Trans-Siberian Railway
Trans-Siberian Railway Journey 1991
By Joseph Buchmann
I climbed to the rim of Kilimanjaro and trekked for three weeks in the Himalayas. But my most treasured travel experience was the Trans-Siberian Railway trip in August 1991.
Ever since my youth, I have been curious about Russia, its geography, culture, enormous size, and its people. I had this inner urge to visit that culturally diverse country. As a teenager, I memorized the names of towns along the Trans-Siberian Railway line. Was I perhaps a Cossack in my previous life? And why are Rachmaninov and Prokofiev my two most-favored classical music composers? Russians are down-to-earth people whose character has been tempered forever by oppression and hard work, but they are full of life. Despite their rough-and-tough exterior, Russians have a passion for the arts.
In Switzerland, at school, at church, and at home, Russia was despised as evil, a country of invaders and disbelievers. We were all scared of Russia. The Russians are coming, the Communists are coming. They will come and crush us, invade our land, and conquer the world. A group of Lucerne schoolboys traveled on a surreptitiously organized trip to Moscow to watch a football match. When they arrived home in Lucerne, the fathers waited for them on the railway platform and beat up the boys. Years earlier, in 1953, we were jubilant when we heard of Stalin's death.
Why was I so interested in everything Russian? Was I intrigued by Russia because it was a 'forbidden land' or maybe because of Russia's exciting space explorations? I remember watching the Sputnik satellite at night, in the sky, like a star, listening in awe to Sputnik's beep-beep-beep on the radio. Perhaps I was fascinated by Russia simply because of the little rebel in me, as my mother said.
I never liked Russia's political system; I always hated Communism - for me, for everybody. But I can understand why some people were drawn to a political system that offered 'cradle-to-grave security', a hypothesis that all property be publicly owned, and each person work and be paid according to their abilities and needs. It may be a worthwhile subject of study. The system was tried and failed for many reasons. In many cases, Communism mutated into Autocracy. We must discourage that system for the good of mankind. I console and grieve with the Russian folks who lived through that system for so long.
I flew from Alaska to Khabarovsk on the great river of Namur, with a short stopover in Magadan, a port city and administrative center on the Sea of Okhotsk. The town was closed to outsiders until the late 1980s.
Magadan is the endpoint of the Kolyma Highway, Stalin's Road of Bones. Stalin forced countless numbers of Russians to hard labor in the Gulag death camps. They extracted gold and minerals from the Siberian permafrost and built a road along the gulags. Thousands of laborers died, and the bodies were buried in the foundation of the road. After the death of tyrant Stalin in 1953, the gulags were abandoned, and the prisoners were transferred or released.
From Magadan, our Alaska Airlines plane continued south to Khabarovsk. The captain was overcome with emotion and excitement; it was a euphoric moment for him. He expressed his feelings over the intercom. Here he was, flying a USA airplane for the first time in previously forbidden Soviet airspace. I am a nervous flyer, even more so with a captain in such a state of elation at the plane's controls. After two hours, we landed safely in Khabarovsk.
The customs controls at the Khabarovsk airport were quick and professional. In fact, to my surprise, the customs officer was most friendly. "Welcome to Russia," the young lady customs officer said with a genuine smile.
My train voyage started in Khabarovsk, some distance north of the maritime town of Vladivostok. Vladivostok was still closed to tourists. Before boarding the train, I sat down for a quick meal. I ordered a cheese sandwich and a bottle of 'mineralnje vody', mineral water, the only items listed on the menu. The sandwich was small but delicious, and I ordered a second one. I learned that food was scarce sometimes; foreign tourists were often refused service at restaurants. Later on my trip, I enjoyed some great meals, like caviar with the most delicious black Russian bread and a carafe of vodka.
When I boarded the train, the lady conductor told me my cabin was unavailable. She could not explain the problem due to language; she gestured for me to follow her, and she would show me. In that cabin sat a grand old lady, tall, most impressive, and impeccably dressed in traditional Siberian costume. She was so imposing, almost majestic, that she could have played the leading role in a movie about Siberia. "Vladivostok," the lady conductor said. I understood; the lady came from Vladivostok; she was traveling alone and could not share a room with other travelers. Okay.
For the first 24 hours, I had to share a cabin with a hard-drinking Russian. He did not want to share a cabin with an American, 'njet Amerikantsev', and complained loudly to the train conductor. In the end, he was very hospitable, maybe too hospitable. We had a hard time communicating. He did not speak a word of English, German, or French, and I did not know a word of Russian except mineralnje vody. For hours into the late night, I had to drink Russian cognac with him, glass after glass. I know little about cognac and cannot taste a difference between ordinary and premium cognac. The cognac may have been a bit raw, but it went down well after a couple more gulps. Another Russian passenger on the train did not like Americans either. He signaled with his gesture that he would cut my throat. After another bluff, I showed him my friendly face. His big mouth opened with a big grin, highlighting his teeth retouched with gold and silver. He probably wanted to say he did not mean to cut my throat. I stayed vigilant and never felt in real danger. The cabin door had strong locks; the train was built to a high-quality standard in Eastern Germany.
