Go Big Mike!

28-30 August

[My photos from the train ride are here. Most are crap, as they were shot through the dirty windows of a speeding train.]

Happily reunited with my German friends from the long ride from Moscow to Irkutsk, I was feeling good about the ride into Mongolia. Then Manfred said to me, “You have food, yes?”. Uh, no. I had planned to follow their lead from the previous train, and just buy as we went along. But that wouldn’t be very feasible on this train, for while it made more frequent stops, they were only for 1 or 2 minutes, and vendors didn’t come to the platforms. Crap. A quick scramble through a few of the kiosks across the street, and I returned with enough water and snacks to get me through the 40 hour journey.

We boarded the train shortly thereafter, and I was again in the same wagon with the Germans. It turned out that the entire wagon was “the foreigner wagon”, with maybe one Russian mixed in. My cabinmates were Joseph, a teacher from Austria, and David & Michael, two buddies from Dublin. Down the hall were a few Americans, some Frenchies, several more Germans, and a lone Dutchman (where are all the Aussies???).

The train creaked off to a slow roll, with cheers from our cabin. Russian trains (and most, I suspect) don’t have any active air conditioning when the train is stopped. So we had been sweating in our little cube, and looked forward to the airflow. Of course, this was the slow train, so it stopped after about 5 minutes. And again another 10 minutes later. And so on, through the night. We chatted for a bit, and commiserated about the agonizingly slow progress we were making. Arnol, the Dutchman, had similar travel plans to mine, so we spent some time comparing notes, and exchanged info to potentially link up later in China.

My ticket was for the top bunk. I decided to risk lowering the retaining bar, given the train’s slow pace; would a “sudden” stop really toss me out of the bunk? And when was the last time I’ve rolled out of a bed in my sleep? This gave me a few inches of extra space, and allowed me to get some decent sleep. I slept through the only planned longish stop of our trek, a 40 minute stop at Ulan Ude, Russia.

Wednesday would be a day of waiting, and celebration: it was Manfred & Brita’s anniversary, and my birthday. We were scheduled to spend roughly 8 hours parked on either side of the Russian/Mongolian border. As we crawled along the last few kilometers of southern Siberia, we were able to detrain at the short stops to stretch our legs for a few minutes.

Manfred had briefed us on the protocol at the border. We planned to sit in our wagon for the first few hours, and then we’d be free to roam around for a few hours. But the provodnik came through and told us (this one spoke a little English, and good German) that we’d get off the train as soon as we parked at the Russian checkpoint, and need to return in 3 hours. Manfred said the process has been evolving on his trips over this route in the past several years, and this was the third change in a year. So we hopped off the train under sunny, clear skies to find some treats in the border town.

After 30 minutes of wandering we finally found a shop that sold beers, so we bought a few to enjoy in the sun while we waited. And waited, and waited. Most of the passport control and customs focus in these crossings is on the locals and traders. For simple tourists like us, the scrutiny is minimal. When we returned to the train for inspection, the process was very quick and quite painless. Passports and papers quickly scanned, stamped a few times, and then agents took apart several secret compartments to make sure nobody was smuggling anything. We were all cleared in about 40 minutes, and were able to get off the train again.

This was the slow train, both because of the number of stops, and because of a peculiar arrangement whereby a Russian locomotive led the train to the border, and then a Mongolian locomotive took over for the Mongolian leg. On the other, faster options, the Russian loco took the train the whole way. As a special birthday treat for me, our Mongolian escort was delayed an extra 2 hours, expanding the 40 hour ride to 42. Ah well, at least we were able to spend the time off the train, in the sun (this would have been far less amusing in mid-winter…).

After our Mongolian steed finally arrived and was attached to our train, everyone boarded the train and stayed in the hallway, curious to see the border zone. We were able to snap pictures on the Russian side, but as soon as we hit the no-man’s land we were told to put away the cameras, as the Mongolians are sensitive about it (seemed odd). Either side of the zone had a few manned towers, and the Russian side had a few ancient looking tanks covered in tall grass. The best was our final image of Russia: army officers playing volleyball (Yes, Top Gun references were made. Slider, you stink!)

And then we stopped on the Mongolian side for entry processing, and to attach up to a massive local train. After another quick stamping process, we cracked open the vodka and beer for a few hours of celebration before bed.

I woke up with a fog in my head, and to fog on the ground. The Mongolian countryside was definitely different than the Siberian landscape of the past many days train travel. More hills, more green, dotted with white tents (gers), and more horses evident.

We were awakened early in anticipation of our 7:40 arrival in Ulaan Baatar. And of course we ended up being 1:40 late, given our late start the night before. As Ulaan Baatar crept into view, shrouded in a brown haze, we said our farewells, and prepared for a hectic scene on the platform.

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[My photos from around Lake Baikal are here. Some are shot from a bouncing van. Sorry.]

“So here I am at midnight in a wooden hut just feet from the world’s largest lake, with a blazing fire, surrounded by 5 Russian guys I just met, and everybody’s naked. And then they start lashing me with birch branches.”

