sarah. on the run.

Planes, Trains, and... Well, Just Trains

In my previous post, I explained the history behind my love for trains, and how absoulutely giddy I was to board a six-day railway journey on the Trans-Siberian Express.

I was young and naive at the time. Let us begin.

Brendan and I had hoped to buy ourselves a two-person sleeping compartment in first-class for a little comfort and privacy. But since you can't buy train tickets until 45 days before departure and tour group companies get first dibs, all the first-class compartments were sold out and we were stuck in second-class, which only offers four-person compartments. Not that I'm anti-social or anything, but you can imagine how long six days would have been with the wrong bedfellows. So we bought all four beds to have the compartment to ourselves. It actually ended up being about $100 more than two beds in first-class, but better safe than sorry, and we actually gained a bit more elbow room.

We boarded our train Tuesday evening in Moscow, found our compartment, got settled, and crashed. Sleeping was a cinch.. nothing like being gently rocked to sleep by rail!

Wednesday morning came soon enough, and I went looking for the shower. We had located toilet/sink water closets on either side of our carriage, but couldn't figure out where people went to clean themselves. When I asked one of the conductors, he shrugged at me like I was nuts.

Wait, so no showers?

No showers on a six-day train?

Seriously, no showers?

Um...

What?

I strive to be as low-maintenance as possible during my everyday life, and obviously I've had to make some pretty big concessions on this trip already. But I've never even camped for more than a day or two at a time without at least a jump in the river. How does one not shower for six days? How does one survive?

One survives just fine, it turns out. A Russian cup-o-soup and a large, warm Chinese beer can do wonders for a broken heart. You heard it here, folks.

Brendan and I did a lot of reading for the first few days. I'd elaborate if I could, but that's truly all we did. Our senses were a little fried after three major cities in a row, so it was a relief to be forced to relax and admire the Siberian countryside through the window (gorgeous!). Once in a while we'd reach a stop and everyone would get off the train for a ten-minute leg stretch and to load up on goodies. Some stops had better goodies than others, but thankfully no shortage of Russian cup-o-soup (our chopsticks were tragically lost early on).

At some point, the Trans-Siberian Express splits into two routes. Travelers can either keep going due east until they reach the eastern edge of Siberia, or veer to the southeast toward China via Mongolia. The latter is actually called the Trans-Mongolian Express, and that's what we chose.

On the fourth day (Friday), we crossed the border into Mongolia. The huge plus was a new Mongolian-themed dining car (with a sweet tiki bar and free vodka shots!). The huge minus was the border crossing experience itself, which meant we were stopped and quarantined in our bunks for about five hours. You'd think a few more large, warm Chinese beers would help dull the boredom, right? So did we. But here's the problem. When the train is at a station- any station- the bathrooms are locked to keep passengers from flushing their business onto the tracks. Obviously we hadn't really thought that one through. It was painful.

Mongolia must be the only country where a majority of its residents still live in tents (or yurts, as they're referred to these days). We spotted a few guys on horseback galloping alongside the train. It's like the Wild West in the middle of the Gobi Desert.

By the fifth day (Saturday), we felt like we had quite a bit more ground to cover based on our train schedule. When I asked one of the conductors what time we were due to arrive in Beijing on Sunday afternoon, he shrugged at me like I was nuts.

We arrive in Beijing on Monday, dummy.

Oh.

Seven days without a shower?

Um...

I locked myself in the bathroom and washed my hair in the sink in protest. The Korean lady waiting for the toilet was not amused.

On the sixth day (Sunday), we crossed the border into China. The experience was a lot like Mongolia's with an added bonus: since Chinese train tracks are a different size than Russian/Mongolian train tracks, each train carriage must be jacked up about ten feet into the air while a band of Chinese mechanics replaces every single set of wheels before the journey can continue. It's a holdover from the days where either China or Russia didn't want the other country invading them via railway. I forget which country. I forget a lot of things these days.

Anyway, that whole process took about eight hours. The bathrooms were locked. To pass the time I picked a fight with B, who wanted none of it and passed out on Tylenol PM instead.

