When I stepped into my compartment, there were three men there. After a few moments, they hesitantly if I would mind switching compartments with a friend of theirs so they could all be together. It made no difference to me, so I said sure. They were very pleased.
The train is nice. Much nicer than I was expecting. There are four berths to a compartment. It's not large, but there's plenty of room. As I was settling in, the English speaking ambassador from my previous compartment came to offer his assistance. It was time to eat, and I jumped at the opportunity to know what I was getting before it was served. Ordering from an indecipherable menu may be exciting, but the results are unpredictable at best.
I took him to the dining car to help me order. We talked through dinner. Only 21, and not looking that, William is married two years with a baby. He's returning from China with his father and two other men from a buying expedition.
After dinner he came by and invited me to tea in their compartment, saying they wanted to talk to an American. I agreed, even though I needed to do some writing.
William was the only English speaker, so all conversation took place through him. They were first curious as to what an American was doing in Eastern Russia.
"What are you doing here?" William's father asked.
"Just traveling. I've been traveling almost 8 months."
"Where have you been?"
"New Zealand, Australia, Indonesia, South-East Asia, China, and here."
"Are you alone?" Probably the most common question I was to be asked in Russia.
"Yes."
"Not married?" The inevitable second question in a nation of teenager weddings.
"Not yet."
They were much more understanding of my travels and marital status than others I was to meet. They offered me some cookies with my tea. The third man said something and the other two started laughing.
"He said we should hurry before our friend gets back and eats everything," William translated.
The fourth of their number was a large non-Russian from one of the Moslem republics.
"We are traders returning from China," William's father said.
"Did you like China?" I asked. We spent the next little while agreeing what a bad place China is.
"This was our last trip to China. It's not profitable. It used to be, but no more. The government taxes are 85% percent of our profit."
The humorous little man had a question. He kept his comrades in stitches, even the translations were funny. "We hear that America is going to change the dollar and make all the dollars worthless."
I laughed, realizing for the first time how important our currency is to so many foreign countries. I already knew that Russians tend to keep their cash in dollars to alleviate the astounding inflation of the rouble. "No," I said, "they will not change the dollar anytime soon. Even if they do, the old ones will be good."
They were relieved at my assurance.
"Where does such a rumor come from?" I asked.
The comedian launched into a monologue. "That is what it is like to live here. Life here is like an adventure, or being in fantasy land. Every morning you can wake up to discover what incredible new plan our government has. Two years ago the government changed all of our money, in two days." William could barely translate through his tears of laughter.
They were all concerned for my safety. "Trust no one," warned William's father. "These are bad times for Russia and there are many bad men."
They were a little reassured that Teddy was to meet me in Kharbarovsk. I don't think they would have let me go it that hadn't been the case.
At about 10 I returned to my compartment to re-attack the writing. I got in a couple of hours between conversations with a doctor and his wife. They were going to Kharbarovsk for her an eye operation. Conversations I say. We didn't have a dozen words in common between us.
The doctor's wife was showing her stress this morning. Her husband was loving and supportive.
Over morning tea my friends reminded me once again to be careful. I saw them watch me when I got off the train. They came over to see if Teddy was going to meet me. I said I would be fine. The train left. Teddy didn't show.
I searched the platform, then the station. I went out to the steps and waited, first with my pack on, and when it became to heavy, I set it beside me. Forty five minutes passed. I thought of getting a ticket and moving on, but the omininous cyrillic silence of the schedule board made me think Teddy might be a better option. I got in a cab and gave the driver the address.
He dropped me off at an apartment building that looked like all the others. Neither the number on the building nor the street matched the address on my piece of paper, but the driver assured me it was the right place. I walked around the building, unconvinced. Only the confirmation of a passerby soothed my doubt.
The door that had the same number as my piece of paper didn't respond to a knock.
I established myself on a bench outside the apartment to develop a plan. It was 9:30, and I decided if they weren't there by 11, I would go back to the station and see if I could get the 1445 train.
About 1045 a woman walked by and noticed I'd been holding down the bench for awhile. I managed to convey to her I was waiting for someone and didn't know where they were. She flagged down a boy who spoke some English, and through him invited me to her apartment for lunch. I was hungry, and eager.
Her apartment was a little larger than the others I've seen. The woman, Galena, had a little girl, Susha, who was 7. The girl's father isn't around, apparantly the result of an alcohol problem. Galena seemed genuinely excited I was there, and set about in a flurry in the kitchen. I started working on English and the alphabet with Susha. She'd already had some instruction in school. During breaks Galena, would flutter in and participate. She seemed pleased with the whole affair.
