The Trans Siberian and beyond...

Us with Russian Champagne in our berth on the Trans Siberian
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It was time to leave Moscow and embark on our much awaiting Trans Siberian  Rail journey. Cathal had been looking forward to this bit and had researched it for hours, so he's best placed to talk about this bit...

Our train was waiting for us on platform one, still without its engine.  We stood on the platform for five minutes, then the doors opened and out stepped the conductors.  We found our carriage without delay, it was very nicely appointed - two comfortable beds, proper curtains, even cushions bearing the name of the train.  We stowed our bags and made ourselves comfortable.  The train pulled away, precisely to time, and trundled through the outskirts of Moscow for quite some time before reaching the darkness of the countryside.

It’s a long way from Gunnersbury station on a Monday morning, that’s for sure

Cathal plotting our route on our world map - trainspotter!
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Our Provodnitsa (carriage attendant) that evening was very helpful. We’d bought some Russian Champagne (four pounds fifty well spent), and the attendant popped it in the freezer for us to chill it. Not too long later, we toasted the beginning of our TransSiberian journey, the Champagne perfectly complementing our noodles (well, not quite).

Our train was one of the best trains on the TransSiberian route, train number 2, called 'Rossiya'.  As it turned out, it was decidedly more comfortable than most trains on this route.  I was amazed to discover that we even got breakfast, juice, water and a hot meal every day, all included in the ticket price.  I confess to feeling mildly disappointed, given how much effort we'd gone to buying a vast array of noodles, fruit, cheese and all sorts of other things, fully expecting to have to fend for ourselves the whole way.

Our engine. Czech built, like Skodas
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By the next day, we'd made friends with both of our Provodnistas.  They kept a watchful eye when we got off at the many stops along the way to walk along the platform, checking out the locals and the various kinds of produce they were selling.  The reason they kept a look out was that there's no warning at all that the train is about to depart - the ladders are pulled up, the doors close and off it goes.  They don't wait.

Some of the stations are little more than bleak, cold platforms where a few babushkas wait to sell you beer, water, sweets and even hot piroski, if you’re lucky. Others, like Yekaterinburg, are large, imposing buildings in classical style. If you look into the stations from the platform you can see huge arching ceilings with massive chandeliers. It’s a long way from Gunnersbury station on a Monday morning, that’s for sure.

Our carriage on Rossiya - apparently one of the more famous trains. But Cathal had done his research.
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We passed the time on the train mainly watching the scenery go past the window - lots of snow and trees for the most part, but as time went on there were lots of tiny hamlets of wooden houses, some brightly painted, many others in a sorry state of repair.  Next door to us was an Englishman, Michael, who was bravely taking the train all the way to Vladivostok.  An interesting chap, he seemed sorely disappointed that the temperature was a mere 16C below.

Other than Michael, there weren’t very many other Westerners around. I spotted a few English people buying some beer at one of the stops (easy to spot, they were the only people in shorts when it was about minus 10).   Elsewhere on the train were plenty of Russian sailors (yes, they were wearing blue and white striped t-shirts), presumably en route to Vladivostok, but the train was fairly quiet generally. Our carriage filled up with a crowd of glamourous Russian women for one evening, but it all went quiet again once they left at Yekaterinburg.

Samovar - very important for survival on the train. This baby provided hot water for improvised shower and instant noodles.
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And so our journey continued for the next few days. It was quietly uneventful but enjoyable. However, we were fairly happy to be breaking our trip in Irkutsk after 3 days, rather than continuing onwards all the way to Ulaan Baatar. We’d managed to keep track of the changing time zones as we went, trying to get up earlier each day, so when we pulled into Irkutsk at 2:30am Moscow time, it wasn’t too much of a shock. We hopped off the train and headed for the arrivals hall, where Jack Sheremtoff was waiting to take us to his hostel, Baikaler.