Fin

This is the moment we have been waiting for, the stunning conclusion of the book that is being called 'the next book I'll start and then forget about over Christmas' and 'you mean this is a novel?' So underground that it hasn't been review by the New York Times nor was it even considered for the 2010 Giller prize.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the stunning-ly unedited conclusion to my novel...

Chapter 10

Tim had known since shortly after the first letter that he would have a lot of explaining to do once he finally located Laura. He didn’t know how much, if anything, the kidnappers had told her about his money, but it was pretty evident that he would have to explain why they had let her go and how they knew about her in the first place. Or perhaps not this last fact, as Tim could only guess himself.

Laura asked many questions and provided few answers at first. Tim tried to recount his entire story from Paris onwards which invariably led to further questions as to why he hadn’t told her about it. Luckily, the train ride provided a perfect venue for extended conversation. Every few hours they would take a break and get some food or walk down the corridor, but shortly after they would return to their conversation.

After countless hours and follow up questions, Tim had explained the situation to Laura’s satisfaction. Only then was he able to start asking a few of the burning questions he had amassed himself. She tried to answer as best she could, but the information was rather vague. It appeared that the kidnappers had planned everything out well in advance and were likely professionals.

After she had left the bar two nights previous, she had apparently intended to head directly back to the room to sleep as she wasn’t feeling well but was intercepted on the staircase. All she remembered was a hand covering her mouth so she couldn’t scream and then darkness. She didn’t know how long she had been out or where she had been taken, but she woke up in a dark room somewhere. She was tied up, but not blindfolded, and could see a small, unfurnished room.

It was very difficult to know where she was, as there were no windows in the room and no sound could be heard. She was alone for a long while after waking up, but she couldn’t be sure of how long as she had no means of checking the time. She wasn’t even sure what time of day it was, but gathered she was probably out for a while. The chair she was tied to was not uncomfortable by itself, but sitting there for hours grew increasingly painful.

After a while longer, an old woman came in with a tray of food and tea and allowed Laura to eat. One hand was untied, though the rest of her was still very much secured making it difficult, if not impossible to escape. She appreciated the food which was quite good, but could not get any answers out of the woman. If she spoke any English, she did a good job of not showing it. She would speak soothingly in Russian, though Laura had no idea what was being said.

After she had finished eating the old woman took the tray and left, locking the door behind her once more and Laura was left alone. She spent a long while thinking about her situation and trying to figure out what had happened. Why had they kidnapped her? What were they going to do? Was it better to try to escape and risk getting caught, or to bide her time and wait?

She figured that Tim must have realized she was missing by now, but whether he would have any idea what had happened, she didn’t know. And besides that, being in a foreign country with different rules and a less than perfect track record on law enforcement, she wasn’t sure the police would be of any help.

She concluded that she must have just been targeted as a foreigner with the kidnappers figuring they could likely get a ransom from her family. But if that was the case, why hadn’t they asked her any questions yet, or even taken her ID which was still secure in her pocket? The situation didn’t make sense, but try as she might, she had no way of getting answers.

The old woman returned several hours later and brought more food and tea with her. By this time Laura needed to use the bathroom and tried to indicate it by repeating the word several times as she couldn’t very well use any gestures with her hands tied up. At first the woman didn’t seem to understand what she was asking, but eventually she said something in Russian and untied Laura from the chair, though still leaving her hands tied to one another, and led her into a small bathroom next door. It was simple, but clean and while it was difficult to manoeuvre with her hands tied, she managed it.

When she was finished the old woman led her back to the first room and allowed her to eat before tying her back to the chair and departing. Even the meals didn’t give a proper indication of the time as they all seemed quite similar and tea was served with everything. In her boredom, Laura began counting specks on the ceiling, cracks in the floor tiles, and anything else she could think of, those even these were exhausted rather quickly.

Despite trying to conceive of an escape plan, she was unable to decide on anything that she was convinced would work. She could try to overpower the old woman when she asked to use the bathroom next, but even then she had no idea where she was, spoke no Russian, and might very well find that she was unable to get out of the building. Restless as she was, she decided to try to wait a while longer. Surely someone would find her or she would at least find out why she was there.

Much more time passed and she grew tired, but it was extremely difficult to sleep while sitting on a chair, much less when one is tied to one. Even still, she did doze briefly in increments of fifteen minutes or so before waking up again. She couldn’t be sure how long this went on for either, but eventually she was awoken by the old woman with another meal.

This time however, rather than leave after the meal and lock the door again, she untied Laura from the chair and led her out into the hallway. She allowed her to use the bathroom once more and then led her up a staircase, but not before blindfolding her. The stairs felt narrow, steep and wooden and there were probably about thirty of them, though it was difficult to count. The old woman went in front and led her up to the top of the staircase in a surprisingly sprightly manner.

When they reached the top a door was opened and Laura could hear men’s voices speaking in hushed Russian. The floor was carpeted and she could hear the sounds of cars driving by outside. She judged that they must still be in the city somewhere, though she had no sense of anything beyond that. They eventually led her across the room and opened a second door, this one apparently leading outside as the ground became a hard concrete-like material.

She heard the sound of car doors being opened and was eventually led into a car and strapped in there. A few other men got in as well before the doors were closed and the car started. Initially the car seemed to stop a lot, presumably at traffic lights, but eventually they seemed to get onto a highway or something where they didn’t have to stop frequently. The men talked amongst themselves and she was able to distinguish at least three different voices. The conversation was quite rapid, but eventually she began to pick up some of the same words reoccurring including ‘dengi’ and ‘loterja’.

She still had no idea what any of it meant, and was increasingly concerned about where she was being taken. How would anyone ever find her once she had left the city? What could she do about it? After several hours in the car, they came to a stop and then men got out, leaving her in the car alone. Though she was still tied up, she managed to get her hand on the door handle and pull, but she found it would not open. They must have turned on the child-proof locks.

The men were only gone for about five minutes before getting back in the car at which point they continued driving a long while. Laura grew hungry again, but there were no offers of food or drink of any kind. The men seemed to ignore her almost entirely and talk among themselves except for when they had to move her somewhere.

After many more hours the car stopped a second time and they got out, this time bringing her out with them. They walked quite a ways, perhaps a mile or so, before climbing steps up to a building and entering it. They went a ways into the building before turning a corner and entering a room. The voices died off and she gather that most of the men had left. One who remained now removed her blindfold and she found herself in what looked to be a motel room, though again without any windows or means of discerning where she was. This time it was a bit more furnished and she was delighted to see a bed and ensuite bathroom. The man remarkably untied her before leaving the room and locking it from the outside. At this point she was too tired to do much except collapse on the bed and sleep.

When she awoke she was already blindfolded again and being carried somewhere. She was taken into another car and the familiar routine began as they drove somewhere. This time there was no talking amongst her co-passengers, so she could not be sure how many others were with her. They drove for several hours and then abruptly stopped. She was untied, faced towards the door and then pushed out of the car only to hear it slam behind her and drive away. When she removed the blindfold she found herself at the train station and almost immediately saw Tim running towards her.

By the time Laura had finished speaking several hours had elapsed. Of course the story was a good deal more disjointed and interrupted by a peppering of questions from Tim, but eventually she managed to piece it together somewhat coherently. Tim, having the information that he did, was able to guess a few more things that she couldn’t have known at the time. Whoever had kidnapped her must have been acting on instructions from someone intimately familiar with Tim’s lottery win and travel plans, likely someone from back home, but who exactly he could not guess. James still seemed the most likely, but there was no real evidence to support that except for opportunity and a reputation for sidestepping the law.

The train had entered Mongolia by now and was nearing Ulan-Bataar Having spent the last several hours straight talking, they were eager to get outside and grab some food. Laura was still a bit shaky from her experience, but was getting better all the time. They arrived to find a beautiful city full of rather different people and foods. While there is a lot of commonality and mixing between Siberian and Mongolian ethnicities, they did notice rather different food and language. Where there had previously been mostly meat dishes, there were now also an assortment of other options, many of which were very tasty. While they were interested in exploring the city, they knew that the train was only stopped briefly, so they bought as much food as they could carry along with some small souvenirs, including one of Attila the Hun as an action figure, and headed back to the train.