From what I've see of Russian cuisine, it's filling if not imaginative. This time it was a bowl full of noodles topped with fried liver. Liver isn't my favorite, but hunger and etiquette pushed me on. A naturally slow eater, I may have lingered a bit too long over the meal. Galena took that as evidence I didn't like it. I assured her that wasn't the case and continued on.
What was slowing the meal was a running English/Russian lesson I engaged in. Galena wanted to know what everything was in English. In return, she wanted me to learn some Russian. She picks up quickly and with enthusiasim. She would probably make a good student.
We tried to continue our conversation after lunch, but all of the exercise had drained me. Galena made me lay down on the couch while she and Susha retired to the bedroom.
Laying there in the well-kept apartment, I considered my situation. If Teddy didn't show up; I had to either find a place to stay or get on a train. Galena I wasn't sure about. She was showing me signs of affection. I began to wonder if she had designs. Despite her age, I've had less enticing propositions. Remain flexible was the only conclusion I came to.
About an hour later, I walked next door to see if Teddy was home. He wasn't, so I went back to Galena to explain that I wanted to get a train ticket to Irkutsk. I pulled out my phrasebook and started piecing together phrases to ask Galena if she would go to the train station to help buy a ticket. The phrases weren't enough, so I supplemented them with gestures, and then pictures.
Finally, her eyes lit up. "Susha and I go with you," she said without English.
My heart froze. I imagined dragging a 40 some year old mother and her seven year old daughter across Russia. "Surely she doesn't mean that," I thought. "Or does she?"
I acted confused, which wasn't difficult, and started the whole process over again to see if we would arrive at the same conclusion. The path this time was clearer and I divined that she and Susha were to go to the train station with me, and no farther. I wonder if the relief showed on my face.
We took a tram to the station. About an hour later I had a ticket in my hand. There was something about "platz-carte" which bothered Galena, but I couldn't understand the problem. A ticket was a ticket as far as I was concerned, just so long as it was for a foreigner, as it appeared to be.
We walked back along the tree lined boulevard buying food and conducting English lessons along the way. I bought us a set of Whistle Pop-type candies. This was a more advanced version of those I remember from childhood. It had a plastic plunger in the stick which could be moved to change the tone.
The stores seemed well enough stocked with what they had, but there wasn't much variety. They were laid out in the typical communist way, which separates the goods from the consumer and ensures as much labor as possible will be involved in the transaction.
Competing with the stores was a line of trucks with people selling everything imaginable out of the back. They were doing a brisk business and seemed to have more goods and popularity than the stores.
On the way back, I stopped one last time to see if there was anyone at Teddy's apartment- and there was. Anna's face lit up as soon as I opened my mouth. She seemed to know just who I was and invited me in. Teddy wasn't there, but we sat down to talk. She said her English wasn't good, but we were communicating pretty well. She had a gift for it, as some people do. We talked for awhile and she showed me pictures from their Alaska trip.
I was at a loss over what to do. Galena was expecting me back, but then, I was supposed to be visiting with Teddy. . . I took Anna over to meet Galena and let them work it out.
It was decided I'd stay at Galena's and Anna would come by to collect me later. In the meantime, I took pictures of Galena and Susha, and we to walked down to the river.
Kharbarosk is blessed with wide tree-lined streets and buildings of interesting architecture. It has more potential for redevelopment than other Russian cities I could imagine. Still, there are many structures that could use pulling down, and most of them are dwellings.
There are several good parks in town, the most picturesque of which fronts the river Amur. The town sits on a bluff of the broad river, just downstream from it's junction with the Issirya. The opposite bank is host to dachas and vegitable gardens of the townsfolk.
Galena was giving me as much history as she could, taking obvious pride in her city. She also took my hand. Happily, she greeted friends as we walked along hand in hand. Their curiosity transmitted itself across the language barrier. I let her have her fun and worked hard not to look at the girls.
When we got back to the apartment, Anna was looking for us. Teddy still hadn't shown up, but she had gathered a couple of her friends, Alexi and Irene, and we went for a driving tour of town. The most impressive sight was a WWII monument to the fallen of the Far East. It's a huge semi-circular wall with the names engraved on it. At the focus is a flame. Despite the impressiveness of the monument, the construction quality is poor. The paving stones are uneven and coming apart.
