners- Aliya was doing all the work for us in perfect Russian. One of the ticket sellers told us that if we wanted to get a seat on the 3:00pm train we needed to go to a different station. SHe said she only sold tickets for the 7:00pm train. In disbelief we asked another employee at a different counter for confirmation before getting back on the metro AGAIN. To the other station it was.

There were two ticket booths open, both with about 8 people in line. We stood in both until I reached the front of one of the lines. Aliya was stating our requests for about 2 minutes- negotiating costs, seats, etc.- when a woman and child behind us shove me out of the way saying their train was about to leave and asking if they could cut in front of us. Being the polite person Aliya is, she allowed the woman to cut in front of us. After the woman completes her transaction we step back up to the window to complete our booking process when the ticket woman says she is closed for the evening and shuts the window on us. In disbelief Andy and I desperately plead in our poor sounding Russian for her to just finish the booking with us. Unwilling to budge, the woman closes up shop anyway. Profanity and rage were screaming from my pores. I was so angry. I sat myself against a wall and attempted to breathe it all away.

The metro to get home closed at 1:00am and it was now 12:20am; we didn't have much time to spare. So we got in another line, and waited impatiently until we got to the front. There, we asked about tickets on the 3pm train. She told us that there is no 3pm train, that it does not exist, but there is a 5pm train. We are beside ourselves with frustration and confusion, since a 5pm train would still have us miss our connecting train. So, we decide to give it one last shot and get in another line. When we finally reached the front of another ticket window, we asked about the 3pm train again. This time, it was sold out, but there was magically a train that left at 2:20, so we quickly threw money in her face and hoped that the train or the seats wouldn't disappear in the next 30 seconds. And, luckily for us, they didn't.

So, 7 hours after our adventure began, we headed home with 2 tickets in hand, totally wiped out, but glad to have our departure sorted out. Aliya was SO exhausted at this point she couldn't speak Russian, let alone English. She deserved a medal of courage and kindness for taking us on. The night's not over though. On the metro home we shared a car with one passed out drunk, one sober gentleman, and a fat, drunk *#@hole that led a parade of homeless hooligans through the cars, pointing out who and teaching them how to pick pocket. There were about 7-8 boys from ages 8-14 all dressed in dirty oversized nylon warm up jackets that had bulging pockets from the night's "earnings." Aliya explained that the fat old man was the ring-leader and teacher of these street kids and they had to give him some of their earnings and God only knows what else. Their respect for him didn't seem high if their spitting on him reflected anything. Two of the boys carefully felt the front pockets of the pants and coat of the passed out guy. When they discovered that he wouldn't wake up even if a train hit him, they dug more aggressively into all his pockets. Their first find was a piece of paper and cigarettes. They snagged the cigarettes and tossed the paper on the ground. On the other side of him another kid was working on his inside jacket packet. Out came his passport. Aliya pleaded (for lack of a better word) that they not take his passport. They proudly said they never take passports, they're only looking for money and goodies. At the next stop they scattered off the train entertained by their little scavenger hunt. I glared at them to show my disapproval, but in reality I was powerless in the situation. My glare only put me on the same side as everyone else that's "against" them, which only made them feel more successful in their work. In an effort to right the wrong that was just done to the passed out man, I picked up the piece of paper and his passport and put them back into his pocket. From behind came a slap that stung my arm like a wet towel snapping me by it's teething end. Without even thinking, I flung myself around at the fat bastard that I knew had slapped me and with the pent up rage of the entire evening shouted "don't #*cking touch me."

At the same time, Aliya, Andy, and the sober guy jumped up to protect me. The look in Andy's face was one I had never seen before. One that I hope I never have to see again, but glad I know what's in him. The whole scene was unimaginable yet happening. When I saw those kids, I thought of the orphans I worked with in the Dominican Republic. "My" kids that I worked with could have been, might be now, possibly were before, like the kids on the Moscow Metro. I just got to see them in such a good light and help them in such a positive and significant way that I somehow feel like they were different. I know I wasn't in the position to reach out to the Russian kids in a way that would have helped. I hope there is someone that can who is.

So, we finally made it back to Aliya and Zoya's apartment around 1:30 am, and promptly passed out. The next day, we miraculously made the train without any complications.

Without our knowing, we got tickets for the southern route of the Trans-Siberian Railway that crosses through Kazan and the Tatar State of Russia. Although we weren't awake for most of our trip through the region and capital, we were blessed with the sincere invitation of sharing some peeva (beer) and campost (wine liquor) with some Tatars. A mother and son (12) who served as our honorary interpreter, a Tatar gentleman who works as a principal of a school and a Russian man who kept filling our glasses. None of them (us) knew each other before this journey, but for all we knew, they could have been lifelong friends by the warm way they acted towards each other. It was the "my house is your house" hospitality and mentality. Unfortunately, they departed before we awoke in the morning. Kazan, their stop, was at 3 am.

