Siberia has the virtue of not startling or astonishing you right away but of pulling you in slowly and reluctantly, as it were, with measured carefulness, and then binding you tightly once you are in. And then it’s all over – you are afflicted with Siberia*
– Valentin Rasputin
The sun rose unbelievably fast and beautifully as soviet era transsiberian train number 70 sped east into Irkutsk.I alighted at 6:30am. We had gone the equivalent distance of the entire widths of the Arabian Peninsula, then all of the stans and then half of Mongolia. More than 80 hours prior, Irina had put me on the train with much fussing and a care package full of crisps, sweets, pancakes, sweet bread and soft drinks. I’m very grateful to Irina for showing me Moscow and looking out for me, a Russian mother is a force of nature.
Backpack on, I cross the bridge on foot towards the town centre. There is a thick mist clinging to the river. From the opposite bank emerges a ferris wheel. A tram rumbles over the bridge. Everything shakes, I feel it in my chest. I didn’t know trams could be so heavy. The only other people around are other backpackers heading to or from the station.My first impression of Irkutsk is colonial frontier town left to decay. It does however have a certain cowboyish charm with a slavic twist. I pass a building flying a pair of USSR flags.
I look for a place to get a coffee and some wifi but nowhere is open. It seems Irkutsk doesn’t open until 9. With nothing to do I take pleasure in reading the russian letters; like a child learning to read by slowly reading out every single word I see letter by letter. There’s a sushi restaurant, there’s a pharmacy and on the wall an advert for the football. Once you can sound out russian words, many are surprisingly easy to guess.
I reflect on the train journey. My neighbours throughout: Shiné, a bubbly young Mongolian student, and her mother are heading home from Saint Petersburg where Shiné is studying architecture. Shiné was the only person who spoke a good amount of English I met onboard. Other neighbours who came and went included the Man-U fan Dima and his father who gifted me a signed football shirt from some russian club, an old lady who kept telling me not to drink alcohol with Dima (and in doing so taught me the russian sign language for alcohol), a young girl going from Omsk to Novosibirsk who had a passion for music and a gang of cheeky blond children. Not another backpacker in sight, they probably hid in first class. Posers!I love the comradery of travelling third class. Not only is all food and drink shared but a stranger will give a gentle shove to anyone sliding off their berth in their sleep and tuck them back in. Games are played, stories told, geography lessons had (Shiné somehow has an encyclopedic knowledge of Russian rivers). Everyone is welcome in the conversation.
The carriage has one long corridor with no dividing walls. On one side are alcoves of 4 berths stacked in twos sharing a table and a window and opposite side of the corridor is another pair of berths which are generally considered less desirable as you are always in the way of the corridor and the lower bunk transforms into their seating area. I was on the top bunk of the side berth. I am smiling recalling Irina’s look of horror when I told her. With Shiné on the bottom birth adjacent, she let me sit on her bunk each day.
The scenery out the window is lush. In old Rus there are vast birch forests followed by the rugged Urals. After Omsk you are in Siberia which is at first wide, flat and boggy with a bluish fog that never clears. Then comes the pine forests (is this the taiga?) well spaced villages of wooden cabins shelter on hillsides. Shiné and her mother both separately commented how much it reminds them of Mongolia. I would love to return and see this in the snow.
Here in Irkutsk I end up buying a subway because nowhere else was open. I had hoped there would be WiFi but no such luck. The experience ends up being pleasant-surprisingly russian with russian pickles, white cabbage and russian style mayonnaise on my БМТ. Irina had warned me that Russia works the opposite of the UK in that the further from the capital, the more expensive the food. The subway cost me 499₽, more than I spent on the entire train journey (although I admittedly lived off only Irina’s care package and instant noodles).
I’m in no rush to see Irkutsk. It’s not a large city and I have 5 days here before getting back on the transsiberian to Chita then on across the Chinese boarder. What I really want is to get some WiFi so I can find a laundromat and to checkin to the hotel so I can finally shower!
* apparently in the original Russian this is a pun on anthrax
Eastward Ho! 