Behind that monument is the one to the workers. It's a metal tower-like thing with names of people who've been awarded various Soviet decorations. Anna said to me "It's my history." I think that's probably a healthier attitude that those who would try to deny or forget their past. The only way people will ever progress is to remember their mistakes and determine not to make them again.
We had dinner at Anna's tonight. She laid out a very nice looking meal of beef and rice. Afterwards, we went to the train station to catch my train. I wrote Teddy a note saying sorry we'd missed each other.
The note was unnecessary. I found out that Galena's concern with my ticket was shared by Anna. I heard her say "platz-carte" a couple of times, never in a positive sounding tone. When we got to the station they ran around trying to do something with my ticket. Then, combining their English resources, I found that platz-carte means an open coach arrangement. It's supposedly the haunt of disreputable people. When they found my ticket was still good even if I didn't use the reservation, they suggested I not go. That was fine with me. We went home and went to sleep.
The door to my bedroom opened at 3 last night. Anna had put me in the single bedroom of the apartment. I didn't move as Teddy looked in. Anna called, and he retreated to the living room. This morning he said he had been momemtarily concerned when he saw a pair of man's pants at the foot of the bed.
Anna fixed a good breakfast of eggs. She certainly is talented. A doctor of opthamalogy, good looks, and picking up English with no study.
We went riding around this morning to fix up my ticket. We did it through a friend of a friend type thing. Teddy says there's a Russian saying that it's good to have 100 roubles (when they were worth something) but better to have 100 friends. One of his friends put me on the 1445 #1 to Irkutsk. Before we left, Anna fed me yet again. Russian women appear to do better by their men than the American variety. I wonder how long that will last.
I found out how they afforded the trip to Alaska. The woman who invited them paid for it all. What a lucky strike. Teddy had seen her in a store in Kharbarovsk. They talked, he showed her the city, invited her to dinner and that was that. A friendship was established. He wants me to call her when I get home.
Teddy and I left for the station. We hadn't gone far when I remembered my jacket hanging in the apartment.
"That's bad," said Teddy.
"Why?"
"It's bad luck to go back for something. But there is a vitamin against it. Do you understand?"
I nodded my head.
"When you go back in you must look in a mirror."
Anna took it as a matter of course that, when I went to retrieve my jacket, I looked in the mirror beside the door. Who am I to argue with local custom?
I was looking to get real lucky boarding the train. It was hard to tell who was actually going to be in my compartment because of friends and family milling about, but the one that counted was named Natasha, and she was cute. We exchanged smiles and a few words. Unfoutunately, one of the friends that stayed turned out to be her husband. He's 22 and she's 21, and they've been married 2 years. They sure don't believe in letting snow settle on these Russian beauties.
Attraction transcends language. Natasha and I had that attraction. We shared lingering looks across the small compartment. My chance to begin a friendship came quickly. The batteries on their walkman died. I fished new ones from the bottom of my pack and made a present of them. They were impressed with the American make, indicating the Chinese ones weren't very good.
Unfortunately, the peaceful start was soon shattered, maybe for good. I was taking a nap when the car attendant came to get me. He wanted to see my passport. I showed it to him and we started an hour or so long discussion of why my ticket wasn't valid. It seems I had a Russian priced ticket instead of a foreign one. Of course I understood what he meant right away, but it's easy to play dumb when you're speaking different languages. I was determined not to pay any more money than necessary. It's an evil thing to be charged more simply because you're a foreigner.
I decided to try and convince him to keep the situation to ourselves. After all, what other offical would know I was foreign or what kind of ticket I had? Through the phrase book, and a bit of acting, I tried to convey that I knew I was American, he knew I was American, but no one else need know I was American. It would be our secret I said. He got the point, but there was something about a brigadier that worried him.
Thinking confusion an ally, I threw in the story about my ticket exchange through Teddy. I said I had paid the foreign price, but when it was exchanged, they had inadvertantly put the wrong price. That was the story I stuck to, there had been a mistake in the exchange. Not reading Russian, how could I know what to look for in such a situation? It pisses me off the way these communists gogue foreigners. We should have similar arrangements for people from countries that use such practices.
After much arguing, looking up phrases, and the onset of a headache, I agreed to pay the $38 he wanted. I went back to the compartment to get the money. During the lulls in the action I had made my problem known to the young couple, and they had passed it on to Sergei, the 4th member of our compartment. When I got the money out, he took it from me and demanded the rest of my stash. For a brief few seconds I thought he was making a singularly inept attempt at robbing me. I mean, there we were with an audience, and he was to be in the compartent with us for the next 24 hours. Did he think I would just lay there and bemoan my fate?
