7-7-2000
Three time zones east of Moscow, i lean against the Lenin statue on Lenin square. Same grey and empty scenery as in the capital, streams of Lada's, grandmothers with purple hair walk by. Fortunately it is just a bit too cold for those Russian machos to show off their tatooed chests and beer bellies. Few Novi Ruski here, those new rich folks i saw in StPetersburg, parking their BMW's on the Winter Palace square and playing roller hockey equiped with cell phones and sun glasses. Rain in Moscow, and after the five cathedrals in the Kremlin, i was ready to leave. So again i had to face the biggest challenge of traveling through Russia, that is buying a train ticket. The first time i had been waiting in line for 2 hours before being redirected to a special window for foreigners where fortunately there were no foreigners. Those Russians don't mind spending the better part of a day waiting in line, they simply bring a book and read standing, or go and sit elsewhere waiting until their comrades are being served, this way the lines tend to move backwards from time to time.
I got the impression that they come in two kinds, the majority dressed as if they are going to the athletics training, even grandpa's wear Adidas here. The other kind is wearing some sort of uniform, with an enormous cap to seem a bit taller. Both are often seriously pissed, the beer bottle (0.5ltr) is standard. So are golden teeth, among young and old.
I have lunch in the local fast food restaurant, the popular hangout for the Russian rich. The places is filled with fashionable young ladies, funny how MTV seem to reach boys and girls around the planet and defines their taste. Most stuff is really cheap, but on the other hand, you get what you pay for. Best value by far are the trains, a 50 hours journey for less than 30$ on a comfortable bed and not a minute delay ! Every two hours or so the trains stops for a while and local grandmothers sell berries, bread, onions and smoked fish as if their life depends on it and probably it does. Their clothes look as old as themselves, they live in wooden houses in towns where the streets are mud.
This evening my train leaves for the Altay mountains, where archeologists found the oldest carpet on earth, frozen for 2500 years in a grave. I saw that carpet some weeks ago in the Hermitage. A dark room held the artefacts of the Pazyryk site and also a defrosted mummy which was smelling badly. The frienly guard switched on the lights in the display boxes, and i think she really thought i understood most of her explanations.
Back to the train, where the radio plays the same golden oldies a whole day, can't switch it off. My first evening on the rails i got invited to the restaurant section by Sergei, my friend from Kazan. He buys vodka and the game of toasting starts. Fortunately Kazan was only a couple of hours away, and i had some bread to swallow from time to time, with some fish out of a can, the only dish in this moving restaurant. During these long trips, inevitably i had to visit the toilet every now and then, with growing disgust. While i was draining the main vein, i often got tempted to give the whole installation a good watering, the floor, the window, the mirror, the washing basin, the door, everything...
After a night train and a full day in a small bus that broke down twice, i found myself in lush alpine landscape of the Altay mountains, where Russians love to go camping. I was the last one to get off the bus at the omnipresent Lenin square and directed to a home i could share with some kind of visiting regional official, who was there to audit a local mercury factory – during Soviet times industrialization brought a factory to each town. Next morning i appeared to be a guesthouse, when the manager showed up and did not want to let me go until another babushka, police officer, had copied and stared at my visa, amazed and disappointed(?) that nothing was wrong. After a couple of hours beside the road waiting and talking with Maria, a very energetic babushka who was travelling 2 days to go and sell her grass brooms and indigo paint, we arrived in a broad valley of wet steplands surrounded by snowcapped mountains, dotted with kazakh villages, sheep, horses, cows, the occasional yak, some small factories of course, and unfortunately also loads of mosquitos. Welcome to Kosh Agach.

Go East

Tom Tobback © 2000