28 April 2008

Two centimeters cold in Novosibirsk and Tomsk

Siberia is quite a different experience during this journey. Upon arriving in Novosibirsk, temperatures at 6am were around the freezing point - which is actually not too bad. But to explore the city I needed some extra effort, avoiding to simply stay inside in a cozy little cafe instead.

It is Sunday morning and the streets are quite empty, since most shops open around 10am only. This gives me actually a fantastic opportunity to take pictures of buildings without the usual Russian traffic jams in front of it. One rather unusual thing bugged me after a while: There was a constant loudspeaker noise coming from police cars shouting something in Russian as soon as any car would stop or slow down in an attempt to park alongside the main avenue. Actually the policemen would not even bother to go out of their car, they simply would move towards the "offender" and start yelling using a loudspeaker. I later realized, that there was an upcoming sports competition event that morning, where students from different universities would have to run on this avenue. Timing therefore was perfect: I got my picture shots, and later had the opportunity to watch the sports event and the cheering public.

Yes, I liked Novosibirsk for the duration of my stay which was roughly ten hours. Maybe there is more to see, but I felt that I wanted to continue and therefore I left around 4pm to Tomsk. While being on the train, I decided to walk with my full backpack to the hostel. I did about five kilometers back in Tashkent and the map in the Lonely Planet guide looked quite easy to memorize. Plus, the distance would be only about 500m. A no-brainer.

Arriving in Tomsk, I soon realized, that someone at Lonely Planet, must have messed up the scale of their map. The road to the hostel was substantially longer as I anticipated (I measured later using the GPS on the way back 3.4km). Normally, this distance wouldn't have been a problem, but here it was snowing. Moreover, it was 10pm, so I was worried of the hostel giving up my reservation. And my bladder doesn't really enjoy the cold. I really needed to pee halfway through - and I didn't care whether Russian police would stop me (again).

To make things worse, the hostel (TGU hostel) simply would not let me enter. I was probably arriving too late. I almost wanted to go back to the train station to sleep there, when I met a student, Aleksej, who directed me to the Sputnik Hotel. This turned out to be a perfect place. I had a single room with television and shared bathroom. Sheer luxury after all the train journeys I had been through. Staff was very friendly and the price was actually quite OK.

Next morning, Tomsk greeted me in a white dress. It felt like Christmas, only Rudolph the red nose reindeer was missing. This city's university is actually quite big and therefore there are many students and the related infrastructure. Means: Tomsk features a lot of interesting places to go out.

Aleksej joined me later that morning to show me the more historic aspects of the city. Unfortunately I had my ticket for Irkutsk already booked for that afternoon, because it would have been very easy to fill a second day visiting this place. So sadly, I had to bid farewell to Aleksej and the city of Tomsk. It is shortlisted as a re-visit, should I ever come back to this region.

Oh - just if you wondered about the title: Being from Switzerland, we measure the cold in centimeters - not in centigrade. While in Novosibirsk, it was between two and four centimeters cold. Tomsk was definitely a two centimeter town. So this was definitely too cold. I'll be interested in how many centimeters Irkutsk will be.

Labels: Russia

posted by Reto at 09:25 2 Comments Links to this post

24 April 2008

Modern Talking to Almaty

Uzbeks and Kazakhs are rivals since their countries were formed. There is some underlying mild hostility when talking of each other's neighbouring country. Being a tourist in a train running from Nukus (Uzbekistan) to Almaty (Kazachstan) is therefore a bit a diplomatic chess play. Being in the region now for almost a month, I can tell Uzbeks and Kazakh apart by simply looking at their faces. But there are Kazach-looking people living in Uzbekistan and vice versa. So it is best, when a uncomfortable question arises ("which of both countries do you prefer?"), to play the "Niet panimayou" (I don't understand in Russian) game. To readers of this blog it is probably clear, where my preference lies.

The animosity between these two strong Central Asian countries probably dates back as far as the times of the warlords Genghis Khan and Timur (Tamerlane). Timur is the national hero of Uzbekistan and sure every city has a statue of him somewhere. Make no mistake, their national hero was not short of any kind of brutality towards his own people, same as it was with Genghis Khan. Somehow, in the Western hemisphere, we tend to know only the latter of these two warlords. But I promised to myself, that I would pick up somewhere a book about Timur, because the abstracts I read in various guide books and Uzbek museums are intriguing and I do want to know more about this aspect of Uzbek history.

Turtkul train station agent

Sadly, I had to leave this beautiful country and made my way from Khiva to Tortkul station where I boarded the train coming from Nukus (city in the western Uzbek desert). On the 50km taxi ride to said train station, we crossed a river over a makeshift steel plates bridge (which I already crossed on the way in from Bukhara to Khiva). I have no idea why the drivers have to pay a toll to cross this kind of structure. Maybe it is to pay the salaries of the dozen steel workers constantly soldering the crackling plates to keep them together - or if it contributes to a fund for a new bridge. One of the miracles which will remain open, since I still don't speak enough Uzbek.