Then I realized he was simply trying to keep me from paying the attendent. He motioned that the attendent would pocket the money. Sergei counted out the money -$250 (I said he had it all but I still had the other half.) and wrapped it up, hiding it deep in his bag. He said I was to tell the conductor that I had no money- that I'd gotten drunk in Kharbarosk, been involved with a woman, and she had taken it all. He make a big show of friendship, shaking my hand, grabbing me by the neck, pulling me head to head, and saying "my people." He seemed concerned that I should trust him and pulled out all kinds of identity documents. One my cabin mates said was a certificate of higher education. He said he was a power engineer which I thought to be some kind of electrical engineer. Natasha later modified it to train engineer.
I was in the mood to pay, and get the trouble behind. I should have followed my instincts. But Sergei was insistent. When I motioned they would throw me off the train if I didn't pay, he shook his head, closed and locked the door. I considered leaving the compartment and paying with my secret stash of funds. Next time I will. Sergei bought me a beer and we settled in, awaiting the siege.
What did I know? A stupid foreigner. Maybe the attendant was trying to shake me down.
After a while he came round to get me. I'd left him with the impression I was coming right back. More than an hour had passed. We went to talk some more. This time I stuck to the story that I didn't have any money. But the boy seemed sincere, and I came to the verge of breaking down. I went to get the money and came across Natasha's husband in the corridor. I asked him as best I could if I should trust Sergei or pay the money. He sent me back to the compartment and took over negotiations. About 30 minutes later he came back with the verdict from the Brigadier, who I took to be head of the train. I had to pay $16. Well that's more like it I thought. I pulled the bundle from Sergei's bag (he wasn't around) and counted out 16 ones.
Natasha counted them and said "No, sixteen."
I shook my head in the affirmative and said it was sixteen.
Once again she said "sixteen" and wrote "60" on a sheet of paper.
It became clear. Someone else wanted in on the action of shaking down a foreigner. No way I said, how can it be 38, then 60? Something had to be wrong. The husband disappeared. Minutes later he came back with a new price, $95. He said it should be $120 but they were cutting me a deal. Sergei had returned by now and the situation was explained to him. The only thing he contributed was a confused, worried look.
I saw I was on my own. All of the Russian advice so far had just put me in deeper. I went back to negotiate with the car attendant. His primary sentiment was that I should have just given him the $38. At this point, I agreed. Now he was over a barrel since his superiors knew what was going on and wanted a cut on the action. I said I wanted to see the brigadier with a fare list in his hands, and I would pay the appripriate amount.
I should have stuck to that. Instead, right before we made the stop where I was to see the brigadier, the female attendant (they work in pairs) came and got the husband. He relayed that they were offering a blue light special on car 11. The fare was now a low $60, reduced from $95.
I'd had enough and paid, as much to get my compartment mates out of the crossfire as anything. If it was just me involved, I'd have argued the whole trip. As it was, the couple's dinner had gone cold arguing my case.
When I handed over the money, I asked for a receipt. They said that would cost an extra $60. Later, I was informed if an inspector came along, I was to act as if I didn't hear him. I think instead I would have spilled my story.
I spent most of the rest of the evening steaming. I was plotting my revenge on Victor Polukov, the Brigadier. I thought I would publish what a crook he is. Then I decided I would hunt him down as I was leaving the train and spit at his feet, indicating clearly what a contemptable person he is. I was in the same mood as when I was three years old and the barber cut my hair too short. I threatened to burn down the barbershop.
The experience was a good lesson on the sociology of bribery and blackmail. The whole episode teemed with hate, anger and corruption. I despised the person I payed off. I will never be on the receiving end of such a transaction.
A day on the train. A beautiful day, too nice to spend cooped up in a compartment. It was enjoyable nevertheless. I like the atmosphere of motion, being with people, reading and writing. That's what I spend most of the day doing, reading and writing. I was also trying to recover from the event yesterday. I don't want it to spoil the trip. One bad thing shouldn't polute all the good that's happened. I will maintain a positive attitude.
As part of the attitude adjustment, I made amends with the attendant. He said there was no problem between us, and suggested I buy him a beer. That made everything all right enough.
I felt the atmosphere in the compartment somewhat strained this morning. Sergei and I both knew that something had come between all of protestations of friendship yesterday, but we both tried to keep up appearances. With the couple, things were similarly quiet. I enjoyed the views of small, tree covered mountains.