As it left the city and headed out they settled into eating and drinking. Due to their extended conversation, they hadn’t yet spent much time exploring the train or visiting with other passengers which they now took the time to do. They spent the rest of the afternoon chatting with other travelers about their experiences, Laura in part catching up on the earlier portion of the route that she had missed, and exchanging stories and advice.

The sun went down in the early evening and before long they joined a large group of young people playing some kind of Russian board game. The rules were never made entirely clear, but it seemed to be some combination of Risk and Monopoly where you bought countries rather than properties and then started wars with other countries or charged protection fees for not doing so. Though they couldn’t be entirely sure, Laura seemed to be winning for a good portion of the game until someone bought Germany and started sending a barrage of tanks against her main fortress in the Ukraine.

They were directed to look out the window at various times and were surprised to see Mongolian nomad camps near the train route, complete with tents and camels. There was truly no comparable area that either of them had traveled before. The grassy landscape melted away and was replaced with the vast expanse of the Gobi dessert, a totally different landscape from the rest of the trip. The Mongolian dinning car seemed to provide pretty well exclusively lamb and rice, but it was well cooked and quite tasty.

They began drinking in the early evening and by ten or so everyone was singing drinking songs and those who had still been playing the board game more or less gave up. They had a strong sense of camaraderie with their new friends and continued until about midnight when martial music could be heard as they reached the Chinese border and the train gauges had to be changed from Russian to Chinese. This allowed them the opportunity to explore briefly, though for longer than most stops. They weren’t able to leave the station, but even that was rather different than the Russian ones they had grown used to. Apart from the obvious changes of language and signs, the general look and feel of the stations seemed highly efficient and modern, in contrast to the much older and haphazard ones they had seen previously in some of the smaller towns.

After walking around the station for a while they concluded there wasn’t really much to be done and headed back to the train along with their new friends and found that the changeover process was almost complete, providing the train with a new Chinese dining car, complete with different liquor. Despite being tired, they all felt compelled to take advantage of the variety and sample some of their new options. Almost all of the new liquors were served hot, from the rice wine to the Baijiu, a clear liquor akin to vodka. They quickly grew even more tired from the added alcohol, retiring to bed after drinking lots of water.

Both Laura and Tim slept in the next morning, feeling no need to get up at a particular time. The alcohol and lack of comfortable beds the previous night had led to an increased appreciation of their current accommodations. Laura finally awoke first, having drank considerably less than Tim the night before, and went in search of tea. While the samovars had left with the Russian dining car, she was able to get green tea in the Chinese one and brought back two cups to the cabin.

Tim was starting to wake up by the time she returned and so they both sat on the bottom bunks of their compartment and tried to start planning out their day. The train wasn’t due to arrive in Beijing until late afternoon at which point they would go out and try to find a hostel, but in the mean time they tried to practice some basic Chinese phrases to get by. Once they had woken up a little more they went to the dining car for breakfast, enjoying a wonderful selection of dim sum.

The Chinese countryside was not altogether different from the areas they had already passed, but what struck Tim was how little of it there was. Of course there were still many rural areas, but it seemed every ten minutes or so an enormous city loomed on one side of the train or the other. The sheer number of them was quite astounding and more so how new everything looked. It seemed as if at least half of them had been built the previous day, expanding for miles in all directions.

The stops that the train made prior to Beijing were largely not in these new cities, but rather smaller towns that looked to have been around for a good while. The merchants that awaited the train at each station were more diverse and more resourceful than the ones they had previously seen. In addition to an almost infinite variety of food choices they had essentially made an impromptu bazaar of all kinds of souvenirs and electronic goods.

There was a substantial collection of pirated dvds along with knock-offs of all kinds from Iqods to Rolixes. It truly was a shame that they did not have more time to spend because the stalls were infinitely fascinating. By the time they had gotten back on the train they had found a few items to add to their lunch and Laura had located ‘Baby’s first Little Red Book’, which apparently was written in all seriousness to teach children about Chairman Mao. There were even pictures of him expounding wisdom to the masses.

The rest of the journey to Beijing was relatively uneventful, following the same pattern as earlier in the day, and when they finally approached the city they could start to see signs of the suburbs long before the city center came into view. The city itself was one of extremes, blending breathtaking beauty with abject poverty and pollution. The area the train passed through was largely well maintained, though the poorer areas were visible nearby.

The train finally arrived, about an hour late, just before 5:00pm local time. The time zones had been slightly confusing as all of China is on the same time while many of the surrounding countries no farther East or West could be as much as 2 hours different. When the train had stopped, it took a while to exit as everyone else was getting off at the same time. The station was immense and rather easy to get lost in, so after retrieving their bags Tim and Laura made a point of staying together and making their way to the closest exit. They were relived to find relatively clear English signage in this area of the city, perhaps leftover from the recent Olympic Games, but whatever the reason appreciated.

Tim had found several nearby hostels in his guide book so they made their way to the closest one and found a friendly English speaking proprietor who confirmed that there were rooms available. They carried their bags up to the room and got settled in before venturing out into the city for the evening. While they were tired, knowing they only had one more day in the city meant they had to make the most of the time they had.

They ventured out first to find some food before exploring and passed a surprising number of western fast food places along the way, before settling on a noodle place a few blocks away. While the menu was entirely in Chinese, there were some pictures as well which helped them in the ordering process. They ordered by pointing at the pictures they wanted and were soon enjoying a tasty noodle dish with chicken, vegetables, and a few ingredients they were unable to identify.

Tim had brought some local currency with him, but made a not much, and made a note to find an ATM at some point. They ordered one of the beers on the menu to complement the meal and were happy to discover it was served cold. Having finished their meal, they glanced at the desert menu, but as it didn’t have any pictures, decided not to order anything in case they wound up with a local delicacy that might be unfavourable to their western palates.

After leaving the restaurant, they walked towards the center of the city, trying to avoid being hit by the various vehicles and pedestrians rushing through. They made their way to the outer walls of the forbidden city, but it was closed for the day so they could only look at the outside of the impressive temple structures within. They walked along the side of it, beside the water and eventually found themselves on the edge of Tiananmen Square which was far bigger than either of them had imagined. It extended out in all directions from the gate to the Forbidden City in the North to the Qianmen gate in the South, and bordered on both sides by immense buildings.

Both the Monument to the People’s Heroes, a 125 foot monolith, and the Mausoleum of Mao Zedong dominated the square itself. It was strange to see people walking so casually across such a historic place, but most of them would hardly have been old enough to remember the events in June of 1989. Tim only barely remembered people making a big deal of it at the time, but not understanding its significance till much later.

Though they were eager to see more, the long train travel had tired them out so they walked back to the hostel, following Beichang street to the bridge and then back over. When they arrived at the hostel they went directly to their rooms and fell asleep quickly.

The next day they woke up early, grabbed some breakfast to carry with them and headed out. Their morning and afternoon were a whirlwind of monuments, museums and other cultural attractions, not to mention a good number of shopping excursions in the various markets that dotted the city. While they hardly had enough time to enjoy any of the sights in their entirety, the Temple of Heaven being a particular favourite. Unfortunately, due to Laura’s limited time off from work, they had to catch a flight back to Vancouver late that evening.

In addition to observing the sights and sounds of the city, they attempted to be a little more adventurous with some of their food choices leading to happy discoveries and the occasional regret. All in all they were unable to see nearly enough of the city in the very short time they were there, except to realize that they would have to return to it another time to give it full justice.

The day passed by very quickly and in the blink of an eye it was already late afternoon and time to retrieve their belongings from the hostel before heading to the airport. Ordinarily this would be a simple task, but due to Beijing’s traffic congestion they had to allow a long time to get there by taxi. When they finally did arrive the taxi driver asked for an exorbitant sum, but rather than argue Tim just gave him the money so they didn’t miss their flight. The airport rivalled Heathrow in traffic and far surpassed it in complexity. It took them a good while just to locate the proper check in counter, much less actually wind their way through security and get to their gate.