For the ride to Almaty in Kazachstan, my budget decided to go "Platzkartny" (I didn't have enough cash when buying the ticket), which essentially means a dormitory-style sleeping car. There is a sort of culture shock, when you first board such a car, especially if it is not along a tourist route. In Russia (and the former federations), train numbers that are lower, are more luxurious - meaning that single digit train numbers (like train number 7) are the best. My train in the Uzbek outback had number 321 and I chose, as mentioned, 3rd class (Platzkartny). All the guidebooks tell you to avoid this train by all means because of filth and lack of comfort. Sounds like something that I had to try.

Train to Almaty: Mischa, Me and Mahmet

Upon boarding, the Provodnitza directed me to Mischa, who remained very quiet about his professional background throughout the journey. He assigned me another seat than the one I booked and I figured out that some seat shuffling had happened before the train had arrived. Despite my reserved seat I was an unexpected passenger. Together with Mischa, we slept on the hard bench on top of the two bunk beds - usually this is the space where luggage is placed. But it was actually OK and I decided not to insist on my seat. Later, I figured out that the whole shuffling was done to help a young pregnant women. Throughout the ride, Mischa took great care of me in facilitating many things for me.

Uzbek hospitality extends to the point where people will follow you to the toilet just to make sure you don't get mugged or police-checked on the way there or back (usually to go to the toilet, you have to leave the building and do your stuff in a shed behind the house). This was the case back in Bukhara, where I was so annoyed being constantly followed by one of my "bodyguards" when taking a leak in the dance club, that I decided to try sneaking to the toilet when my Usbek friends were out of sight. I felt like a six year old boy trying to discover the shopping mall without his mum. To no avail. Each time they would run after me and upon leaving the toilet, I would find one of my mates patiently waiting in front of the door and making sure that I would get back to the dance floor unharmed.

Hot water in the train

On the train to Almaty, this was exactly the same case. Mischa seemed to be the "bodyguard" assigned to me. But this time, I was quite thankful to have such a person. On the first day, Mischa went into great "hello" and loud chats with the border guards - both the Uzbek and Kazach ones - and they were equally pleased to see him. He usually would leave the train, have a smoke and hug his buddies, while the rest of the passengers were under the scrutiny of border control. Being under Mischa's wings, I made the smoothest transit into another country so far - although it still was very lengthy one (three hours in total).

The second morning on the train, I got bugged by some older guys coming over to our car. They spotted me and decided that I should go and watch some porn movies on their laptop, have vodka and smoke pot with them. The oldest of them made sure that I understood how many wars he had fought in Afghanistan, Iran, Irak and Vietnam and he was clearly drunk. I talked them into not watching porn, not smoking pot and drinking coffee instead of vodka. But things got a bit strange and I decided to go back to our Platzkartny car. The drunks followed me and this is when I figured out that Mischa must be some kind of Police or Militsia guy travelling on a private journey. He asked me twice whether I wanted to drink vodka with the other guys - which I twice firmly denied. He then stood up and ordered - quite loudly - all the drunks out of our car. And they left without discussion and didn't come back to the carriage.

On a quieter note, my Nokia E61 does facilitate a lot of conversations when being on the train, since it is loaded with Russian video clips from my Moscow - Tashkent trip, plus heeps of my own music. During all the trips so far, people would make me listen to "Modern Talking" as soon as they learn that I am from Schwitsarya (Switzerland) - assuming that this must be a Swiss group. It is as if mobile phones come pre-loaded with their song "You're my heart, you're my soul". Other famous (mobile phone) music here is 50 Cent, Eminem and the various Doctors and DJ's. My music taste (alternative & mainstream rock) is not really compatible with the locals. Although everybody knows Linkin Park, they start to look puzzled when playing Foo Fighters, Radiohead, Seether or Atreyu. So I go with the sound of the locals and look pleased (with a lot of effort) when they play Madonna, Enrique, 50 Cent or Eminem. But the hardest of smiling efforts is definitely made when I have to listen to Modern Talking at full volume from a (fake) Nokia mobile phone loudspeaker. Both is actually very common here: Fake Nokia's at bargain prices (the N95 costs about $10), and walking in the street playing music from a cell phone. In the 80's we got Ghettoblasters. In 2008 they've got Ghettophones. Same behaviour - different technology.

So here I am now in Almaty. It is a very beautiful, but also very expensive town. This city will definitely be worth a visit for a longer week-end flight whenever I earn some good cash in the future. The landscape having 5000m high mountain ranges right behind the city is stunning. And it is a very modern, cosmopolitan city. No need to search for money - ATM's are everywhere. Modern streets, buildings and supermarkets. But all that comes at a price. I am staying in a dormitory at over $40 a night which clearly is out of my budget. Originally, I had planned to stay five nights here - kind of a buffer stay to get things done - before heading up north to Siberia. But the cost make me leave within less than 24 hours, which turns out to be perfect: The days I overstayed in Uzbekistan are compensated and I am back to the original dates of the travel plan.

