How to sum up two hectic days in Mongolia's big city? I'm drinking my Zhalam Khar beer, it is getting late, and I am strung out on a city full of temples and rubble, surrounded by mountains but harsh with fumes of pollution, friendly but mostly incomprehensible. Of note:
-Gandan Khiid Monastery: spiritual center of the city, we walked up on Saturday for the morning rituals and went into several temples where red and orange robed monks chanted and blew horns and bashed cymbols together in celebration. In one temple, it seemed like the baby brigade of young monks in training, 7-14 yr olds that seemed too young for the serious faces - yet once we looked closer, they were just like any other normal boys, fidgeting and poking each other and one with the cymbols caught our eye and hammed it up a bit when we smiled. In another temple, there were much older monks, and as we made the clockwise circle around the perimeter, I could see a few of them reading sutras (?) off of scripted text - old Mongolian or Tibetan I don't know. One had been creating a small drawing out of tiny pebbles, a stylized scorpion. Many Mongolians were there to turn prayer wheels and bathe their hands in the incense that poured out of ornate pots in the courtyard. Small boys sold bags of seed to feed the congregation of pigeons, old men in traditional costume sat in the shade of the temples and smoked pipes. After the cultural strictness of Russia, the first thing we noticed was a plethora of smiles.
-Strangely, the westernization of this city - supermarkets that are more similar to an Alaskan bush AC store instead of the kiosk arrangement of many Russian shops, restaurants and pubs everywhere, most of them advertising free wi-fi. The sheer number of "Mongolian Irish Pub" joints in the downtown sector is unbelievable. While the Mongolian language uses the Russian cyrillic letters, there are more bilingual signs here than I saw in Moscow. Some of the translations give me a giggle, I should have taken more pictures...
I spent a lot of time on Saturday and Sunday morning trying to make arrangements for a trip to the countryside. Mongolia is a very difficult place for an independent traveler - beyond major cities, good roads and public transportation just do not exist. Standard practice is to get enough people together and rent a jeep or minivan (with driver) and then explore from there. Places to stay are also limited, especially after the peak summer season. Several of the guesthouses have connections set up in various spots and will work with people to plan an itinerary with transport, but you definitely have to "shop around" and as a solo traveler, find at least 3 or 4 other people to split the costs. I was lucky to meet a couple from Spain last night who had a similar time span and seem like really great folks. We waited until this morning to find another 2 people to join in, and now have a plan to leave tomorrow (Monday) morning and head into west central Mongolia for 5 days. We will stay in the extra gers of nomadic families and pay them directly for accomodation and food, which I think is the best arrangement. Our itinerary will be: a night in a place that is a smaller version of the Gobi desert, then out further west to a national park for 2 days, where there is a famous waterfall on the Orkhon river, and the potential to attempt riding Mongolian horses and visiting hot springs. On our way back to UB we will visit Karakorum, which is one of the ancient capitals of Mongolia (in 1220, Chinggis Khaan moved it here and then 40 years later his son moved the capital to what is now Beijing, then the remains of Karakorum were used in the construction of Erdene Zuu Monastery in the 16th century. The Monastery still stands, but mostly was destroyed during Stalin's religious purges. We will get a chance to visit, and see what is left!)
Ok, of course there is so much left to write, but I am fading out and this is already so long. So, I will be out until Friday night, and then take the Saturday morning train from UB to Beijing, arriving on Sunday morning for the last leg of my trip. Nohkoi Khorio! (standard greeting when approaching a ger, meaning "please tether your dogs")
Sep 27, 2009
Border
I haven't posted about the train trip into Mongolia yet, so a quick retrospect:
Completely different dynamic than the Moscow to Irkutsk line - instead of a car full of Russian families, I joined the migration of backpackers as we all crammed ourselves into the only train car that would cross the border - there was one Mongolian family as well, but we otherwise saw familiar faces from Irkutsk and Orkhon Island hostels. We went around the southern tip of Lake Baikal overnight, and arrived at the Russian border town of Naushki at around noon the next day. At this point, we were disconnected from the train and stood a solitary train car in a station that had eerily little of the previous Russian station bustle. No one selling pirok and beer on the platform here, and the station was completely empty: no people, no decoration, no stores. At one point, a cow wandered up onto the station platform and calmly munched its way down the dreary remains of flowerbeds.
We sat throughout the entire gloomy afternoon until 4 pm, when an invasion of different colored uniforms began the border check process - the longest border crossing I have ever been through. More waiting as we acquired an engine and then began rolling our solo car towards Mongolia. The scenery here has changed from the Siberia of the previous trip - out of the pine forest and into scrub, steppe, hills, and large meandering rivers. As we approached the Mongolian border town of Sukh Baatar, first glimpses of gers set up along the riverside, just out of town. We repeated the series of checks and customs on the Mongolia side, and officially entered the country at around 10 pm. At this point, our train of one car grew again for the local service into Ulan Baatar - we arrived around 8 am, and took in Saturday morning in the capitol on an early morning backpack walk down "Peace Avenue" in search of a good guesthouse. Glad to be here.
Completely different dynamic than the Moscow to Irkutsk line - instead of a car full of Russian families, I joined the migration of backpackers as we all crammed ourselves into the only train car that would cross the border - there was one Mongolian family as well, but we otherwise saw familiar faces from Irkutsk and Orkhon Island hostels. We went around the southern tip of Lake Baikal overnight, and arrived at the Russian border town of Naushki at around noon the next day. At this point, we were disconnected from the train and stood a solitary train car in a station that had eerily little of the previous Russian station bustle. No one selling pirok and beer on the platform here, and the station was completely empty: no people, no decoration, no stores. At one point, a cow wandered up onto the station platform and calmly munched its way down the dreary remains of flowerbeds.
We sat throughout the entire gloomy afternoon until 4 pm, when an invasion of different colored uniforms began the border check process - the longest border crossing I have ever been through. More waiting as we acquired an engine and then began rolling our solo car towards Mongolia. The scenery here has changed from the Siberia of the previous trip - out of the pine forest and into scrub, steppe, hills, and large meandering rivers. As we approached the Mongolian border town of Sukh Baatar, first glimpses of gers set up along the riverside, just out of town. We repeated the series of checks and customs on the Mongolia side, and officially entered the country at around 10 pm. At this point, our train of one car grew again for the local service into Ulan Baatar - we arrived around 8 am, and took in Saturday morning in the capitol on an early morning backpack walk down "Peace Avenue" in search of a good guesthouse. Glad to be here.
Sep 25, 2009
Sep 23, 2009
Olkhon Island
I've just got back to Irkutsk from a 3 day trip up to Olkhon Island, an amazing place about halfway up Lake Baikal - 4th largest island-in-a-lake in the world, and one of the old centers of shamanism in this area. I didn't originally think I would have enough time for this side trip, but decided to go for it anyways and am very glad I did. I'm pretty tired, but will try an write a coherent post :)
We left Irkutsk early in the morning in a minibus, which I knew from a previous trip to Listvyanka would be filled to the top with people- we looked a little like a clown car by the time we finally left the station. Nearly all were backpackers, but there were two Russian men on our bench, and I ended up as a semi-translator for questions from the backpackers (is the snow usual this time of year, how high does it get?) As usual, a pretty hilarious exchange where I only understood about 50% and nodded the rest of the time... We zoomed north through flat fields, evidence of recent farming and some large greenhouses, a few very small and crumbling villages, and then we turned east and headed over the hills toward Baikal - my favorite part, and it was sooo difficult to be trapped in a crazy Russian minibus with no way to photograph it all.
