When you cross one-third of the planet’s land mass by rail, the world truly does flash before your eyes. My epic journey, combining the Trans-Mongolian and Trans-Siberian railways, began with a night train from Shanghai to Beijing, continuing through Mongolia to St. Petersburg – a journey that takes some people months, some only weeks. In all, though, the travel takes 11 solid days and even the most enthusiastic passengers will want to disembark to really stretch their legs.
After the first 30 hours, I was hungry for fresh food and desperate to escape my compartment. Upon arriving in Ulan Bator, I discovered that the Mongolian barbecue stir-fry concept, so popular back home, really is a Western invention. Mongolian food is more challenging on our palette: Think horse intestines and fermented camel milk. I spent one night in the capital, and one in the countryside in a traditional ger (a yurt), soaking up the gorgeous prairie-like countryside, if not the local cuisine.
Next up: The 48-hour passage from Ulan Bator to Irkutsk, Russia. With no dining car and no dining stops along the way, we were grateful the train attendants at least provided hot water. My meals consisted largely of instant noodles, biscuits, sardines and juice I had bought back in Ulan Bator’s State Department Store. My bottle of Tabasco, which I seldom travel without, was worth its weight in gold. Other travellers swung by my compartment hoping to score a few tasty drops. In return, I asked them for spare books – or something other than noodles, biscuits and sardines.
After sharing a compartment – and understandably stilted conversation – with locals on the night train to Beijing, I was happy to share a four-berth compartment with international travellers. (A full 48 hours of sign language and silence can get a bit much.) On long train rides, camaraderie forms between travellers, eager to share their transit tales and, in this case, tips on navigating the labyrinth that is the Chinese, Mongolian and Russian rail network.
Russian border crossings are seldom uneventful, even on the train. For reasons undisclosed, all train toilets are locked for 20 minutes on either side of the border, which would be bearable if this was a 40-minute process. It was not. After nine hours, the sun baked the stalled compartment. Having received no sympathy from the train attendants, the international passengers staged a mutiny.
Stone-faced Russian guards finally relented and allowed us to urinate behind a wall – men and women – under armed supervision. The delay was caused by the discovery that our hard pillows, supplied by the rail network, were actually stuffed with smuggled clothing. Eventually, a bribe made its way to the right authority, and we continued the journey, our pillows (full of mostly Western brands) still intact. The train attendants looked especially relieved.
As we moved, traditional Mongolian gers blended into grey, wooden houses. Old Soviet iconography wilted on stations we passed, Asian faces on the platforms became Caucasian. Travelling such a vast distance overland, we watched geography and culture change before our eyes. It was clear that we were leaving Asia, well on our way to Europe.
To relieve the long Siberian stretch, we spent a few days exploring Irkutsk, a town overlooking Lake Baikal. By volume, it is the world’s largest freshwater lake, and considering you would have to dive 1,600 metres to reach the bottom, the deepest too. Frozen over during the long winter, the lake becomes a popular tourist region in summer, with colourful markets and festive boat cruises. I joined some locals for a dip in the brisk 6 C water and then, to warm up, ventured into a traditional Siberian banya smoke sauna, where we were whipped by an attendant with birch branches. As we exited, a barrel of ice cold lake water was dumped on our heads, leaving us invigorated for the long route ahead, and happy in the knowledge that Siberia is so much more than a Soviet prison sentence.
Because the Trans-Siberia crosses five time zones, authorities have decided that all trains in Russia must run on Moscow time. A warning for those daring to explore platforms during short stops en route: Local and train times are perilously different. Rather than risk getting stranded while searching for sardines, it’s easier to stay on board during the 72-hour ride to Moscow. This train has a dining car, although it is tremendously overpriced and the service is particularly dour. Instant noodles, procured from platform stalls, once again featured prominently on my menu.
I wasted away the long hours reading, sleeping, playing cards and gazing out at the Siberian countryside. The endless rolling green hills and forests, punctuated by small villages and industrial towns, became a blur. I had looked forward to crossing the Ural Mountains, but that stretch took place during the cover of night.
Finally, the train pulled into Moscow, where I spent a few days exploring the city, before the final overnight leg to St. Petersburg. By this stage, I felt like a hardened train veteran. My journey had started in China – exploring Tiananmen Square, the Forbidden City and the Great Wall. In Mongolia, I had enjoyed the big sky, soft-spoken locals and even the boiled lamb. I had swum in the icy waters of Lake Baikal, bought Russian dolls, explored Moscow’s Red Square. But it was the trains that linked all these experiences together. While they didn’t always leave the station on schedule, the memories are timeless.
Special to The Globe and Mail
