Hands up all of those who have travelled third class on the train between Moscow and Volgograd. Right, all of those with their hands up can probably skip this posting.
Foreign visitors to Russia are advised to travel long journeys by train in first or second class compartments. A bit like Chris Tarrant did in a recent TV series, before rather patronisingly showing the third class carriage and describing it in the typical Tarrant disparaging and sarcastic fashion.
When I was planning this trip I did mention this advice, but this is the means of travelling that most of my young Russian friends employ, simply because of cost.
Why should it be inadvisable? Possibly because there are no internal doors separating sleeping areas. There are about 60 berths in each carriage. They are arranged on two levels in 'bays' with 4 berths across the carriage and two parallel with the carriage. The passageway runs between the 4 and the 2 berthsThere is no privacy unless you drape a sheet across the end of the bay.
It is this lack of privacy which my friends would argue makes it safer to travel this way. They believe you might be in more danger behind a closed door.
So, we had reserved lower berths 17 and 19. For the time being the berths above us were not taken, the two at right-angles to ours were occupied by a middle aged couple who had already settled in.
We had to stow our bags under our seats/berths and had just about done this when the train began to glide slowly along Platform 1 and out of the station. It was warm in the carriage.
Warm? Is that what you'd call it?
Well, shortly after the doors were closed and the cold air was shut out, it became more than warm. It became insufferably hot.
And were you dressed appropriately for this temperature?
What do you think? I had managed to divest myself of my Rohan parka, guaranteed wind and waterproof, and my sheepskin hat. What could I take off next? Well there was a lightweight waistcoat, which doubles as an extra load-carrying device, with its myriad of pockets. There was a fleece - lined shirt which doubles as a jacket. There was a Rohan winter shirt, smart but functional. Finally there was the Beth Hart VIP T-shirt which was at that precise moment doubling as a soaking wet piece of cloth designed to make the wearer as uncomfortable as possible. I gradually began peeling off the layers but stopped at the shirt. I didn't want to embarrassing myself or anyone else by sitting there dripping on to the seat. But there was still a problem - my feet.
Ah yes, the feet which had been encased in lined snow-boots for the best part of 24 hours. Actually, more than the best part of 24 hours. Yes that would be a problem.
Exactly. They had actually been in snow for about 90 seconds. I could see that everyone else had removed their outdoor footwear and were wearing a variety of slippers. mules and even flip - flops. I decided to take the plunge, removing my boots AND socks, and using facial cleansing wipes proceeded to wash my feet in front of the whole world.
The whole world?
The whole world as it existed at that moment in time, a world in a carriage, with its inhabitants in various states of undress and unconsciousness. I then extracted from my cabin case a pair of lightweight non-slip things you can wear for water-sports like canoeing. An Aldi centre aisle purchase. I knew they would be useful someday.
They would certainly have been waiting a long time if they were waiting to be on your feet in a canoe!
Once almost suitably dressed it was clear from the goings on around us that it was time to eat. Bags were being opened containers placed on tables, plastic bags being rustled in and seals broken on jwars containing a variety of edibles. Folk were passing up and down the carriage, those going one way carrying empty mugs and glasses enclosed in metal holders. The others carrying similar containers but this time full of near boiling water. The traditional charcoal fuelled samovar has been replaced by a boiler with tap, but the tradition remains the same.
It makes sense not to carry two mugs of near-boiling water, so the foot traffic was quite intense. This provided an opportunity to people watch too. Our feast was unpacked and spread on the table. There was black bread, cheese, ham and sliced sausage with a garnish of dill and parsley. Iraida had done the double journey and I drank a cup of black tea from a glass in a metal holder adorned with the double - headed eagle of imperial Russia.
It was late afternoon and dusk was falling fast. We saw suburbs, villages and forests of silver birch trees before the darkness fell and all we could see was ourselves in the reflections on the window. A glance at my mobile phone showed me that it was 17.30h. Only another 15 hours to go.
To be continued.....
Thanks for sharing !! nice blog..
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