As we got higher, the forests were almost completely birch and larch, more larch than I have ever seen before. Almost every larch was a glowing bright orange, an incredible color against the snow, and the whole forest looked like it had been scorched but was still vibrant... After about 6 hours we came to the ferry crossing for the island and huddled with other minibuses and cars while we waited for the boat to cross - enough time to get blood circulation back to our legs! The wind was bitter cold, it reminded me of a brisk January day in Kodiak as we crossed to the island and climbed back into our bus for another hour onto the main village of Kazhir. Kazhir is mostly Buryat, a local indigenous people, and fishing is a major part of village life - as we drove toward our hostel, I was watching several people sort out their small gillnets in the street.
I had met another English woman traveling alone, and we were close buddies by the time we reached Olkhon - we shared a room at the Island's backpacker central, which is almost a village within a village owned by a former Olympic table tennis champion. Our room was above the banya, with a view out over a few other buildings, yurts, and fences to the cliffs along the lakeshore - pretty much awesome. Even though it was bitter cold, the late afternoon sun and sunset came through the clouds and I went running around on the bluffs taking photos, especially of the photogenic twisted pines with trunks that were completely wrapped in brightly colored fabrics, the equivalent of prayer flags, I think.
With only one full day to really spend here, Kath and I planned for a long hike into the woods, which was great fun, although we never really figured out which path we had ended up taking- I think we made it almost across to the eastern shore of the island, but there we got stopped when the snow got too deep. It was great to have a chance to really stretch the legs and go, after time traveling. We started off in sand and pines and ended up in snow and larch, and then slid our way back down to spend a few hours in the evening on the coastline. I got to soak my tired feet in the lake (said to add 5 years to your life- a full swim will supposedly add 25 years...) and had a solitary walk along a long rocky beach at sunset, watching a boat pull in it's net and just enjoying the peace and space. The cliffs run out to a rocky point that is known as the Shamanka, or Shaman's rock (one of the Asian Most Sacred Places), and I watched the last bit of clouds light up from the grassy steppe above the rock, trying to absorb whatever power may be there for travelers passing through.
There was hot mulled wine in the evenings, and travelers talking plans and routes - this is maybe the most easily social time of backpacking I've ever had, perhaps because there are fewer people in a more narrow and defined travel route, and perhaps also because it can be very challenging to travel in some of these areas, and we naturally seek out others for advice and comfort. In some aspects, this has been wonderful - I am rarely alone and I've really enjoyed meeting so many of these people, most of them with long term travel plans that will end in SE Asia or India several months down the line. In other aspects, it seems to take away time spent trying to communicate and learn from local people, and since Russia is the only country out of the 3 I am visiting where the language barrier is not so significant, I keep trying to break out from the safety of other travelers...
There is a certain discomfort I get from traveling in countries where the majority of the population will never have privileges we take for granted in the West, where most people can't imagine taking a month off from work and riding on a train, just for fun. It seems almost to be a kind of voyeurism...even participating in the odd social volunteer program (a week at an orphanage, for example, which I originally looked at) seems like it is mostly just something to soothe my own conscience and does more harm than good to children whose lives are already in enough upheaval. I've had this on my mind a lot lately as we really head out of the West and into the more rural and poor villages. It is a conflict about traveling I've never been able to resolve. However, at least in Russia I can stop and have a conversation with the fishermen picking the algae out of their net, and we can laugh about the fact that I am not married (at, gasp! the ancient age of 28) and I can tell them a little about fishing in Alaska and they can tell me about Baikal. Mongolia and China will be different, and I have been trying to soak up as much of these interactions as possible...
I'm back in Irkutsk now for the afternoon, loosely traveling with a really great pair, an Aussie and a Brit, who were on the Olkhon and will be on my train tonight to Ulan Baatar. I am envious they will have more than a month to explore Mongolia, and I am trying to see as much as possible in just a week - we may combine some travel plans next week, or I may link up with other folks, or try to travel solo out to the countryside. I'll arrive in UB on Saturday morning, and will update plans as they occur!
We left Irkutsk early in the morning in a minibus, which I knew from a previous trip to Listvyanka would be filled to the top with people- we looked a little like a clown car by the time we finally left the station. Nearly all were backpackers, but there were two Russian men on our bench, and I ended up as a semi-translator for questions from the backpackers (is the snow usual this time of year, how high does it get?) As usual, a pretty hilarious exchange where I only understood about 50% and nodded the rest of the time... We zoomed north through flat fields, evidence of recent farming and some large greenhouses, a few very small and crumbling villages, and then we turned east and headed over the hills toward Baikal - my favorite part, and it was sooo difficult to be trapped in a crazy Russian minibus with no way to photograph it all.
As we got higher, the forests were almost completely birch and larch, more larch than I have ever seen before. Almost every larch was a glowing bright orange, an incredible color against the snow, and the whole forest looked like it had been scorched but was still vibrant... After about 6 hours we came to the ferry crossing for the island and huddled with other minibuses and cars while we waited for the boat to cross - enough time to get blood circulation back to our legs! The wind was bitter cold, it reminded me of a brisk January day in Kodiak as we crossed to the island and climbed back into our bus for another hour onto the main village of Kazhir. Kazhir is mostly Buryat, a local indigenous people, and fishing is a major part of village life - as we drove toward our hostel, I was watching several people sort out their small gillnets in the street.
I had met another English woman traveling alone, and we were close buddies by the time we reached Olkhon - we shared a room at the Island's backpacker central, which is almost a village within a village owned by a former Olympic table tennis champion. Our room was above the banya, with a view out over a few other buildings, yurts, and fences to the cliffs along the lakeshore - pretty much awesome. Even though it was bitter cold, the late afternoon sun and sunset came through the clouds and I went running around on the bluffs taking photos, especially of the photogenic twisted pines with trunks that were completely wrapped in brightly colored fabrics, the equivalent of prayer flags, I think.
With only one full day to really spend here, Kath and I planned for a long hike into the woods, which was great fun, although we never really figured out which path we had ended up taking- I think we made it almost across to the eastern shore of the island, but there we got stopped when the snow got too deep. It was great to have a chance to really stretch the legs and go, after time traveling. We started off in sand and pines and ended up in snow and larch, and then slid our way back down to spend a few hours in the evening on the coastline. I got to soak my tired feet in the lake (said to add 5 years to your life- a full swim will supposedly add 25 years...) and had a solitary walk along a long rocky beach at sunset, watching a boat pull in it's net and just enjoying the peace and space. The cliffs run out to a rocky point that is known as the Shamanka, or Shaman's rock (one of the Asian Most Sacred Places), and I watched the last bit of clouds light up from the grassy steppe above the rock, trying to absorb whatever power may be there for travelers passing through.
There was hot mulled wine in the evenings, and travelers talking plans and routes - this is maybe the most easily social time of backpacking I've ever had, perhaps because there are fewer people in a more narrow and defined travel route, and perhaps also because it can be very challenging to travel in some of these areas, and we naturally seek out others for advice and comfort. In some aspects, this has been wonderful - I am rarely alone and I've really enjoyed meeting so many of these people, most of them with long term travel plans that will end in SE Asia or India several months down the line. In other aspects, it seems to take away time spent trying to communicate and learn from local people, and since Russia is the only country out of the 3 I am visiting where the language barrier is not so significant, I keep trying to break out from the safety of other travelers...