Irkutsk, the main train stop for Lake Baikal, is actually 60 kilometers from the lake. The guidebooks mention hydrofoil service that runs on varying schedules from Irkutsk to Olkhon Island, which was where I wanted to go. So I made my way around Irkutsk with all my gear. I arrived a sweating mess at a completely vacant boat dock. No boat today. So from there I humped it over to the town’s tourist information office, where I found out that there was a final bus heading to Olkhon in about an hour. Tired of schlepping my gear, I opted for a taxi to the bus station. I managed to buy the right ticket, but the ticket contained zero information about where to get on the bus. The attendant pointed me to stand 5, for bus 221, leaving at 12:30. By 12:20 there was still no sign of bus 221, but minibus 632 was loading up. As I stood there confused, a nice local man asked me if I spoke French, and then helped me discover that the bus number really didn’t matter, and that I should get on number 632.

Minibus 632 to Olkhon was more like a clown funny car. We ended up with 3 more people than seats. And the Russians don’t believe in seat belts. I ended up with a seat facing backward, with a large Russian man in my face. For the first time on this trip I had found someone who sweat as much as me! Over the next 6 hours on our painful trek to Olkhon, Maxim and I would chat in broken English. Max had studied English in university, but hadn’t used it in 10 years. We’d exchange a few words, and then an hour would pass. “I have question: what is your profession?” Max would ask. Another agonizing hour of washboard dirt roads, and another question. He was getting warmed up.

We finally made it to Lake Baikal, and boarded the ferry to the island. After paying the 25 Rubles per-day usage fees, we reboarded the bus, heading to the main, small village, Khuzir. Max decided he wanted to join me at Nikita’s Guest House. Reception informed us that there weren’t any single rooms left, but they had a double room we could share. Sure, what the heck. We checked into our cozy penthouse cabin room.

And I had my first shower in almost 5 days. Oh so nice. The pit toilet was less nice, but at least Nikita’s supplied wood shavings to help freshen things up.

After a tasty dinner, Max informed me that he was going to meet his friends for “Real Russian banya!”, and that I should come. Banya is basically a sauna, with some birch-branch lashings and cool water dips mixed in. Sure, what the heck, “Ok, I’ll join”. We wandered into the village to find a shop to pick up some supplies (whiskey for Max, vodka for me), and we set off to find Max’s friends. And we wandered. And wandered. Finally after scaring several locals by asking directions, we made our way to a small forest atop a hilltop overlooking Baikal. We could see the silhoutte of a small hut near the water. “DIMA!!!!” Max shouted repeatedly, while dark figures near the hut would alternately yell “NYET!” or various other things. Sure that this wasn’t them, and that I was probably about to meet my maker out here in the middle of nowhere, I had a few moments of panic. Max was sure this was his crew though, so we headed down the hill to the beach. And sure enough, it was them. His buddy from Moscow, Dima, had made some friends that day. Denis and Andre, also from Moscow had joined the banya fun.

So here I am at midnight in a 6×10 wooden hut 15 feet from the world’s largest lake, with a roaring fire, with 5 Russian guys I just met, I can’t understand anything that’s being said, and everybody’s naked. And then they start lashing me with birch branches. “It tradition! Good for skin!” I learned. It’s also traditional to stoke the fire up so hot that you can barely breathe (”Good for health!”). I also learned several other rules of Russian banya that I now can’t recall, but I remember that each of them started with “Mike, Mike, you must…” and Dima would lose focus. And then the rule would follow a minute later (one of the rules was something about not drinking vodka during banya, but that didn’t seem to stop us a bit later…). After about 15 minutes of cranked heat and lashings, it was time for our first dip. So out into the night we dashed, into the icy waters of Lake Baikal. Wow, what a rush. Full moon, midnight, and no lights around for miles, other than a few campfires and a forest fire off in the distance. The process was repeated several times over the next hour, and then we were done. We polished off any remaining booze on our way back to the shack that Dima and the guys were staying in. And then I had another brief moment of panic when Denis busted out a gigantic knife to cut up some sausage and cheese. But of course, it was all just for good health.   Max and I stumbled our way back to Nikita’s to crash. I awoke Sunday morning with a mild hangover but a very fresh-feeling face. The banya experience was definitely a highlight of the trip so far.

My time on Olkhon was like being at summer camp. We swam, rode bikes, played ping-pong, enjoyed nature, and relaxed. At night we were entertained by local musical talents, and we’d finish the night meeting other travellers around a fire pit. Nikita’s is a magnet for backpackers making their way through Siberia, so it’s a little “English is the primary language” oasis. It was a great break in the trip for me.

It turned out that Max is my Russian brother. We’re both big, sweaty men, both left-handed, geeks (he’s also a Web guy), good at ping-pong, photo nerds, and enjoy riding bikes. He’s the father of 2, and working on his second marriage.

Nikita, of Nikita’s Guest House, was a Russian table tennis champion several years ago. This means he was crazy good. This seems to attract other good players to his guest house. While Max and I rallied, a man played with his daughter. I could tell he was quite good. They left, and Max and I started to play a game. 10 minutes later, then man returned with another man and they started to rally. The most amazing ping-pong I’ve ever seen ensued. The second man turned out to be Nikita. While the first man was very good–a serious player–Nikita was ridiculous. He basically sat back and played defense against this guys who was just cranking every shot. And Nikita never missed. Well, except for the infrequent lob that would hit one of the random wires hanging from the roof of the shack. Every once in a while Nikita would crack an offensive shot, usually for a winner. Very fun to watch. Oh, and of course I won my game over Max, as I would all of our games (USA!!! USA!!! USA!!!).

