Expatiperro

We're finally in Moscow, having finished the major rail portion of our trip. 7000 kilometers over 6 and a half days through high steppes, taiga forest, and mountain ranges, most of the time while being confined to a 8-foot wide, 75 foot long wagon. Here's a breakdown of what life is like on the world's longest direct train journey.

The Compartment

Your home during the trip is a 7-foot by 5-foot berth, with two bunked beds on each of the long walls, and a window and collapsible table opposite the door. Your luggage goes wherever you can squeeze it- under the lower beds, in the alcove above the door, on the floor, between your legs on your bed. If squeezing your luggage in is tough, trying to fit four normal-sized people is even harder. It's a 3 dimensional game of Twister, maneuvering arms, legs, and feet in such a way so that no one feels their personal space is completely obliterated. It's much easier said than done.


The Provodnitsa (carriage attendant)

This might be the most important relationship you ever form in your lifetime. She's surly, serious, OCD about car cleanliness (can you say vacuuming twice a day?), and definitely does not speak English. She's also responsible for your comfort and security, whether it's turning down the heat from "infernal" to merely "boiling", switching off the Russian dance music pumping through the in-car speakers, or unlocking the bathrooms during the interminable border crossings. Needless to say, messing up this relationship can have serious effects. Luckily, the way to her heart is as easy as buying the trinkets she pushes down the aisle once a day. Postcard for a bathroom visit, anyone?

The Food

... is whatever you can get your hands on. The food in the dining car isn't the best choice, as it tends to be queasiness-inducing, at least in those items which are actually available (the menu is more of an aspirational work, as opposed to a description of what's on offer). Also, cost of dining car food usually bears no relation to the prices that are printed on the menu- friends of ours ordered what they thought was a 600 ruble cutlet, only to be charged 1100, which they managed to bargain down to 700 before the waitress walked away. Other than dining car food, your only other option is supermarket food bought before getting onboard, which means lots of ramen noodles. Great if you love MSG, bad for everyone else.

One of the unexpected surprises of traveling in Russia has been watching the seasons turn before our eyes. September in Siberia is a temperate lull between the infernal, bug-infested summers, and the frigid, inhospitably cold winters. Throughout the countryside, trees erupt in an explosion of colors, turning gold and orange and contrasting with the deep blue lakes and brightly painted houses.





From the train window, the Russian landscape rolls by in bright, vivid colors that only appear for a few short weeks a year.



Other benefits of fall traveling include fewer tourists, cheaper prices, and a more relaxed atmosphere everywhere we go. But in terms of pure aesthetics, the colors of the landscape might outweigh them all.

A week into my Russian travels, I think it's time that I made a small confession- up until 2 months ago, this was the last place on Earth I wanted to travel to. I mocked friends of mine who took a "spring break" trip to Moscow (though in my defense, what kind of Spring Break trip is it when the temperature never breaks 30?). Russian cuisine seemed either like an oxymoron, or just a fancy way to describe a wide vodka selection. Overhearing the language on the streets in San Francisco, I could never warm to it in the same way as I did to Romance tongues. And while the Russian people who I knew from home are warm, generous, and incredibly nice, I blindly believed that stereotype that native Russians were gruff, cold, and unfriendly towards people who weren't like them. Combining all these elements, why on earth would I go to Russia when there were so many other interesting, more appealing places to travel to?

One of the benefits of traveling widely and off the beaten path is that you get exposed to and confronted with a huge number of people, many of whom you have preexisting ideas and opinions about. I'm sure you all have had, or still have, some of these thoughts- the French people are stylish but pretentious; that Italians are lazy; that Chinese people are pushy and loud; that Brazilians are gorgeous and know it (well, that last one is true). And oftentimes, when you travel to a place to which you've already developed preconceptions, you view your trip through that same lens, judging the country and its people based on what you expect to see, what people have told you what you'd encounter.

Traveling with an open mind is not only a "good" thing, but a vital attitude to have in order to really absorb a place and give your trip a deeper meaning. It takes a lot of effort and energy to overcome preexisting notions, but the payoff is immense- the ability to judge for yourself, and not just regurgitate whatever other people have told you to say whenever you're asked how your trip went. And who knows, sometimes what you've heard from others before your trip just gets confirmed when you visit yourself. But you can't know that until you've gone.

