StofnSara

We have not completed our first two legs of trans-Siberian train travel across Russia and we are in the heartland of Siberia.

Our first journey (Moscow to Krasnoyarsk) took 69 hours of restive chugging through the Russian countryside. We passed through the green birch forests of European Russia, over the rolling hills of the Urals* into Asia; down into the endless steppe of Siberia, finally arriving at the foothills of the Siberian hills and forests. From Krasnoyarsk we had a (relatively) short over-nighter to Irkutsk, where we have come to hang out on the banks of the world’s deepest body of fresh water: Lake Baikal.

After four nights, we then hurry out of Russia before our visas expire (we will have been here a MONTH!). It is a two night journey to Ulaanbaatar, capital of Mongolia. There we will meet up with three of our most splendid of fabulous friends for a month of traipsing around the Gobi and other such adventures. The final train ride will be just more than 24 hours and takes us into the heart of Beijing – a trip that we will enjoy as a fist of five jocular South Africans. And then we will have completed our train journey across the vastest of continents.

Taking the trans-Siberian trains and sailing across the Pacific are two journeys that capture the imagination. Both are the kind of adventures one might expect to find on a (fairly imaginative) “bucket list”. This slow travel, of seeing the change around us is overwhelmingly our travel method of choice. Traveling at “ground” level (as opposed to speeding over the earth in a plane) gives one a real sense of the vastness and wonder of our planet. Discoveries are made slowly: the imagination can only travel as fast as the eye can see and mind can comprehend. The journey is as much a part of the travel as the destination and one gains an intimate sense of the world as a whole. Just as, when sailing, an island appears at first as a small mound bobbing over the waves in a vast ocean, so arrival in a city by train opens the eye to where it sits in its own geography.

Interestingly, the Pacific and Siberian journeys are not entirely different. Stoffel and I have spent some time over the past train trip compiling a random list which (in Grand Russian Style) we have entitled:

Similarities and Dissimilarities between Crossing the Pacific by Boat and Crossing Siberia by Train

Similarities:

1. Lots of reading.
2. Lots of playing cards / scrabble / dominoes.
3. Lots of sitting around staring at the view.
4. The scenery changes very slowly, but it is ever shifting.
5. Even though there are more people around (see point #D below), we still can’t really communicate with them so SnS spend a lot of time alternatively grunting or talking kak.
6. When we do stop (see point #G below), there is a similar sense of panic that you might get left behind if you alight the vessel and be stranded in the middle of nowhere.
7. Same awkward bird-bathing while wedged (so as to prevent oneself from falling over) technique is required while under way in order to maintain basic hygiene.
8. It takes a long time.
9. Ablutions also, um, just go right through the vessel. (No harbouring of sewerage.)
10. Fair amount of self-catering (but see point #N below).
11. Constant rhythmical motion.
12. Need to wear sunglasses when sunny – it’s pretty bright out there.
13. One gains a sense of space and travel that is bereft in air transport.
14. Walking around can be pretty unstable… until you gain your sea/train legs.
15. First night of sleep on hard land also brings that vague rocking feeling – like you’re still under way.
16. Need for clever stowage.
17. Plotting of positions as a manner of showing distance passing is important. Except on a train it is not the neat reading of GPS co-ordinates and then plotting them against a chart. On the trans-Siberian, we push our faces up against the glass on the right-hand side of the train and hope to catch a reading of the (ridiculously small) km mark and then referring to our excellent guide book (Trailblazers, by Bryn Thomas). Most attempts are only successful by about the 4th kilometer as it takes the eye a little training (ha!) to catch the number as we speed through the countryside.

