Travel teaches you a lot of things: that the American way isn't the only way; that experience is the best teacher; and that despite outward differences, the human spirit connects us all. Traveling in Russia, however, taught me perhaps the most important lesson about travel: you'll regret drinking too much water or eating too much fiber before boarding a Russian train.
If you'll oblige me a Gladys Knight & The Pips reference, I had just boarded a midnight train (from St. Petersburg) to Moscow. The train itself was 20 cars long, featuring private berths of two or four beds, depending on what class you were in. I signed up for first class, not wanting to experiment with secondary status in the Russian train system. As it turned out, even riding first class, getting to Moscow rested, healthy, and sane remains quite an accomplishment.
Of course the explorer in me didn't want to sit still, so I took to investigate the train a bit. My first stop? The bathroom, of course. The toilet was maybe six inches off the ground, which would have made things difficult for women on the trip, had they even the courage to enter the ominous room. The motif was stainless steel, with a rotten egg scent, and toilet paper resembling a cross between tissue paper and sand paper -- which was provided, I suppose, as more of an incentive not to use the facilities rather than for anything other than a hygienic necessity.
Trying to make use of the toilet while standing was made even more difficult thanks to Soviet-era tracks, which provided a bumpy ride that made even standing in general, quite a challenge. Of course despite my body wavering a bit, and while focusing on this discrete task, I had extra incentive to hold my ground against the rocky ride lest I lean over and touch any part of room. Afterwards, I even attempted to brush my teeth for the sake of good oral hygiene by utilizing a bottle of water for wetness, and a sleeve to touch anything that had to be touched.
Meanwhile, the bunk itself wasn't too bad. They provided a fake flower (potted) and reading material (in Russian, of course). The beds were sofa-like, and rather small. I had to sleep on my side so that one of my shoulders wouldn't be hanging off the side. They provided blankets and pillowcases for us. I reluctantly made use of the blanket, but happily substituted my shirt for the pillowcase.
I spent the first hour or so of the train ride playing the quintessential long-train-ride-card-game: Hearts. After a while, we decided to try and get some sleep. But between the small bed and noisy train, it wasn't easy to fall asleep. The scene reminded me of a 7th grade sleepover. My roommate would ask me if I was still up, and we would talk for a bit until we ran out of things to say, at which point we would try to sleep, except only to repeat the process again. Whenever I would start drifting off to sleep, I would start having a living-nightmare that we had somehow ended up on the wrong train, and that in the morning I would awake in Siberia (literally), not knowing where I was, not knowing anyone, and not being able to speak the language (let alone read backwards b's and p's). I did manage to fall asleep though, waking early in the morning to the strangely soothing voice of our Russian conductor telling us that we were almost in Moscow.
While in Moscow, I was reminded that no matter how far away you are from home, in this case 11 time zones, the world is too small to not find connections back. Outside of nearly every touristy place in Moscow there are the tables lined with predictably “traditional” Russian souvenirs: fake Soviet snow hats, USSR pins, McLenin T-shirts, and rows and rows of Matryoshka (nesting) dolls. Whenever we would have extra time after sightseeing, we would wander the tables, casually examining the wares, and all the while trying not to make too much eye contact in order to avoid the pushy salespeople.
Along a beautiful vista overlooking Moscow's stadium and river, I strolled along, glancing at the tables, when suddenly the color of UCLA-football-helmet gold struck my eye. In a Pavlovian reflex, I immediately recognized this gold as the same gold that I see every Saturday in fall, it was absolutely unmistakable.
I looked over, and, sure enough, there was a Matryoshka doll dressed in a UCLA football uniform. Still unsure whether this wasn't some Westwood mirage, I darted to the table to see if my UCLA-radar was correct. I get close, and see that in fact, it was one of several different kinds of sports dolls with the Green Bay Packers, University of Michigan, and the San Francisco 49ers also represented. I took a closer look to see that the Matryoshka was in fact quarterback Drew Olson, all suited up. I opened it up to find running back Manny White nestled inside; as well as the receiving corps, and a tiny Maurice Drew in the center. I glance at the price tag and it says 1275 rubles – which is not so much a price tag as it is an opening bid for bartering.
I was so uplifted at the sight of the university that I loved even as I was so far away, that I knew, regardless of the price, I would buy it. I asked the salesman how much he could give it to me for, and he replies that he will sell it to me for 1000 rubles. I have 950 rubles in my pocket, so I tell him that while I don't have 1000, I'll give him the 950 rubles in my pocket. I pull out my wad of 50's (which, by the way are about $1.60 USD each), and start counting them out for him when he tells me not to worry, and that he believes me. He bags up my doll and sends me on my way. While he had the lucky fortune of having an American pay far too much for a stilly doll, little did he know that today I was the winner, finding not just the greatest souvenir I'd ever purchased, but a poignant reminder of the connection I'd made to the places I love. Hands down, those were the best rubles I'd ever spent.
Although it wasn't noticeably nicer-looking than the first, the second train for the way back provided much better amenities for us. These included a boxed breakfast with such delicacies as yogurt (apparently the Russians don't like their dairy products refrigerated), rolls (having the texture of a hacky-sack), dried salami, and chocolate. And, having a concern for our hygiene, they also provided a bag containing wet-wipes, a comb, a mini-shoe horn, and my favorite, a small toothbrush, and tiny tube of toothpaste, brand-labeled 'toothpaste' on the side.
After my first night of practice sleeping on a night train, I actually got a few hours of sleep on the second night, and with the nesting-doll version of Drew Olson sitting on the nightstand watching me snooze. We awoke when they switched on the radio over the intercom. It was playing some Russian hip-hop. In the course of five hours, our train had gone from a night-train to the soul-train. Gladys Knight would have been proud.
Though tired from the lack of sleep, and my mouth a bit sore from trying to eat the bread, I left the train with a smile on my face, knowing that no matter what hardships I would face later on in life, I had managed to pee accurately in a rickety, dirty, Russian train - and no one can ever take that away from me. |
