Railways II - Perm to Krasnoyarsk

I noticed Vladimir from a mile away. Being in a Russian train station at 5.30am (local time) is enough to keep you on your toes for potential hazards, luckily the only hazard to me from Vladimir was directly related to the contents of his 1 litre bottle of chili vodka. He approached me with a drunken stumble, slurring the already impenetrable "zzzz" and "tsch" sounds that make up the Russian language - to his credit, he noticed that I clearly had no idea what he was saying he kept asking my name, which I answered duly. His face lit up as he realised I was English and began slurring in that language instead, "Pete! You must meet Pete!". Pete was an electro-house DJ from London who'd beenwas fresh off the back of playing to 2000 clubbers in Perm that night and was now en route to his next gig.

We were booked on the same train (delayed by 40 minutes, a trend with the Russian railway system), but different coaches, so spent some time chatting and drinking straight vodka - easier than it sounds! Talking to Pete was fantastic after not having a conversation for 3 or 4 days. We're entirely different people with different goals and lifestyles, but shared a passion for music and his enthusiasm after his gig was infectious. To be honest, we could've been discussing dulux emulsion ranges and I would've been just happy to be talking to him. Throughout all of this, Vladdi slipped into a vodka-induced coma in the corner and politely left us to it. The train came, we swapped details and went our separate ways. I was already excited about this next leg of my journey - 36 hours long to Krasnoyarsk.

Being on the train is worth the journey out here alone. The Russian people that hurry by you in the street in the city, avoiding eye-contact at all cost, become wonderfully helpful, warm and generous once you get sat opposite them. It's a change that's confusing me more and more the further I travel, but is very welcome. Despite the journey being so long this time, it was even more enjoyable than the last one. In Yekatarinburg, a young woman got on and sat next to me, she noticed the book I was reading and asked if I minded talking to her so she could practise her english - I was more than happy to help out! Her english was excellent, and despite her continuous apologies for stumbling (completely unnecessary) we had a good conversation about why I was here doing this, about home and about my life back home. She was so interested in my life that it was an entirely one-way conversation and she left with me knowing barely anything about her, except she taught constitutional law and was visiting her parents.

As she left the train, night-time was coming in and I was left alone at my table staring out the window and the train moved steadily on, leaving me looking at a fantastic sight - a Siberian sunset. The land lies uniformly flat most of the way, sparsely littered by silver birch skeletons and marsh land. The sun lies low, glowing blood red for an hour or more, lighting up the wooden shacks that make regular appearances - it almost makes you wish you lived out there in one. When I first set out, I was initially disappointed that there was no snow lying or predicted, that was one of the main reasons I wanted to come out here, to see the real Siberia. But at that point in late autumn, with the view I had, it was impossible to feel like you were missing out on anything.

I woke up the next morning with two new table friends, both of who took great interest in me. The next few hours were spent muddling through my travel arrangements after Irkutsk, my studies back home and my family. As tradition has it, Viktor (a gruff looking 52 year old man) poured us shots of vodka and we toasted each other's names: Viktor, Andrei and Anatoly. Andrei was a member of the Russian paratroop regiment, way out on the east coast at Vladivostock. Only 21 and studying medicine, he wants to be a doctor more than anything but is first serving his conscription time - he was jealous that I didn't have to go through the same thing back home.

Around four hours before my stop, another girl (Elena) swung her head around the corner of our little table area. She was an enligsh teacher, and asked if we minded her translating for us to help with her english, which of course we didn't. The main focus of conversation this time was the differences between life in Russia and life in the UK. Viktor had an overwhelming interest in the price of cars and how long it takes to save for one in the UK! Through discussing salaries, Elena revealed to me that her mother is a deputy headteacher in a state-run school and earns only $12,000 a year - that's about 6,000 pounds. Unbelievable. I wasn't left with time to ask, but I wondered how it makes people feel, working so hard to earn so little whilst living in a land so prosperous for an "elite" few. They talked amongst themselves a while, and it became clear that the more Viktor learnt of life elsewhere, the less enthused he became with his own motherland, at one point turning to me and saying in English, "Russia's problem, is too big". Did he mean Russia's problems are too big? Or did he mean the problems in Russia are because it's too big? I think the two are inextricably linked, and the more you move through Siberia seeing the shanty towns with the huge oil drilling platforms slapped in the middle of them, the more you understand. Russia isn't really a nation, it's almost impossible for something that size to be. For all it's outwardly projected national pride, it's a federation of small states, each exploited to the maximum by a new wave of capitalism which is sweeping across it. Those not in Moscow resent the central powers, complaining that they make decisions for them without knowing one thing of life out there. The pockets of the already wealthy are lined at the expense of those less fortunate - not a problem unique to Russia itself, but one which is compounded so many more times by it's size.