There is a certain discomfort I get from traveling in countries where the majority of the population will never have privileges we take for granted in the West, where most people can't imagine taking a month off from work and riding on a train, just for fun. It seems almost to be a kind of voyeurism...even participating in the odd social volunteer program (a week at an orphanage, for example, which I originally looked at) seems like it is mostly just something to soothe my own conscience and does more harm than good to children whose lives are already in enough upheaval. I've had this on my mind a lot lately as we really head out of the West and into the more rural and poor villages. It is a conflict about traveling I've never been able to resolve. However, at least in Russia I can stop and have a conversation with the fishermen picking the algae out of their net, and we can laugh about the fact that I am not married (at, gasp! the ancient age of 28) and I can tell them a little about fishing in Alaska and they can tell me about Baikal. Mongolia and China will be different, and I have been trying to soak up as much of these interactions as possible...
I'm back in Irkutsk now for the afternoon, loosely traveling with a really great pair, an Aussie and a Brit, who were on the Olkhon and will be on my train tonight to Ulan Baatar. I am envious they will have more than a month to explore Mongolia, and I am trying to see as much as possible in just a week - we may combine some travel plans next week, or I may link up with other folks, or try to travel solo out to the countryside. I'll arrive in UB on Saturday morning, and will update plans as they occur!
Sep 21, 2009
Out of the City
Brief day trip to Listvyanka today - the small town on the shores of Baikal, the most direct route (60 km) from Irkutsk. It was another soggy day, and I had to keep wiping at the condensation on the inside of the crowded minibus to see the wet forest and overcast colors of the wide Angara River. Listvyanka in general has caught on to the tourist gig and is not the best place to experience Baikal, but I ended up having a great afternoon.
At first I just walked the shoreline promenade, where the storm seemed to still be going full force - the kind of weather that makes me think of cliches like "scudding clouds" and "windswept seas" - there were whitecaps and wild, dark skies to the north. I got thoroughly whipped walking around and had to stop in for a cup of tea, but then I started up the main street of the village that runs up a beautiful little valley, and things seemed to calm down. It was so peaceful after the chatter of the train and the 2 days of Irkutsk (there is just something about these cities, so much easier to overwhelm with sounds and smells - usually the acrid diesel fumes and something like river mud mixed with faint sewer).
I was taking deep breaths and enjoying the climb and the steep hillsides of pine and birch. I stopped outside a village house that had a sign for rooms to rent - I had seen a note about it at the hostel, and the owners showed me around: classic banya in a low woodshed, separate little Siberian outbuilding for guests, with an old style hearth/wood-fire-cooking stove. There was incredible detail inside, different kinds of wood carved for decoration - all of this explained to me in rapid Russian, not all of which I understood. The main house was also low and intricately carved, with a colorful flower and vegetable garden all around. I noticed a woodshed stocked with firewood, which was common all along this street - made me think of the long process of wood gathering in Kodiak...
I walked a little further and came upon an art gallery co-op in a building with vaulted ceilings and skylights and lost track of how much time I spent looking at paintings. The owner was at work in his shed when I stopped by, and seemed such an unlikely person to have this place- more like a Roma gypsy than anything else. I walked up to the end of the valley road and couldn't get enough of the early evening fall chill, woodsmoke in the air, little patches of snow still on the ground, birches in full flame. I need more of this fresh air and quiet! If I had more time and the weather had been better, I would have hiked the 15 km along the lake to Bolshie Koty, a traditional fishing village only accessible by foot or water (sound familiar?) The short time in Listvyanka emphasized the unfortunate side of this kind of travel - I was ready to settle in for a week in a cabin the back of someone's garden, banya at hand, and just be as much a part of the village as possible. But sadly, this month is much more about constant motion than digging in anywhere specific.
I've decided to skip the day I had planned Ulan Ude, and just go straight from Irkutsk to Ulan Baatar (Mongolia) on Thursday night. I'll arrive in Mongolia on Saturday morning and will be there for a week. In the next three days, I'll take advantage of the extra time to go up to Olxhon Island, which is a 6 hour ride by minibus north. I'm really excited to see this place, it is wild steppe and forest, sacred to the indigenous Evenkii people, and really iconic as part of the Lake Baikal landscape. Can't wait!
At first I just walked the shoreline promenade, where the storm seemed to still be going full force - the kind of weather that makes me think of cliches like "scudding clouds" and "windswept seas" - there were whitecaps and wild, dark skies to the north. I got thoroughly whipped walking around and had to stop in for a cup of tea, but then I started up the main street of the village that runs up a beautiful little valley, and things seemed to calm down. It was so peaceful after the chatter of the train and the 2 days of Irkutsk (there is just something about these cities, so much easier to overwhelm with sounds and smells - usually the acrid diesel fumes and something like river mud mixed with faint sewer).
I was taking deep breaths and enjoying the climb and the steep hillsides of pine and birch. I stopped outside a village house that had a sign for rooms to rent - I had seen a note about it at the hostel, and the owners showed me around: classic banya in a low woodshed, separate little Siberian outbuilding for guests, with an old style hearth/wood-fire-cooking stove. There was incredible detail inside, different kinds of wood carved for decoration - all of this explained to me in rapid Russian, not all of which I understood. The main house was also low and intricately carved, with a colorful flower and vegetable garden all around. I noticed a woodshed stocked with firewood, which was common all along this street - made me think of the long process of wood gathering in Kodiak...
I walked a little further and came upon an art gallery co-op in a building with vaulted ceilings and skylights and lost track of how much time I spent looking at paintings. The owner was at work in his shed when I stopped by, and seemed such an unlikely person to have this place- more like a Roma gypsy than anything else. I walked up to the end of the valley road and couldn't get enough of the early evening fall chill, woodsmoke in the air, little patches of snow still on the ground, birches in full flame. I need more of this fresh air and quiet! If I had more time and the weather had been better, I would have hiked the 15 km along the lake to Bolshie Koty, a traditional fishing village only accessible by foot or water (sound familiar?) The short time in Listvyanka emphasized the unfortunate side of this kind of travel - I was ready to settle in for a week in a cabin the back of someone's garden, banya at hand, and just be as much a part of the village as possible. But sadly, this month is much more about constant motion than digging in anywhere specific.
I've decided to skip the day I had planned Ulan Ude, and just go straight from Irkutsk to Ulan Baatar (Mongolia) on Thursday night. I'll arrive in Mongolia on Saturday morning and will be there for a week. In the next three days, I'll take advantage of the extra time to go up to Olxhon Island, which is a 6 hour ride by minibus north. I'm really excited to see this place, it is wild steppe and forest, sacred to the indigenous Evenkii people, and really iconic as part of the Lake Baikal landscape. Can't wait!
Market tidbit
So, on my way to catch a bus today, I got sidetracked again by the central market for about two hours and had buckets of fun walking around the outdoor stalls in the rain, taking photos. This provoked several stumbling conversations about where I was from, where I was going, and why on earth did I want to take photos of garlic and turnips? I always ask before taking a photo, and usually the vendors stipulate not to include them in the picture, but one woman teased me and said, i ya? And me? Koneshna! Of course! So she posed proudly with her produce, and then we did a few more so she could see the digital version each time. This happened with a few other vendors as well, and their neighbors would giggle and tease them back.