At train stops, locals set up stands on the platform and sold food, cheese, bread, tomatoes, pine cones, and other Siberian delicacies. During longer train stops, the passengers would leave the train to stretch their stiff legs and stock up on food. I didn't know the customs, so the Prowodnitsa, the kind lady train conductor, did the shopping for me. The train also had a dining car. The menu featured simple, good Russian fare. The problem was that the train ran on Moscow time, and we traversed five time zones. I did not know when the diner would open or if it served late lunch or early dinner.
I was reading a book on the latest 'Microsoft Windows' personal computer technology. It was a thick book with "Windows 101" printed in large letters on its cover. Or was it "Windows for Dummies"? A friendly Russian traveler saw me reading the book. He stopped by and said that he was a carpenter too. Everybody was polite and friendly; time passed quickly.
Two photo correspondents from the Conde Nast Traveler magazine traveled on the same train. They discovered the old lady from Vladivostok and found her very photogenic and representative of Siberia. They took many pictures of her, which they planned to publish in their magazine, probably on the front cover. The lady from Vladivostok could not speak English. She came to me with a bag of Siberian pine cones and a handwritten note showing her address in Vladivostok. She asked me to contact the magazine publisher in New York so they can send her a copy of the published magazine.
After 48 hours, we arrived in Irkutsk, a major Siberian town. I visited the magnificent Lake Baikal with a tour group, about an hour's drive from Irkutsk. On a hill in a park overlooking the lake, we hung some ribbons on a tree. According to folklore, the person who hangs a ribbon on the tree can make one wish for the future. Mine was, among others, that I shall return to this beautiful place. Do Svidaniya - Goodbye.
In Irkutsk, I visited the local attractions. What a beautiful city. In an old cemetery, the guide showed me an unusual tombstone. It was the grave of a merchant aristocrat who lived in Irkutsk two centuries ago. The aristocrat designed his gravestone himself. It represented a small tree. The tree's stem had ten branches, each cut down to a short stub. According to the story, the aristocrat died unhappy. He had ten daughters and no sons. It was a heartbreaking thought; what a sad metaphor. I could not dismiss the image from my mind all day. What can be more beautiful than a house full of beautiful daughters?
After three more days and nights on the train, I finally arrived in Moscow. While waiting at the train station for transport to the hotel, a group of Swiss tourists snatched my taxi. Very unbecoming of Swiss people, I thought. I had met them earlier on the train - nice folks. They probably did not see me standing in the queue, first in line for a taxi. No problem.
The following morning, before breakfast, I learned of the Coup d'Etat, the overthrow of Russian President Gorbachev's government. All foreigners ate breakfast at a large shared table. I had to translate the breaking news for everybody - in French, German, and English. The coup, le coup, der Putsch. That same morning, I was lucky enough to visit the Kremlin. The first military soldiers took positions on Red Square. I was in the last group allowed to enter before the Kremlin gates were locked and shut to visitors. The Kremlin is a 'must-see'. I was impressed by the architecture of the buildings inside the Kremlin walls and the many exhibits.
Throughout the day, columns of tanks moved into Moscow and secured all major roads and bridges. I could feel a growing tension and see the fear and worry in people's faces. Many tourists contacted their country's consulates for advice and guidance, and some decided to return home. I traveled with two passports. I did not think I was in danger. I relished the excitement of the moment; I was observing history unfold. I called home and told Louise not to worry; all was fine. That afternoon, I met the tourist group that had haughtily snatched away my taxi the night before. They were on a leisurely walk towards the Red Square. I did not relish being the bearer of bad news, but I had to tell them the army had cordoned off the Red Square, and the Kremlin was closed and off-limits to visitors. I cannot repeat the curse words I heard.
Moscow is a large city with beautiful churches, buildings, and an efficient underground transportation system. The people look sad, and many are poor. I was attacked twice by a gang of young Romani girls. In the first attack on a busy street outside the hotel, I defended myself and prevailed. The gypsies regrouped and attacked me again in the nearby underground station. This time, some Russians came to my rescue.
The next day, I took the Red Arrow night train to Leningrad and spent two days in the city of the czars. The military emergency made it somewhat difficult to get to the railway station. Many bridges were closed, and the taxi broke down on the way to the station. The train ride to Leningrad was fast and comfortable. More sightseeing in Leningrad: the magnificent Hermitage Museum, the breathtaking Petrodvorets Palace, churches, and cathedrals.
Russians are kind and good-natured people. I boarded a bus from the hotel to the Leningrad City Center. I struggled with the ticket machine inside the bus. A kind lady came to the rescue and graciously handed me one of her tickets. I thanked her and tried to give her a banknote in Russian Rubles to pay her back. She smiled and said: "Nyet, ni nada."
After Leningrad, I traveled by train to Helsinki, then flew to Stockholm, Copenhagen, London, and back home. What a fabulous trip!
As soon as I arrived back home, I contacted the photo correspondents of Conde Nast Traveler magazine and faxed them the address of the iconic Lady from Vladivostok. Unfortunately, due to the turmoil in Russia at the time, the magazine couldn't publish the travel article.
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