Siberia!

  Irkutsk, Russia
Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Train mates

I like Irkutsk.  Come check it out.  Some people dislike travel in Russia and say the people are unfriendly.  I experienced none of that in Irkutsk.  I found it beautiful, friendly, easy to navigate, and modern enough for anyone.  I can't tell you a whole lot about the sites, though. 

Here's what I can tell you about.

Ka and I board the sleeper car for 24-hour train ride from Mongolia to Siberia and meet 2 fun-loving French women, Erondit and Sandrine, who we learn are our cabin mates.  (Remember, he and I are coming off a 14 day, 4 mens, no womens road trip).  We also see that Golden Gobi hostel-mates occupy at least two of the other cabins.  I don't remember what initiated this, but minutes outside Ulan Batar the four of us find ourselves drinking vodka with an American woman, Mary Ann, from New York with electrical personality and a court-jester, lovable, typical Scottish college age guy named Alister McCloud. 

Alister McCloud, train, vodka

As you would expect, events run together in my mind around this point.  What I do know is that the seven or so hours spent sitting at the Russian border flew by despite no air conditioning and record heat inside the stagnant, 50-year old Iron Curtain-era carriage.  By the time we all disembarked in Irkutsk the next afternoon, we knew half the carriage by name and all felt that we had known each other for decades.  We all pledge to meet back up in five hours for dinner and clubbing. 

Ka and I have confused two of the hostels as one and so I lead us to the wrong hostel.  We spend the afternoon getting out to our actual hostel then back into town to reserve the next leg of reserve train tickets.  Starving, Ka and I wisely delay ourselves at a pleasant German cafe and treat ourselves to a light meal of salad, omelets and beer.  The food tastes exotic after two straight weeks of tschewey wan and yak biscuits.  We ran a bit late but it mattered not since, as I expected, half the crowd had yet to arrive.  Around 10 we finally found ourselves at a Russian grotto-restaurant, placing orders and, wait, you might not believe this, imbibing in more vodka and beer.  By 11 the entire group of people that partied together on the train carriage have all gathered at one table for dinner. Around midnight most of our dinners have arrived.  Ka and I praise ourselves for our pre-dinner dinner decision. 

Half the group opts to call it a night.  Ka is one of them.  Later I will praise his wisdom for this decision. 

cab ride to Megapolis night club

The rest of us--8, I think--pile into one compact cab and head to a club, Megapolis (pronounced by Russians as Mega Police).  More vodka.  And then I start meeting Russian college guys.  More vodka.  Soon it's 2 AM, we know everyone in the club.  Then it's 2:30 and I notice that some carriage mates look like they're having a hard time standing.  But the Russians want to talk and drink. I'm not having troubles standing so I join them.  Now it's 3 AM.  The Russians are asking me, "Where have my friends gone?"  Then a couple of the original Russians I met start to look a little worried and they start telling me that they don't really recognize or know everyone around me and that I probably ought to go now.  I take their advice to heart and stumble out.  I actually felt I negotiated OK with the cab driver but I feel gratitude that three of the college students have come down to make sure that I have made it into a cab OK. 

Just a couple hours later, I feel Ka's hand shaking me.  Hey, we gotta catch the bus he says.  Oh, crap.  I'm still totally pissed, as Ka would say, and still wearing the same clothes that I put on three days ago in Ulan Batar. Shit.  We're running late so I cram into my bag the one or two items that I had actually removed in the last 10 hours, throw on my shoes and attempt to keep up with sober Ka.  I thank him repeatedly for having the wherewithal to wake me up and get me going. 

Aboard a city bus headed to the regional bus station, I start to assess my state.  Three hours of sleep, barely able to stand with my 50 pound pack on in the commuter-packed bus, wearing the same outfit after a 24-hour train ride followed by a night of clubbing, I must reek.  My head pounds.  I dream of ever seeing drinking water again.  Then I realize that the pain in my hand comes from a plastic shopping bag handle cutting into it from the weight of a brand new bottle of water.  Genius!  After about another 5 minutes spent realizing that I could drink it now, I reach into the bag, pop the top o...oh shit..it sprays every commuter within 10 feet of me.  It's sparkling water, well shaken.  Just about everyone laughs despite getting sprayed except the elderly woman next to me who bears the brunt of it.  Ka cannot contain his laughter. 

Russian friends, Megapolis night club

Two days later I learn a story of a backpacker who met a woman and a bunch of Russian guys a club. He and the woman made out quite well at the club and so she invited him home.  On the way, something happened.  Two days later his travel companions finally found him badly beaten and with no wallet.  In retrospect, I might have made a very fortuitous exit from Megapolis.