On the seventh and final day (Monday), we actually got our first glimpse of the Great Wall under a blanket of fog. That incredible view was like getting a Christmas bonus after a grueling fourth quarter. Job well done, Morans. Welcome to China.

So... we made it to Beijing! It's been a little over 24 hours and I'm already in love with the restaurant down the street.

Until next time, I remain,
Sarah "I Survived the Trans-Siberian Express and All You Got Was This Lousy Story" Moran

Sarah vs. the Muscovites

The overnight train from St. Petersburg to Moscow was fairly painless. Brendan and I were both so hungover from vodka overdoses the night before that I'd have probably slept in the bathroom without putting up much of a fuss. But we had our own little sleeping compartment in first class, so once the train got rolling at around midnight, it was lights out.

We arrived in the Moscow terminal at 8 a.m. the following morning to find that our pre-booked apartment was going to be inhabited by a Norwegian trio until noon. Rats. Thankfully, Russia has an abundance of Starbucks-type cafes, so we plopped down the backpacks, ordered some "filtered" coffee, praised the invention of wifi, and read our novels.

Speaking of novels, here's the book rundown so far:

"Skinny Dip"- Just okay. Didn't think it was all that funny or clever for murder mystery satire.

"Interview with the Vampire" - A little slow and flowery, but picked up about halfway in. Tried not to picture Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt, and Kirsten Dunst as the main characters, but gave up eventually.

"A Map of the World" - Loved it! A true page turner. Highly recommended unless you don't like sad stories.

Ok, onto Moscow. I like it because it's big and jumbled and doesn't exactly know what it wants to be. St. Petersburg is world renowned as Russia's "beautiful" city, and while it certainly was, we had gotten used to a sense of structure and uniformity there that doesn't apply to Moscow one bit. Everything's under construction here. The old clashes with the new around every corner. I do love that Kremlin, though.

My uncle Edwin lives here in Moscow, and last Friday he treated B and I to authentic Russian cuisine at Pushkin, one of the nicest restaurants in town (thanks Edwin, you rock!). He also turned us onto the coolest supermarket on the planet. I mean, seriously... how can you NOT want to shop here?

Oh yeah, I dyed my hair today. The shocking truth is that I'm not a natural blonde, and we non-natural blondes can't go very long without touchups before the truth starts peeking out of our hairlines. Something had to be done, and in lieu of an expensive visit to "Red Square Hair", I decided on a box of Loreal Preference #6.23. I can't say I love my new look, but at least the roots are history.

I made up "Red Square Hair", by the way. Thank you, thank you, I'll be here all year.

For some reason, Moscow puts me to sleep. And I don't mean that the city is boring or anything, it's that I've been sleeping 10 hours a night for the past week. At first I worried that I was sick or depressed or not having enough fun, but my body feels great. Constantly being on the move just wears this kid out. A two-hour trip to the Pushkin Fine Arts Museum practically had me napping on the metro.

Speaking of metros, I'm really impressed with Moscow's. Before I get into that, though, I should first explain my fondness for trains. When I was a little girl, my dad had a model train that he would set up at Christmas. It was an old Radio Flyer model that would smoke like a real train if you put special droplets inside the smokestack. There was a particular smell that smoke would give off, and to this day, all trains smell faintly reminiscent of that old Radio Flyer train that stood for presents and egg nog and Christmas cheer. I adore trains of all shapes and sizes, and I especially like a good metro system.

Moscow's metro is like an underground museum. What struck me was how far down under the city the lines actually lie. I've never been on a steeper escalator in my life. Every station has a unique style and decor, and those along the #5 circle line are so grand, you'd swear you weren't just trying to get across town. The trains themselves are retro and funky and propel me back to the Soviet era. I love having to change lines a few times and spending an hour hopping from train to train in what feels like a secret city hidden from the rest of civilization. B thinks the whole experience is hot and dirty and gross and can't see what my problem is.