Dissimilarities:

1. No watch system = more sleep!
2. No seasickness.
3. If something breaks/needs to be cleaned, the provodnik (cabin attendant) does it. Lovethemthemost.
4. More people around (but see point #E above).
5. Russian music is pumped through the speakers and not our own tunes. (Not ALWAYS bad… not always good.)
6. Surrounded by land, not sea. Although the Russian landscape is pretty monotonous. And there are a lot of bogs, so we often travel along next to water.
7. More opportunity to stop and alight as we travel (but see point #F above).
8. There is a canteen aboard!
9. More distance to stagger around while under way.
10. Less suntanning. Although the aircon/heating can be rather hot.
11. No actual navigation that matters to our direction.
12. A lot more traffic on the rails than the ocean.
13. Less nakedness (both because of general Siberian vs Pacific climate and decency towards our fellow travelers).
14. No kitchen = lack of exciting cooking options. There is a limit to what one can achieve with boiling water and a mug.
15. No swimming on arrival in port. Although the hot shower at the hostel is appreciated.
16. The decision where to “drop the hook” is made further in advance when on the train: thus eliminating over-tired arguing about the best possible anchorage in the bay.

* The Urals are a somewhat underwhelming border between East and West (Europe and Asia). A bit like the Equator, but with less anticipation and less dramatic music.

[Warning: Not a short post. Moscow was pretty exciting.]

On our penultimate day in Moscow Stof and I had what, in Hillratt slang, we refer to as an “en-dee” (Near Divorce). We had traipsed around another impressive museum,* deciphering our way through the Russian captions and come to a bit of a loose end. There were more museums aplenty to visit, but we had a couple of tasks that needed doing before the Great Train Ride commenced. They were fairly basic tasks: buy some provisions to snack on on the jouney, and replace my threadbare pair of black leggings. But in a city the size and scale of Moscow, even pants can prove a challenge.

Perhaps I should start a few days earlier. We arrived in Moscow on the super slick fast train from St Petersburg and enjoyed a couple of days taking in the main sights of Moscow. Due to the coming third inauguration of one president-who-suspiciously-resembles-Jar-Jar-Binks (7May) and the annual Victory Day Celebrations** (9 May) – more on these later – we were denied access to the Kremlin, Red Square and accompanying attractions (dead Lenin). Instead, we soaked in some more spectacular art and enjoyed some Soviet sight-seeing. We also managed to enjoy some first class city night-life thanks to the beguiling Ira – a friend of some of our closest Cape Town mateys.

It was then we made what proved to be a near-fatal mistake: we escaped to the country and lost our (fragile) Big City Mojo.

The escape of choice was Suzdal, an enchanting town that has survived since the twelfth century and seems to house almost as many churches as decades it has been around. The Soviets preserved its rural air by forbidding any development over two stories and it became a kind of Soviet storybook tourist vision of peasant life. The town has been considerably gentrified in the new Russia, but we’ve never been opposed to a bit of gentrification. Two nights in Suzdal was enough time for Stof and Sara to start longing for wide open spaces again.***

We returned to Moscow in time to be whipped away to another quaint town (Kolomna) by Ira and her bosom-buddy Pol. On the way back to town, we stopped off at the dacha the girls have been visiting since they were months old. We were enchanted by the wooden cabins in the trees. Pol’s gran and father plied us with homemade pizza, soup, tea, chocolate, biscuits and (of course) vodka. The whole experience had a fairy-tale like quality.

Retuning to Moscow therefore came as a shock. It is an enormous city that thrives on pace, power and grime. More so than any mega-city we have visited (London, Sao Paulo, Mexico City, NYC incl.), Moscow possesses an almost agressive edge that comes from having so many people in one metropolis. It’s a city with more billionaires than any other in the world and the rest of the city seems to live with the hedonistic abandon of people who are only too aware of the power of all that cash. It has charm and allure, but you have to be one tough city rat to thrive in Moscow.