On Monday, my final full day on the island, I took a van tour to the north end of the island with about 20 others. Bumping along over rough roads, we saw the burnt ruins of a real-life Gulag, Crocodile Rock, and some generally nice scenery, with sharp cliffs that dropped into the dramatic blue of Baikal.

And we got our first glimpse of “Big Baikal”, the main body of the lake, including the deepest spot in any lake in the world. I enjoyed hanging out with distinctive French brothers Antoinne and (doh, forgot), and their buddy Juan from Portugal (who spent a semester at Claremont Graduatelast year…).

Back at Nikita’s, Max and I scrambled up Shaman Rock for some fun photos.

Tuesday morning I got up early to catch the bus. I said my farewells to my new friends, and boarded the minibus. Same friggin backward-facing seat this time. And I even intentionally got to the bus 15 minutes early! Arg. Fortunately the trip back seemed smoother and faster than the trip in, despite the largely surly French occupants of this van. Coincidentally, Denis and Andre were on another bus at the same time, and we met up at the ferry landing station. I had been working on my Russian photo pose, but I just can’t muster the same look they strike.

Back in Irkutsk I spent 45 minutes in a taxi trying to find a functioning Internet connection (Lonely Planet let me down on this one…). After my Net fix, and a quick dinner with fellow traveller Alex, I made my way to the train station. Several minutes of confusion later, I finally gleaned from one of the agents that I shouldn’t worry, my train wasn’t listed yet but it would be soon. Not like plane travel. And 10 minutes later, I saw my German friends. We were all going to be in the same wagon together again. Yay! But the train that I thought was going to take 28 hours was going to take 40. Ow.

Random musings:

• Earlier I mused about the sexy look that all Russian women strike when posing for a photo. I got a good answer from a lovely young Russki at Nikita’s. She basically said it’s not them acting fake; they’re always told to try to look better, be better from when they’re very young. So they’re just doing what comes naturally, by training. I’ll buy that. I still don’t get the guys pose though.

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[My photos from the train ride are here. Most are crap, as they were shot through the dirty windows of a speeding train. But at least there are a lot of them!]

Vowing to learn from my previous mistakes with trains, I arrived early (again) at the station in Moscow on Tuesday night, and triple-checked my train number versus the platform number when walking to the train. There’s no way I could have repeated my cross-platform dash from St. Petersburg here, as this train was incredibly long (30 wagons, many of which were cargo-only), and I was booked into the wagon furthest from the waiting area.

Happy to be arriving early and at the right train, I handed my ticket and passport to the attendant for my wagon. She looked confused, and turned the ticket over a few times, held it up to the light, and generally scratched her head. She blurted something at me in Russian. “Ni Russki. Angliski?” I replied. “Nyet” she said. Uh oh. She handed my ticket to her assistant, who went scurrying off with it.

During the ensuing 10 minutes waiting for the assistant to return, I met several friendly Germans, who were going to be in my wagon. We chatted for a few minutes, and then the assistant returned. She conversed in Russian with the attendant, and then the attedant came over to us and spoke in German to my new friends. After a few exchanges, she turned to me and said “Nyet ticket!”. Panic. The Germans said “She says ‘incomplete’”. “Wait, I have more papers!”, I said as I frantically dug through my bag, searching for the envelope that contaied my future tickets. When I produced the cover and extra sheets for my future trains, the attendant reviewed them and smiled. “Billyet!” (ticket) she said. Phew. Apparently when you book and international or multi-leg ticket in Russia, you should always give the attendant everything, and not just the “boarding pass” for that leg, like you would for a flight. Another lesson learned.

I boarded the train, and found my cabin and seat. Happily, I was booked into a lower bunk for this 76-hour marathon trip. And this was train #10, one of the best, fastest in use in Russia. On slower trains this is an 85+ hour journey. My cabin was occupied by 3 Russian men, one about my age, and the other two appeared to be in their late 50’s. They scowled at me. When I put my bottle of Russian Standart vodka on the table, one chortled (we’ll call him Nikolai; I didn’t get his actual name, even though I offered my name, and he rode almost the entire trip to Irkutsk) and the others didn’t react. This was not going to be a party cabin.

We turned out the lights about an hour after departing, and went to sleep. I again slept on and off throughout the night, even though I was much more comfortable in the wider, longer lower bunk. At 5am, the two men in the top bunks prepared to get off. And at the stop 15 minutes later, I awoke to some commotion and cries of “mama!” and “doodoo!” in my cabin (fortunately “doodoo” meant “train”, not what it does at home…). Nikolai was getting the boot to another cabin, in favor of a mother and her 18-month old son. Delightful. I tried to catch some more sleep while they settled in, but Denis (”Dyenis”), as he would later be introduced, was relentless in his squeaking.

Later in the day we were joined by “Coughing girl” and her boyfriend. Oh, and “The Friend Who Has a Bed Down the Hall But Who Spends All Her Time in Our Cabin”.

Rolling through a time zone per day, the next several days were spent napping, getting to know the very fun Germans, reading, napping, and making Denis giggle. Denis would crack up any time he waved at me and I would wave back. It was a simple game, and I was good at it. His cuteness won me over after starting out way in the negative.