The weather's really been cooperating with us lately. St. Petersburg was infinitely hotter and stickier, with a bigger mosquito problem. Besides the occasional rain shower, we've hovered around 65 degrees, partly cloudy, light breeze here in Moscow all week. From what I hear from friends and family back in California, it could be worse. My mom's hood hit 105 yesterday. Yikes.

So yeah, the Russian capital's been a hoot, but it's time to blow this place. Tonight we're boarding the Trans-Mongolian Express for a six-day railway journey into Beijing. Yep, six days without phone or email access on a non-stop train through Russia, Mongolia, and China. Hooray! I'm beside myself with excitement. B is already wondering if these will be the six longest days of his life. And they very well may be. We've stocked up on new novels, Russian instant soup packages, handi-wipes, and quite a bit of vodka for the road.

See you in the hutong!

Love,
Sarah

I Left My Heart in St. Petersburg

I'm happy to report that we made that 1:50 am flight from Istanbul to St. Petersburg. Problem is, the flight was only three hours and we flew right into the sunrise, so any form of sleep was impossible. I'm really quite a nightmare when I haven't slept, that's a fact. Let's just say there were some tears. At least the guy from City Realty was waiting for us outside of passport control, just as promised.

When we decided to include Russia on our itinerary, we knew it wouldn't be easy. Just procuring an entry visa is a challenge. The way it goes it that you have to be "invited" in order to visit. That invitation could be from a friend, supplied by a hotel, or arranged through a tour group, but you must have a specific plan so the Russian government can keep track of exactly where you are, when. And your visa requests must include that information before your access is granted. So suffice it to say you can't wing anything. We were forced to arrange our accommodations well ahead of time, so fortunately, Russia's been covered for months. We also discovered that while hotel prices are ridiculously expensive, private studio weekly prices are much less so. God, I love the internet. Eventually we chose two cute little places in St. Petersburg and Moscow, paid our deposits, and were good to go.

The huge relief is that all the hassle was worth it. St. Petersburg is spectacular. The city is outstanding. The streets are wide and well-maintained. The architecture is exquisite. I've never seen churches like these. You can pretty much walk in any direction and be wowed by something. And for all the stories I've heard about the Russian mafia and dangerous street gangs and corrupt policemen, we've felt completely safe so far. Though US dollars don't go very far here... the only thing that isn't expensive is the vodka.

The highlight was our visit to the Hermitage Museum, housed in the former Winter Palace on one edge of the impressive Palace Square. I'm a museum fan anyway, but this place is more opulent than anything in my wildest dreams. I'm not sure what was better- the art collections, or the palace itself. Too bad I had no idea what I was looking at. We left, exhausted, after about five hours and had barely seen half of it!

A phenomenon occurs during the summer at this latitude and is known as the White Nights, where the sun only sets for a short period and St. Petersburg is in a constant state of either sunshine or twilight. We've missed the official cut-off by a couple weeks, but the deal still exists. For example, I took this photo at 9:30 p.m. I took this photo at 10:30 p.m. Then I took this photo at 11:30 pm. The whole city just keeps on ticking, and the temperature never cools off. We've been staying up until 4 a.m. and sleeping until noon because our internal clocks keep waiting for darkness that never comes. Wild. I can only imagine how dreary the winters are.

Oh, and I've come to the conclusion that Russian women are, in fact, the most beautiful people in the world. Most of them really do look like Anna Kournikova and are taller than Brendan. I don't know what's in the water around here. And I'm not sure how much it has to do with the fall of Communism or the giddiness of summer weather, but women, young and old, are dressed appropriately for a nightclub at all hours of the day.

Today is Brendan's 30th birthday. He's being a good sport, but I've detected twinges of melancholy here and there. I think most people have inevitable feelings of lost youth as they reach this milestone. My 30th is in October and I often feel that my maturity level is still hovering around 23. Growing up is hard to do. We've already decided on a no-gift policy, but I don't think a little celebratory vodka would hurt anyone. Happy birthday to B! Tomorrow we leave on a train bound for Moscow.