I tried to capture a few of the stalls from a distance, getting more people into the picture, but there are so many I would love to just get candid portraits - the mouth full of gold teeth, the elaborate scarf headwrap, the folds and wrinkles and deep set eyes of an old babushka... And if I were really bold enough, I would do an entire photo series of Russian women's footwear. I had forgotten their peculiar talent for balancing confidently in 5 inch patent leather spikes on uneven pavement in rain, snow, sleet and hail, while purchasing a bag of potatoes and onions. It really is unbelievable the variety and fashion-conscious styles sported by many...and the sexy leather boots! I saw a pair today that were going for the Pretty Woman prize, and a few others that just have crazy details and fandangles, all with those high, high heels. The easiest way to tell that I am a foreigner is my sensible hiking shoes - and I think that no self-respecting Irkutsk or Moscow urbanite would be caught dead wearing my chaco sandals!
I tried to capture a few of the stalls from a distance, getting more people into the picture, but there are so many I would love to just get candid portraits - the mouth full of gold teeth, the elaborate scarf headwrap, the folds and wrinkles and deep set eyes of an old babushka... And if I were really bold enough, I would do an entire photo series of Russian women's footwear. I had forgotten their peculiar talent for balancing confidently in 5 inch patent leather spikes on uneven pavement in rain, snow, sleet and hail, while purchasing a bag of potatoes and onions. It really is unbelievable the variety and fashion-conscious styles sported by many...and the sexy leather boots! I saw a pair today that were going for the Pretty Woman prize, and a few others that just have crazy details and fandangles, all with those high, high heels. The easiest way to tell that I am a foreigner is my sensible hiking shoes - and I think that no self-respecting Irkutsk or Moscow urbanite would be caught dead wearing my chaco sandals!
Sep 20, 2009
AK Trivia
Innocent, there are beautiful paintings of him all over the outside of
the church. Inside was lovely and quiet, a few russian women in
headscarves, lighting candles and murmering prayers...
Random Irkutsk 2
one with kiwi and coconut.
Sep 19, 2009
Trans-Sib Part Dva: the land that goes by
There were so many places along this journey I wanted to yell at the top of my lungs: stop the train! I want to explore! We left the Moscow station at night, and sometime in the wee hours we passed Nizhny Novgorod, which is the capital city of the area I lived during my exchange - I didn't realize until I woke up at sunrise the next morning that we were farther east than I had ever been. When we left, it still seemed like summer in Moscow - some of the leaves were changing, but the gardens around the Kremlin were still in full bloom, and everyone was out in short sleeves, eating ice cream and wearing sunglasses. For the first day of our journey, it still seemed like we were just on the cusp of fall: the stands of tall birch had splotches of color here and there and the grasses were just beginning to change (including something that looked very much like fireweed, gone to tuft and beginning to turn red).
There were fewer industrial cities than I expected, but tiny settlements up against the tracks here and there, old style wooden houses with garden plots and dirt roads. At one point we passed two crumbling complexes that looked as though they were prisons or detainment camps - they had watchtowers set around the fenced perimeter and bunker-type buildings within.
We never stopped long enough at any of the stations to go beyond the platform. I would see a solitary fellow walking along one of the village settlement roads, or someone riding a rusted bicycle along a path near the tracks, and wish that we had the chance to stop in these out of the way places. On the second night we passed through the foothills of Ural Mountains and did not see the obelisk that marks the border of Europe and Asia. The land became more open, with grassy stretches and fields where hay had been scythed and appeared to be gathered by hand into stacks - the kind of landscape you might see in a Van Gogh painting, which also made me think of the part in Anna Karenina when Lev goes out into the fields to work with the peasants. We passed Omsk and Novosibirisk, the largest city in Siberia.
Dostoevsky was exiled to Omsk in 1849 - the Siberian exile system of the Tsars was rarely practiced by the beginning of the 20th century, but Stalin brought it back on a whole new level with the vast network of Gulags, the main administration centers for a variety of work camps, resettlement programs, and psychiatric hospitals. It is easy to see why escape from the Gulag seemed unlikely - open bogs and wide rivers and forests that stretched to the horizon. We seem to have passed into full-blown fall at this point- everything either dark red or burnt orange or yellow, another beautiful sunrise as I lay in my top berth and watched the colors all light up from the low angle of the sun across the flat Siberian plain.
On our third day we woke up to heavy skies, the dark and wet trunks of pine trees, and wet leaves on the ground everywhere. We started twisting and turning through more hills and the landscape with dark evergreens and late fall color made me think of New Hamshire. At one point in the morning, we started to see the first light layer of snow from the night before, and as we climbed a bit higher, we went through a village that looked like a remote Christmas card, leaves entirely gone and evergreens with a few inches of snow under low clouds. We twisted back out to fall again, and through my favorite scenery of the trip, on the way to Krasnoyarsk. It seemed like we passed by village after village, some with beautiful woodwork on the houses and rich black soil in their turned over gardens. Cabbage, it seemed, was the major crop still in active harvest. This did not seem like an isolated place at all, but part of a larger community. We would climb a bit and the valleys and ridges of green and orange would suddenly open up on one side, while the houses seemed to fit perfectly with the landscape...
Krasnoyarsk is the jumping off point for taking a train south into the Republic of Tuva, part of the Russian Federation, but only just. Ever since reading Richard Feinman's "Stamps from Tuva", I've thought of this place as sort of the ends of the earth, but the Trans-Sib edges fairly close to the border at this point - probably the closest I will ever get.
By the afternoon, we had passed the halfway point for the rail between Moscow and Beijing, and overnight we rolled through the middle of Siberia and crossed the Angara River in the early morning light into Irkutsk.
There were fewer industrial cities than I expected, but tiny settlements up against the tracks here and there, old style wooden houses with garden plots and dirt roads. At one point we passed two crumbling complexes that looked as though they were prisons or detainment camps - they had watchtowers set around the fenced perimeter and bunker-type buildings within.
We never stopped long enough at any of the stations to go beyond the platform. I would see a solitary fellow walking along one of the village settlement roads, or someone riding a rusted bicycle along a path near the tracks, and wish that we had the chance to stop in these out of the way places. On the second night we passed through the foothills of Ural Mountains and did not see the obelisk that marks the border of Europe and Asia. The land became more open, with grassy stretches and fields where hay had been scythed and appeared to be gathered by hand into stacks - the kind of landscape you might see in a Van Gogh painting, which also made me think of the part in Anna Karenina when Lev goes out into the fields to work with the peasants. We passed Omsk and Novosibirisk, the largest city in Siberia.
Dostoevsky was exiled to Omsk in 1849 - the Siberian exile system of the Tsars was rarely practiced by the beginning of the 20th century, but Stalin brought it back on a whole new level with the vast network of Gulags, the main administration centers for a variety of work camps, resettlement programs, and psychiatric hospitals. It is easy to see why escape from the Gulag seemed unlikely - open bogs and wide rivers and forests that stretched to the horizon. We seem to have passed into full-blown fall at this point- everything either dark red or burnt orange or yellow, another beautiful sunrise as I lay in my top berth and watched the colors all light up from the low angle of the sun across the flat Siberian plain.