Labels: Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan

posted by Reto at 17:19 1 Comments Links to this post

22 April 2008

Eldorado in Bukhara and Disneyland in Khiva

Unfortunately it is time to say good-bye to Uzbekistan. My tourist visa dictactes that I'll have to be out of the country within the next five days. I haven't been blogging during the last week for two reasons: Internet speed and lack of time because of the overwhelming number of historical sites in Bukhara and its suburbs.

Slow Internet connection speeds simply do not allow any "Ajax"-based applications to run. Blogger, Gmail and Facebook are unusable. Where websites have mobile alternatives (like Facebook at http://m.facebook.com), their trimmed down mobile interface loads OK at 56KBit. But shame on Gmail: Their mobile interface cannot be used from a web browser (at least I could not find anything). Gmail has an alternative "Ajax"-free login (called HTML Login), but that proposed alternative only shows up, when Gmail times out after about five minutes.

Needless to say that I had better things to do and I therefore used Facebook a bit more to update my whereabouts.

The first day in Bukhara, I bumped into a local student - Rustam - who was selling postcards. He offered me to show the city and sites for a small nominal fee. He is eager to learn English and I was eager to view a maximum of things in a minimum amount of time. After three days in Bukhara, I stayed another extra night, because Rustam had introduced me to his friends and family and I was completely immersed in the Uzbek daily life and culture.

During that time I repaired two computers - actually without Internet connection. People here go to the Internet cafe, download data on their USB sticks at analogue speed and then take the data home. Needless to say that exchanging data among friends is very common - and hence a lot of computers are virus infected. My USB-stick (with the PortableApps also got infected and I need to re-download the entire suite of photo-editing programs, ftp programs, etc. as soon as a fast Internet connection (probably in Alma-Ata) shows up.

Pothole in Khiva

The best Plov (a local Uzbek rice speciality) was definitely cooded by Rustam's mother, where I was invited for dinner. After dinner, we went to a local club where I was the only tourist: The "Eldorado". They actually had very good dance tracks and we smoked water-pipes, danced and ate in a "loungy" setting there. On the day of departure, again I was sad having to move on to the town of Khiva. Bukhara is by far the best city I have seen in Uzbekistan.

Roads at night are pitch black here - there is little to no illumination, even on boulevards. That would not really pose a problem, but the round potholes (somebody seems to do a business with the iron pothole covers) just are open for anyone to fall in. There are a lot of other obstacles as well, so I learned very quickly the word "Ashta Roschna" (which seems to mean "Watch out") this week. Also, I picked up a couple of easy Uzbek words. The reaction by greeting someone here stating "Asalam aleikum" or saying thank you ("Rahmat") is stunning. People's eyes light up and it is almost as if these words might give you a ten percent discount on souvenirs.

On the road to Khiva (in a shared taxi, which Rustam and his friend Sharkzhod organised), I didn't speak much to the driver. On one hand I knew that he completely ripped me off with the fare, and on the other side, I wasn't in the mood.

Khiva - to make a long story short - is the Disneyland for Mausoleums, Medressas and the like. Everything here is well preserved, abolutely clean and shiny. There is even entertainment for the kids, while parents visit a museum. I met here two Spanish guys and a girl, as well Daniel - an Australian who is loosely following along the same track and whom I met back in Samarkand. All of us actually hated the overdone preservation. But we made most out of it and visited the "inofficial" Khiva, where we shot plenty of pictures of people and how they live here.

One thing which is striking, is the number of French people visiting Uzbekistan. Everywhere, you can hear French - even the kids begging for free stuff, approach the tourists by stating "bonbon" or "stylo". Actually, begging kids are an indicator for how much the place is spoiled. And Khiva is very spoiled. There were less beggars in Bukhara and Samarkand - none in Tashkent.

Labels: Uzbekistan

posted by Reto at 07:38 2 Comments Links to this post

13 April 2008

Along the Golden Road to Samarkand

Sweet to ride forth at evening from the wells
When shadows pass gigantic on the sand,
And softly though the silence beat the bells
Along the Golden Road to Samarkand.
James Elroy Flecker

What a change a three hour high-speed train journey can make. The train from Tashkent to Samarkand is up to Swiss railway standards. Actually 2nd class is almost like 1st class back home. Upon arrival in Samarkand, I checked into my Bead & Breakfast which is conveniently located in the middle of the old town and a stone throw from the greatest monuments I have seen so far in Uzbekistan. Changed 50 dollars in the local currency - which gives me a heavy stack of money I have to carry in the backpack as the wallet is simply too small for this volume.