An example of the craziness of Russia, and Moscow in particular, played out on the day of Vlad’s inauguration. If we had been in town (instead of Kolomna), we wouldn’t have seen a single thing: the streets around the Kremlin and all those leading up to it were closed so that the new (old) pres could make his way undisturbed to the seat of Russian power (Again). In a scene directly out of a freaky futuristic film (think Tom Cruise in a deserted Times Square), the world leaders in news-making were paid to document it all. Four enormous cranes, with countless cables strung between them, were erected over Moscow in the week preceding the inauguration. Please click on the link for an extract from “President Putin 3″ in all its Moscow eeriness:

Putin Rides to Power 3 (See if you can spot a civilian…)

BUT, I am distracted: by Tuesday afternoon Stoffel and I were all but ready to throw in the Moscow towel and head out over the Urals to Siberia beyond. We were frazzled and gritty and after three excruciating hours we still could not find a pair of black bloody leggings for less than $100.

Things started to brighten over dinner in a phenomenal, but unassuming, Azerbaijani restaurant. Besides the delicious food (who knew the Caucuses hold such gastronomic pleasures?!)  and the wonderfully attentive waiter, a fellow guest gave an impromptu magic show for patrons and staff! Then we hit the bars where we met a man with splendid insight into Russia and was able to answer each of our questions with anecdotal ease. The best thing about Yury, however, is that amongst his fascinating professions and past times (physicist; rally car driver; presenter), Yury is a cocktail aficionado. His subtle suggestions to the already profficient barman kept us deliciously lubricated until the early hours. We were so enchanted we resolved to meet the next night.

One of the titbits Yury told us involved Victory Day. The Second World War officially ended in Europe on 8 May 1945 with the signing of surrender. The news took a little time to reach Moscow so that is was after midnight when Stalin heard that he was no longer at war with Germany. Thus, Russia celebrates the end of the war on 9 May each year.

One of the main events each year is a parade of military hardware down to Red Square. We had hoped to catch some of the tanks rolling by, but many of the roads were blocked til the big guns had been put away. Clearly this too was only a spectacle for the cameras to interpret. But while sipping a coffee, we noticed on road being opened for the communists to march to the Kremlin. We never discovered why they were marching, but we slipped in and strolled along with the red-flag wavers. Also slip-streaming the commies were a group of approx. 60 youth who appeared to be against smoking, drinking and drugs. We referred to them as the Pure Party. Every 100m or so they would drop down en masse and perform 10 push-ups. Classic.

There was some disappointment on the streets as the weather was not 100% balmy. In fact, there were a number of pesky clouds that kept dropping rain on Moscow’s (erm) parade. In Ira’s memory it was the first Victory Day when the famed Russian cloud seeders had not succeeded on ensuring a rain-free day. We concluded that all the “seeds” had been over-zealously used up on for the inauguration and the stuff left over on Wednesday was sub-standard.

We meandered to the square in front of the Bolshoi Theatre where thousands of flower and chocolate bearing crowd had gathered with the single purpose of thanking those veterans who had fought for Russia during WW2. It was very emotional and one of the most beautiful scenes of tribute we have witnesses. War songs were sung; people cried, laughed and kissed; and we finally tore ourselves away from the drama feeling like the elderly had been treasured that day.

The final highlight of Victory Day Celebrations was the fireworks display. We had been invited for a dinner of Armenian pilov at a friend of Ira’s, so seven of us stumbled rather jubilantly towards the vantage point where we thought we would see the most. When the first firework exploded we were running down a grass embankment in a huge 8-lane Moscow road. We, as did the thousands in their cars, merely stopped and “ooohed” the display from right there. It was a magnificent evening to bid Moscow farewell.

Spasibo to Ira, Svetlana, Yury, Natalia, the Pure Party, Bobby Skinstad (ask us another time), the veterans, Stas, Maria, Poon and Zach for making our final hours in Moscow a triumph.

*The museum in question, the Museum of Contemporary Russian History, is worth a visit. It even has explanatory cards in each room in ENGLISH!

** Only marginally more frequent than Putin inaugurations.

*** Suzdal was also the scene of our first mammoth vodka encounter. The British owner of the (erm, alcohol free, according to the signs) hostel we were staying in invited us to join him for a cup of tea as we returned from dinner – already a few vodkas down. Tea turned into tea and vodka and after a litre and a half, none of us are too sure how we got to bed. Stof, in particular, did not enjoy the next day. Needless to say, we highly recommend Godzilla’s Hostel in Suzdal!)

