Monday 7th April: Some shopping. A chocolate factory and sad farewells.

Monday did not begin well. The knowledge that Iraida would be leaving today hung over both of us a bit like a wet blanket, and the she received a message from Daria to say she was unwell, and would not be able to make it to Volgograd Railway Station to say good-bye. Iraida was visibly upset. It turned out that Daria, like my daughter Julia, has recurrent problems with her wisdom-teeth, and had to go to the dentist. Ouch.

When we had set off on our nocturnal perambulations the evening before, Daria had pointed out the best shops for Iraida to buy food for her train journey, and also indicated, for my benefit, that there was a very famous chocolate factory in Volgograd, and that it was only a ten-minute walk from the hotel.

We had breakfast, with Iraida eating as much as she possibly could to store up against the rail journey. Eighteen hours is a long time, particularly when you are travelling alone, and I was beginning to worry about her.  We set off down Profsoyuznaya shortly after breakfast. It was straight on for the shops and a left turn for the chocolate factory. We decided it would be most sensible to head fro the chocolate factory first, and so set off along what I think was Koslovskaya Ulitsa. We passed the local hospital, so knew, from Daria's instructions, that we were on the right track. It was difficult to spot what looked like a chocolate factory, but before long we didn't need our eyes, we could smell it! It reminded me of student days in York, with Terry's factory in the south-west of the city, Rowntree's in the north east, and Craven-A mints in the centre - an assault on the senses, depending upon the direction of the wind.

Have you forgotten the sugar-beet processing plant to the north?

Oh yes... how we hated the north wind!!

We entered the factory-shop, a very small affair, with only room for about ten people. There were already seven in there before us, so it was nice and cosy. I decide I would buy a selection of wrapped chocolates, as well as a few bars and some boiled sweets. I can't remember how much I paid, but I emerged with a bulging carrier bag, weighing, it seemed to me at the time, two or three kilos. I was going to share them with Iraida, so there would be less to trouble the airport scales.

We then made our way back to the grocery store in Profsoyuznaya and bought a few things, including two Picnic bars. Yes the ones we used to have which mysteriously disappeared for some unknown reason. Iraida suggested that I should take some typical Russian biscuits home too, so by the time we left we had another bulging carrier bag!

Don't forget to tell them about almost leaving your bag of chocolates in the store locker!

Ah yes. On entering the store, we left our bags in a locker at the entrance, taking the key with us. Having completed our shop we were half-way along the street before Iraida realised what we had done. We rushed back, unlocked the locker, and retrieved our belongings.

Then we returned to the hotel, and share out the various foodstuffs, some for Iraida, some for me. We were getting closer and closer to the time of departure. 

Finally it arrived, and Iraida gathered her belongings together. We went down to the lobby and she checked out. The taxi arrived and we made our way to the Railway Station. As most of you will know, there were some horrific terrorist attacks in Volgograd late last year, and the Railway Station had suffered badly, an explosion caused by a suicide-bomber left many dead and wounded and had badly damaged the main entrance to the station. 

Ironically, in front of the station is a sculpture of a group of young children, dancing in a ring. This is the renovated version of one which stood in the city during the Battle of Stalingrad, and which became famous as a symbol of the city's resoluteness after a Soviet photographer capture an image of it against a background of burning buildings.

The Children's Round Dance - 1942/43

The damage to the clock-tower was obvious - no clock, and a tape acted as a barrier to the main door.

After Iraida had taken these photos, we entered the station by a side entrance, with a very heavy door, and passed through the security screening. There was a smell of sawdust, and various construction noises, indicating that repairs are under way. The train to Moscow was leaving from Platform 2 so we made our way through underpasses and up a set of stairs, emerging beside said platform. The train was there, looking so much larger than our trains in the UK. The platform is at ground level, so that one has to climb up into the coaches. Iraida found her carriage and checked in with  her documents. I took some photos, one of which I will share with you. 

We hugged each other closely, and both of us, I am not ashamed to say, shed a little tear. Then Iraida made her way on to the train and found her berth. Having taken possession of her berth she then made her way back along the carriage and joined me on the platform. She was approached by an official, who was offering her the chance of an upgrade to her accommodation. She politely but firmly turned him down and then we said good-bye, both hoping it would be an au revoir, again. At last she had to board the train. The doors closed and I moved along to her compartment. I could not really see inside, just the silhouette of someone waving. I took a picture.

The train slowly moved off, and without me knowing, Iraida took a photo of me from inside the carriage. It was about 15.00, and she would arrive in Moscow about 10.00 the next morning.

I hate goodbyes, and there was another one coming in the not too distant future. As we had stood on the platform, Iraida had made me promise that I would call for a taxi to take me back to the hotel. She wasn't too happy about me making my way through the crowds at the railways station and the large number of 'unofficial' taxi-drivers about whom tourists are warned. I said I would, and I practised how to say exactly what I wanted to stay. Eventually she was happy with my pronunciation.

Having said au revoir, and watched the train pulling out, I made my way back out to the front of the station. Now I didn't want to break a promise, but I was more worried about making a mistake ordering the taxi than I was about making my own way back to the hotel. Volgograd is laid out on a grid system, and I knew that if I made my way on to Komsomolskaya, I could find my way to the metro station of the same name and catch the metro back to Profsoyuznaya and the Hampton by Hilton. Later I was castigated by both of the girls for doing so. They haven't seen South Shields late on a Saturday night!! ;)

Once back in the hotel I began almost immediately to write my blog, and wrote until about 21.00, when I went down to the bar and had a beer and some spaghetti carbonara. Then it was back to my room, and bed. I wasn't sure whether I would definitely see Daria again, because of her illness, but I certainly hoped so.

Shortly after publishing this post, Iraida was in touch to remind me of things I had omitted. At the shops we had bought some kvas and a bottle of green liquid called Tarkhun. The kvas was much sweeter than the one served in the Ukrainian restaurant on Sunday, and so not quite so nice.

It didn't stop you drinking most of it before you left!

The Tarkhun was nice with a pleasant herby flavour. I drank virtually all of it starightaway, after Iraida had a little taste.