Unfortunately, it is a rainy day - but somehow the monuments still are breathtaking. Books can not describe how beautiful the Registan, Gur Amir and other historical monuments along the silk road are in reality. I fear that my plans to stay only two nights in Samarkand will not be enough, but the impending visa expiry date leaves not much room to shift dates. Samarkand is very touristic and there are a handful of French and British tourists here.

It seems that my yesterdays paparazzi session at the Chorsu market back in Tashkent was met by a friendly revenge from the Uzbek tourists here in Samarkand. School kids (mostly girls, sigh...) went crazy and asked me to be in their group photo. So I complied and smiled into at least thirty-plus pictures. There were even some adults who absolutely wanted a picture with me. After a while I started to ask them whether I could have a picture of them as well. So I have a nice collection of pictures featuring me among total strangers. Weird. One teen girl from a family was running after me with her elder brother and gave me a souvenir she just bought (with the few money she had) and told me that this should always remember me of her. That is overwhelming and it really made my day on top of a day which is already almost perfect (but for the rain).

There is no need to reiterate my excitement about Uzbekistan. You've read raves about it yesterday and you know that I love it here. So I am putting a bit of balance by naming some of the downsides:

Unemployment rate is high and many Uzbeks work abroad. Even when they have jobs, they are poorly paid. This results in absurd situations: As an example, the entrance fee to the Registan monument is 6500 sum at the counter. And policemen are guarding that no one accesses the area without ticket. However, if you are patient enough, you'll spot corrupt policemen who will let you through the same gates which they are supposed to guard, by paying a small fee (around 3000 sum).

Although the country is plentiful of resources, most of it is exported instead of being processed here in factories. The result is that Uzbekistan imports almost everything at foreign prices.

Waste disposal - especially the education about it - seems to be a general problem here and in Russia. For example: The waste on trains is disposed by throwing it between the carriages platform on the tracks (or out of the windows). When I saw this first on the Tashkent Express I couldn't believe my eyes. Therefore, along any rail track, there are heeps of PET bottles, papers and other rubbish - which is a pity.

Police presence in this country is absolutely striking. It seems as if fifty percent of the workforce is being employed by the police. But they are generally friendly and - as a result - it is very safe here by any means. Although Uzbekistan is being perceived as dangerous terrain abroad, the only real danger here is to be overcharged by dishonest taxi drivers.

No woder I love Uzbekistan and the Uzbek people - with all the shortcomings and I surely could live here. But I'll have to continue along the Golden Road and move on. It will be hard for any other upcoming country along my journey to surpass what I have experienced here.

Labels: Uzbekistan

posted by Reto at 17:31 1 Comments Links to this post

12 April 2008

Spice boys and backstreet girls

Tashkent, the Uzbek's capitol is a welcome refreshment after having been experiencing Moscow's pollution loaded streets. So far, each evening, there is some light rainfall which cleans the air and waters the trees. The result is quite spectacular: Fresh air, green trees and a unique smell of grass is greeting me every morning during sunrise.

Currently, I am staying at a small hotel in a single room, since the budget allows for this. Tashkent is inexpensive - although most prices have doubled since the print of the "Lonely Planet" (LP) guidebook. Uzbek money comes in "Sum" with the biggest bank note coming at 1000 Sum. Since one US dollar currently equals about 1300 Sum, it is obvious that there is a stack of bank notes needed throughout the daily life. Some ATM simply can't cope with the sheer mechanical burden of having to output in average 50 banknotes for a 45$ worth of withdrawal. After some searching, I finally found one Visa ATM in a five star hotel which hands out at most 20'000 Sum ($18). But this gets me actually quite far: A 1.5 liter bottle of coke comes at 600 sum (45 cents), the average meal comes at about 2'500 sum (2 dollars). And there is another positive aspect since everyone has small bank notes: There is no need to search where to split large bank notes before going out (a burden which was actually quite present in Russia).

Orchu Spice Market Tashkent

Many tourists do not like Tashkent, stating that it is not representative of the whole country. Lots of places are newly renovated and all tourist areas are spotless clean. I personally have no problem with that so far. It is a welcome change after Moscow and it seems to me that Tashkent provides the perfect setting to get immersed in an oriental setting before continuing to Samarkand.

And I say this loud and proud: Tashkent has a nicer underground metro than Moscow's (which is highly overrated). It is a shame that picture taking there is not allowed for matters of Uzbek national security. Police patrols are omnipresent in the metro and I got stopped so far two times for document control - both which went without incident after all papers (passport and visa) checked out fine.

The city is mostly divided between an old town containing historical sites and an absolutely faboulus market (Chorzu) - and the new part of the city celebrating new age heroes and the current president. Yes, Uzbek history has quite some spots, but the mentionned guidebook is - for my taste - a bit too cynical about it. If you want to read about Uzbek history, get another good book (as I did). The LP for "Central Asia" (containing Uzbekistan) just is useful for street maps and lists of hostels.