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We arrived in St Petersburg last Tuesday and immediately felt completely overwhelmed. It didn’t help that St Petersburg airport is a wreck* and we wandered around the airport being jostled by thousands of Russians until we finally found the tiny and overcrowded immigration hall. It also didn’t help that we realised immediately that we couldn’t read a bloody thing and that if we’re going to survive the next month plus, then we had better learn our Cyrillic (Stof keeps calling it “acrylic” – lovehimthemost) alphabet toot-a-sweet. It particularly didn’t help us that the clouds opened over SPb** as we left the airport bus and started searching for the entrance to the Metro. It didn’t stop bucketing with rain until WAY after we had got to the stop on the far side, searched and searched and searched for the apartment block where our hostel is situated and lugged our then sodden bags up the stairs and into the apartment. We were in deep culture shock.

Culture shock is a strange thing: I’ve never really understood the concept until it was little old Sara feeling like the smallest, most incapable person on the planet. My mouth dried out, my hands regained their tremor and my heart did some serious pumping: Russian culture hit me like a hammer (is it too corny to add sickle in there too?). We were in need of some serious self-medication, so for our first meal in Russia Stof and Sara (embarrassingly) shared a pizza and each downed a big, big beer.

I think that did it. Besides moving on in the food department (yes, loads of Borscht, loads of cabbage), SPb will be remembered for an altogether different kind of culture shock: Complete and unyielding cultural onslaught. Walking the streets of this romantic city is like walking through an historical novel. Golden domes rise above spectacular architecture on every boulevard. The palaces put any display of royal wealth I have ever encountered (Kensington Palace and Versailles spring to mind) in the rather icy shade. It feels like history happened in this city, and by gad! it has.

From the streets, however, the true wonder of the city is only hinted at. There is an enormous wealth of art and culture within the various walls of the too numerous museums and galleries dotted around SPb. Stoffel and I have literally been moved to tears by the beauty of the art we have taken in. It is a magic magic place.

And then the Russians! It’s an experience in itself just sitting in the Metro*** and taking in the uber-slick St Petersburgers. We have almost become used to the sight of foxy women striding down Nevsky Prospect in short, short skirts and long, long boots. As Paddy warned us, women in this city dress how most men wish all women dress. (I’m feeling more than a little self-conscious in my shabby traveler rags.) On visiting the Peter and Paul Fortress, I was delighted to see lines of be-thonged (i.e. wearing nothing more than a thong… Yup) men standing splayed up against the walls of the Fortress that face the River. Standing with their arms and legs spread out to maximise sun exposure, these souls take tanning Very Seriously. From the fierce babushkas who police the Hermitage****, to the laconic but freezing navy cadet standing and waiting for the start of the dress rehearsal of the Victory Day military parade, and the two Very Short, Very Friendly little Hobbits***** ladies who became concerned with our well-being late on Friday night and ushered us on the public transport almost to the door of our hostel – SPb is a wealth of people watching.

A final little mention, we have been staying in a rather delightful little spot which we can recommend to any fellow budget-travelers: Gogol Mogol. Tomorrow we hop onto our first train to tootle south to Moscow. We can’t wait.

*Considering that we’ve visited about, um, twenty airports in the past year-or-so, we’re feeling pretty knowledgeable about airports in general. And St Peter’s international airport is kak.

** SPb = St Petersburg. We’re so cool right now.

*** While the airport is a write-off, the Metro is spectacular! Each time we journey on the metro we grin at how cool these Ruskies are. Imagine fabulous cavernous spaces lit by funky chandeliers, mosaic or marble walls with retro blue trains barreling into station. Neither S has experienced a more enjoyable metro system.

**** Stoffel and I realised where they put all the ugly Russian women: they’re sent to work in the Hermitage and bark at tourists and locals alike. You don’t need to understand Russian to be very respectful.