Remarkably, they traversed the gauntlet more or less in tact and emerged at their gate with time to spare. Tim got a coffee to stay awake and Laura put in her headphones and took a short nap until it was time to board. Thankfully, Tim had had the good sense to book a non-stop flight to Vancouver which would minimize the unpleasantness of flying such a long distance.

By a stroke of luck this plane was overbooked in the economy section and they were able to move up to first class, an experience entirely new to both of them. It really was a different world, full of adequate leg room, comfortable seats and relative quiet. They relaxed as the rest of the passengers boarded and were brought glasses of Champaign and hot towels before they even had the chance to ask.

The seats were equipped with personal TVs with extensive options of the latest movies and television shows as well as a selection of video games. Despite the luxury, both of them spent a good deal of the flight sleeping comfortably, only waking on occasion to eat or go to the bathroom. The flight arrived in Vancouver in what seemed like only moments from when they took off and both Tim and Laura found themselves almost sad to leave the comfort of the plane, though they were now well rested, if a little unused to the time change.

They disembarked from the plane and headed through the familiar hallways of YVR to await their bags at the carousel. Neither Tim nor Laura felt the need to converse as they went through the familiar process and went through the motions in an almost mechanical manner. The familiarity of the city and of the travel process had made it second nature to both by now and there were no irregularities to jolt them out of their complacency.

The taxi ride back was just like the previous taxi rides, only on different roads and through the familiar light rain that had once more blanketed the city. When they arrived at Laura’s place, they exchanged a quick hug and said their goodbyes, both a little preoccupied with other matters: Laura still processing the events of her kidnapping and Tim pondering his return home in many ways.

The ride to his place was only a few more minutes and he hardly noticed the time. After paying the driver and getting his things from the trunk, he walked slowing to the familiar door, feeling as if he had been away far more than 2 weeks. His apartment was just as he had left it, absent the ferrets that he needed to pick up from his neighbour who had been looking after them. He began unpacking his things and putting them away in their proper places, routine act allowing him to delay processing everything that had happened.

He felt the kind of sadness that one feels upon finishing a particularly memorable vacation and knowing that one can never quite recall those memories as vividly as when they first happened. He was returning not only to his familiar city and apartment, but to his familiar life, devoid of the excitement, challenges and worry of being a secret millionaire. He felt that he should be angry about having all his money taken, angry that his friend had been targeted, angry at how unfair it all was. Except that it wasn’t really.

Try as he might to make an argument for having suffered grave injustice, he found it falling short. He had done nothing to earn the money; it had only ever been his due to some infinitesimal chance paying off. And in the time he did have it, he was hard pressed to say that he was truly happier. Not in a delusional, ‘money doesn’t matter’ sort of way popularized by those inclined to romanticise poverty, but rather in a more pragmatic sense. When he truly could have bought almost anything in the world, his only major acquisition was an old car he probably could have bought anyway and travel with family and friends.

Perhaps he wasn’t cut out for being super rich; he just couldn’t muster up the kind of materialism it would take to spend that kind of money. He had returned more or less to where things had been a couple months back and couldn’t say he was entirely disappointed by it.

He went about settling back in, checking his email and sifting through the pile of newspapers and bills that had arrived in his absence. He half expected some new letter from James to launch him off on another trip, but the most interesting thing in the whole pile was an offer to save on long distance calling. He pulled down the pizza flyer from its place on top of the fridge and called up for delivery. He tried calling Nick but he was busy for the evening.

Tim sat down on the couch and turned on the TV and found that the old Indiana Jones movies were playing as part of a movie marathon. He smiled as he watched the opening credits come on, complete with the unforgettable theme music. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and cracked it open as he waited for the pizza to arrive.

Tomorrow, he thought to himself, he would go to the gym. For real this time, he would stop all this unhealthy eating and get himself into shape as he certainly wasn’t getting any younger. As he cleared the mail and newspapers off the couch he noticed a farewell column from Tabitha Trembley. Apparently she was retiring from journalism to move to the French Mediterranean where she had purchased a small vineyard. Tim was happy to see that she would no longer be meddling in the private affairs of his fellow Vancouverites.

Everything finally seemed to be settling back to normal. Now that he was no longer a multi-millionaire he would have to see about a job again, either returning to his previous one or else looking elsewhere. If nothing else, the last couple months had satiated his desire to travel for the moment and he was quite content to stay in the city, at least for the next little while.

Just then the doorbell rang for the pizza so Tim’s thoughts were interrupted and he went to get it. The pizzas were wonderfully warm and smelled fantastic. Before he had settled back into watching the movie, pizza in hand, he remembered that he was supposed to pick up the ferrets from his neighbour who was watching them.

He went over to his neighbour’s place and retrieved Bartleby and Iago. He couldn’t be entirely sure, but it looked like they had grown a little in his absence and when he looked at them from the right angle he could tell them apart. Bartleby had a slight patch of brown in the otherwise white fur on his throat, whereas Iago didn’t. They seemed almost happy to see him, in their own lazy sort of way. He brought their cage and various trapping back to the apartment and set them in the corner; opening it up to let them run loose for a little while.

No sooner had he opened the cage then they had scampered into the bathroom and were contently tearing up toilet paper and rags. He went in and considered stopping them, but decided against it as he didn’t really mind. In a strange way, it was kind of nice.

Chapter 9

Hello loyal readers,

Apologies for not having this chapter posted yesterday as I intended, but I was stuck in a conference all day and simply didn't have time to write. While I have completed the chapter, I again didn't really edit so please bear with me. I hope you enjoy the penultimate chapter, I will make every effort to post the final chapter sometime on Tuesday night. Till then...

Chapter 9

Tim awoke the next morning hung over. His head hurt, his throat was dry and it was far too bright in the room. When he first awoke he went to the bathroom and drank three glasses of water and a couple pain killers in quick succession before going back to bed for a couple more hours.

When he woke up the second time he felt a good deal better. The pain had subsided to a dull throb and he was ready to get up and face the day. He took a shower and gathered up his discarded clothing from the previous evening before getting ready to go out in search of breakfast. Seeing Laura’s bed empty, he figured she must have gotten up earlier and gone out rather than waking him. She was probably just downstairs having breakfast or out for a brief walk.

Once he was ready to go out, he wrote a quick note to Laura in case she returned explaining where he had gone and then left in search of breakfast. He decided to be a little bit adventurous, seeking out some authentic Russian breakfast food rather than the usual North American fare. He found a small bakery around the corner from the hotel that had a few tables and chairs out front. He went in and was transfixed by the incredible array of options. He was tempted by almost everything in the store, but eventually settled on something called a Kartoshka, a sort of walnut pastry with chocolate inside. He wasn’t really sure what made it Russian, but it was delicious.

While he sat outside eating it and drinking a cup of tea, he started planning out the day. He had gotten up a lot later than he planed to, so he would have to prioritize the sights he most wanted to see. It was a difficult choice to make, but he narrowed down his list a little to match the time remaining in the day. Once he finished breakfast he went back to the hotel and seeing no sign of Laura downstairs, headed up to the room to see if she had returned.

When he got to the room there was no sign of her there either, but the note he had written was gone. Tim assumed that she must have read it and gone out to find him, and was about to head out again when he saw another note sitting on his bed. It was typed on a thick, glossy paper.

‘Dear Mr. Harding.

We have your companion. She is safe and unharmed and will stay that way providing you transfer the sum of $45 million dollars into our account. Instructions will follow. Don’t contact the police.

Sincerely,

………..’

Tim stared at the note for several long minutes. He read it over a few more times to be sure he hadn’t missed anything. If the note was to be taken seriously, Laura had been kidnapped by someone who knew things about Tim that almost no one knew. He immediately suspected James who knew the most and had already shown himself to be dishonest, but it could have been someone who intercepted one of his phone calls or eavesdropped on a conversation. Whoever it was and however they found out, Laura was in danger.

