Nuts and Vodka on the Trans-Siberian Express

Location:
Russia

A day on the Trans-Siberian train, dinner, local culture.

V!VA User‘s Description

Hannah and I had different Kupe Klass cabins on the train from Irkutsk to Perm. Mine was a room of four, and the two women and young boy greeted me with warm suspicion when I boarded. They were friendly though, perhaps even too much so, as within five minutes we had established that I spoke no Russian, they no English, and that I was to marry the youngest women, Olga, at the earliest possible moment. My polite rejections of matrimonial union and our uncommon language did nothing to assuage their quick, thickly delivered Russian attempts at conversation. I smiled over their Babel and excused myself to see what assortment of passengers Hannah had been gifted for our three day journey to Perm. Hannah's bed was one of two bottom bunks in a room of discharged soldiers, two of which, Amir and Djenis, were travelling the 10,000 or so kilometres from their base at Vladivostok to their homes in Dagestan on the Caspian Sea, whilst the third man, whom we new only as Major, was disembarking in about 24 hours. Major wasted no time in telling Hannah that he was married with child and that he was 'making love' to the woman in the neighbouring Kupe. Luckily for Hannah, whilst Major may have made his ineligibility bluntly obvious, it quickly became clear that not only Amir and Djenis, but more than twenty other recruits who entered in trickles and streams throughout our journey (normally in vests, often topless, always oblivious to my existence) were very available. For many women this would have been a dream. For any accompanying man, even platonic ones like me, the ceaseless display of masculinity in order to jostle for Hannah's affections was tiresome and threatening. Meanwhile in my carriage, which compared to Hannah's military speed dating booth now seemed serene, the child had stirred. He was innocuous at first glance; small, stickly, blonde hair, blue eyes, protruding ears, that customary face of inquisitiveness and mischief that all eight year old boys wear. I was fooled into believing he was well-behaved. He was not. At first his attempts at English were commendable and endearing, and through him we in the Kupe established where we came from, what we did, how old we were, and my marital status. However, Bagdan, as he alternately introduced himself with 'Spiderman', took our polite smiles and growing knowledge of each other as encouragement for his further involvement in proceedings, and the following morning at around 6am he displayed his true intent. 'Good morning! Good morning! GOOD MORNING! GOOD MORNING! WAKE UP WAKE UP! GET UP' he shouted, hitting my legs and lower back wildly. Disorientated, rattled, confused, I whimpered it back. It took his mother grabbing him by the wrist and snapping him in bed for him to allow me to remain dozing in mine, although when I did get up around ten, four hours after his summons, and when his mother's eyes were turned and focussed on peeling him a boiled egg, he hit me in the stomach. I made it my goal to avoid him for the rest of my trip and returned to the testosterone party down the hall. The Major and Djenis were not there, but Amir was sitting in a vest on the bottom bunk opposite Hannah, shelling pistachios. He looked Arabic with his dark hair, olive skin, and feral arms and chest. He was enormous, with arms the size of thighs, hands reaching and leathery as baseball mittens, fingers strong as branches and rounded, Atlasian shoulders that appeared uncollapsable, yet he had a calming, gentle nature that belied his frame. He greeted me with a nod and returned to silently stare at the steppe reeling past the window, blindly working on opening nut after nut, which looked impossible for his double sized fingers, like trying to thread a needle in winter gloves. I sat next to Hannah and stared out too. After ten silent minutes, during which time I sometimes awkwardly caught Amir's eye in brief moments when the window reflected our gaze back in, Amir spoke with a broad smile. 'You, Vladivostok, look?' he said to us with an upward nod, dropping a pair of pistachio shells in the pile with the nonchalance a digger drops rubble. Hannah and I looked each other and guessed that he meant had we seen Vladivostok. We had not, deciding to come to Irkutsk through Mongolia from Beijing on the Trans-Mongolian rather than via Vladivostok the Trans-Manchurian. 'No.' Hew swallowed another nut, smiled, and thought about his next question. At last it came. He freed his hand from another twin-set of empty shells and pointed over his shoulder. 'You, London, yes?’ 'Yes, yes, you Dagestan, yes?' 'Yes yes yes!' Smiles all round. He offered me a nut and remained fixed on our faces as if waiting for the right moment to ask a pressing question. With another upward nod it came. 'You, Tony Blair, look?' 'No no.' Pause. 'You?' I asked somewhat hopefully. 'No,' Amir replied, scrunching his face in disdain. Another pause. 'You. David Beckham, look?' He asked again with an even more earnest smile that seemed to suspect we certainly had. 'No.' I answered to his disappointment. And so it continued. The day was passed with nuts, cards, books, thoughts, and occasional conversations where Amir would see if I had 'looked' at another celebrity or town that popped into his head, all accompanied by the train of army recruits vying for the hand of my travelling companion. Their methods of courting were as diverse as the ethnic make up of the country we were crossing. One man did chin ups, another just took his vest off and sat there, one more de-shelled a pistachio in his mouth and dribbled out the halves, whilst my personal choice of suitor played the knight in shining armour card, vehemently shooing away any men he felt we getting a little heavy. The night soon came, at least in the temporal terms if not according to the light outside which remained an emerald blue until nearly 2am, and with it Vodka. Bottles and bottles of the stuff were passed around and thrust our way until by about the time the jade sky finally dimmed an inky blue I was not sure if it was the train or me that was swaying. Hearty toasting to health, Russia, Dagestan, London, Tony Blair (complete with laughter), love, and many many to Hannah preceded every tipple and vigourous singing usually followed, and whilst I was suspicious that their intentions may have been to intoxicate Hannah, a succession of pointing at her and saying ‘No problems’, combined with Amir’s gesticulated promise to protect her (and the twenty or so men drinking with us would unquestionably have been no match for him) meant I was unperturbed by our increasingly lubricated state. All that worried me was returning to my Kupe and climbing into my bunk without waking the eight year old pugilist sleeping below me.

Further Information

Travel tips: If you are taking the train, don't overload on food as you can buy it at stops from babushkas along the way. Tea bags or instant coffee would we good to take. Or Vodka. Learn a few Russian phrases not only for politness but also because English is often very limited.

Must see/do at this place: Talk to as many people as you can without being intrusive. Share your food and drink with the people in your Kupe, it will be greatly appreciated and unquestionably reciprocated.