Arriving in Krasnoyarsk, I could've been forgiven for thinking I'd made another huge mistake. The train journey had been excellent and again I'd made a lot of new friends and experienced what Russian people are really like - once in the city, that friendliness drains away and people are left rushing to a destination they're unhappy about. Each and every person in the cities looks wholly miserable, as though they're serving out their time in purgatory before it's all over - that this is just a means to an end. Maybe it is for a lot of them. I wish I'd learnt more Russian before coming away, then I could ask them about it and why they look so unhappy. I find myself envious of Colin Thubron (the book I'm reading) and his ability to communicate with Siberia's inhabitants and find out what life's really like for them.

I stayed in the fantastic Hotel Sever on Ul Lenina, the main street in town. My room looked as though the 1940's had been out drinking Stella all day, came home, smashed the place up and then vomited all over. The carpet, the curtains, the beds were all pattered- all different patterns, and I was left thankful that I wasn't epileptic as it would surely have induced a fit. My lights didn't work, my bed-springs were all broken, the window wouldn't close and the tap wouldn't turnoff. I suppose you get what you pay for at 6 pound a night! However, despite being in a hotel again, and alone, I didn't feel anything like the isolation I did in Perm and was excited to explore again the next morning.

I like Krasnoyarsk. It's a peculiar place, about which I can list plentiful reasons to not like it, and few reasons in it's favour - but it's won me over. There was a huge hydro-electric dam built here in 1971, it flooded out 48,000 people and nowadays results in large percentages of the population of the town contracting chest infections... despite this, the dam is celebrated, pictured on the back of the 10 rouble note. That in itself is intensely Russian - industry and progress at the expense of it's people is celebrated! Back to Krasnoyarsk though... every so often, a bitter metallic taste rushes in on the cold wind and catches your throat, but even this isn't enough to put me off this place. Far from the idyllic notions I had of Siberia, of small towns and homely winding streets, I'm finding the cities to be grey, filthy industrial scars on the land - Karsnoyarsk is no exception. But again, I still find myself liking it in spite of all this.

From the small chapel of St Parasceva (also on the 10 rouble note) you can look down on the town. A physical boundary is formed by rundown houses and a tributary to the Yenisei river, past which the large tower blocks loom in all their hazy glory. But, if you head down into the streets, you're surprised by the odd wooden mansion on a corner with it's intricate architecture, still standing despite lengthy abandonment. On Prospect Mira (another main street), speakers pump out jazz or instrumental versions of songs making it feel like Christmas. This town has character - and I think that's why I find myself liking it, forgiving it for it's misdemeanours. A short walk down to the main Yenisei river is excellent... the river itself is one of the biggest in the world and splits Siberia in two, east and west, flowing into the Arctic ocean. From it's banks it's an impressive sight.

My time there though ended and I moved on again, once more finding myself in a train station late at night. It's strange, but as a foreigner, I find myself more wary of the police here than I am of the other people - without any cause so far. However, in the station I met three New Zealanders, headed in the same direction as me and staying in the same hostel that I'm typing this from now. The journey to Irkutsk passed quickly, the train was quiet and there was little interaction. Special mention for the crazy man who, whenever the train stopped at a station, got out in just shorts and trainers (it's about 4 degrees here now) and sprinted lengths of the platform and then got back on just in time to move on... he made the journey more interesting! But yes, I'm now in Irkutsk, and plan on spending the next week or so here because I'm going down to Lake Baikal. If you don't know anything about it, look it up, and look at some pictures - it's absolutely amazing.

So, I'm safe, warm enough (despite the now falling snow) and having a whole load of fun. I'd doubtlessly write again at length from Lake Baikal.

x