3rd January 2020: Moscow to Yaroslavl

Ticket and passport checked, I boarded the 07.35 train to Yaroslavl. I was in seat 65, a window seat at the end of the carriage, facing away from the direction of travel. The seat was comfortable enough, with a high seat back, much more comfortable than aircraft seats, the designers of which seem unaware that people taller than 5 feet 8 inches exist, and there was an equally reasonable amount of leg-room. 

The carriage filled up quite quickly, and it appeared that many of the passengers knew each other, and were off on a grand day out. A rather taciturn gentleman occupied the seat next to me, the odd grunt and excuse me being the only conversation we had on the entire journey.

The train left exactly on time. There's a novelty for us British folk - a train that leaves on time. And almost before we left the station a lady appeared in the aisle adjacent to my seat, carrying a cardboard box. Zaftrak! Breakfast! When Iraida had booked my rail ticket. she had asked if I would like breakfast on the train, and here it was. Paperwork duly checked the cardboard box was passed over and on opening it I found a sandwich, a biscuit, a yoghurt, a carton of orange juice and a bottle of water. Splendid!

It was still quite dark as I began my sandwich,  as we passed through the suburbs of the capital, but having consumed my yoghurt, biscuit, juice and water the dawn's  early light revealed that the landscape which was rolling past at a reasonable speed was covered in snow. Not that this was really surprising, it was the 3rd of January, and I was in Russia. No, the surprise was that there was no snow at all in Moscow, much to the chagrin of it's inhabitants. New Year without snow just isn't right. I believe that 'snow' had actually been created by crushing several ice rinks in the suburbs, and then been transported in lorries to sites in the city centre which were dependent  upon a supply of the cold stuff for their success.

But out here, north of the capital, there seemed to be a plentiful supply of the white stuff. By design the railway line is bordered on both sides by forested tracts, designed to protect the line from the worst of the winter weather, and so there is not a great variety in the landscape as one passes by. Occasional glimpses of small settlements break up what I suppose could be called monotony, but I quite like birch forests, so it's fine by me. The train was an express which meant that stops were limited to two, Sergiev Posad and Alexandrov, although for the life of me I cannot recall the latter at all. Sergiev Posad was quite a large town, and visible in the morning light, some distance from the railways line was an impressive structure with the iconic onion-shaped domes, gleaming gold. I wished that we passed closer, for a better look, being a real fan of this particular architectural feature. Little did I know what lay in store for me in Yaroslavl!

Yaroslavl. I knew little of the city. I knew that Eugenia Komandirova, one of the Brunettes lived there, and that there was a Jazz Centre there, and that everyone I mentioned the city to said that it was beautiful. Now, after just over three hours on the train it was getting quite close. My left leg had decided to protest about 12 hours of seated travel and seated waiting to travel, and so the last half hour of the journey was something of a torturous experience. As we neared the city I tidied the remains of my breakfast into the bin outside the toilet, and began to pile on the layers of clothing again. Then, standing beside my suitcase I peered out of the window as the train drew into the station, trying to catch a glimpse of my welcoming committee. As the train moved slowly along the platform there were lots of people waiting there, but I couldn't see Iraida and Eugenia among them. The train had almost come to a halt when a familiar figure appeared, Iraida, running alongside, waving enthusiastically and smiling as only she can. It was quite an achievement, to run, wave and smile simultaneously along the platform, because it resembled a bumpy ice-rink. I was the last to disembark from the carriage, to be greeted with warm hugs from Iraida and Eugenia. Hello Yaroslavl!

Negotiating the icy platform we exited the station and made our way out of the station, crossing the forecourt to a waiting taxi. The plan was to go to Eugenia's flat, have lunch there, and then take another taxi to the flat that I had booked for our two night stay in the city. Taxis are a good way to travel in Russia, and are very reasonably priced. I guess they have to be because public transport is cheap, and they can't afford to price themselves out of business. So on several occasions it cost less than a couple of pounds for journeys which would have cost four times that here in England. Having said that,the taxis themselves, particularly those belonging to local, independent guys, are often..., er, showing the signs of wear and tear. Still, it's all part of the adventure, particularly if you have someone to share the journey, someone who knows which taxi to call.

After a very pleasant lunch we made our way by taxi, this one with a very badly cracked windscreen, to our Airbnb apartment. It was in a block of flats familiar to visitors to Russia, and dated back to Soviet times. 

The view from our kitchen window

Our host, Galina, was waiting to greet us and give us a guided tour of the apartment and its facilities. The place was spotlessly clean, with towels and bedding individually wrapped. Having satisfied herself that we knew everything we needed to, she left us to it. Having deposited our belongings, it was time to do some exploring.