After a few hours, he started saying “dyadya”, which sounded like “dada”, which was a little scary. Natasha would later explain that “dyadya” basically meant “uncle” or “friendly man” in Russian. Phew. Natasha spoke a little basic English, so we’d chat a little every now and then. When “Hotel California” came on over the loudspeakers, she said “Scorpions?”. “Close, Eagles.”

The music selection throughout the trip amused me. Between Russian rock and “standards”, Akon, Rihanna, and Enrique would make appearances. “I wanna lick your ice cream and you can lick my lollipop” was the chorus of a song in English with a dance beat that I hadn’t heard before. Pure genius.

As birch forests, defunct factories, and small, bleak villages rolled by, I spent some quality time chatting with my new German friends. Manfred was the elder statesman of the group, and the mastermind of the tour. A retired forestry man, he had been doing conservation consulting in Mongolia for several years. He enjoyed train travel, so he always took the Trans-Mongolian route. And his wife and friends would occasionally join. This time 5 friends (his wife Brita, Heide, Baerbel, Peter, and Joerg) were along for the trip. Manfred educated me on the evolution of the forests around Russia, saying that the birch forests we were seeing now were not native; they were planted in the 1900’s, and that in 40 years the next generation of native trees, the pines (”needle trees” as he called them) would reclaim the land. We also talked about rivers, to which I was able to contribute a little, as I’d just finished reading “Lost In Mongolia“, a book about 3 guys who raft the Yenisey River from Mongolia to the Arctic Ocean (Thanks IQZ!).

By Thursday my body was starting to get a bit sore from inactivity and laying about. We were only able to get off the train a few times per day, for about 20 minutes while at various stops. My buddy Nikolai would give me tips in rough English and grunts (and groans when I didn’t understand). At most of these longer stops, vendors were on the platforms, selling various foodstuffs and toys. Some stops also had alcohol stands. Thursday night we took advantage of this, and knocked back a good bit of vodka and beer. I slept better Thursday night. I also tried some smoked fish from the platform. I ate about 1/4 of mine and donated the rest to the cause. Not yummy in my tummy.

Natasha, Denis, and Coughing Girl and crew all got off at Novosibirsk late Thursday night, and I got a new batch of roomies. This time it was a family of 3, with a 7-year old son. English was very limited, but in an exchange of pointing at maps with the father, I gathered that he had grown up in extreme northeast Siberia, along the strait across from Alaska. And he had been stationed with the military in Kaliningrad at some point.

For reasons unkown to me, Friday found the train conductor laying on the horn far more than previous days. We also got a change of scenery, with the flat plains of previous days giving way to rolling hills and more picturesque villages.

We found fresh raspberries on one of the platforms and made some tasty “raspberry vodka soup” for an evening treat, and called it an early evening.

Long-distance trains in Russia all run on Moscow time, even when you’re 5 time zones away like we were now, or 10 like you are in Vladivostok. Our train was to arrive at 4:15am, Moscow time, on Saturday.

I woke up at 1am as my cabinmates prepared to make their exit from the train. I finally had the cabin all to myself, but only for the final few hours of the trip. Ah well, it had been sort of fun getting to sort of know people with whom you can sort of kind of barely communicate. The wagon attendants woke everyone up an hour before Irkutsk to make sure people would be ready to get off (and not miss the pre-stop 30 minute bathroom lockout window…). After packing my things I compared notes with the Germans, and confirmed that we’d be on the same train together again in a few days, heading from Irkutsk to Mongolia. So as we de-trained, we said “See you later” (insert your own rendition of the “Auf Weidersein” song here), and I headed off into Irkutsk to try to find a way to Olkhon Island, on Lake Baikal.

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[My photos from Moscow are here. And yes, I groaned when I wrote that title too.]

I arrived in Moscow with sore feet from St. Petersburg, so I planned to take it easy. The great folks at the Trans Siberian Hostel let me check in early, and I was able to take a shower and have a nice nap in the early afternoon in my dorm room. In the evening, I managed to make my way on the giant Moscow Metro to Red Square, which was quite cool to wander around in.

My roommates were two nice Italian guys, about my age, Lorenzo and Eugenio. We ended up hanging out the following day, and making our way out to the nearest “Golden Ring” city. We had quite an adventure running around trying to find the right bus to take, getting ping-ponged around across a 10 block area about 15 times by different people. So we settled on the train, which was packed on the way out, and an interesting experience. The Kremlin at Kozal contained many beautiful churches, and was worth the trip.

On my final day in Moscow, I headed inside the Kremlin. There are several impressive churches there, and some fun giant Russian items too (Tsar Cannon and the bell).

After that I decided to unwind by walking to the sculpture garden, where I saw several cool Soviet-era sculptures, and generally had a nice relaxing time.

The cool folks at TSH once again came through for me, as they let me grab a shower and hang out for a few hours before I headed for my train, even though I had checked out earlier that day. Natasha said because of my performance the night before at happy hour (and the sumo wrestling later in the evening), I could have whatever I wanted.

I’ll write more about the train journey from Moscow to Irkutsk in a future post, but I’ll leave you with this: this time I found the right platform and train, but after about 10 minutes of scurrying around with my ticket, the attendant came back to me and said “Nyet ticket!”.