Vitals:
1 liter bottle of good Russian vodka: 180 rubles ($7)
Entry fee to the Hermitage Museum: 400 rubles
Splurging on Russian sushi: we lost count
Watching Matt Lauer do the Today Show on-location for the G8 Summit: priceless

So Long, Chicken Shish. Hello, Borsch.

We thought our flight to St. Petersburg, Russia, was leaving tomorrow, July 10th, at 1:50 p.m.. Turns out it's tomorrow, July 10th, at 1:50 am, which is still tonight by my American pub standards. So we figured we'd just check out after breakfast today and save ourselves a night's accommodation. But the guys at the front desk weren't having any of that idea. They pulled out their copy of our confirmation receipt and showed us where exactly in the fine print it states that all cancelations must be made three days in advance. We pled our case to no avail. The only sympathy I picked up on was directed toward our apparent inability to read our own airline tickets.

So here I am, sitting in the hotel room I had to pay for anyway, watching CNN International where it seems the only news worth repeating revolves around the fans of third place Germany and how they feel about tonight's World Cup final. I must confess I've lost interest.

After living abroad for a while (39 days and counting!), we've grown so accustomed to not hearing our own language that we end up devouring it like candy. Our hotel cable includes a channel called CNBC-E (no idea) that runs American TV shows in the evenings. I've been introduced to gems like "Gilmore Girls", "Prison Break", and "Cold Case". There seems to be no rhyme or reason as to when or why certain programs come on, and we've learned not to trust CNBC-E. Last night I was crushed to find a Japanese surfing movie with Turkish subtitles in place of the heavily promoted english airing of "Bull Durham".

All this TV talk might make you wonder how much I'm enjoying Istanbul. Well, to be honest, I'm a little burned out. We've been here for ten days. The big attractions can be covered at a leisurely pace in about four. We've spent the rest of the time getting to know a massive urban area more intimately. Getting to know massive urban areas tends to wear me out. Istanbul is a stunning and unique place, but it's also a big, noisy, dirty city (saying I miss my Western toilets would be quite an understatement). There's a reason people tend to pick their favorite neighborhoods and stick with them. That said, we've covered a ton of ground and here are the highlights:

-The 1.5 hour ferry ride to the Prince's Islands. We spent the afternoon admiring summer homes of the very rich along tree-lined streets only accessible by bicycle or horse-drawn carriage.

-The main shopping district of Beyoglu, where we caught a matinee screening of "The Omen" remake. I was just as scared as I would have been back in the States, and the popcorn was great.

-The Bosphorous tour (also by ferry), which cruised us past affluent northern shoreline suburbs, eventually stopping off at a little town where a hike up to an ancient fortress awarded us with a view out over the mouth of the Black Sea. Looked big, that Sea.

-Being disappointed by the much-touted Grand Bazaar, which is less like a bazaar and more like a mall offering designer knockoffs, gaudy jewelry, and whirling dervish trinkets. A few treats, but barf overall.

-An elevator ride to the top of Galata Tower for some killer views of the city.

-The Sulemaniye mosque, as beautiful as the Blue Mosque but with a cityscape.

-Getting lost more than once or twice and hoping for the best.

It's nice to feel ready to move on, rather than pressed for time and wishing I had a few more days. Ah, the satisfaction of having a whole year.

Every so often the magnitude of having a whole year hits me, and I'm faced with an uneasy mix of emotions. Just the other day a dear friend emailed the good news that she and her husband are expecting a baby at the end of January. It's bizarre and disappointing to think I won't be around for any of it. Or when I get a deep, painful craving for a big plate of pancakes, IHOP style, and have to talk myself down off the ledge because there is nowhere, absolutely nowhere I could possibly order anything even remotely resembling a big plate of pancakes, IHOP style, without crossing a major ocean first. Stuff like that.

My husband has abandoned reading "Interview with the Vampire" in favor of a Wimbeldon set on CNN Turk, complete with Orange Fanta. What a doll.

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