If there’s one piece of advice I would've appreciated on the afternoon of Tuesday, September 27, 2005, it would have been this: ‘Just buy the Stolichnaya’.
If I could have had a second piece, maybe it could have been the gentle reminder: ‘Remember, it’s a marathon, not a sprint.’ Or, perchance my vodka-addled brain wasn't up to figuring out how to apply that statement to my life for the next few days: ‘Drink the Stolichnaya slowly, and over time’.
If the advice Gods were on a roll, or had a three-for-the-price-of-two deal going, ‘Faraway hills are greener’ would have completed the line-up nicely. Or, translated to fit the occasion: ‘That carton of interesting-looking juice probably won’t be the best option on closer inspection. Just get orange juice.’.
The advice Gods weren't on duty that afternoon though.
Nope, it was just me, stocking up in a Moscow back-street equivalent of an off-licence for a four night journey on the Trans-Siberian Railway to Irkutsk.
My eventual purchases were: bags of Lay’s crisps in a variety of flavours, a couple of large cartons of the aforementioned interesting-looking juice and vodka that cost about 50c less than Stolichnaya in a bottle that looked not unlike Tesco’s own brand version.
The crisps were a solid buy.
The Trans-Siberian was one of the more exotic parts of the itinerary during my year of bumbling around the world. It’s also one of the more exotic places I've ever vomited.
We set off from Moscow on the evening of Tuesday, September 27, 2005, and arrived in Irkutsk at about 9.30am the following Saturday morning.
The in-between bit went a little like this:
Tuesday evening: Find assigned train cabin. Choose one of top two bunks in assigned cabin. (Who’s ever to know how sturdy bunk-beds are? Better to squash than be squashed if it comes to it.) Change into pyjamas (and remain in them until Irkutsk). Meet the pravodnitsa - a woman something akin to my boarding school matron or house person, who basically minds you while you’re on the train but who is also a little bit scary. Find out where you can access hot water on board. (In boarding school this was also very important. Mostly for cooking noodles late at night. Did I have noodles on the train? I don’t think so. Nonetheless, sourcing hot water was paramount as I remember.) Spend some time watching Russia fly by the train window. Have a drink with my three travel buddies to welcome ourselves on board the renowned Trans-Siberian. Have a drink with our cabin neighbours - Erik and Viggo from Sweden and Luuk and Lars from Holland* - to welcome them on board the renowned Trans-Siberian. Find out Viggo enjoys dressing up as a Smurf in his spare time. Each to his own. Have another drink. Indulge Erik by playing ‘Love Bomb’ so he can tell my travel buddy he fancies her, without saying so out straight. Have another drink. Listen while Luuk and Lars explain that they are actually pirates. Fair enough. Have another drink. Get told off for talking too loudly by the pravodnitsa. Have another drink. Say goodnight to Erik, Viggo, Luuk and Lars after the pravodnitsa insists on them going to their own cabin. Have another drink. Get told to go to sleep by the pravodnitsa. Doze off. Dream the train floor is actually made of slats, which rotate on hinges if needed to allow access to the train tracks below. Use this very useful feature to vomit onto train tracks, thanks to cheap vodka and weird juice mixer overload**. Wake up immediately. Notice that, contrary to expectations, the floor is in fact securely in place, and now has a puddle of vomit on it. Further notice that travel buddy sleeping on lower bunk has been hit by some, eh, friendly fire. Notice third travel buddy has managed to vomit exactly the capacity of his ceramic travel mug. Strip bed, using unaffected part of sheets to ineffectively mop up vomit puddle. Desperately try to find somewhere to clean/stash vomit-y sheets, without attracting the attention of pravodnitsa. Give up, put vomit-y sheets in corner at end of bed. Go to sleep.
Wednesday: Swear off vodka. Apologise to bunkmake. Brush teeth. Enjoy baby wipe shower. Watch Russia rush by out the window. Eat crisps. Nap. Get off train at stop in the middle of nowhere to stretch legs and buy bread rolls (for crisp sandwiches) from babushka. Play ‘Love Bomb’ again. Sleep.
Thursday: Same as Wednesday.
Friday: Same as Thursday.
Saturday: Change out of pyjamas. Arrive in Irkutsk at 9.30am local time, 4.30am Moscow time. Feel no surprise at having lost five hours of my life. Travel to Listvyanka, on the edge of Lake Baikal. Check into new, stationary, digs. Go to local pub for drink. Choose not to drink vodka. Or tropical juice.
*names have been changed to protect identities
** Ok, the juice probably had nothing to do with it.