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[ I added another 100 photos to my St. Petersburg photo gallery]  

This will be a short post, to get caught up.

On my final day in St. Petersburg, I managed to get up early to pack my things and make it to the meeting spot a few blocks away for a walking tour from Peter’s Walks. The tour lasted about 5 hours, and we walked through the less visited parts of St. Petersburg, South of Nevsky. It was interesting to see some of the large local markets (akin to farmers markets in the US), and some of the apartment blocks. Our group was mostly Americans, with a French family mixed in. Our guide was excellent.

After the tour, I walked around more on my own, crossing over the Neva to “the spit of the island”, where all couples go to smash champagne glasses as part of their weddings.

The view of the city from the other side was also great.

I also climbed up St. Isaac’s colonnade, to get views over the city.

My train to Moscow left at 12:20am from the Moscovsky station, near my apartment. I got there an hour early to make sure I’d be relaxed and things would go smoothly. Of course, they didn’t. When the time came to board the train, I walked to the platform and found my carriage. But nobody was getting into our carriage, due to a person at the front not having the right ticket, but refusing to get out of the way.

We stood for about 5 minutes while the attendants tried to get the person to move aside. The other passengers started shouting at him, so he finally got out of the way. We were now about 5 minutes from planned departure time, and 80 people needed to get on board. Then most of the passengers were being handed their tickets slowly; I don’t know why they didn’t have their own tickets in hand. I finally cut in line, since I had my ticket in hand, to make sure I got on the train. And then I became the guy with the wrong ticket. The attendant said “No this train”, and pointed to a different platform. Crap. With 2 minutes before departure, and 2 loooonnng train lengths to traverse, I had to sprint with all my gear. I got to the right train in time, and they had me board the front car. I then had to shimmy my way through 15 carriages with incredibly narrow halls, where Russians were usually hanging out (and of course they didn’t step out of the hall and into their suite when I came by).

I banged my way through the entire train. This totally sucked. Drenched in sweat, I finally found my car and suite. And of course there was another problem… There are 4 beds per suite. In my suite sat 4 people, a family. After standing for a few minutes to cool down, we started to talk a bit. The family booked 3 of the tickets in the suite, and a 4th down the hall. Since I didn’t really care, I offered to take the other spot down the hall. This turned out to be a mistake, as this new bed was a top bunk, versus my bottom bunk. The bottom bunks have more space. The top bunks aren’t Big Mike size. They’re a little too short, and too narrow. So I didn’t manage much sleep, but overall the train was ok. My 76 hour-long ride to Irkutsk from Moscow is to be in one of the nicest trains in Russia, so hopefully I’ll manage more sleep there. And I hope I’ll make a few less mistakes on that one.

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[ My photos from St. Petersburg]

I arrived into St. Petersburg just before midnight on Tuesday night, via an easy 7 hour train from Tallinn. Working with Alex, a travel agent in Petersburg, and boyhood friend of one of my friends in LA, I had pre-arranged a private apartment, and a transfer from the station to the apartment. Easy peasy. The apartment was great, but a bit hot (it had been 35C/100F in Petersburg that day). I opened the windows to let in some fresh air for a bit, and went to bed. This was my first big mistake.

My sleep wasn’t easy, with the heat, soft/hard in all the wrong places mattress on the fold-out bed, and the sensation that I was being bitten by mosquitos, despite no evidence of the buggers when I shined my light around. I woke up about 3 hours later covered in mosquito bites. BIG swollen ones. As in “am I going to grow an extra limb there, or what?” big. They had mercilessly drilled into my bare skin like Gasprom does the endless white tundra expanses of Siberia. Extreme measures were called for. I flipped on the lights and went to work destroying the squadron of mozzies that were now too drunk to take flight. I think I killed about 10 between the 3 rooms of the apartment. I then slathered on a cocktail of 100% DEET and magical anti-itch/swelling potion that my doctor had thoughtfully prescribed for my travel medical kit. I love this lotion; instantly killed the itching, and the swelling was gone by morning. I managed a few hours of unmolested sleep, but was very cranky when it was time to get up.

Two hours later, I was even more cranky. I struggled hard the first few hours on the streets of Petersburg. I only had a weak map, and I had misunderstood my location during the drive the night before. Oh, and all the signs are in Cyrillic. After an hour standing on the same corner in Vossitiniya plaza, I finally figured out where the disconnect was, and started making my way West on Nevskiy, the main drag in Petersburg. I needed to meet up with Alex to pay for the apartment, and talk about my intended train travel, which he was helping to book. About midway through the 45 minute walk I finally saw the first clear bank (Citibank), so I stopped in and pulled out many thousands of Roubles. Thirty minutes later I was sure I was going to lose all those Roubles and more, as I stood on one of the top floors in what felt like a crackhouse apartment building. Another navigation error on my part led me into the wrong building about a block from Alex’s office. Fortunately he quickly responded to my SMS that I thought I might be outside their door, but was afraid to knock, saying I wasn’t at their door, and he’d meet me on the street.

I was happy to see Alex. He’s cheerful, and his English is very good (he worked as a tour guide in English 10 years ago, before co-founding an agency catering to Italian tourists). We chatted for a bit about my itinerary in Petersburg, and he offered some suggestions. And then we talked about my train tickets, which he was working on procuring. I got my Internet fix at an open desk in their office while he worked on train options.

