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 16th 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.
1 comment:
Okay, I totally want to go to Russia now.
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