Tim tried to remember the kinds of things you are supposed to do in a situation like this: Stay calm, wait for instructions, contact the police. It couldn’t be sure whether the last one was a good idea or not, would it really put Laura in danger? How would the kidnappers know if he did anyway? But then again, how did they find out about everything in the first place, they might well have methods he didn’t know about. For the moment he decided to play it safe, he could always call them later.

He wanted to keep his options open and was very bad at waiting. He called Ryan to see how easy it would be to free up his money and have it on hand to transfer. He tried calling but there was no answer. He realized after a moment that it was the middle of the night in Vancouver so it made perfect sense that Ryan wouldn’t be answering his office phone. Tim couldn’t think straight and had to get outside. He left a message at the reception desk to call his cell if there were any messages for him and in the mean time he left the hotel.

Being in the centre of town already, it was not a long walk to get to the river. His hotel was just off of Nevsky Prospect and within a few blocks he found himself at the bridge that crosses the Neva to Vasilyevsky Island which sits between the two branches of the Neva as it comes out into the ocean. On any other day and in any other circumstance he would have been awed by the opportunity to be walking these streets, but today he counted himself lucky not to have been hit by a car while crossing the streets in such a reckless manner.

He crossed over the bridge and veered right on the other side, following Bol’shoy Prospect till it came to an end at a pier, looking out onto the fierce Baltic Sea. To the North, just a little bit farther than the eye could see lay the borders of Finland and North of that, only Arctic Ocean. The history and culture of the city melted away to its barbarous nature, a defiant metropolis that echoed the harsh forces of nature that constantly besieged it. Somewhere in that city, so rich in charm and sophistication were despicable individuals who had taken his friend. He didn’t know what to do, but would find a way to get her back, even if it meant losing all his wealth.

He sat down by the peer just looking out for what seemed like an hour or more, before deciding that he should get back to the hotel to see if there were any more instructions, and that he could use a stiff drink. He generally retraced his steps back to the hotel, walking more slowly and without purpose. He was entirely helpless and it was driving him crazy.

Once he reached the hotel, he checked for messages at the front desk before heading back to his room to see if the kidnappers had left another note. Nothing. He headed down to the hotel bar, but changed his mind as he couldn’t separate it from the events of the night before. He went outside again in search of a bar that was open this early in the day.

For a city of heavy vodka drinkers, he was surprised to find it very difficult to locate an open bar. There wasn’t a lack of bars, but it seemed that none of them opened before early evening; perhaps people just drank at home until then. The street was getting busier as the day progressed and Tim didn’t feel like going back to the hotel, as he walked he came across a towering orthodox church along the Obvodny canal. He recalled his experience in Paris and decided to go in.

While open to the public, the inside was nothing like the Parisian cathedral nor that of Moscow that he had visited the day before. Though under renovations to restore itself, the barbarity of enforced Soviet atheism was evident. Where there had once been ornate windows of stained glass, there were now only feeble replacements of ordinary glass that would have looked comically out of place if not for the sense of loss. Much of the interior echoed this feeling of its beauty and history having been stripped away and only now, very slowly and gradually being replaced. But this was not a prominent cathedral and it was clear there was a lack of either money or interest in restoring it properly, perhaps both.

Tim found himself to be the only one there, no tourists cared and even the clergy, it seemed, couldn’t be bothered to show up during the week. Tim sat down on one of the creaking pews just to take a break from the world for a moment. Were there a God, it seemed clear that he had abandoned this building and perhaps the city. He certainly couldn’t be very fair or loving if he allowed Laura to be kidnapped. Tim felt like screaming.

He eventually got up and left. Having only just left the hotel, he felt it pointless to keep returning there. Having left instructions to contact him, he figured given the ingenuity of the kidnappers so far, they would find a way to reach him. In an effort to distract himself, he set about trying to visit some of the sights of the city. He had his guide book with him and decided to head over to the Dostoyevsky museum which operated out of a converted apartment that he had lived in during his time in St. Petersburg.

The building was close by, near the Vladmirskaya metro station. The apartment itself was surprisingly large and looked out from the corner onto the church nearby. In addition to the usual preserved rooms left the way Dostoyevsky had them, there were various drafts of his books and news clippings. Someone had even set out letters from his children asking for sweets. It was quite an experience to see the place where so many of his novels were written. Looking out the window he could see some of the locations featured in Crime and Punishment and for a brief moment, for get about his concerns. The museum offered audio tours in English that recounted moments in Dostoyevsky’s life, most of which Tim already knew, but it was a completely different experience hearing about them in the location some of them actually took place. It set down the impression of Dostoyevsky as a real writer, struggling with financial difficulties brought on by his gambling habits as well as the challenges of raising a family.

As tempted as he was to stay in the museum indefinitely, Tim eventually left after taking several pictures and buying a few mementos from the souvenir shop. He headed back towards the Neva, this time crossing a different bridge over to Petrogradskaya and the nearby Peter and Paul Fortress on Zayachii Ostrov Island. The complex housed a prison and cathedral, an exercise in contrasts, yet both possessing the grandeur and pomp of tsarist influence. Peter the Great apparently at one time outlawed the construction of any building taller than the spire of the fortress, which at various times held Russian writers and dissidents of various kinds, including Dostoyevsky for a little while.

After paying the admission fee, he entered the compound and marvelled at the monolithic stature of it all. He could see why both opposing armies and local adversaries of the government would be intimidated. Before he reached the cathedral itself, his phone went off. It was a text from a blocked number.

‘Transfer $45 million to account 4522237-809 based at the bank of Hong Kong. Once the money has been received, we will give you the location of your friend.’

Tim now at least had something to go on. The message didn’t provide a time line, but he suspected kidnappers weren’t the patient type. It would now be early morning in Vancouver, so Tim tried Ryan again. There was no answer, but he left a message to call as soon as possible. In the mean time he went back to the hotel to get a late lunch and figure out what to do next. The fortress would have to wait for another time.

He arrived to find his room as he left it, no new notes or traces of the kidnappers. He sat down and collected up his and Laura’s things in case he needed to leave on short notice. He figured he probably had a couple hours before Ryan would have a chance to respond. He decided to try to read for a little while and picked up his Tolstoy in hopes of finding something more upbeat than peasants dying. As luck would have it, this one was even more depressing, concerning a merchant who was wrongly convicted of a murder and sent to Siberia, only to eventually be acquitted but dying before he was released.

Tim decided that Tolstoy must not believe in justice and that this reading material was hardly improving his mood. After ordering up some room service, he ate it and took a nap to kill some time, only awaking a couple hours later to the sound of his phone ringing. It was Ryan returning his call and asking what he needed.

Tim explained the situation and asked if he would be able to transfer the money over. Ryan replied that although he had already invested it, he should be able to have it released and transferred by the end of the day to the account Tim had specified. Tim was relieved to hear it and asked that Ryan call once it was complete, regardless of the time.

Tim was now stuck waiting again, early evening approaching and nothing to do. Feeling restless and cooped up in the hotel, he went out for another walk, this time following the Neva South East as it twisted and turned through the city. The walk was quiet and the evening already gave indication of the approaching winter. Occasionally he would see other people crossing over the many bridges, but for the most part he was left alone with his thoughts. Ordinarily according to their original plans Laura and he should have been heading back to Moscow the next morning to begin their journey on the Trans-Siberian.

He walked on aimlessly for hours, eventually coming to the bridge that the M-11 highway uses to cross the Neva where it divides North and South of the city and outlying areas. While the river runs east, emptying into an enormous lake 40 kilometres further, the highway winds West, connecting first to Estonia and then onwards to the rest of Europe. Tim suddenly felt tired, despite his earlier nap, and caught a cab back to the hotel. He decided to forgo dinner for the moment and try to get some sleep while awaiting news from Ryan.