Alex’s office is quite close to several of the main tourist sites in Petersburg, so I decided to do the Lonely Planet’s recommneded walking tour, to clear my head and hopefully warm me up to the town. Wow, did it ever. Once you’re in the right spot, and correctly oriented, it should only take about 90 minutes walk to convince you that St. Petersburg is a beautiful, world-class city. St. Isaacs, the Admiralty, the Neva, the Hermitage, the canals, Our Savior on Spilled Blood are all a short walk apart, and are all stunning.

The Winter Palace/Hermitage:

Our Savior on Spilled Blood:

Learning my lesson from the previous night, I didn’t invite my blood-thirsty enemies into my apartment Wednesday night, and I managed a decent night’s sleep with the fan blowing full-force on me. I got started later than I’d planned, but still ended up having a fantastic day. I headed back down toward the Hermitage, and caught a hydrofoil boat headed towards Peterhof (Pedroverets).

Peterhof is a massive, sprawling, word-defyingly large compound outside Petersburg, with manicured gardens, wooded areas, beautiful fountains, and gold-domed buildings. My words won’t do it justice, and the photos hardly do. I spent about 5 hours wandering around (including a brief detour off the grounds to visit a cool church about 10 blocks away). And I didn’t even go inside any of the buildings, due to the lines and my satisfaction with the grounds.

A small part of Peterhof:

The cool church a few blocks away:

Exhausted, I plopped down in a seat in the hydrofoil for the 30 minute ride back to town. I tried to stay awake to enjoy the views on the way back in, but slept through most of it. Alex and I were to meet up for a few beers, so I headed to his office to meet up with him. We ended up going to “Beer Exchange”, a sportsbar with lots of European beers on tap. The TV’s in the bard were showing St. Petersburg’s main soccer team, “Zenit”, playing a match in the European cup against a Czech team. Petersburgers LOVE Zenit (it’s their only city team; Moscow has 6 such teams), so the locals were cheering and groaning loudly at all the right times, and I tried to follow suit. Zenit ended up winning, so the game was followed by about 5 different celebratory fight songs. Alex and I did our best to talk over the din, on topics ranging from cars to travel to *gasp* politics.

Friday morning I again overslept (pattern here?), before mustering to the Internet cafe. My main destination today was to be the Hermitage, the gigantic museum. Of course, it started raining just as I left the cafe, so my walk was through alternating light spit and real downpour. Good thing I picked up an umbrella in New York!   Arriving mid-afternoon worked to my advantage with the lines at the Hermitage, though, as it only took about 10 minutes wait to get through the line and into the museum. It’s a big-time museum, on par with Paris’ Louvre. In just shy of four hours I managed to hit all the floors of the 2 main buildings, but not all the rooms. There were several special collections (mostly on jewels) that I didn’t have access to, and several other rooms or entire wings were simply closed without explanation. But there was plenty to see, and I nearly gave up before wandering to the first floor to see what turned out to be some of my favorite displays of the day, the bronze age and earlier discoveries around Russia. Sure, the Greek and Roman antiquities were excellent, as were the extensive European painting collections, and the like. But I rather preferred the simple, Russian-only collection on the first floor. Actually, the star of the museum is probably the museum itself; mostly housed in the old Winter Palace, many of the rooms are show pieces in their own regard.

After a few minutes snapping photos in the large square out front, I started making my way toward St. Isaac’s church, to get up above the city for some great views.

But the weather had other plans. It started to rain again, and a block short of the church it started pouring. I ducked into the nearest cafe, which turned out to be a Czech beer house. There went the aspirations of climbing the church today…   I had a few beers and some tasty Czech pork concoctions, and Alex came and met me to drop off my train tickets through Beijing.

I’ve got one more full day in Petersburg, before I hop on a train just after midnight Saturday night to Moscow. I’m hoping I don’t oversleep this time; there’s lots of great stuff yet to do, and I need to pack up and clear out of the apartment. While writing this up, I did a load of wash, which was nice. It’ll be a while before I have access to my own washing machine again.

Random notes:
* the mullet is in full effect in Mother Russia. I’ve started sniping some photos of prime mullet glory when I can. But it’s really everywhere.
* similarly, the ladies are indeed lovely here. Seen more 6-foot tall women in the few days I’ve been here than in my entire life.
* when posing for pictures, Russians don’t smile. Men try to look tough (or disinterested), and women try to look sexy. I need to work on my poses.
* English? Not so much. Very limited speak/understand here. Guess I need to get used to it…

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[My photos from Tallinn and photos from the train trip ]

Tallinn wasn’t on my radar originally. It only came up when I let friends know that I was really planning to do this trip, and that I planned to start my Russian adventure in St. Petersburg. Gooch and Greger both independently chimed in, lobbying for a visit to Tallinn, which they both loved. And now I’m part of that club.

Tallinn’s old town is incredibly charming, with every corner or head turn a new, storybook view. The town’s ancient defensive walls and turrets, mixed with the many church spires make it the prototypical European old town. Toss in the cobblestones, limited car access, and lots of tourist infrastructure (bordering on too much, especially when the cruise boats let out…), and it’s a friendly place to spend a few days.