I'm happy to say that my seven days in Russia have pretty much exploded the stereotypes I carried with me into this trip. Russian people couldn't be nicer- the gruffness that I had been expecting melted away with the first "thank you/you're welcome exchange," and evaporated away completely with the friendly responses I've received to questions in broken/non-existent Russian. The weather's been comfortable, not the sub-zero weather I had steeled myself for; the food's been passable, great in some circumstances (and the vodka delicious and plentiful). And I've found myself wanting to learn some Russian, and kicking myself for not having picked up a few phrases before I left.

Russia hasn't become one of my favorite places in the world (that list is long and unfortunately not Russia-inclusive). But it's been a hell of a lot better than I had expected.

Lake Baikal, in eastern Siberia, is a pretty impressive body of water by anyone's standards. 30 miles wide, 400 miles long, and over a mile deep, it holds 20% of the world's freshwater. To put that in perspective, if all of the other freshwater sources dried up and left Baikal as the only place to get drinking water, there would be enough to supply the entire world's needs for 40 years. To call it vast would be an understatement; the only real way to fully appreciate its size is to float out to the middle to the lake and convince yourself that even though you can't see land on the horizon, you're not on the open seas.





There's a local tradition (though it sounds like a convenient way to knock off a few of the weaker tourists) that says that whoever takes a dip in Lake Baikal will add 25 years to their life. Not being ones to turn down an chance like that, we took the bait, braved the 48 degree waters, and dived in. It's not comfortable, you might get hypothermia, and if you're like me you'll scream like a schoolgirl at a Jonas Brothers concert, but in hindsight, it was well worth it. Enjoy.

Next to Siberia (coincidentally our next destination), there aren't any other places as remote from the Western consciousness than Mongolia. Other than Genghis Khan and the Mongols, there isn't too much else notable about this place, or at least notable enough to merit a mention in world history class. Which is why being here has been fascinating- it's as if every time we step outside or talk to a local, we are learning something radical and new about the country, its history, and its people.

Stepping outside without proper preparation today, however, could imperil your health. Right now, the snow is falling heavily, and although its "only" 30 degrees, it feels considerably colder. Could that be because it's still officially summer for another two days, or because just yesterday it was 70 and sunny enough to give me a nice tan? Lest one think that this is a freak event, a very short story: after being picked up from the train station by the hostel owner, we asked her, trying to make small talk, when winter started. "Oh, next week," was her nonchalant response. If you think that Mongolia's climate is anything less than extreme, think again.

Mongolia has been a hard place to get my head around. There are few paved roads outside the capital, Ulaan Baatar; instead, trucks rumble across the hard-packed steppe, their paths visible from miles away due to the plumes of dust they kick up. In UB, the former nomads who make up a majority of the city's population still live in gers, or traditional tents, which are made slightly more permanent by the addition of fencing around them. The seeming isolation of the city from the rest of the world is belied by the Korean shabu-shabu restaurants, Mexican food joints, and German bakeries that line the streets. The Mongolian National Symphony (which we saw perform, along with award-winning throat singers, dancers, and musicians at an absolutely fantastic "Cultural Show", where the $9 tickets were a guilt-inducing bargain) plays the overture from the Barber of Seville, but using only traditional Mongolian instruments. But it's these exact dichotomies, Mongolia's inability to decide how far it wants to enter the developed world, that makes it a captivating place to visit.

The other, more readily-apparent draw for visitors is the extraordinary natural beauty of countryside. On the steppes, this beauty lies in their never-ending, barren expanse. Flat grassy plains lead to rolling brown hills on the horizon, with only small herds of animals breaking up the monotony of the landscape. The sky is indescribably vast and blue; by a totally subjective comparison, the Montana sky looks like it's being viewed through a pinhole.


Mountains and rock formations occasionally break up the steppes, and it was at the base of one outcropping that we spent two nights at a remote ger encampment two hours outside of UB. We did the typical things that tourists do in Mongolia- ride horses, take short hikes, absorbing in the scenery. We also got a chance to see some other traditional Mongolian activities, thanks to the tourist camp next to ours and the 200 Germans who were bussed in for the day. Steins of beer in hand and cameras strung around their necks, we were presented with an exhibition in traditional archery, wrestling, and horse racing. The whole scene was a little bizarre, actually- the Germans were allowed to try their hand at the archery, which inevitably led to arrows (thankfully rubber-tipped) flying into crowds of people; the wrestlers posed for photos after the wresting exhibition, which turned into something resembling a paparazzi rush as the crowd shoved cameras into their faces; and trinket sellers descended on the camp, materializing out of nowhere.

