Sleeper train

Vilnius to Saint Petersburg

The train stood a clear 9ft tall and a million miles long as we climbed from the subterranean locker room to the platform at Vilnius station. This was the train I had been waiting for. Well, I mean, we’d waited for plenty of trains up till now but for me this was the kind of train which would make this whole experience. Making a carriage your home for however long you have to is a real skill on the transiberian. This relatively short stint, approximately 14 hours, would decide if I could enjoy this kind of ordeal or if we would wilt under the pressure of close confinement.

The silver and red colours made the train look like a sleak 50’s American relic. The roof of all the cars, stretching far off into the Lithuanian night as far as the eye could see, were snow capped and the walls plastered thick with ice. Each wagons chimney belching thick black soot into the purple evening sky as the deep roar of the diesel engines echoed around the empty station.

Each carriage has it’s own attendant and ours was a large cosy looking woman. She beckoned us forward and asked each of us our nationality in turn. She quickly scanned the tickets and passports and showed us aboard. Our backpacks barely fitted through the tiny train corridors as we brushed past the business end of the coach and fairly ran towards the seats assigned us for the night. After some initial excited wrong turns we found our places were the very first births as we entered the train.

On the left a four birth open cabin shared space with a slim corridor and two extra bunks aligned with the small passage way. We were lying in the corridor beds.

All the blankets for the wagon (grey and red heavy wool items ideal for the subzero climate) were piled on my bed. The upper bunk of the two corridor births. We had to wait for the other travelers to collect them before we could fully move in. Me and James sat hunched beneath the expertly engineered platform of my bed and slowly acclimatised our selves with our much anticipated surroundings.

The four birth cabin opposite housed a Lithuanian couple with enough luggage to fill a shop, we concluded they were either emigrating or off on an extended holiday in Russia. The boarder guards would enjoy quizzing them. Also here was a middle aged woman who seemed intent on sleeping the entire journey. We moved all the blankets obstructing our bunks onto the upper bed on the sleepy woman’s side of the four birth, and made up our beds. Crisp linen folded carefully over firm but fair benches and the luxurious wool blankets made for a very inviting bed.

Behind us the wagons offices and toilet were expertly nestled in the smallest possible spaces, allowing only a small private sleeping cabin for the original attendant. She never seemed to use this room, instead preferring to march the length of the carriage serving tea and coffee. In there was also a younger Russian version who would tend to  these duties beyond the boarder. She would display a very different, very Russian style of service, all scorn and annoyance.

Me and James walked the train, as we tend to do now once we get settled. We marvelled at everything; the WC’s at either end of our wagon, the smoking areas beyond both and the open link way at the very ends of each coach, with their noise and growing frost and disturbing view down to the speeding rails below. Our journey took us from our 2nd class cabin through the seated class and into first. The carriage housing the restaurant was small and filled with tables and chairs all and conversation. The whole train was buzzing with communication between strangers and it felt warm and homely. First class was quiet and sterile and we attracted some strange looks on our way back to our beds.

I watched the very nice and kind woman in the next compartment answer her grand daughters questions about the foreigners sleeping in the beds next door and was rocked to sleep by the motion of the train.

A boarder patrol guard woke me with a grab of my leg and asked for my passport. I handed it over and fell back to sleep. I had sat through long boarder crossings before and knew there was nothing to be done but enjoy the time in my warm bunk. I was woke again to receive my documents back and then again inside Russia where a guard would search all the baggage storage bins for stowaways using an ancient military lamp as a guide. The crossing wasn’t half as distressing as we had read it could be.

I love this train, the warmth, the sense of belonging, the smells and the adventure, the water boiler and the attendants (even the moody ones hvae their good points). 2nd sleeper class is defiantly a first class way to travel.

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A little explanation.

I’ve neglected you, my loyal fanbase.

So, I haven’t been around for a while. I’ve got one or two main reasons for that. First off I’ve been getting to grips with this whole blogging thing, finding my way around WordPress and indeed checking out how GoogleMaps will work within my pages when I finally move off and start adding pictures and all that extra good stuff travellers like me get up to on the road. Off course you lot will be wanting a ring side seat to the madness and rest assured I’ll be pulling no punches.

Also I have been in for a minor operation on my neck (I was planning on posting some snaps but after reviewing the reponse to a similar post in a blog I read. I decided better hold off on it. If you asked nicely I would be forced to bow to overwhelming public demand!). It’s not too bad, frustrating more than anything. The stitches keep catching and I can’t turn me head properly.

The main reason though is I’ve been hungover. To the MAX! I went to warm my friends Doug&Katie’s house at the weekend and it turned out to be quite a big one. If your reading this D or K, I’m sorry I didn’t hang around for breakfast or the football or cleaning up duty but I was running on auto pilot. I felt terrible and just figured I had to get home, which turned out to be a major chore. I was crying in pain and nearly sick with every peddle stroke and when I got on the train things only got worse…

Laze ‘n’ Moley

Throw those shapes!

  Click for larger images.

(First image post! You have to hold on to the small things, right?)

Please understand I am gaining no fans with these pictures but I feel duty bound to blog and these are the only ones I could post uncensored. I am suposed to be trotting the globe with these reprobates. Sorry mum, but I’m starting to think I may never see dear old blighty again! The party was good times, although it has left me feeling like I might want to give Thailand a swerve, their whisky is BAD. James, your in trouble for pushing that crazy juice on me!

1st is 1st forever

you only get one chance to make a first impression,

     This is my first blog and maybe my last so what to say, what to say….

Well we’ll start at the start shall we. Up until two months ago I lived and worked in Manchester but I jacked all that in so that I could go travelling the globe with some friends. This journal attempts to chart our progress, ins, outs, ups, downs, preparation, anticipation and (fingers crossed) the big smiley conclusion of that life changing adventure.

Tally-Ho, intrepid readers.