I arrived into Tallinn’s airport via a 45 minute flight from Stockholm just before Noon on Monday morning (yet another time zone hop forward…), and quickly recovered my checked bags and breezed through customs and passport control. The helpful info desk pointed me toward the bus that would take me into the city, and I was on my way. On the bus I started chatting with another solo traveller, an Aussie turned Kiwi on a walkabout with his family. He left his wife (”partner” in Aussie parlance) and son visiting her family in Sweden, to come check out Tallinn. He was heading for the Alur Hostel, which I’d seen online the night prior as one of the recommended spots in Tallinn, so I decided to tag along.

We wandered around confused for a good 20 minutes before finally just heading for the spires, and made our way through old town with our heavy packs. Gene had booked a private room ahead, and none were left when I inquired. So I decided to have my first go at dorm-style hostelling. I got a bed in a 6-bed mixed-sex room. I chose one of the 2 beds that wasn’t part of a bunk, figuring that’d give me the most isolation from someone else’s noises. None of the other packs in the room were locked or cabled to anything, but being a first-timer I decided to go the “safety first” route, and cable locked my bags to the bed frame before heading back to the lobby to meet up with Gene.

We ambled aimlessly through the maze of streets in old town before plopping down at a random sidewalk cafe for waters and a snack (I had a tasty feta salad). A bit more wandering after that led us to the main tourist information booth, where we found a tent offering guided walking & bike tours. We opted to join the 2-Hour Low-Key Walking Tour. Our tour guide was a spunky local girl, with an impossible to pronounce name. The tour was low on facts, high on fun and “not the normal tourist stuff”, which suited me fine (though I could have lived without the 10-person twister game under the hot sun…). Our tour ended up lasting 2.5 hours, and I was tired from walking at the end. Gene and I asked if anyone wanted to join us for a beer in the square after, but we got no takers (don’t think it was something I said?). We didn’t let that stop us though, so we enjoyed one of the local brews (mmmm, Saku) and people watched for a bit.

After some rest and cleanup time apart, Gene and I met back up for dinner at 9pm. I wanted to try some local flavor, and was in the mood for fish, but almost every restaurant was serving some form of Italian or just heavier meats. We opted for a place that had “Trout Casserole” on the menu. The “trout”, when it arrived, turned out to be salmon, which was slightly amusing but fine by me, with mixed vegetables and mashed potatoes. After a mellow dinner we headed to Hell Hunt, “the first Estonian pub”, for a pint to end the night. I tried their house-brewed cider, which I actually enjoyed, despite several warnings earlier in the day from some Brits that it’d be far too sweet to enjoy. Gene and I wished each other luck on our travels, and parted ways at the end of the night.

On Tuesday I had a 3:30p train to St. Petersburg to catch (picked up the ticket easily on Monday at the Tallinn train station, a 10 minute walk from old town). I had planned to get an early start on sightseeing, and then rest in the afternoon before the train. I was either incredibly lucky, or I can handle hostel dorm stays, as I slept in until 11:15 on Tuesday. I awoke to an empty room; I didn’t even hear my dorm mates get up and about. I quickly got cleaned up and packed my things, and left the big bag at the front desk to pick up just before my train.

My main goal was to get above the city, so I headed for the tallest church spire. 260 steps later, I had nice views over old town. And just as I was about to head back down the stairs, Gene showed up on the platform with me.

Randomly reunited, we head up Toompea hill to look inside the churches up there–along with the mobs who had arrived on the cruise ships–and then to the market to grab some snacks for later (for the train, for me). Gene and I parted ways for good (gave him one of my Moo cards; everyone digs those), and I headed off to the train station.

The Tallinn train station is compact, so it was easy to find my train. My ticket was for a specific seat in a specific car, so it was just a matter of finding the right spot. I was pleasantly surprised that the train seats were basically like airplane seats (sure, would have been happier if they had  been La-Z-Boys). I had been experiencing some buyers’ remorse for not having said “Bed” when asked “Seat or Bed” when buying the ticket the day before. But my seat was fine for the 7+ hour ride to St. Petersburg. There was a young American couple seated facing me 2 rows ahead, and we chatted a bit on and off, between me nodding off and listening to my “A Spoonful of Russian” podcasts.

Our train plugged along at a reasonable pace. The landscape was mostly unremarkable, a mix of small forests and farmland. At 6:20 we hit the Estonian border, and the train stopped for passport control and customs. We were treated to 50 Cent, Europe, and Lenny Kravitz blasting over the train speakers while we waited the hour for processing. We started rolling at 7:15, and not a moment too soon, as the train was getting stuffy without any air movement. Of course, we only rolled for about 5 minutes before hitting the Russian border, where the process was essentially repeated, with more snooping about and passport stamping. At 8:05 we finally cleared Russian inspection, and were on our way, unimpeded to St. Petersburg. Unbeknownst to me and the American couple, we crossed another time zone en route, so we were surprised when all the locals started getting ready to de-train an hour before we thought we were supposed to.

