Trans-Siberian

Our last experience on a Russian train was probably the best! It felt good to complete the last leg of the Russian part of our trip on the Trans-Siberian train number 6 from Khabarovsk to Vladivostok, and this time it was a train that was clean and airy and we had a 4 berth cabin to ourselves. There is something so civilised about the way the Russians do train travel: freshly laundered & starched cotton sheets, tea and coffee in those beautiful glasses with the ornate metal holders, and the view from the window: gentle birch forests by the mile, lush green countryside dotted with rural settlements, and abundant looking kitchen gardens. In the cabin there’s a place for everything: under seat spaces to stow your luggage, hangers for your clothes (Russians tend to change into athletic wear and flip-flops as soon as they board a train), cubby-holes for specs, book and bottle of water, and a little reading light. The train left at 9pm and arrived at 8.15am, and was as good as a hotel room.

Nerd warning: this is a short post and it’s a little bit nerdy; read on if you’re interested in train timetables, or gain mildly autistic pleasure from such things; maybe skip this one if you don’t.

Back aboard a train. This time a Russian and not a Chinese train; thankfully. Nothing personal here, but after our experience of the Chinese-run Trans-Mongolian Express service, I’m very glad to be in the hands of the Ruskies once again. For one thing the wagon is clean; our cabin is spotless; the toilet is clean, and there’s plenty of toilet paper; the provodniks (cabin attendants) are stern yet efficient; the beds are more comfortable; and the set of bed linen and a hand towel we received was laundered to the point of being the paragon of what every housewife or husband in a washing powder advert dreams of achieving. I’m sure the Shanghai to Beijing bullet train and other services are exemplary, but the Moscow-Ulaanbaatar-Beijing service is pants.

I'm involved in a slight altercation. I decided to have a crafty cigarette in the section at the end of the waggon we're in; it's the place where the проводник (provodniks - the cabin attendants) stoke the coal fire that warms the carriage and keeps the samovar at a steady 80degC. Smoking here isn't as naughty as it sounds because there's a little sign saying 'smoking compartment’ fixed to the wall above an ashtray. The problem is that the Russian train guard, Pavlov, is telling me I'm not allowed to smoke.