He slept fitfully, waking up at regular intervals to check his phone and make sure he hadn’t missed something. The hours passed by slowly, each one bringing tiredness and frustration. Finally, half-dozing, he heard the sound he had been waiting for. He answered the phone before it had the chance to ring a second time. Ryan had been able to transfer the money, after a few hiccups and assured Tim that it would be in the account when the Hong Kong bank opened in an hour or so. Now all Tim could do was to wait for further instructions and sleep. He thanked Ryan and went back to bed, this time falling asleep almost immediately.

Despite his short sleep, he found himself wide awake by 7:00 the next morning. Unable to fall back asleep, he went downstairs and got himself a coffee. When he returned to his room to shower and change there was a note on his pillow on the same kind of paper as before.

‘The funds have been received. You will find your friend at the train station in Novosibirsk in two days time.’

Not knowing the location the note mentioned, Tim had to get out his guidebook and locate it on a map. It appeared to be a city in the middle of the Tran Siberian route. If Tim caught the train they had originally been planning, he should be able to make it there in 2 days time, but he would have to hurry. He collected up all his things as well as Laura’s and took them downstairs to check out. The hotel was very understanding and within 5 minutes he was in a cab on the way to the train station. He got to the station just as the train was boarding and had to run across to the far end to get onto the express train to Moscow that would then transfer onto the proper Trans-Siberian.

The trip to Moscow was much quicker on the Express train and within about 4 hours of uneventful travel he found himself disembarking in favour of the number 2 train. He had a whole cabin to himself as it turned out and was eager to get going. To distract himself he spent a couple hours reading the guide book he had bought for the trip. It turned out the route he had planned was technically called the Trans-Mongolian as it cut through Mongolia and finished in China, rather than the conventional Trans-Siberian that ended in the much less interesting Vladivostok, a shipping town with very little to see or do.

Though calling itself an express, the train actually stopped every 3-4 hours for about 15 min in all kinds of small towns and cities along the way. While this didn’t allow time to explore, it did mean one could get out and buy food and souvenirs from the locals who would crowd the platform in anticipation of the upcoming train. Tim tried a number of local foods with varying degrees of success from the delicious to the entirely bizarre.

The diversity and vastness of Russia reminded him of back home. Though he had spent most of his life in urban areas, he had done a couple trips across the country and always found the physical experience of the distance astounding. It was one thing to look at a map, but quite another to actually travel it by land, the feeling of a kilometre by train is much different than on a plane, you pass by every tree and town at eye level.

As he was travelling on his own, he tried to leave his compartment often to get tea or snack and socialize with the other passengers. There were a number of westerners on the trip and he was able to distract himself by hearing about their travels. The only trouble was when they invariably asked why he was travelling alone at which point he would usually clam up and find an excuse to leave.

The first day passed quickly and Tim found he was able to sleep relatively well in the cramped bed, though it initially took a while to get used to the feeling of movement. He awoke the next morning to find they were crossing over a river and approaching an industrial town. When the train stopped 10 min later Tim went out to look around and grab some breakfast.

Being a larger town there were more choices of merchants and Tim found it hard to make up his mind on what to have. After looking around for 5 minutes and getting concerned that he wouldn’t get back to the train in time, he settled on a plate of potato dumplings smothered in cheese and served with sausage. He got back on the train and stopped at the samovar to fill up his mug with hot water for tea. Making his way back to his compartment, he sat down and enjoyed his breakfast as the train pulled out from the station and continued its long journey.

The train passed through towns and cities at regular intervals, and Tim began to settle into the routine. The scenery changed, but very gradually so as to be almost unnoticeable. They were now passing through the Ural Mountains, but because of the vast scale it was at times impossible to determine the elevation. Tim gradually got to know some of the passengers by name and would say hi to them when he passed by their compartments or when they ran into one another in the dinning car. At times he was almost able to forget the purpose of his trip and just enjoy the travel experience.

He liked train travel, and while it wasn’t always exciting, it was certainly more relaxing and civil than planes or even extended car trips. Not having to worry about driving or car sickness, he could read, eat, or socialize while looking out the window and enjoying the natural and artificial landscapes. Time passed differently too as there was less to divide different parts of the day. Train life was pleasant though repetitive and by the evening of that day he grew restless both because of not having very many places to go and knowing that the next morning they would be arriving in Novosibirsk.

Nevertheless, there was little he could do beyond read, eat and sleep to pass the time. Sleeping that night proved more difficult because of not having done much to tire himself during the day. The bed, which the previous night had felt perfectly comfortable, now felt cramped and too hard. The noise of the engine was too loud and the periodic sound of footsteps in the corridor seemed to echo in the compartments. With all these distractions he tried all the more to sleep which ensured that he couldn't. It was only around 3am when he had exhausted himself in trying to sleep that he gave up trying and was able to rest.

Morning came minutes later to the sound of his alarm going off. He momentarily forgot where he was before looking out the window and seeing the scenery move past at a brisk pace. He pieced things together and resolved to get some tea, almost falling off his bunk while making his way to the samovar. Once he got back with his tea he sat down on one of the lower bunks and drank it. He had about half an hour till the train was scheduled to arrive and he wanted to make the best of it to clean himself up a little.

Living on the train had encouraged a slight disregard for his appearance and while he had showered the previous morning, he hadn't bothered to shave since Moscow. Locking the door behind him, he went down to take a shower at the end of the carriage.

As it was still relatively early Tim found himself the only one up and free to take as long a shower as he liked. While it too was cramped, the hot water was plentiful and he was able to wash his hair and feel like a human being again.

He emerged from the bathroom feeling a good deal better and headed down to the restaurant car to see about some breakfast. The train unfortunately did not possess the variety of pastries present at many of the small town stops, but it did offer a rather hearty oatmeal dish that was sufficient to start his day. Just as he was finishing up, the conductor announced their pending arrival in Novosibirsk in less than 5 minutes.

When the train stopped at the station, Tim jumped off and ran down the platform to look for Laura. The station was fairly sizable, but he checked it thoroughly and saw no sign of her. He had absolutely no means of contacting the kidnappers nor knowing whether they would actually keep up their end of the bargain. It seemed that either way she wasn't there immediately. He went back to the train and collected everything from his compartment, it was apparent that he would not be getting back on the train before it left in another 5 min.

He found a spot on the side of the terminal where he could see both people entering it and people disembarking trains. Not knowing how or where the kidnappers might be coming from, he wanted to ensure he didn’t miss anything. He decided to grab a coffee from one of the nearby vendors as the heat of the day had not yet arrived.

He sat waiting for about 40 min before a dark sedan pulled up about 50 meters back from the station and someone got out the back door before the car drove off without incident. Though it took him a moment to recognize her, it was Laura. Tim ran over to her and hugged her. She looked to be in good shape considering and insisted she had been well treated. They slowly walked back to the bench and sat for a long while in silence. Tim asked her a few questions, but it quickly became clear she wasn't inclined to talk about it at the moment. There would be time for many questions on both sides before long.

While Tim was inclined to book a flight back to Vancouver from there, Laura said she wanted to continue the journey to Beijing, saying that if they left now the kidnapping would be her strongest memory of the trip. After making sure that she was alright on her own for a couple minutes, Tim went to check the schedule for when the next train would be arriving. It looked like there was a local commuter train leaving in half an hour that would take them to Irkutsk where they could rejoin their proper train and continue on to Beijing. Tim bought the appropriate tickets and went back to the bench.

He asked if Laura had eaten, and upon finding out she hadn't flagged down one of the vendors and bought a bunch of pastries and chocolate for her, along with a small bottle of vodka for himself. Despite the early hour he was inclined to have a drink after all the stress of the last few days.

After eating and drinking, they both felt better and it wasn't long before the train had arrived and they were boarding. This train was a good deal less nice than the one Tim had been on previously. They were booked in compartment with 6 other people, roughly the same size as what Tim had had to himself before. Additionally, there appeared to be very few other tourists on board, the conversation was almost exclusively in Russian. Tim had learned to pick up bits and pieces of it and could ask basic questions, but was certainly not able to carry on full conversation.