The approach to St. Petersburg train station made it clear that St. Pete is a BIG city; lots of highways with semis moving things around at 11:30 at night. I was very happy to see a man with my name on a piece of paper at the end of the platform. This was Vladimir, the driver from the agency sent to take me to my apartment. Vladimir spoke decent English (vastly more than my “spoonful” of Russian…), and made quick work of the St. Petersburg streets to the apartment. Fifteen minutes later I was in my own private pad, my home for the next several nights.

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Sweden is another extremely easy stop for me (and most Americans). I’ve got great friends–Greger & Fran–in Uppsala, everyone speaks English extremely well, and you can even basically read the signs and menus, without any knowledge of Swedish.

My flight from Newark, NJ, was delayed on the ground there for an hour, but the flight itself was easy enough (managed 5 hours of sleep, out of the 7 hour flight). I hopped the train from Arlanda airport to Uppsala, where Greger & Fran live. Greger met me at the airport with their car, as it was raining. We dropped my bags at their flat, and headed out for a walk around town. The rain letup after about 20 minutes, making for pleasant cruising weather. For some reason I didn’t grab my camera, so I don’t have any photos of the now silly-looking “castle” (looks more like a barracks) built on the hill over Uppsala. The hill did offer nice views of the town though.

Greger & Fran live ridiculously close to the town’s major landmark, the Cathedral of Uppsala, as seen in this silly video:

At just shy of 400 feet tall, the cathedral is easy to spot from most places in town, so it makes finding “home” quite easy.

After our stroll around town, I grabbed a quick nap, then we headed out for dinner with Fran. I had a tasty veal patty in brown sauce, with lingon berry compote, and we sampled some brews.

My hosts had plans on Saturday, as it was Fran’s birthday weekend. They headed North out of town, and I caught the train into Stockholm to look around. The weather was much better this day, with mostly sunny skies. I briefly wandered around old-town Stockholm, and then got on a ferry out to one of the thousands of islands that surround Stockholm. My destination, Vaxholm, is a very popular one with locals and tourists alike. The tourist hordes were overwhelming, and I didn’t find anything particularly enchanting about the island, other than the cute Swedish kids singing, as featured in the video below.

I only stayed on Vaxholm for about an hour before catching a ferry back to Stockholm. The time on the boat in both directions was nice, and the highlight of my time in Stockholm. See my Flickr photostream for photos. Greger told me that the Vasamuseet was worth a visit, so I made my way around the harbor to its location. But I arrived just as it was closing (6pm, despite guide book saying 7pm…), so I wasn’t able to get inside. I ended up with some nice views of the city though, so not all was lost.

The train whisked me back to Uppsala, for a lazy solo evening. I found a little cafe near Greger’s, “Caviar”, and had a fantastic grilled swordfish steak on a nice potato salad with spring greens.

I slept in this morning, and dinked around on the computer until Greger & Fran returned in the early afternoon from their adventure. We spent the rest of the day hanging out, including a viewing of The Simpsons Movie at the local theater (Swedish subtitles only improved the hilarity factor of this should-have-been-a-double-episode flick), and sampling some tasty cakes for Fran’s birthday.

Tomorrow morning’s 6:30 wakeup for my 8:30 flight to Tallinn, Estonia is going to come all to soon. It’s been a nice, relaxing weekend here in Sweden. The adventure level starts to ramp up quickly after tonight!

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Dear guests,

Just a quick note to let you know that I’ve caved to peer pressure and am trying Twitter. Not sure how often I’ll update it, but it might be more frequent than posts here, given the expectation that they’re just short blurbs. My updates are sucked into the sidebar here on GoBigMike, or you can subscribe in Twitter.

I’ve also added the ability to get updates via email when I post new content here. Use the “GoBigMike in your inbox” link in the Utilities section of the sidebar, or subscribe here.

Respectfully,
The Management

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After a final group farewell dinner at Enterprise Fish (thanks everybody!), last night became a blur of last-minute packing/cleaning activity, which I finally wrapped up at about 1am. In my last night in my own bed for several months, I ended up getting about 45 minutes of sleep before waking up at 4:30. Ouch. Leaving my apartment at 5:10 this morning was surreal. I savored a last few minutes on my balcony in the morning quiet before the taxi arrived to take me to LAX.

The American Airlines terminal at LAX was shockingly busy when I arrived at 5:30. Even the business class and eticket lines were long, and moving slowly. I was sure to miss my 6:30 flight, so I jumped into the empty Exec Plat line and slipped to the check-in desk quickly without any drama. And then I had the pleasant surprise of finding that my upgrade request came through, so I managed 4 hours of quality sleep on the uneventful flight in business class.

The hour-long train journey though the hot, muggy New York afternoon from to my friend Ivan’s pad in Lower East Side was simple enough. I picked up a key from his doorman, and caught a nap while waiting for him to finish work. New York is a good bridge to the wider world from LA; it’s more dense, intense, loud, and “pungently perfumed” here. We had a mellow dinner at a French place a few blocks away, and we’re calling it an early night. I’m enjoying the views over the city from his guest room as I’m typing this. It’s a little different than my final views out to the Pacific from my balcony just over 12 hours ago…

I’ll spend the bulk of my next 2 days here in NYC doing administrative stuff I couldn’t get to before leaving Santa Monica; shutting down or reducing fees on services, and other stuff that’s harder to do from abroad. I’ll mix in a little sight seeing here as well. I fly on to Stockholm, Sweden, on Thursday night.

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