Five unromantic things about the Trans-Siberian Railway in winter
Riding a huge train
from Beijing to Moscow has been a travel dream for years. And I
always wanted to do it in winter, rattling past frozen Lake Baikal
and hundreds of miles of snow-kissed taiga. That said, there are a few thoroughly unromantic
aspects to this most imagination-firing of voyages. So let's get them
out of the way so we can get back to the fun parts: roaring trains, giant Lenin heads and endless forests...
The Siberia cough
When you step off
your train carriage, or out of your toasty-warm hostel, into the
chill Siberian air, the first breath is so cold your lungs spasm.
I've noticed locals doing it too, so I can't blame my feeble airways.
Frozen nostrils
A prickling
sensation inside your nose is the first clue that the mercury has
dropped lower than -20C. As tiny ice crystals form and thaw inside
your schnozz, you'll find yourself dabbing your hooter an awful lot.
Frosted mucus somewhat erodes the 'enigmatic traveller' look.
Samovar scald
If you're smart, you
brought a keepcup to refill with piping hot water at the communal
samovar on board the Trans-Sib trains. If you're not smart – or the
train jolts you off balance – you splash boiling water on your
hands when you operate it.
Trans-Sib stare-off
A second-class
ticket seats you and your travel buddy right opposite a couple of
other passengers in a compartment. When you've learned Russian from a
phrasebook, conversation dries up pretty darn quickly. That's what,
15 more hours of eyebrow wars and uncomprehending looks?
Fish waft
On the border of
Lake Baikal, ladies hop aboard with plastic bags full of smoked fish.
“What a marvellously local – and fresh – treat!” you think,
as you watch fellow passengers buying up the pungent omul. Less
wonderful when you can still smell it six hours later.
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