Laura seemed content to rest and read, evidently tired from whatever she had gone through the past couple days. Tim was careful not to push her to talk about it and tried to content himself with reading and exploring the train.

Being a commuter train, there was no dinning car, though there was still a samovar for tea, evidently seem among Russians as a privilege rather than a right. The other passengers seemed to be from various different professions, ranging from the group of farm hands playing cards next door to the family with 6 children in the compartment at the end of the hall.

The next several stops were much like those before until they arrived in Krasnoyarsk in the early evening, the only other major city before Irkutsk. They found a plethora of choices for dinner and noticed a subtle difference in the architecture as they drew nearer to the Mongolian border. The train stopped there for close to 30 minutes as there would be few more stops for the next several hours. They very briefly walked a couple blocks into the town to stretch their legs and get some small sense of what it looked like.

It was surprisingly more urban than Tim would have imagined, apparently close to a million people according to his guidebook and complete with skyscrapers and enormous steel bridges across the river. Apparently Chekhov had judged it to be the most beautiful city in Siberia, which while it may not have meant much, still sounded nice. Before long they had to head back to the train, but they took a handful of pictures before leaving.

The next several hours were largely uneventful, both continued to read until they got tired and then tried to sleep in their very small beds, complete with rowdy Russians playing cards below. The noise subsided around midnight and they did catch a few hours of rest, albeit not quite what they would have liked.

When they awoke and looked out the window the countryside looked almost identical to the night before. They found it difficult to determine where they were as there were no discernible landmarks in any direction. After grabbing tea and some instant cereal, they felt more awake and checked the timetable against their watches. It looked as if they should be arriving in Irkutsk in under an hour where they would transfer back to their regular train. Rather than read as they had been doing the previous day, Laura said that she was ready to talk.

Chapter 8

Ladies and Gents,

As I was finishing up writing my chapter today, I momentarily forgot what number it was and had to scroll back. It came as a bit of a shock to realize after this I am a mere 10,000 words from the finish line. Two more chapters, 6 more days, 144 hours....and so on until I am done.

It has been quite a journey so far, if nothing else I will come away from it stripped of the illusion that writers have an easy job. Writing that reads effortless is certainly not effortless to write, I am now certain.

I have decided, for your reading enjoyment or lack thereof, to present chapter 8 to you without even my customary read over for coherence. Once the words went on the page I did not look at them again. This means that you get to see the raw incoherence of my totally unedited work (you thought it was bad before...) and I don't have to spend an hour or so of my evening protecting my pride. And so, with a certain degree of fear, I present to you

Chapter 8

The next month flew by with dizzying speed. Tim found out that the visa process was more difficult than originally anticipated. He spent several days just working out the logistics of timing, transport, accommodations and so forth so that everything was well arranged. Laura had helped a lot in deciding on potential places to visit and tours to take within the cities themselves, not to mention being of great assistance in more practical matters of what and how to pack for this sort of trip.

Tim had met with Ryan a couple more times and put together a basic outline of his financial goals. He had given Ryan discretionary access to the particulars of investing his money so as to minimize his own involvement in the process. Things were well set up and Tim no longer felt apprehensive about it.

He had also spent some more time working with Janet and helping to build out her foundation to be more professionally organized. In the span of a few weeks she had hired three full time staff from the more competent of the volunteers who knew what they were doing. They were now developing a bid to transform a large swath of dilapidated social housing into a new facility with retail on the bottom two floors and housing above it. Janet had even managed to use her connections, along with Tim’s help, to secure developers willing to finance the project in such a way that the retail presence would cover most of the costs of the housing.

Though they were leaving at the end of September, Tim wanted to be prepared for all eventualities and spent considerable time shopping for cold weather gear and travel items so that the staff at MEC knew him on a first name basis. He had a number of things from previous trips, but he had never traveled in that area before and didn’t entirely know what to expect.

He spent a good deal of time reading up on the area, the culture and stories from other people who had traveled there before. The time passed quickly as he tried to soak up as much knowledge as he could about the region while trying to take in as much language as he could as well.

The class he signed up for ended up being a lot more difficult than he had anticipated. Learning an entirely new alphabet and vowel sounds made the language feel much more foreign than French or Spanish. Even the grammatical structure seemed totally different, conjugating words by endings rather than placement in the sentence took some getting used to. By the end of the two weeks he was able to read Cyrillic and had a very basic understanding of the language, to the extent of being able to ask whether the train was on time and where the bathroom was, but not much else. All the travel accounts he read consistently claimed that many travelers had no knowledge of Russian and were totally fine with it.

Tim spent several evenings planning with Laura, looking over maps and travel guides, checking train times and walking routes. They gradually cobbled together a plan of the things they most wanted to see and do and remarkably fit it all into the two weeks that Laura was able to get off of work. When the time finally came for them to leave, they felt confident that they had planned all there was to plan and were ready to go.

Because of the time difference and the long plane trip, they ended up leaving early one rainy Friday morning. Tim’s alarm went off at 5:00 and he was showered, dressed and ready to go when the cab picked him up at 5:30. They went by Laura’s place to pick her up shortly after and were at the airport before 6:00 for an 8:00 flight to London. The check in process went smoothly and they got to the gate within forty minutes. In his rush to get ready, Tim hadn’t gotten his morning coffee yet so he left Laura with the bags and went off in search of a couple coffees and bagels. He came back 10 minutes later with a tray holding two enormous drinks and two equally intimidating cinnamon buns. He had remembered Laura’s tea preference and rightly assumed that she probably hadn’t had a chance to get breakfast yet either.

They enjoyed their airport breakfast while looking out at the Vancouver rain pouring down in buckets just outside the windows. Tim had brought a number of books with him in hopes of getting some time to read either on the flight over or at least on the train itself. Predictably he had abandoned War and Peace again in favour of something a little lighter. His current stable of options included a new John Grisham novel, a history of the financial system, and a book of short stories by Tolstoy, which seemed appropriate for the trip.

Before long the plane began to board and Laura and Tim made their way to their seats. Having traveled a fair bit, Tim no longer felt the need for a window seat and rather valued the access of sitting by the aisle so as to be able to get up and stretch his legs during the long flight. Laura took the window seat and good luck allowed that the seat between them was unoccupied. As the plane prepared for takeoff, Tim attempted to get a little bit of sleep, knowing that he would likely not have the opportunity later on.

Laura had brought her iPod and was already listening to it while waiting for the plane to get going. Luckily, they had known each other long enough so as not to feel obliged to make constant conversation which would be rather excessive on a nine hour flight.

While necessarily unpleasant, as all flights of that length are, Tim was thankful that it wasn't as bad as it could have been. There were no screaming infants, no one kicking his seat, no excessively conversational seat mates and even the in flight movies were reasonable. While time slowed to a glacial pace as it does in these situations, he was mostly able to fill it with sleep and reading, occasionally taking a break for meals or to walk around the plane. Laura seemed happy enough as well and shortly after 11pm local time they taxied into Stansted airport.

By the time they got through customs it was after midnight and even though they didn't feel tired, figured they had better try to get some sleep to adjust to the time change. They had gone more than half way and had almost a full day before their next flight. They caught a cab into the city to their hotel and went to the bar for a couple drinks before bed. Tim ordered a Newcastle brown, savouring the privilege of having it on tap rather than out of a bottle. Laura ordered a cocktail and they sat around, enjoying the atmosphere. Tim figured they may as well get their fill of western drinking before switching over to copious quantities of vodka over the next couple weeks.

After one more drink, they headed back to their room and went to bed. Neither was able to sleep much, but lying down and resting probably did them at least a bit of good. When they got up in the morning they didn't much feel like breakfast, but tried to eat something anyway. British breakfast being an experience in its own right, they spent a good 5 minutes looking at it before they worked up the courage to eat it. Great as a hangover cure, less great as actual food. When they got up from the table they felt their arteries fighting a little harder than usual to get the blood pumping again.