Things lightened up a bit with the couple after Sergei left. I played a couple of games of cards with Natasha. First she tried to teach me a Russian game; but I found it difficult to pick up the rules and object. We had more success with her learning gin. I gave her some chocolate I had picked up on one of my roaming excursions. She was pleased.
Sleeping on the train is good. I like the motion.
It was a typical day on the train. I try to get out and roam around the train every now and then, just to give us a break from each other if no other reason. I thought Natasha and her husband might want some time alone. But it didn't do much good. They didn't seem to be getting on that well. In fact, they don't seem terribly well matched.
Every two or so hours we stop at a station. I usually step off the train and watch the activities. Typically, there's a row of old peasant women selling food. It's always cheap, and usually good. My favorites are meat balls wrapped in dough and fried potato wedges. Other possibilities include ice cream and, from the kiosks, vodka.
As in China, there is little or no variety here. Someone comes up with an idea, and half a dozen people will ape it exactly, not providing one whit of variation. What we have here is a lack of communication. There needs to be some cross breeding of ideas. Doesn't anyone ever see what's going on in other places?
Yesterday when I was in the diner looking for chocolate I met an older American. This afternoon I came across him again as I was roaming the cars. He was grumpy, not at all pleasant. I would have continued walking, but his young, plump wife wanted to talk. She told me of their trip to China last year. They had been on a group tour, and didn't suffer the negative impressions that I had.
The highlight of the trip was when they slipped away from their group for a few hours. The excitement in their voices made roaming through the markets without a guide sound like high adventure.
The dining car isn't the scene of much activity. The man who runs the dining car is quite a pusher. I can't go in there without him wanting to change money or sell me something. I heard from the American that there was a bit of partying going on there last night. I'll have to check that out on the continuation of the trip. Wouldn't want to miss out on a contact with a Russian girl.
We were due to arrive in Irkutsk at midnight. It wasn't something to look forward to. I had no idea if I could find a place to stay for the night. To make things worse, it had started to rain.
In preparation, I tried to get some sleep in the early evening. I was unsuccessful, existing mostly in that dream-like state not quite sleep or consciousness.
Although they were sleeping arm in arm when we pulled into the station, Natasha and her husband got up to see me off. I stepped off the train into a steady rain. No, that's not right, it was pouring buckets. Solid water. In the 25 yards between the train and cover I got soaked.
I didn't know whether they would take me at the hotel. The book says they sometimes turn away foreigners. Communism? If they seemed reluctant I was going to plead dark night, heavy rain, confused foreigner.
First I had to get there. I went to the taxis in front of the station, although a boat would have been more appropriate. At certain times taxi drivers hold all the cards. One of those is when your're standing in the pouring rain, there's no public transportaion, and no way you're going to walk. At times like that, 10,000 Roubles goes pretty fast. With no use in arguing the price, I slopped into the car. The streets were flooded. Even the bridge over the river held several inches of standing water.
The TV was on and several people were hanging around the sparse and dingy hotel reception. I was almost surprised when they gave me a room for $12. That was more that the $8.50 the book says, and more than a German I met paid not long ago. But just to have no hassle was worth it. The bed was clean, and there was a TV, which I would have gladly traded for a shower.
I'd just dropped my pack and was brushing my teeth, when I heard a knock at the door. This being my first time in a Russian hotel, I thought it was probably the floor keeper I'd heard about. I opened to find a man. I'd said hello to him in an ofthand manner when I was checking in at the desk. He immediately came a step into the room. I stood my ground. He was a bit shorter than me, but a lot heavier. He had two beers in his hand, and indicated we should have a drink. I doubted his desire of comeraderie, and his glances over my shoulder into the room confirmed my suspicions.
I pointed to my toothbrush and indicated I wanted to sleep. He was insistant. I pointed to my watch and acted tired. He didn't want to go. I gently put my hand on him and guided him towards the door. I acted like we would drink together tomorrow, and kept acting friendly. I heard him say "zaftra," which means tomorrow, and I was all in agreement. He wanted to know if I'd still be there, and I said I would for two days. He took that and left.
With the door safely locked, I looked back on my conduct of the situation. You always have to be on guard when you're traveling. I was pretty happy with the way I handled the situation, firm but diplomatic. I had no intention of letting him in the room. The only possible errors I could discover was opening the door in the first place, and then telling him I was going to be there longer. On count one- how could I have known and two- better to end that situation then and deal with the others as they arise.
Now I know why people have been warning me to be careful.
The window was open and I could hear the heavy rain over the constantly running toilet. I slept well.
Next: Irkutsk