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British Mensa Travel Special Interest Group |
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A tale of two trains The
Trans-Mongolian Outer Mongolia, like Timbuktu, is symbolic of ‘the middle of nowhere’ in British culture. It is also one of three routes the Trans-Siberian railway takes from Moscow to the Far East. One continues through Russia to Vladivostok and the other two end in Beijing, one crossing Outer Mongolia and the other looping round to the east. The main Vladivostok route was built between 1891 and 1913, with the Mongolian branch-line added in 1947, reaching the Chinese border in 1955. The gauge
of the Trans-Mongolian branch shows the Russian victory in the imperial
tussle with China for influence over their buffer state. At the Chinese
border, the tracks go from 1.52 metres apart to 1.435 metres – just
under 3.5 inches and a world of difference. This is dealt with by having
two sets of wheels, which the carriages are lifted between by crane. Originally
built to give Tsar Alexander III access to his eastern provinces and the
Pacific, the Russians realised that it was a two-way street and used a
different rail gauge to stop military invasions by train. In the trackless
vastness of the forest and the steppes, it doesn’t seem like such
a strange idea – the only road is the railroad. There is a story that Genghis spared the Blue Minaret in Bukhara from destruction because he was amazed by its perpendicular tallness. Having experienced the same kind of wonder in its opposite, on the vast flatness of his homeland, I can believe it. Looking out the window of the train, the appearance of the occasional yurt/ger, flock of sheep or herd of camels only serves to highlight the grassy emptiness around them. I was there on a balmy day in July – Mongolia, cooking in the midsummer sun, can reach up to 40°C. Yet it is still very easy to imagine the winter wind roaring unopposed across the steppes, dropping temperatures below minus 50°C in winter. It has pretty much the most seasonally extreme climate in the world. Climate has a profound effect on humans. A 90°C range shaped the Mongols and answers the question modern historians always ask about the Golden Horde: why were they so vicious? The 13th century Mongols mirrored the brutal intensity of their surroundings and, like their homeland, did everything to the max. Their climate was their greatest predator, utterly unforgiving to carelessness, killing off the weak and steeling the strong. The thoughtless Mongol who forgot his gloves and lost his fingers to frostbite would be far less likely to survive to pass on his genes. Genghis Khan’s people were ruthlessly efficient, though many are too horrified by the medieval ruthlessness to notice the modern efficiency. Temujin was a meritocrat centuries ago, notably unusual in choosing his commanders for ability rather than birth. Despite the example of his resultant success in his chosen field, meritocracy is still a rarity. Even in modern society, it’s still more who you know than what you know. Gazing out the window of the Trans-Mongolian train, you can travel in time as well as space. Chugging across the steppes, barely touched by the millennia, scoured by the eternal wind. Feeling the spirit of Temujin, still the national hero, with his thoroughly modern respect for ability. You don’t have to be a consummate survivor, like him, to spend the day there; modern technology takes care of that. But making the journey brings things that can’t be found in a guidebook or on television – reactions, feelings, thoughts. I knew it was going to be big and flat before I got there, but its extent and the effect on me… I would never have known if I hadn’t been there. The
Trans-Siberian First you find your compartment and stow your luggage on the top bunk or underneath the lower bunk. Then it’s time to explore. You take care not to trip up on the thin green carpet with the flowery pattern which snakes along the corridor. You edge past the timetable on the wall which lists every stop, the arrival times and the period of time that the train will halt at each station (anything from a few minutes to an hour). You walk sideways, crab-like, past a teenage boy in T-shirt and shorts, playing a handheld computer game, or an older man plugging his razor into an adaptor socket, or a mother gazing out of the window at the landscape of birches and purple lupins and giant hogweed. The gentle sway of the carriage tips you towards the half-open doors of compartments in which other passengers are eating Pot Noodles or reading novels or brushing their children’s hair. You pause to look at the samovar, the heavy metal container which Russians use to heat water, and to admire the dials and readings which tell you the water temperature and how much water is inside. The carriage sways again as you pass the small room where a provodnitsa (carriage attendant) sits, passing the time by listening to the radio, playing cards or chatting with one of her colleagues. Provodnitsas wear blue uniforms though sometimes, at station stops, you may spot one of them relaxing in a daring silk dressing gown. They expect you to lift your feet as they vacuum your compartment and, if you’re asleep when the train arrives at your stop, they are not averse to waking you with a friendly pat on the bottom. You stumble past the toilet, pull open the carriage door and step into a no man’s land of darkness between your carriage and the next. You are no longer insulated from the sounds of the train, or the smell of fumes. The floor bucks and writhes beneath your feet. Yellow wires hang from the ceiling, tangling with your hair. Everything is suddenly faster, heavier, noisier, smellier. You open the door to the next carriage. If you’re hungry, you make for the dining car, to sample borscht or solyanka or other Russian specialities. Adding to the food smells may be the odour of washing, hung on the walls to dry. Back in your compartment, unless you’ve booked a four-bed berth to yourself, you’ll have company. As this is a working train, it will almost certainly be Russians, travelling between their homes and visits to relatives or work trips. Depending on the length of your journey and theirs, you may share with several different people within a few days: middle-aged ladies in rose-motif dresses visiting their Army sons; businessmen loaded down with presents for their wives and toys for their children; a young woman and her little girl returning from a trip to the big city, Moscow. If your Russian or their English isn’t good enough for conversation, a pad and pencil comes in handy. When the train reaches a station, the entrepreneurs on the platform entice you with soft toys, cigarettes, flowers, beer, bread, cucumbers, sausage, strawberries, salami, fruit juice, tomatoes and apples. Whoever buys food or drink shares it with the rest of the compartment as everyone looks at the scenery or talks or reads. The Trans-Siberian is neither fast nor glamorous. But it’s an excellent way to travel thousands of miles, while sharing your time with the hospitable and generous Russians. First published in VISA 94 (Dec 2010) |