Tim had booked a hotel near the centre of London so they were able to walk to many of the tourist sites with ease. Having been there a couple times before himself, he let Laura choose where to go in the limited time before they had to head back to the airport for their next flight. They went to Westminster Abby, Buckingham palace and the British Museum before stopping for some regrettable coffee and sandwiches at a shop nearby. They missed the changing of the guard, but did get a good number of pictures before heading back to the hotel to pick up their bags. They were flying out of Heathrow and, based on past experience, Tim insisted that they be there quite early.

When they arrived, Tim's worries proved to be unfounded. It was quite surprisingly empty for the time of day, but neither of them could really complain. Once they had checked in and gone through security, they found one of the many pubs and had a few pints. They tried to follow a cricket match playing on one of the TVs but gave up after a few minutes, not being able to determine who was winning, how long they had been playing or what action they were supposed to be following. Laura was pretty sure at one point that she heard one of the commentators refer to a tea break. Truly not a game for the impatient, it seemed.

They finished up their drinks and headed over to the gate. Tim was beginning to get pretty tired now. Once the plane was ready to board they found their seats and Tim managed to catch a nap for several hours while Laura stayed up, watching the scenery change as they passed over Western Europe.

In contrast to their previous flight, this one proved to be rather less pleasant though shorter. While the airport had been relatively empty, the flight was entirely full and they wound up with a crying baby, people talking loudly, and the turbulent flight. Though the trip lasted less than four hours, it felt longer than the 9 hour flight from Vancouver. Tim remarkably managed to sleep through all of it, though Laura suffered the full brunt of everything.

By the time the plane was descending into Moscow, Tim was just beginning to wake up from his nap, and Laura was more than ready to be off the plane. As they approached the city, both Tim and Laura looked out the window to see a city of palaces and a sea of people. They arrived in Domodedovo airport in the late evening and after collecting their bags, went in search of the express train to the city centre.

As soon as they stepped inside the airport they could feel the change of culture, not only were the people around them predominantly speaking Russian, but many of the signs had little or no English on them. After consulting a map and information desk, they found their way to the train which was close by. Tim realized he hadn't remembered to get any Russian currency yet, so they had to stop by an exchange booth that looked suspiciously at his British pounds before giving him rubbles in exchange. The bought tickets and got on the train before realizing that all the stations were only announced in Russian. Luckily Tim's basic grasp of the language was enough to ensure that they got off at the right stop and made it to their hotel.

Even when translated, the street names seemed alien. They had exchanged drives and avenues for prospects and orderly numbered buildings for a bewildering address system apparently according to which buildings were built first. They circled the same area three or four times before finding their hotel, despite its large size and prominent sign. When they found it they were ready to check in and go to bed, they would face the challenges of the city in the morning.

Once they had checked in and were shown their room, they only had the energy to put their bags away and go to bed. Neither bothered setting an alarm, trying to enjoy being on vacation. But morning came all too soon anyway. The curtains turned out to be absolutely useless for blocking light and it was a very bright and sunny day in the city. They tried to fight it but eventually the light proved impossible to ignore so they decided to get up and make the best of it.

Tim consulted a guide book while Laura had a shower, trying to plot out the best use of their time before catching a train to St. Petersburg in the early evening. Knowing they would be returning to the city, he was less concerned about trying to see it all in one day, allowing him to focus on some of the highlights. He had wanted to see Lenin's tomb for a long time, as well the Kremlin and the Bolshoi theatre, perhaps if they were lucky, catching a matinee.

When Laura got out of the shower Tim took his turn and certainly felt a good deal more awake and ready to start the day, fresh and clean-shaven. They locked up the room and headed downstairs. Since neither of them had been to the city before, they wanted to search out some breakfast outdoors rather than depend on the safer option of the hotel restaurant. Not being entirely sure of what Muscovites ate, it took them a fair bit of walking before they found a place that served breakfast. They eventually found a cafe catering to tourists and while they were a little disappointed to miss out on an authentic Russian experience, they were also glad to have found something reliable.

From there they walked into the centre of the city, stumbling upon the Alexandrovsky Garden, a place of surprising beauty in contrast to the Kremlin right beside it. They spent half an hour strolling through it and admiring the flowers while watching the locals and tourists mill around. As they walked north they came to a monument covered with bouquets. A plaque beside it read, “Your name is unknown, you deeds immortal”

Tim recalled having read about it in his guide book, this was the tomb of the Unknown Soldier, some nameless soul that died on the battle field fighting off the Nazis. Apparently where he fell was the closest they ever came to Moscow, signalling the bravery and resolution of the Russian people. The monument was quite elaborate, listing out the names of countless other heroes and even a memorial flame that always stayed lit.

From there they headed out to Red square just beyond, stopping for a moment to marvel at it before cutting across to St. Basil's Cathedral on the far end. Almost five hundred years old and looking like something out of a cartoon more than a real building, they spent a good five minutes staring at the outside. The domes and wild colours were so surreal after their experience of sensible British architecture that it took some time to process. Tim's guide book informed them that it was built by Ivan the Terrible and when it was finished he had the architect blinded so he couldn't build anything like it again. Privately, Tim didn't think that anyone would try to build something like that again, but perhaps he was lacking sensibility to cartoonish 16^th century buildings.

The inside of the building was far more modest, opting for dimly lit passageways of plain wood rather than the ornate facade of the outside. Laura almost got lost a couple times in the twists and turns of the passageways, falling behind an ever-eager Tim. They eventually found their way up to a narrow winding staircase that led up to the Chapel of the Intercession and the breathtaking iconostasis inside.

They eventually made their way back outside, glad of the fresh air after all the closed in passageways. They decided to take a break from sightseeing for a bit and go try to find a cup of coffee somewhere. It quickly became clear that this wasn't as easy to do as they had hoped, it seemed that Muscovites didn't share the same affinity for coffee that they did. Nevertheless, after walking for several blocks out from the city centre, they managed to locate a small coffeehouse, hidden on one of the narrower side streets.

The coffee was reasonable, though it was only that. Tim attempted to inquire about lattes and espresso to blank stares. It seemed that Starbucks hadn't yet made its mark in the city. Laura opted for a tea poured from an enormous samovar that sat in the corner of the shop. It was strong and hard to drink until she realized she was supposed to dilute it from the samovar. The assortment of jam, honey and lemon was also puzzling at first until she saw other customers mix them into the tea. To her surprise upon adding a small dab of jam, it was quite good.

Once they finished up and paid, they kept walking towards the Bolshoi Theatre, only a couple blocks away. It was housed in an old stone building, not dissimilar from the Parisian style Tim knew well. It was larger than he would have expected and appeared to be open. While they were disappointed to find there weren't any shows currently playing, Laura was particularly eager to see the inside anyway. It was the reverse of the Cathedral; the inside was undoubtedly the real artwork. They went to see the box that the Tsar would sit in on the balcony and could imagine things likely hadn't changed that much since.

The balconies were done up in white and gold with ornate carvings and luxurious red fabric covering the seats. The atmosphere of building felt regal. They walked around from one side to the other, marvelling at all the work that had gone into every detail, They could picture the Bolshoi Ballet taking to the stage amidst an audience cultured enough to appreciate it. There was something in the history of the place that gave them goose bumps.

After looking around extensively they left the building and continued on, it was already mid afternoon and they would have to head back to the hotel shortly to reclaim their bags before catching the train up to St. Petersburg. They walked back towards the hotel, stopping by the river to watch people go by and soak up the rhythm of the city before saying a temporary goodbye as they began their adventure in earnest.

The stop at the hotel was brief and they were soon in a taxi navigating the narrow streets to the Leningradsky Rail Terminal. While the cities themselves had abandoned their soviet names, the oldest train station in Moscow still held to its more recent history. It was actually called Petersburgsky when first opened, but underwent a series of name changes since. The building itself was not particularly remarkable, especially compared to what they had seen earlier in the day, but it did serve as a gateway to St. Petersburg, a city that Tim felt he knew from reading all the classic Russian writers whose characters were inevitably strolling down Nevsky Prospect or walking along the Neva river.