However, I admit, that Timur was a better source of information during the journey to Tashkent and I might be a bit biased. While here, I was (and am) eating as much as I can (hope mum reads this), since Timur gave me a list with Uzbek meals I absolutely should try. Actually, the smell of fresh bread and grilled shashlik is omnipresent throughout the city - especially during lunch time. This is as good as it gets and I could easily overstay. But I'll have to move on.

Being in a hotel comes with a disadvantage though: I am roaming the streets here on my own (but at my pace) without other backpackers. That is just fine right now as it is a welcome change. But for my next town, Samarkand, I have arranged a B&B accomodation (seems to be famous there). Actually, I'll be leaving tomorrow morning at 7am local time on the high-speed train linking Tashkent and Samarkand. The ticket for this three and a half hour journey would have cost in first class the excessive amount of 22'500 sum ($20). This is why I got only second class for 11'100 sum (leaving the conversion calculation up to you).

I'll surely miss the spice boys and the backstreet girls from Chorzu market in Tashkent. They kept me and my camera busy for most of today. It was actually my first bazaar, where I wasn't constantly being harassed by aggressive salespeople to buy something. Uzbekistan is definitely different - in a positive way.

Labels: Uzbekistan

posted by Reto at 13:56 1 Comments Links to this post

11 April 2008

Tashkent Express

The last day in Moscow started uneventful. In the morning, I did some shopping for the four day journey on the train and stocked some fruit and cup noodles. For lunch, I went back to the hostel where two roommates, Jeremie and Mark, were hanging out with two Canadian girls from the other dorm. We all decided to visit the city, since everyone was somehow preparing to leave either into the direction of Mongolia or Europe.
This turned out to be an unexpectedly funny day where we finished hanging out like the Russians do: We got a couple of beers and settled in a park and spend most of the time chatting, joking and watching people.

After that, I went a bit dizzy to the station to catch the train bound for Tashkent (Uzbekistan) due to leave a quarter to midnight. There, I stocked up some water and a bottle of three litres of beer for the trip. Not that I needed the alcohol, but I knew from other travel reports, that drinking Vodka on the train is quite common and I wanted to "bring in" some kind of token for a potential party. As it turned out, I was quite right about this.

Upon approaching the train's platform, there was some shouting going on and at least a dozen train officials were running into my direction. As it turned out later, this was a thief who tried to mug a "Provodnitsa" (train assistant). But at that moment, I had flashbacks to riots in which I got stuck back in Brazzaville (Congo). It was the same noise, the same shouting and the same sudden rush of a crowd. Needless to say that my adrenaline was high and for a second I had some doubts whether I was doing the right thing here.

Tashkent Express

However, I continued to walk on the platform and went on along the carriages to look for coach eight - which was my coach. The provodnitsa asked me from which country I came from and looked first at my ticket, then let me enter the car. After putting down the bags in the empty four-bed compartment, I decided that I needed some air and went out on the platform to take some pictures and wander around - always having an eye on who entered or left the carriage. Suddenly a big fat guy in uniform was grabbing me on the shoulder and pointed me to my carriage. There I could see the horrified provodnitsa who went into a big Russian talk and making gestures telling me to go immediately back to the car. Later, I found out that there is a lot of stealing going on and she simply wanted me to watch my belongings and therefore did not want me to stay on the platform. Actually this uneventful story (to me at least) became sort of running gag among the other passengers on the train who were in sheer disbelief that I would have so much confidence in the Russian railways and thus leave my bags unattended.

One of the passengers, Timur, Reto

After the train's departure, the provodnitsa was worried about my safety and therefore she put me in a compartment with a 27 year old Uzbek, Timur, who was travelling home after an extended period away. He spent part of his childhood in the U.S. and therefore we had no problems to make conversation. Timur was the only person speaking English in our car (and probably in the whole train). He introduced me to people, translated stories and jokes, gave me hints for Uzbekistand, chased the salespeople away from our compartment and ordered some Uzbek meals to our compartment. Moreover, he helped me to fill in the various customs forms along the route which all are in Russian only and he helped to ease customs control. Last but not least, he organized a Taxi for me upon arrival at Tashkent and gave instructions to the driver to drive me only to cheap hotels - in case my hotel would be fully booked.

Timur also intoduced me to Sergej, who was a sailor for the Russian marine, then based in Murmansk, Russia. He told short stories and jokes. And on the third night, the three of us would start drinking vodka. During that, Sergej explained how they would smuggle alcohol on board a ship (where drinking was forbidden). They used seringes to inject vodka into melons or other fruit. Or they would extract alcohol from glue or shoe polish. I don't post the recipes here to make the story short.