On our third day we woke up to heavy skies, the dark and wet trunks of pine trees, and wet leaves on the ground everywhere. We started twisting and turning through more hills and the landscape with dark evergreens and late fall color made me think of New Hamshire. At one point in the morning, we started to see the first light layer of snow from the night before, and as we climbed a bit higher, we went through a village that looked like a remote Christmas card, leaves entirely gone and evergreens with a few inches of snow under low clouds. We twisted back out to fall again, and through my favorite scenery of the trip, on the way to Krasnoyarsk. It seemed like we passed by village after village, some with beautiful woodwork on the houses and rich black soil in their turned over gardens. Cabbage, it seemed, was the major crop still in active harvest. This did not seem like an isolated place at all, but part of a larger community. We would climb a bit and the valleys and ridges of green and orange would suddenly open up on one side, while the houses seemed to fit perfectly with the landscape...
Krasnoyarsk is the jumping off point for taking a train south into the Republic of Tuva, part of the Russian Federation, but only just. Ever since reading Richard Feinman's "Stamps from Tuva", I've thought of this place as sort of the ends of the earth, but the Trans-Sib edges fairly close to the border at this point - probably the closest I will ever get.
By the afternoon, we had passed the halfway point for the rail between Moscow and Beijing, and overnight we rolled through the middle of Siberia and crossed the Angara River in the early morning light into Irkutsk.
Trans-Sib Part One: the people you meet
5,185 km from Moscow and nearly 4 days on the "Rossiya", we pulled into Irkutsk this morning - it was a fantastic ride, one I almost didn't want to end. This particular train is one of two that runs the classic route from Moscow to Vladivostok - another 3 days and I would have been in the very far east of Russia! How to even sum up the trip across Siberia?
I was riding a bit on nerves, showing up at the Yaraslovsky train station in Moscow - I hadn't seen a single backpacker on the metro in 2 days, nor at the hotel either, so was a little relieved to run into a gentleman sitting among his bags on the platform as the sun went down and we waited for the sign to show our departure points- it turned out he was taking the #4 train (the Chinese train that runs from Moscow to Beijing, that I hope to ride partway), but it was great to talk travel plans and preparation and what the weather in Mongolia would likely be. Talk about first inspiring person of the trip: he was laid off and is taking his severance pay and traveling for 8 months- he is Finnish, and is traveling by train to China, where he will buy a bicycle and ride through China, SE Asia, and then try and get his bike to India, for another 2 months of riding around. He is keeping a blog, though not much on it at this point: http://blogs.kilroytravels.fi/tahkis/home
I think this is one of my absolute favorite things about traveling, especially on routes that attract grandiose plans and downright crazy intentions - the people and the stories are so inspiring and wild and out of the ordinary. I had no idea who might be sharing my compartment for the long ride, so as our platform number lit up, I was scanning the crowd of Russians and the few backpackers and wondering... Each train car has its own "provodnik" - usually a woman - who rules the car for the duration and dictates according to whim. Our provodnik gave me a compartment number and I bulldozed down the aisle with two rucksacks and a bag of groceries. As I stuck my head into the tidy blue 4-berth room, a slight blonde Russian woman looked back at me with quickly disguised horror when she realized her companion was a somewhat grubby backpacker... a few minutes later, another girl, about my age with short wild brown hair and two backpacks of her own stepped in and we worked through introductions:
Irena, originally from Vladivostok now living in Chita (next big city east of Ulan Ude, about another day beyond Irkutsk) and returning from visiting her family in Moscow and St. Petersburg. She's tiny, with expressive blue eyes, little makeup, and doesn't look her age of 49. Her English in minimal, so in the beginning she and I mostly speak Russian. My other companion is Mariette: French, 27 and just quite her job at a design firm in Belgium to ride across and into China, then down to Vietnam and a year in Australia. She spent an exchange year in Arkansas, but still speaks with a quasi Brittish accent that is pretty damn cute. When the two of us began gabbing away, Irena's eyes get big and she wanted to know how Mariette speaks so well. This is the beginning of 4 days of multi-lingual communication that is just sooo much fun - sometimes part charades, part invented dictionary and part smile/nod.
We were in a family car of all Russians - 3 different families at least. I think most backpackers were on the #4, which has something of the "party train" reputation. Although sometimes I felt we were too mellow for the great occassion of crossing Russia, I am glad to have had the experience with less of a tourist aspect. On our first night, Irena brought out a bottle of Cognac, which became more ceremonial in the evening than a means to get drunk (not so much some of the Russian men on the train, especially a military officer next door, who was pretty heavy on the beer for most of the trip). Between the three of us, we covered work, family, love, divorce, solo travel and Russian trivia, and were content with our own social bubble. The time passed much more quickly than I thought it would, with our communal picnics (of bread, cheese, sausage, chocolate, and fruit), drinking chai, reading, writing, staring out the window at the country, and then back to talking again. On our last night, we all exchanged contact info and Mariette and I teased Irena that she would be happy to have a peaceful compartment again once we left. She teared up just a little and said: I am very happy to have met you in my life. Which almost made me tear up- I feel I have been so lucky to travel in this company.
I did not have a specific plan for a place to stay in Irkutsk my first night, so I went with Mariette to the hostel she had planned, and we spent some time today fighting a brisk wind and snowstorm and are now back at the hostel, where there is the classic traveling scenario: a few fellows from Sweden that will be taking 4 months to end up in Nepal, a pair of guys from Manchester who will be following the trans-mongolian route with 3 weeks in Mongolia, two Swedish women I haven't yet had a chance to really meet, and all of us wanderers talking plans over a bottle of vodka and plate of veggies and sausage while the storm keeps blowing outside...
I was riding a bit on nerves, showing up at the Yaraslovsky train station in Moscow - I hadn't seen a single backpacker on the metro in 2 days, nor at the hotel either, so was a little relieved to run into a gentleman sitting among his bags on the platform as the sun went down and we waited for the sign to show our departure points- it turned out he was taking the #4 train (the Chinese train that runs from Moscow to Beijing, that I hope to ride partway), but it was great to talk travel plans and preparation and what the weather in Mongolia would likely be. Talk about first inspiring person of the trip: he was laid off and is taking his severance pay and traveling for 8 months- he is Finnish, and is traveling by train to China, where he will buy a bicycle and ride through China, SE Asia, and then try and get his bike to India, for another 2 months of riding around. He is keeping a blog, though not much on it at this point: http://blogs.kilroytravels.fi/tahkis/home
I think this is one of my absolute favorite things about traveling, especially on routes that attract grandiose plans and downright crazy intentions - the people and the stories are so inspiring and wild and out of the ordinary. I had no idea who might be sharing my compartment for the long ride, so as our platform number lit up, I was scanning the crowd of Russians and the few backpackers and wondering... Each train car has its own "provodnik" - usually a woman - who rules the car for the duration and dictates according to whim. Our provodnik gave me a compartment number and I bulldozed down the aisle with two rucksacks and a bag of groceries. As I stuck my head into the tidy blue 4-berth room, a slight blonde Russian woman looked back at me with quickly disguised horror when she realized her companion was a somewhat grubby backpacker... a few minutes later, another girl, about my age with short wild brown hair and two backpacks of her own stepped in and we worked through introductions:
Irena, originally from Vladivostok now living in Chita (next big city east of Ulan Ude, about another day beyond Irkutsk) and returning from visiting her family in Moscow and St. Petersburg. She's tiny, with expressive blue eyes, little makeup, and doesn't look her age of 49. Her English in minimal, so in the beginning she and I mostly speak Russian. My other companion is Mariette: French, 27 and just quite her job at a design firm in Belgium to ride across and into China, then down to Vietnam and a year in Australia. She spent an exchange year in Arkansas, but still speaks with a quasi Brittish accent that is pretty damn cute. When the two of us began gabbing away, Irena's eyes get big and she wanted to know how Mariette speaks so well. This is the beginning of 4 days of multi-lingual communication that is just sooo much fun - sometimes part charades, part invented dictionary and part smile/nod.