The train itself was rather spartan in construction. While they could have opted for the express train, they had decided to take the slower train so they could get the full experience of the Russian countryside. The train they took, called the Red Arrow, had been in service since the early 1920s and had developed a reputation for timely service since then. The train itself was red with a yellow stripe running along the side and its name in Cyrillic, Krasnaya Strela, in large silver letters.

The inside of the train felt quite small compared to the British trains Tim was used to. It was certainly compact inside and one couldn’t really stand up without slouching. The seats themselves were relatively comfortable and Laura and Tim quickly set about getting settled in for the trip.

Despite having been traveling for a few days, they hadn’t really had much of a proper conversation. The extended train ride seemed like a good opportunity and frankly Tim was getting a little tired of reading consciously. As the train left Moscow the looked out the windows of their car to see the city fading away behind them as they headed out North almost 650 kilometres to St. Petersburg. Tim looked over at Laura who was already pouring over her book.

“How’s your book?” Tim asked.

Laura looked up from reading, “Sorry, what did you say? I was reading.”

Tim laughed, “I asked how the book was.”

“Oh,” she responded, “it is good. I’m getting pretty close to the end so it is speeding up a bunch.”

Tim was quiet for a few minutes and then tried again, “So do you want me to let you read your book in peace then?”

Laura paused for a moment, “Yeah, I’d really like to get it finished, should only be a few more hours.”

Tim realized that conversation wouldn’t be forthcoming. He decided to get up and walk around the train for a little while. Their seats were in second class, between the huddling masses a few cars back and the privileged at the front of the train. Tim opted for second class both because it was more believable for Laura and also because he still felt that first class was a waste of money. He walked up a few cars to the dinning room and sat down in a small booth. An attendant quickly brought him a steaming cup of tea from the nearby samovar and asked what he would like.

Tim was surprised to find the food both inexpensive and enjoyable. He wound up with a dish of perogies with cabbage and a tall glass of beer. There were only a few other diners in the car with him, an older Russian couple bickering about something or other, a couple businessmen absorbed in newspapers and a girl who looked to be in her early 20s drinking tea. Tim made an effort at conversation, but was rebuffed and eventually decided to just sit back and enjoy his meal. There was certainly something to be said for sitting next to the window and watching a changing landscape as he ate. The landscape was for the most part pretty consistent and hard to distinguish from Canada. Only the occasional signpost or small town gave any indication of being in a foreign land.

Eventually Tim finished up his meal and headed back to the compartment to find Laura still immersed in her book. He decided to try to read a little as well to pass the time. He picked up his book of short stories by Tolstoy and started one. It was a peasant boy named Alyosha who went to work for a merchant, was badly treated, and eventually died. All the while he was good spirited and obedient without seeing any reward for it. Tim couldn’t be sure of the moral, unless it was that life is miserable for peasants, which seemed to be a reoccurring theme in Tolstoy.

He tried reading a few more but found them to be much the same, well-written but generally devoid of any positive endings. He looked at his watch and realized they had only been going about an hour and a half of a roughly 8 hour journey. He decided to nap for a little while to pass some time.

He fell asleep quickly but did not sleep well; he kept having strange nightmares about Russian peasants and Cyrillic characters dancing about. At one point he was somehow trying to swim in a lake of vodka and then suddenly it started to drain as if someone pulled the plug on a bathtub. He was scrambling to get to the edge but the water kept sucking him back in and pulling him down. People on the banks of the lake watched but didn’t try to help him. Eventually he was sucked under and began to drown; only to find himself totally dry at the top of St. Basil’s standing at the edge of the roof peering at the long drop down and trying to keep his balance, only to fall, looking down as the ground rushed up to meet him and then suddenly he was back in his seat on the train awake and sweating heavily.

It was a couple hours later and Laura had evidently finished reading her book and was looking out the window. Tim took a minute to wake up before going to the end of the carriage for some hot water to make tea. He had thought ahead and brought all kinds of teas with him to make use of the hot water on the long trips. Sitting down with his mug, he felt a good deal better.

He asked Laura if she wanted to go to the restaurant and get some dinner and she quickly agreed. The car was much more full that when Tim was there before and they had to join an elderly French couple in order to get seated. They initially attempted some conversation, but quickly realized that both parties were happier talking amongst themselves, in their own language. So they sat at the same both eating different meals and having different conversations for the next half hour or so. It was a good deal less awkward than one might expect really and everyone got used to it before long.

The meals were tasty and filling, though perhaps a bit lacking in green vegetables. The Russian cuisine seemed focused on meat and protein, the kinds of things to keep you going through a cold winter, along with liberal amounts of vodka to wash it down. As they wouldn’t be into St. Petersburg for a couple more hours, they decided to stay in the dining car after dinner and try out the various vodkas on offer. It turned out that there was a dizzying array of choices, even on the train. They tried flavoured vodkas of all kinds and enjoyed themselves thoroughly. At one point the bartender came over and sat with them, telling them the story of how Russia became a Christian nation. Apparently back in 987, Prince Vladimir of Kiev was considering both Christianity and Islam as the nation’s official religion, but chose Christianity by default when he realized that Islam prohibited alcohol. Both Tim and Laura felt the story was probably apocryphal, but funny none-the less.

Time went by quickly and before long they heard the conductor announce that they would be arriving in St. Petersburg in 15 min. Tim and Laura headed back to their seats to collect their things and get ready to leave, both being thankful for the narrow walls in the corridors as a means of support for their inebriated bodies. They got their stuff together and then rested in their seats until the train came to a stop. Once they arrived at the station, they decided to catch a cab to their hotel, feeling too incapacitated to navigate public transit.

While the cab driver’s English was poor, he managed to get them to their hotel in reasonable time. They stumbled to the front desk and checked in, tired from the drink, but rather than head directly to their room, decided it would be a great idea to try the vodka at the bar, which would surely be of even better quality than that on the train.

The bar at the hotel was livelier, with a number of other patrons drinking and laughing. Tim and Laura were quickly adopted by a group of German tourists who were having a drinking competition with some Russians. The rules were difficult to understand as all of them seemed to speak more or less only their own language, but from what they could gather, the goal seemed to be to drink whatever you opponent put in front of you without vomiting. The bartender had found a small board to keep track of the score, it seemed the Russians were leading 13 – 8, but Tim had no idea how one won the game or when it ended. Nevertheless, both of them took a turn on the German roster.

Laura was up first and was presented with a pint glass of some very dark fluid that tasted like black liquorice and fire. She managed to drink it all and, though she looked a bit queasy at times, held it in. When Tim’s turn came around, he was presented with a small shot glass with bright green liquor in it. Convinced he could drink a shot glass of just about anything; he knocked it back and set the shot glass down on the bar in victory. It took a few seconds for the taste to kick in, but shortly Tim was feeling unwell, both hot and cold at the same time. He had to excuse himself to the bathroom and threw up profusely for a good 15 minutes before staggering back out to the bar.

When he got back he didn’t see Laura anywhere and was told by the Germans that she had gone back up to the room to sleep. Tim accepted this and stayed with them for another hour or so, eventually bringing the Germans into a winning position by the time he left. He didn’t know what time it was or what time it felt like, but he felt very tired and ready to sleep. He had to stop at the front desk to ask directions to the room as he was having trouble reading the Cyrillic, but eventually found his way up. The porter had already brought their bags up and put them away neatly in the closet, so all Tim had to do was change out of his clothes and drink as much water as possible so as to limit his hangover the following morning.

Even in his drunken tired state, he was excited about the next morning, to finally see the city first hand in day light. He had planned out a list of all the monuments and places he wanted to see: Dostoyevsky’s old apartment, the places that Gogol, Pushkin and Nabokov sat and wrote. Those thoughts put a smile on his face as he fell asleep; unaware that Laura’s bed lay empty and unused.