When we awoke the next morning, we assumed that our adventure was over. Oh how wrong we were! Since we already had our connecting tickets, we estimated that we had 30 minutes from when our train was supposed to arrive to when our connecting train left. However, within 30 minutes of leaving Moscow (on time I might add) we were somehow already 2 hours late. After checking with our car attendant, our train was only 45 minutes late with about 4 hours until we reached our connecting point. Our attendant was really nice and phoned ahead to get an english speaking train official to help us at the next stop. Well, he got on and his english was about as good as our russian. So, in this new age of technology, we ended up using a computer program on a laptop that one of our cabin mates had that translated russian into english and vice versa. Through this medium, we found out that basically, we were going to miss our connecting train, that there was not another train until the next day, and that we would get no money back because in Russia, you have to have a 3 hour window for connecting trains, and we only allowed 30 minutes. All very bad news for us.

So, our train pulled into the Yekaterinburg station only 45 minutes late, which means, theoretically, our connecting train left 15 minutes prior to our arrival, but this is Russia we thought, and the train might still be at the station. So, we run off the train, and into the station, looking for someone official to tell us if the train was still there. Two young Russians in uniforms ask us for our tickets, and when they look at them, they tell us to come with them. We follow them for a minute thinking they are leading us to our train; however, when we start heading away from the tracks, we start to get a little nervous. They lead us downstairs to some ticket booths, all of which have long lines, and then ask us for our tickets again. We are a bit confused, but we give it to them anyway. They cut to the front of the line, which is acceptable in Russia because they are in uniform, and literally 2 minutes later hand us a substantial amount of Russian currency. A quick calculation shows that they were able to get us a 70% refund on our tickets, which is an incredibly good rate, especially considering that we were told just a few hours before that we would get no refund at all. They then take us back upstairs and cut yet another long line, and in Russian, ask us when we want to leave, which class, and where do we want to go. We answer and they tell us that the tickets will cost us X amount of rubles. They must have seen the look on our faces, because the lead guy, Sergei, turns back to the ticket lady and asks if she can do it cheaper. She basically halves the fare, and he then asks us if that is okay. Still startled and confused, we say yes, the price is okay, and hand him some money. Two minutes later, the transaction is completed, and we are booked on a train leaving in 3 hours. Sergei walks us over to some seats and tells us to wait there and he will come and get us in a couple of hours when our train gets in.

Somehow, for whatever reason, Sergei decided to help us and within 25 minutes of meeting him, we had gotten a great refund on our tickets, and had 2 tickets at great price for a train 3 hours later. In total, he saved us hundreds of dollars and countless hours of frustration. So, 3 hours later, he showed us to our train, we thanked and tipped him generously for his kindness, and we boarded our train that would be our home for the next 3 days, taking us all the way to Lake Baikal.

We quickly adjusted to life on the train, and spent countless hours (or days even) watching the landscape whiz by. Traveling by train is like living in one of those picture books where each page has an inkling of a difference, but in the end, it is an entirely different image. At the onset of our train journey from Moscow, the landscape was swimming in aspen and pine forests. Fairly flat with open meadows of tall green grass with a tint of purple from the wild lupin scattered here and there.

But as we headed further into Siberian, the land became more open, the hills more rolling, and the settlements fewer.

Man's presence was shown through the villages of wooden houses, the tracks on which we were and the truck studded clearings with a road leading out for the lumber truck. Occasionally, we would pass through an industrial city, but mainly, we only saw small villages nestled among the hills close to rivers. The scenery was truly mesmerizing.

Our life on the train was very relaxed. We read, played cards, slept, listened to music, and slept some more. One of the most interesting aspects of the Trans-Siberian Railway is that at almost each stop, scores of Russian Babushkas ('grandmothers') would greet the passengers, selling home-grown veggies and fruits and home-cooked meals, along with beer, soda, and sometimes glass chandeliers, all in an attempt to supplement their meager government pension (roughly $10 a month, we were told). It was a great way to get some tasty food while helping out some of history's unfortunate bystanders.

So, roughly 4 days after leaving Moscow, 81 hours to be exact, our train rolled into the Siberian city of Irkutsk at 6 in the morning, and we said goodbye to our home on wheels, and ventured out into the Siberian morning.