As a final note, the more time I spend here, the more I'm amazed at how much the Mongols contributed to world civilization. Paper money? The Mongols. The concept of diplomatic immunity? The Mongols. The violin bow? The Mongols. Creating the trade routes that bridged the East and the West and led to a flowering of trade and thought that brought about the beginning of the Renaissance? Goes without saying. For a basic overview, read "Genghis Khan", by Jack Weatherford. For a deeper understanding, come to Mongolia.

Apologies to all for the delay between blog posts- I've just posted a few from the past week below. If you're looking for an explanation as to my absence, I have two good ones.

First, the Chinese authorities have set up a 21st century, digital version of the Great Wall, known as the Great Firewall, which ostensibly protects their citizens from any malicious information on the internet. Sites of all sorts are blocked- YouTube, Facebook, and Blogger among them. Though there are ways to get around the restrictions, the firewall's existence does make staying in touch difficult.

Second, my trusty black Macbook passed away on Saturday. He was three years old, and had been suffering from system crashes for some time. He lived a good, fulfilling life, and will be sorely missed. Thanks to the wonders of globalization, though, I was able to buy a new one at the Beijing Apple Store, and I'm back whole again and haven't missed a beat.

Now that I'm in Mongolia and have a working computer, updates will be more frequent. Thanks for sticking with!

One thing that you can't help but notice after reading the tourist information guides at the main Beijing sites is the Chinese overuse of superlatives. Everything in the city that we visited was described using some combination of "the biggest", "most magnificent", "most awe-inspiring", etc. A relatively simple temple was hailed as the most important construction of its kind in world history, and the audio tour of the Forbidden City was filled with so many statistics supporting its grandeur that it left your head spinning. Now I fully recognize that China has accomplished many amazing things and firsts in its long history (invention of the compass, toilet paper, and printing press, among others), but it's hard not being to dismiss the constant emphasis on their greatness (superlativity?) after hearing it for the 79th time.

However, if there is one place in China deserving of a superlative, it's the Great Wall. A ribbon of stone that snakes across ridge lines, climbs impossibly steep slopes, and stretches from horizon to horizon, the Wall defies description. No amount of reading or pictures could have prepared me for just how big and impressive it was; it wasn't until we took a tram up to the Wall and walked on it for 6 miles that I could fully get a sense of its scale and appreciate its monumentality. Admittedly, I was expecting to be underwhelmed; instead, I was blown away.


Words don't do the Wall justice at all, and pictures only marginally capture its size, but in the absence of a teleportation device, the shots below are the best I can do. Enjoy.

After the calm and quiet of Laos, it's no understatement to say that China has been an incredible shock. The sensory overload hit right as I got off the bus taking me from the Tianjin airport to that city's train station- cars and people were everywhere, and the smog almost completely blocked out the early morning light. The high speed train took me the 80 miles to Beijing in under 30 minutes (ticket price, $10), and soon enough I was eating breakfast with Kyle, my travel buddy for the next 3 months, and his friend Stacey.

No amount of preparation could have prepared me for what I encountered exploring Beijing my first day there. The city is ENORMOUS, in both population (15 million and counting) and scale. A city block is about half a mile long, and skyscrapers and cranes fill the horizon. Cars choke the streets, bikes and electric scooters weaving around the traffic jams.

The best way that I've come up with to describe the city is a living, breathing dichotomy. Old neighborhoods called hutongs, with their narrow lanes, quiet streets, and bucolic pace of life, seem to be worlds away from the hypermodern city that surrounds them. (Says Kyle as we bike through a hutong: "Can you believe that we're in a country that's at all developed?"). Men in business suits walk through parks where old women in traditional dress gather to sing karaoke and practice their ballroom dance skills. A bicycle crammed with 5 people stops at an intersection next to a Mercedes, both vehicles unaware of, or simply not acknowledging, the contrast between them. A McDonalds sits a quarter of a mile from Mao's mausoleum. Past and present, old and new, developed and underdeveloped; all of these opposite lie right next to each other in Beijing, and no one seems to bat an eyelid.



Our four days in Beijing took us to all the major attractions. The Forbidden City is beyond massive, with buildings and palaces that seemingly never end. The Temple of Heaven sprawls just as much, encompassing pagoda after pagoda. A bike tour of the hutongs allowed us to see what life in the city was like before the push for development and modernization. Unfortunately, a bout of illness kept me from going to the Summer Palace, and Mao's Mausoleum was closed our four days there for "special reasons" (meaning that my pursuit of the Dead/Embalmed Communist Leaders Triple Crown- visiting and viewing the bodies of Lenin, Mao, and Ho Chi Minh- has been at least temporarily set back). But apart from those two setbacks, everything we wanted to see, we saw.