We were in a family car of all Russians - 3 different families at least. I think most backpackers were on the #4, which has something of the "party train" reputation. Although sometimes I felt we were too mellow for the great occassion of crossing Russia, I am glad to have had the experience with less of a tourist aspect. On our first night, Irena brought out a bottle of Cognac, which became more ceremonial in the evening than a means to get drunk (not so much some of the Russian men on the train, especially a military officer next door, who was pretty heavy on the beer for most of the trip). Between the three of us, we covered work, family, love, divorce, solo travel and Russian trivia, and were content with our own social bubble. The time passed much more quickly than I thought it would, with our communal picnics (of bread, cheese, sausage, chocolate, and fruit), drinking chai, reading, writing, staring out the window at the country, and then back to talking again. On our last night, we all exchanged contact info and Mariette and I teased Irena that she would be happy to have a peaceful compartment again once we left. She teared up just a little and said: I am very happy to have met you in my life. Which almost made me tear up- I feel I have been so lucky to travel in this company.
I did not have a specific plan for a place to stay in Irkutsk my first night, so I went with Mariette to the hostel she had planned, and we spent some time today fighting a brisk wind and snowstorm and are now back at the hostel, where there is the classic traveling scenario: a few fellows from Sweden that will be taking 4 months to end up in Nepal, a pair of guys from Manchester who will be following the trans-mongolian route with 3 weeks in Mongolia, two Swedish women I haven't yet had a chance to really meet, and all of us wanderers talking plans over a bottle of vodka and plate of veggies and sausage while the storm keeps blowing outside...
Sep 18, 2009
Irkutsk morning
snowstorm this morning, I think it will move on again soon, but the
view as we walked from the station to the hostel was very Siberian :)
Sep 15, 2009
Last minute
I had all sorts of things to write about- red square yesterday, going
to the bathhouse and taking a banya, Russian style, and the morning
walk I had today, not to mention some funny metro stories, but I am
running low on time and have to settle for poaching random wireless
with my phone- not so speedy with the one finger typing...
to the bathhouse and taking a banya, Russian style, and the morning
walk I had today, not to mention some funny metro stories, but I am
running low on time and have to settle for poaching random wireless
with my phone- not so speedy with the one finger typing...
It is a beautiful fall day here, I've been walking a lot in the city
center area- so much history here, and of course so much more grand
and imposing than my memories. This city has such a lot of paradox,
it is fascinating- I think I would struggle to explain even if I could
really type! I wish I had more time to really explore, especially
away from all of the big sites- all of those funky corners and
forgotten relics of everything this place has seen.
I leave tonight on the train to Irkutsk, Which will take about 4 days
with no real stops (20 minutes at most stations). Curious who I might
meet, what kind of dynamic there will be, how much booze should I
bring with me, the important stuff, you know. I can't wait to really
experiance just how enormous this landscape is- the leaves are
starting to turn here, so I'm hopeful for some fall color in the
boreal forests...
If I chance on some real Internet tonight I'll write more, otherwise I
am off to run around the kremlin for a bit and then get supplies and
head out for the station. Paka!
Sent from my iPhone
Blini!
one item per iPhone email...
Sep 14, 2009
Back in the USSR (former)
Well, lest you think that Mother Russia welcomed me back to her bosom with open arms... I can somewhat grumpily report that Sheremetyevo airport is every bit the horror it was 11 years ago - only this time, I was fending for myself. As you arrive in Moscow, the first thing you notice is the stampede down the stairs to Passport Control, which is a smallish room, no services, and a low, waffle-iron type ceiling that flickers flourescent spotlights. As I realized later, the smart people are the ones that literally run to be first in line, because if you are not at the beginning, everything else is total chaos. Russia has a passion for queing up into various lines, which I think must be holdover from the Soviet era - if you don't stand in a mismanaged line for at least an hour, it doesn't count.
So, 2 hours later, I finally made it through, with no less than 3 red stamps, to the baggage claim area, which by this time has the luggage from 4 different flights scattered all over the floor. At this point, the fun really begins with the descent of the Russian airport mafia (I am so not kidding). I suppose I was mentally unprepared for what I knew was likely to happen, a scam around every corner, starting with the "porter service" who tried to funnel me right into the waiting taxi vultures. I had anticipated the difficulty of getting all the way across Moscow to the hostel in the evening, and had arranged for a driver to meet me there. But of course, after a 3 hour delay, I was scanning all of the signs in vain: there was no one to meet me. If it had been during the day, I would have just dove into the process of catching a bus to the center of town and then taking the metro, but it was now 9:30 at night, and I just was not feeling ballsy enough. The taxis originally tried to charge me 5,000 rubles for the 60 km drive, which is about 160 US dollars. After approaching the "informatzi" booth and asking for a map and help dialing the hostel number, a completely unsympathetic troll looked at me from under her heavily made-up eye-lids and couldn't be bothered to help. A kind gentleman, who also was part of the taxi vulture crowd, offered to try dialing the hostel - but all we got was a series of beeps. This really made me nervous, since i would hate to go all the way across the city to a place that wouldn't let me in for the night. (I looked at a lot of places to stay in Moscow, this one was recommended and also arranges for visa invitation support, etc., and is one of the less prohibitively expensive places to stay - but at this point, I was thinking it was not such a hot idea, unfortunately, part of the process is to pay the first night up front. It is an understatement to say that finding reasonable accomodation in Moscow is not easy).
I decided finally I would have to bite the bullet and take a taxi, because by now it is 10:30 pm and I am really not going to chance public transit. It took some tears to negotiate the price (some of which were real, more from anger than anything) but we got it down to half of what they originally told me. Still an astronomical amount, but unreasonable charges every once in a while in order to save my sanity are built into the budget. More or less.
I had a great driver (although driving on the roads of Moscow may be even more frightening than driving the streets of Beijing. It is metro for me from here on out) who only had a few words of English, but it was amazing how much Russian came back during the hour drive. I've been speaking very little English since, just making my way along with a halting vocabulary. I almost always preface by saying "I speak bad Russian" which makes people smile. I take pity on the solo traveler entering this country with not even the basic language skills, it has so far saved my bacon many times over.
It is rather amazing and surreal to be back here, some of it is so familiar, from the synthetic pop to the smells of cigarette smoke and perfume- walking around the neighborhood this morning at sunrise, just taking my bearings, I watched people sweep in from all directions toward the metro station, the rush hour to work. There are many kiosks around the station, so I had my breakfast pieroshki and tea and was happy. The hotel/hostel has turned out to be a great value, with the most unexpected thing being a wonderful bathroom, complete with tub and amazing hot water. There is no one in the other room, so I am enjoying the space and solitude before the long train ride. I am still waiting on my official registration (one more process in the beaurocratic cog) but it should come through by noon, and then I am off to the city center for the day. The next post should be much less rant and more about what it was like to be back at Krasnaya Plochadz (Red Square). Dobra Pazhalovat!