***** Stof banned me from calling them the Hobbits. Even though they were very short. And very friendly and helpful. And they took their job of delivering (us) very seriously. And they couldn’t speak nor understand any English and therefore could not have taken offense. But I’m an obedient wife...

As from this Friday past, Stof and Sara no longer own a boat. The lovely Laura Takalani is not ours anymore: while skiing there were some exciting negotiations*; the sea trial was a success; the money transferred and the new owner (lucky fish) has already set sail for his home port. We wish him nothing but wonderful times in the happiest of boats.

And us? It’s been a rather whirlwind time so we haven’t had enough time to process properly. Every now and then the thought catches me  at the back of by throat and I’m all of a sudden awash with memories of drifting along in azure waters of island paradise. Then I remember that that chapter is truly closed and I have to smile through the tears.

We are so lucky to have had such an amazing time. We are so lucky to have sold Taks without hassle. We are so lucky to be the previous owners of such a lovely vessel.

Somewhat poetically, the last pics of our voyage are  due for upload. I’ll leave them big, because it just seems right. [Post Script: Damn, those pics are too big now. Bah.]

*Including a bidding war! All because we drank too many beers on a Friday afternoon and didn’t accept the first offer. And in the interim? A dark mystery buyer swept in and pushed the price up! Moral of the Story (because there must always be a moral): Always Drink on a Friday Afternoon.

Life on a boat has a funny little way of just being AWESOME. Just when we thought we were headed for a continent after months of island paradise, our autohelm hiccoughed and we landed in possibly the most remote paradise of them all (certainly of our year). Glorious birds, magical turtle nests and a message in a bottle!

These pics are certainly worth clicking on and expanding. Please do…

Feeling a touch melancholy to have posted the last of the island pics. Stoffel and I shall just have to console ourselves with watching Paul Simon sing Graceland in Hyde Park. Tee hee…

Exciting plans afoot in real Hillratt life. So exciting that I’m being coy and not writing about them.* Yet. so for now we’re back to catching up on our pics…

VANUATU! Spectacular. These pics are a mish-mash of amazing volcanoes, crazy bungee jumpers, super underwater life and more island paradise. Please click to see them bigger.

* No: not pregnant. 

I was gently reminded by my mother-in-law a few days ago that we have actually had a pretty fab time skiing in the Alps with the trillions in Stoffel’s family and perhaps I could write a post about that. Indeed. I should.

BUT for the meanwhile, here are the first of the pictures from magnificent Vanuatu and the marvelous adventures we enjoyed with our pal Dr Bat. More pics from Ambrym, Pentecost, Malekula and Espirito Santo to follow shortly.   I highly recommend clicking on the photies so you can see them properly. You will not be disappointed…

Still with the photo recaps of our cruising last year. I do feel a little bizarre posting these right now as we have spent the past two weeks with Stoffel’s family in the French Alps. Life continues to be tough for team SnS… I’ll write about skiing when, well, we’re not busy actually skiing!

Back to Fiji! After our wonderful mateys left us with happy memories to fly back to SA, we felt a little odd being in Taks all by ourselves. In order to get over the shock of the “empty nest” we threw ourselves into the islands with full gusto. We spent a couple of nights in an actual bed on actual land for Stoffel’s birthday, scooped worms out the sea at dawn, and just reveled in being in Fiji. Please click on the photographs if you’d like to see them full size.

More Fiji photos to make your day seem brighter… or not so brighter if you are not really really jealooooos of people who get to swan around Fiji. These shots are also of our fun time with Kiki and Kippy and Malolo Lailai.

Honestly? Fiji possibly took the cake for one of our bestest spots to visit. It certainly was great value for money and we had our most wonderful mateys on board so it was a bit if a party on Takalani every night and every day. We also experienced some of the best coral and some of the friendliest people in the world. We took so many millions of photographs, I thought it best to split the pics into three. To refresh your memories about the fun times we had there, please click here and here and here and here and here.