All in all, Beijing is an experience, something that, like most things in China, has to be seen to the truly appreciated.

Languorous... is the most accurate word to describe Vientiane. Time just seems to slide by, with no destination in mind, just enjoying its slow journey down the Mekong towards whatever place it might happen to end up at. Life is unhurried- the near lack of stoplights in this, the capital of Laos and its most populous city, attests to that- and the general feel of this place is that of a backwater provincial town. It's what I imagine a Mississippi river town would have been like 200 years ago, before the arrival of any railroad or settlers, the pace of life dictated by the calm flow of the waters which are its lifeblood.

There is a peaceful lack of people here, especially compared to Bangkok. The incessant din of traffic and people is absent here, replaced by birds chirping (including one in the rafters directly above my bed), the only bright lights flickering fluorescent bulbs illuminating Beer Lao advertisements.. Other than that, there's not much here.

I passed my one full day doing everything the city had to offer. Check- the Lao Revolutionary Museum and its collection of anti-imperialist photos and artifacts (which included fanciful paintings of evil French and American soldiers throwing Laotian children down wells, as well as standard exhibits on how Communist life is better than the alternatives). Check- Wat Sisaket and its rows upon rows of Buddha statues. Check-Haw Pha Kaew, and its stash of even more Buddhas (or at least the ones that the Thais left behind after their numerous invasions). Check- the market and the potentially GI-cramp causing noodle lunch I had there. Those sites in the bag and three more hours of daylight to kill, I even had time to use the city-wide Wi-Fi (two bucks for 4 hours, and one of the surprising finds in this seemingly-backwater place).


During my time in Laos, I was lucky enough to meet up with a good number of other travelers passing through Vang Vieng and Vientiane on a well-worn backpacker's path from Thailand through to Vietnam. Among them was a British couple my age who were on a 15-month Asian trek; a Dutch girl traveling on her own for 3 months; two Germans who had driven from Munich to Mongolia, ridden third-class trains across China, and were stretching their money as far as possible in Laos. We spent our night together eating fresh fish on the banks of the Mekong, then end up at a hostel bar, drinking Beer Lao and listening to the Germans tell stories from their epic drive. If I wasn't psyched for the driving part of my own trip before, I certainly am now.

My solo part of the trip ended the next day with a cab ride to the airport, a flight to Kuala Lumpur, and then a red-eye to Beijing, where I met up with Kyle and his friend. Lessons learned- that it still is possible to travel Southeast Asia on $5 a day; that whatever you do on your trip, there will always be someone with a more impressive and adventurous story than yours; and that backpacking solo can be just as fulfilling as going with a buddy.

1. Decide on your destination, then choose what type of bus you want to take. Minibuses are faster, but your driver will likely be blind and/or insane. Safer to choose the "VIP" bus. (Note: the "VIP" bus in most case is neither a bus, nor for VIPs. This is Laos, after all.)

2. Go to the nearest travel agency to buy your ticket. Realize 5 minutes later that you overpaid.

3. Kill time for an hour before your bus leaves by drinking a liter of beer and watching your 18th episode of "Friends" in the last 48 hours. Seriously, Rachel, just marry Ross already!

4. Catch a tuk-tuk to the bus station. Get dropped off in the middle of nowhere and watch helplessly as the only bus there drives off empty. Commiserate with other backpackers about the frustrations of Southeast Asian bus travel.

5. Get pushed by tiny Laotian woman into another tuk-tuk. Hear her say something about going to a different bus station, but the engine drowns her out before you fully understand her. Continue griping about Laotian bus travel with the two Irish girls next to you.

6. Arrive at the other bus station, which is completely empty save for a handful of other similarly confused and abandoned backpackers. Sit down, open book, and pretend you don't see the buses full of backpackers passing by on the highway. Continue doing this for the next hour.

7. Watch as a brightly colored bus pulls into the station. Get on said bus. Start to relax.

8. Stop relaxing when bus pulls onto the highway and takes hairpin turns at 40 miles per hour. Pretend the queasiness in your stomach is from carsickness and not your suspicious-looking smoothie you had with lunch.

9. Ignore the drunken Irishman walking down the aisle behind you, singing a particularly ear-splitting, atonal version of Michael Bublé.

10. Arrive in Vientiane. Get off bus, grab your bag, and unsuccessfully bargain for cheap van ride into town. Try to convince yourself that although you paid 2000 kip more than you wanted, in the long run, 25¢ isn't anything to lose sleep over.

11. Get off tuk-tuk, walk to hotel, pay extra for A/C because you're so tired, and go to sleep. It's been a long day. You've earned it.