So, 2 hours later, I finally made it through, with no less than 3 red stamps, to the baggage claim area, which by this time has the luggage from 4 different flights scattered all over the floor. At this point, the fun really begins with the descent of the Russian airport mafia (I am so not kidding). I suppose I was mentally unprepared for what I knew was likely to happen, a scam around every corner, starting with the "porter service" who tried to funnel me right into the waiting taxi vultures. I had anticipated the difficulty of getting all the way across Moscow to the hostel in the evening, and had arranged for a driver to meet me there. But of course, after a 3 hour delay, I was scanning all of the signs in vain: there was no one to meet me. If it had been during the day, I would have just dove into the process of catching a bus to the center of town and then taking the metro, but it was now 9:30 at night, and I just was not feeling ballsy enough. The taxis originally tried to charge me 5,000 rubles for the 60 km drive, which is about 160 US dollars. After approaching the "informatzi" booth and asking for a map and help dialing the hostel number, a completely unsympathetic troll looked at me from under her heavily made-up eye-lids and couldn't be bothered to help. A kind gentleman, who also was part of the taxi vulture crowd, offered to try dialing the hostel - but all we got was a series of beeps. This really made me nervous, since i would hate to go all the way across the city to a place that wouldn't let me in for the night. (I looked at a lot of places to stay in Moscow, this one was recommended and also arranges for visa invitation support, etc., and is one of the less prohibitively expensive places to stay - but at this point, I was thinking it was not such a hot idea, unfortunately, part of the process is to pay the first night up front. It is an understatement to say that finding reasonable accomodation in Moscow is not easy).
I decided finally I would have to bite the bullet and take a taxi, because by now it is 10:30 pm and I am really not going to chance public transit. It took some tears to negotiate the price (some of which were real, more from anger than anything) but we got it down to half of what they originally told me. Still an astronomical amount, but unreasonable charges every once in a while in order to save my sanity are built into the budget. More or less.
I had a great driver (although driving on the roads of Moscow may be even more frightening than driving the streets of Beijing. It is metro for me from here on out) who only had a few words of English, but it was amazing how much Russian came back during the hour drive. I've been speaking very little English since, just making my way along with a halting vocabulary. I almost always preface by saying "I speak bad Russian" which makes people smile. I take pity on the solo traveler entering this country with not even the basic language skills, it has so far saved my bacon many times over.
It is rather amazing and surreal to be back here, some of it is so familiar, from the synthetic pop to the smells of cigarette smoke and perfume- walking around the neighborhood this morning at sunrise, just taking my bearings, I watched people sweep in from all directions toward the metro station, the rush hour to work. There are many kiosks around the station, so I had my breakfast pieroshki and tea and was happy. The hotel/hostel has turned out to be a great value, with the most unexpected thing being a wonderful bathroom, complete with tub and amazing hot water. There is no one in the other room, so I am enjoying the space and solitude before the long train ride. I am still waiting on my official registration (one more process in the beaurocratic cog) but it should come through by noon, and then I am off to the city center for the day. The next post should be much less rant and more about what it was like to be back at Krasnaya Plochadz (Red Square). Dobra Pazhalovat!
Sep 12, 2009
First Impressions: Beijing
I was up at sunrise this morning, internal clock completely scrambled
and the horns and bustle outside on the street a different urban alarm
to my rural ears... I don't think that the people in this neighborhood
believe in sleeping in on Sundays, and I definitely didn't want to
stay in bed on a beautiful, warm sunny day! I am right by a canal
that apparently hosts a type of farmer's market on the bridge in the
morning - people with their vans and small trucks and motorized
tricycle-wagons selling fruit and corn, pomegranates (of which I
stumbled through my first yuan transaction and bought 4 by mistake)
and baskets and even a man with 4 small birdcages - the birds much too
small to eat, so I suppose he must be selling them as pets. It is
total chaos, of course, with bicycles and taxis and pedestrians in the
middle of the road, with no real concern for collision (something I
noticed last night as well, the sort of intricate dance that is
involved in driving/crossing the street/navigating the crazy mix of
traffic here).
and the horns and bustle outside on the street a different urban alarm
to my rural ears... I don't think that the people in this neighborhood
believe in sleeping in on Sundays, and I definitely didn't want to
stay in bed on a beautiful, warm sunny day! I am right by a canal
that apparently hosts a type of farmer's market on the bridge in the
morning - people with their vans and small trucks and motorized
tricycle-wagons selling fruit and corn, pomegranates (of which I
stumbled through my first yuan transaction and bought 4 by mistake)
and baskets and even a man with 4 small birdcages - the birds much too
small to eat, so I suppose he must be selling them as pets. It is
total chaos, of course, with bicycles and taxis and pedestrians in the
middle of the road, with no real concern for collision (something I
noticed last night as well, the sort of intricate dance that is
involved in driving/crossing the street/navigating the crazy mix of
traffic here).
With all of the hustle of the roadside market, I didn't realize at
first that a network of side streets went back into courtyards and
tree-lined avenues, pleasant shade and peace on an already hot day...
I had a lovely walk through this area, watching everyone turn out for
breakfast outside at the venders (selling fried bread! also had to
have some of this. yum) and plastic tables in front of sidewalk cafes.
There were a number of elderly people gathered in one of the parks
for what looked like group morning kalisthenics (sp?), and other
solitary folks that were down on the different platforms over the
canal, stretching or just sitting and having a quiet thought. At one
point I passed two old women that were perfectly in sync practicing
the routine of Tai Chi. It made me wish I had stuck with that class
for longer than 3 weeks! On one of the avenues, there were remains of
the classic courtyard homes, some in rubble that were being tidied up
- wrought iron fences all along the sidewalk and park benches in
between - all with people sitting and taking in the morning. One
older man alone with a set of prayer beads, quiet.
When I flew in last night, it was to the vast and lonely international
terminal that was built for the Olympics, and the sun was setting in
golden light through the infamous Beijing smog. I think we were the
only flight to go through immigration at the time - I was sweating
bullets because of the quarantine station. I've been fighting a cold
for the past few days, and was nervous about the automatic temperature
sensors, sure they would find something wrong with me and stick me in
quarantine as a possible swine flu carrier. Luckily I rushed on
through, past the indifferent officials wearing face masks, who just
gave me a red stamp and sent me on for the next stage.
My best luck of all was having an old friend living in this city - he
was actually part of our region for the Russia exchange, and we joked
about having a mini Nizhny Novgorod Oblast reunion. Almost all of us
from that area have caught up now via facebook, and so Luca and I had
planned to meet up when my train arrived. With this unexpected long
layover, he was kind enough to offer to meet me at the airport and
help me get set up, the wonderful thing about having friends around
the world! His girlfriend Yin is super sweet and speaks better
English than he does - they took me out to dinner at a rather nice
place, but I am soooo glad they were there to order. We had a feast!
Chinese fashion, we all had small plates and then ordered several
different dishes to share. And oh, the cuisine is fabulous. I knew
it wouldnt be the same as the MSG laden greasy American version, but
the flavors and variety were way beyond my expectations. Too bad I
don't have wireless, otherwise I would upload a photo. There was a
mushroom/bamboo dish, eggplant in yummy fish sauce, roast duck,
cucumber & pickled egg salad, a spicy sechuan peanut dish, dumplings,
and the most exotic dish was chicken feet - which I tried, and liked.