By the third and fourth day of the trip, everyone had become somehow friend with every other passenger. And Timur was quite amused how the other people were in disbelief about me roaming the world for a full year, alone - not being married nor having children. Tourists aren't very common on this route. My provodnitsa told that I am her fifth tourist this year - on her twelvth trips so far in 2008. She met a French couple some weeks ago and was consequently reiterating the few words she learned from them. She also exchanged some videos between her mobile phone and mine. Actually, exchanging videos or ringtones over Bluetooth is quite common and I now have a nice collection of Russian and Uzbek songs and video clips on my phone.

Sunset on the Tashkent Express

It would be an understatement to say that I was just lucky in many respects during this journey. Our car was by far the funniest one and time flew as we crossed Russia and the Kazakh steppe. When I went for a visit to see in reality the "Platzkartny" cars (3rd class), I had to transit a lot of other cars. All of them were quiet and people were either dozing or reading. Our car was full of card playing, joke telling, a bit of beer or vodka drinking people who were absolutely nice. Thanks to my "cool" provodnitsa and Timur, this train ride will be an unforgettable memory.

There are some more stories in my paper diary which covers the trip more in detail. Space is limited here and to be honest - I don't want to spend too much time in Internet cafes. As by the writing of this, I have arrived in Tashkent and decided to extend my stay here for one day. I miss a bit the fun of the train, Timur, Sergej and my cool provodnitsa - but I got - in exchange for them - a city which is absolutely beautiful, green and full of sights.

Sunset on the Tashkent Express

Border crossings were smooth - although each of them lasts between one or two hours during which the train stops. Without these administrative stops, the whole trip probably could be shortened by a full day. We covered about 3500km during the four day journey. Although transiting into Kazachstan was a pleasant experience (I had a relaxed chat with an English speaking customs official), the exit from Kazachstan was less pleasant. Not for me, but for passengers on another train. We could watch how the Kazakh border control made Uzbek people lining up alongside a train to check their luggage. After they paid some small fee, they could re-enter their train. Timur told me that he was very happy to be with me in the compartment, because customs would never do this to a tourist and somehow I seemed to act as a shield as the authorities do not want to spread a bad image among foreigners of how abusive officials can be.

For my part, I was happy to have been able to contribute at least somehow a small bit in return, if my presence really acted as "protection". Because on that trip, I enjoyed both Russian and Uzbek hospitality. Both of which I will keep a long time in memory.

Labels: Kazakhstan, Russia, Uzbekistan

posted by Reto at 10:44 7 Comments Links to this post

07 April 2008

Plains, Trains and Snoring

Sleeping with 10 people in the same room doesn't actually bother me. By emphasizing the word "me". Because I know that I do perform the art of snoring occasionally when being drunk or simply very tired. Therefore, I'm quite happy that others in the room snor, too. Especially the 22 year old blonde from Indiana in the bunk above my bed has a thorough soprano voice while sleeping. So it is quite funny to watch new male arrivals trying to make contact with her before the night - and then spot their disappointment and sheer anger in their eyes during breakfast with her next morning. I came to the conclusion that men definitely prefer a quiet night - full of dreams - over good looks. Poor girl. But then again, how does my snoring compare to hers? Is mine acceptable or even worse?

Or don't I snore at all? Should I ask my room-mates to rate my snoring?
Well, the only hint so far is the fact that everyone (including the blonde) is still talking with me. We even party together - without the blonde, though. But may be the guys are just more polite towards an old chap than a young lady? All these questions won't be answered here in Moscow, since I am about to leave tonight on a train bound to Tashkent (Uzbekistan).

Getting that ticket was an adventure on its own. The baseline is, that the train stations in Moscow are divided by long distance destinations. Since the European/Belarus and the Siberia-serving stations are popular among tourists, it is relatively easy to get tickets for popular destinations at these train stations. They might have either an english-speaking counter or you might just get some help by other people who speak English and Russian. Mind you: When I write, that these stations are relatively easy to cope for a train ticket purchase, this means that you'll end up in queueing at three different counters and need to set aside about two to three hours for that exercise. At least, this is consistent with all the people I met in the hostel (and even though some of them were well prepared and had written down their ticket request in Russian letters on a piece of paper beforehand).

So far, you now do know what to expect in dealing with Russian railway service for popular destinations. However, nobody in this hostel ever went the route I am undertaking - not even the old lady (Babushka) sitting like a hawk next to the hostel entrance. Which already makes me stand out like a pink dog in a supermarket.

Therefore, welcome now Roaming Reto who is entering the scene at Kazan station to perform the art of ticket buying with ten words or less of Russion. Tashkent is definitely a destination where no foreigner seems to have gone before. Will it be worse of an experience in ticket buying than the "tourist routes"? Here's the story.

Not surprisingly, all the signs in the Kazan station building are in Russian only. And 30 ticket counters with hundreds of people waited to be challenged by my lack of Russian when I went there two days ago. As usual here in Moscow, there was no queue at all. But I do know how to use my arms and the bad staring look to fight my way forward. And since I didn't carry enough Rubels in cash to buy the ticket, this narrowed down the list of potential counters at the station to twelve which are featuring credit card logos. That was actually a good start. I then decided to make counter number 3 my target and start to queue.

Upon realizing that it's next my turn, I started to panic because I realized that there's no chance to get a ticket if I wouldn't speak the date (I have yet to learn that part of Russian). The only piece of paper at hand was the box of the Cholera vaccination which I carried with me. A second oral intake of that medecine was due that day. "Yes, there is enough whitespace on the box" and I quickly scribbled down "Tashkent", "7-4-2008" and "Platzkartny" (3rd class). Handing over my medicine to the old lady at the counter was met by a stare full of death-rays (Methinks: I always knew Darth Vader was a female Russian railway agent). Since I didn't write down my request in Russian letters, I start to reiterate with a big smile "Dobra dien, bashalsta adin Tashkent, Platz". Hey, I was proud of myself to just have learned - while waiting in the queue - that "Platz" is the shorthand for 3rd class tickets.

The ticket lady gave my request a deep thought. After a while of silence, she grabbed the Cholera package and left the counter. "Oh no, stupid me - not only won't I get the ticket - I'm about to loose my Cholera protection!" went through my head. Luckily, two minutes later she showed up again, handed the medicine box back to me while writing "C-29" on it. Clever Roaming Reto immediately grasped that this meant "Cassa 29". At this moment and time I was very happy: Not only did I get back my "Cholera" - I also definitely knew which counter would issue the train ticket.

Or so - it seemed.

Welcome to Russia! Because this was just the beginning of a ping-pong journey queueing at several other counters. To make a long story short: Counter 29 could have issued the ticket - but only against cash. I was sent to counter 11 which could do both: Issue the ticket and accept credit cards. But since I'm a foreigner, I needed to present my passport with the Kazakh and Uzbek visa for inspection at counter 1 first (where I had minor problems, because my Russian registration card wasn't yet done).

After a very entertaining four hours spent at the Kazan train station, I left with my train ticket. 2nd class though, since the ticket agent wouldn't allow me to travel in 3rd class - for whatever reason. But I was quite proud to have obtained this piece of paper on my own. This saved me 100 Rubels (which the hostel would have charged for the service in getting the ticket for me). In fact, I was so proud and excited, that I offered myself a beer that evening (which incidentially came at 100 Rubels).

That night I went to bed a bit tired and drunk. And I learned next morning that men also give other men the evil stare... you know what I mean.

Labels: Russia

posted by Reto at 07:15 2 Comments Links to this post

05 April 2008

Of band-aids and prostitutes

Packing all necessary stuff into a backpack isn't really that hard. With some experience, one knows what was missed during the last trip - or what proved to be useless and isn't worth carrying around. And even for the inexperienced travellers, there is a wealth of Rucksack packing lists available in the Internet. In my case the unnecessary item was a gas cooker. The idea was to be able to boil water for coffee - one of my luxuries during any journey. But there's always a source of hot water. And if there isn't, I probably roam in the wild an can get along fine without coffee for a day or two. Anyhow, on this trip the gas-cooker had to stay home.

But when it comes to optimal packing, then the first days of the journey are a constant repacking excercise. For instance, I knew that I took band-aids along. But since its package was too big for the relatively small first-aid kit stuffed with dozens of pills against altitude sickness, stomach pain, malaria pills, cholera treatment and such - I decided to pack the band-aids somewhere else. It's only when I hurt my hand today that I figured out that I couldn't remember where in the countless pockets they were hidden. Well, it was next to my Swiss army knife, since I have a tendency to snap-fold its blade with my finger in between.

Besides the Rucksack, I do carry a day-pack while visiting the towns and I found myself fumbling constantly that bag during the first two days. This was partly due to the fact, that I felt uncomfortable how my "stash" was hidden. Moreover, the US dollars aren't needed this far (which were packed more at hand) and I get along fine with my credit card (which was hidden behind two zippers inside a hidden pocket) and ATM's. To pack and repack, you'd therefore see me quite often disappear into restrooms. Which seems to draw attention from - let's say - some females.

In Moscow, everything seems to be for sale. On the Arbat market, you can buy animals next to the souvenir stand. So why wouldn't humans be for sale? I actually came to that conclusion, since the amount of well dressed businessmen walking arm in arm with a beautiful blonde in mini-skirts, heavy make-up and stockings is just astounding. Moreover, average salaries are mediocre, but prices are as high as anywhere in Central Europe. So - how can the 20 year old guy sitting next to me in the Internet cafe afford his Nike shoes, Levis jeans, Hilfiger shirt and Boss watch. And why is he openly browsing male dating sites on his Internet station while I am blogging this? You guessed it, right?

So, after having escaped the girl in the loo, I need to ignore the guy next to me. But maybe it's just one of these days where I have paranoia - prostitution paranoia. A psychologist (Hello Mikael) might set this into the correct perspective :D.