It took us about 3 hours to finish dinner, dessert, and tea.
This is getting very long, so I should just post and go eat my
pomegranates :) I leave this afternoon for Moscow (a city which is
far less intimidating than Beijing) and will be there until the
evening of the 15th, when I board the train. I hope this uploads all
right, I couldn't access the site (I have a feeling that the
government has blocked it, just like facebook) so I'll email it in.
More soon!
Sep 11, 2009
Jitters
almost an old friend- the first time I flew to Russia from this
airport, it was in the pre-9/11-security era, and my extended family
turned out at the gate...and then were there with balloons and signs
in Cyrillic when I returned.
Now I'm sitting at the gate alone, with a good case of the travel
jitters, that strange, non-caffeinated edge that is somehow related to
"fight or flight" adrenaline. So much planning up to this point, but
now just anticipation of all things possible once I step on this first
plane... And in less than 24 hours I'll be in beijing.
Sep 9, 2009
The Fine Print
"Insurance? That's for pessimists" -Out of Africa
So, I am taking out travel insurance for all of the usual things that might happen on adventures, and reading the fine print I had to laugh at this:
In other news, I've had adventures already with the fine print for my Air China flight from Beijing to Moscow - apparently they changed to a winter schedule last week, canceling my flight and booking me on an earlier one. Too bad I wasn't scheduled to arrive in Beijing until after that flight left... After much nail biting and strong feelings of anger and aggression towards the travel company that the airline advised me to use, I am now rebooked on an earlier flight out of the US. Friday morning instead of Saturday morning. Scrambling has begun. All part of the Joy of Travel. Oh, and there is about a 20 hour layover in Beijing. I'm going to be taking a lot of airport photos...
So, I am taking out travel insurance for all of the usual things that might happen on adventures, and reading the fine print I had to laugh at this:
Specific policy amendments for residents of Alaska
The certificate to which this rider is attached is amended as follows:- In the section entitled What this certificate excludes, the exclusion related to terrorism is deleted.
In other news, I've had adventures already with the fine print for my Air China flight from Beijing to Moscow - apparently they changed to a winter schedule last week, canceling my flight and booking me on an earlier one. Too bad I wasn't scheduled to arrive in Beijing until after that flight left... After much nail biting and strong feelings of anger and aggression towards the travel company that the airline advised me to use, I am now rebooked on an earlier flight out of the US. Friday morning instead of Saturday morning. Scrambling has begun. All part of the Joy of Travel. Oh, and there is about a 20 hour layover in Beijing. I'm going to be taking a lot of airport photos...
Sep 7, 2009
Testing...
iPhone right to the blog! Did it work? Photo of my perfected roll-
packing strategy
Sep 3, 2009
я помню: Russia 1998
Old photographs from my American Field Service program in Russia, 1998. The first photo is of the 8 international students traveling by train to Nizhny Novgorod region. I went on from NN to Zavolzhie, tiny town on the Volga.
2nd photo is of my extended Russian host family, in our kvartira (apartment).
3rd photo is of the main road in Zavolzhie, at the corner of the outdoor market in winter, with a babushka selling basic goods.
The next two photos: one of my favorite adventures in the Russian countryside - in the fall, the entire town (or so it seems) goes out to pick mushrooms (gribi) in the forest. My host sister and I with our basket of mushrooms, and the drying rack in our kitchen full of the harvest.
Last photo: AFS Russia students in Moscow, just arrived.
I'm in!
Passport just made it through the Chinese Consulate! After the nail-biting experience of getting the Russia visa approved, this one was a casual 3 day wait... but still. Now some overnight fedex action, and I'll be 100% certified to travel...
Sep 2, 2009
Tidbit: Baikal watershed & mining
Check out: the Tahoe-Baikal Institute: http://www.tahoebaikal.org
A friend of mine facilitates their Summer Environmental Exchange Program, and they do a lot of great work!
I'm reading their policy briefs on the Baikal area, and have been struck by some of the similarities between the Bristol Bay/Pebble Mine natural resource wars and the somewhat less-than-glossy far east version.
Baikal is well known as a unique and incredible area, more than 20 million years old and the earth's largest freshwater source (as much water as the Great Lakes combined) - Baikal was added to the World Heritage Site list in 1996 as "the most outstanding example of a freshwater ecosystem" and has an enormous amount of diversity, especially considering that over 1500 species are endemic: "the Galapagos of Russia." The watershed area for Lake Baikal is just slightly smaller than the area of France, and crosses the international border between Russian and Mongolia ("Lake Baikal Watershed" TBI policy brief).
The watershed also has some pretty incredible mineral and energy resources, with a minimum of oversight and regulation (and some messy international politics), resulting in relatively unchecked development. Until recently, the Baikal Pulp and Paper Mill (BPPM) was the best known point source for pollution actually on Lake Baikal, but lately more attention is focusing on mineral extraction in the watershed, both in Russia and Mongolia.
Many mines are operated illegally and still use inefficient and antiquated methods involving cyanide and mercury. Gold and copper deposits in Mongolia have spurred a "gold rush" in the sub-watershed of the Selenga R., which supplies 50% of the water to Lake Baikal. Described in this article: http://www.pacificenvironment.org/article.php?id=3003
The same website has another article about a local environmental group, the Buryat Regional Organization, that has successfully stalled the development of a lead and zinc mine outside of Ulan Ude: http://pacificenvironment.org/article.php?id=2895
And, bad news about the BPPM re-opening after refusing to convert to a closed system. If you are the petition-signing type, here is an action item:
http://salsa.democracyinaction.org/o/608/t/425/campaign.jsp?campaign_KEY=27804
I'll save my rant about developing the giant open pit Pebble Mine at the headwaters of Bristol Bay for another day...
I'm reading their policy briefs on the Baikal area, and have been struck by some of the similarities between the Bristol Bay/Pebble Mine natural resource wars and the somewhat less-than-glossy far east version.
Baikal is well known as a unique and incredible area, more than 20 million years old and the earth's largest freshwater source (as much water as the Great Lakes combined) - Baikal was added to the World Heritage Site list in 1996 as "the most outstanding example of a freshwater ecosystem" and has an enormous amount of diversity, especially considering that over 1500 species are endemic: "the Galapagos of Russia." The watershed area for Lake Baikal is just slightly smaller than the area of France, and crosses the international border between Russian and Mongolia ("Lake Baikal Watershed" TBI policy brief).
Many mines are operated illegally and still use inefficient and antiquated methods involving cyanide and mercury. Gold and copper deposits in Mongolia have spurred a "gold rush" in the sub-watershed of the Selenga R., which supplies 50% of the water to Lake Baikal. Described in this article: http://www.pacificenvironment.org/article.php?id=3003
The same website has another article about a local environmental group, the Buryat Regional Organization, that has successfully stalled the development of a lead and zinc mine outside of Ulan Ude: http://pacificenvironment.org/article.php?id=2895
And, bad news about the BPPM re-opening after refusing to convert to a closed system. If you are the petition-signing type, here is an action item:
http://salsa.democracyinaction.org/o/608/t/425/campaign.jsp?campaign_KEY=27804I'll save my rant about developing the giant open pit Pebble Mine at the headwaters of Bristol Bay for another day...
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