Actually, my perception became much more balanced this morning while crossing the pedestrian bridge over Moscow River next to the Christ the Saviour Cathedral. A couple of wedding parties were taking the usual photographs of the newlyweds. They do come here right after the ceremony to put a safety-lock on the iron rails of the bridge. These locks may carry their name or their mutual love promises.

One newlywed couple explained to me that there are also locks from unmarried people. They do this to seal their deep friendship. I found this very romantic and maybe I'll be putting a lock on a bridge somewhere, someday with someone. Despite of Moscows obvious shortcomings, I can feel how I'm slowly falling in love with it.

But the love for this city is like loving an expensive bride - it comes at a cost: I am lucky to stay at a dirt cheap hostel (450 Rubels / 12 Euro per night). A coffee is about 130 Rubels, a bottle of coke in the super-market sets me back with 90 Rubels. The entry fee into the Kreml costs 650 Rubels (plus 60 Rubels for the mandatory deposit of the day-pack).

To top all this, every foreigner spending more than three nights in Russia needs to get an official registration (OVIR). This registration costs 700 Rubels (up from 500 Rubels is did cost last year). To sum things up: My hostel is cross-financing the daily cost of living. Which means that I can maintain the target budget. And if everything fails, I'll prostitute myself - now that I know how it works.

Labels: Russia

posted by Reto at 14:57 0 Comments Links to this post

04 April 2008

Stress-Blogging in Moscow

My Russian is steadily improving and I am quite proud of if. Today, I formed my first sentence in Russian (without the help of my trusty book) to ask for "one liter of sparkling water" in the shop. And I actually got what I ordered.

But I am still mixing up two essential words: Bashalsta "Please" instead of Spasiba "Thank You". Only god knows why I have trouble with these.

The bakery shop around the corner from the hostel has actually quite tasty bread and it has become my favorite food stand in town.

Bumped into a police control today while taking pictures of the notorious traffic jams. Actually I wanted to take a picture of the car which parks in 2nd row in a lane in the middle of rush hour. Police showed up, but when they saw my camera, they let the driver go and rushed towards me.

"Oh my - I am only a tourist" I said and put up a very honest smile. The three policemen shouted something in Russian, but they let me go as well after they figured out that I was really an innocent tourist. Whew...

Quite impressive was the stroll through Gum department store. Although I hate shopping malls as a tourist (they are the same everywhere on the planet), Gum department store is an architectural highlight and it really is a quiet and peaceful place in the middle of this busy city. Worth the visit - especially since it is one of the rare places in Moscow which comes at no cost.

That's all for now, my free Internet time (that came with an expensive Cafe Latte) in this place is up. Hey, I'm on a budget here - but I might want another Coffee tomorrow :).

Therefore a couple of other random pictures I hand-picked and uploaded while being online here:

Labels: Russia

posted by Reto at 12:27 2 Comments Links to this post

03 April 2008

Da Swidanja Basel

As planned, the train to Moscow left on time in Basel at 6pm. Friends and family did bid a farewell - we won't see each other for the next couple of months. So this left me with a mixed bag of feelings looking through the Window seeing Basle fading in the distance.

Luckily, there was Andreij - a guy from Belarus - who boarded the train in Frankfurt (Germany). Although he did not speak a word of English (and my Russian was more than basic), we had loads of fun. Somehow I managed to figure out that he is a student in tax economics and he earns about 180 USD a month.

The train ride itself went smooth the first night and day. Then, at 5pm on the second day, we crossed the "Schengen" border between Poland and Belarus - between Therespol (Poland) and Brest (Belarus). Both customs and passport controls took about 90 Minutes altogether. Not bad actually. But what happened next was more time consuming. Due to the different rail track size, the complete train had to be moved into a hangar style area where the carriages were lifted (with the passengers still on board) and all the axles and wheels - as well as the connectors between the carriages - had to be exchanged to the "Russian standard".

This operation was actually very well organized, with at least two workers for each carriage unmounting and mounting axles. It looked synchronized and like an oversized wheel change during a "Formula 1"-race. Or like a farm of ants in bright-orange security vests. Although there was a lot of noise, most of the passengers were busy taking pictures and it was a welcome change to the monotone ride. At 10pm (9pm Polish time) we left Brest - which means that the border crossing and the wheel change took about 4 hours net.

After that, we went on to Minsk (Belarus), where all the passengers in my train carriage left. I was the only remaining passenger bound for Moscow, which gave the occation to provide me with an extra extra extra special service. At the end of the journey, the carriage responsible (Prawadnik) - who did wear a respectable uniform - changed into designer jeans, wearing a cap stating "Swiss armed forces" with the Swiss flag. Well, that brought a big smile on my face and I stated a strong "Da Swidanja" (Good-Bye) on leaving the train.

Labels: Russia

posted by Reto at 19:27 1 Comments Links to this post