Trains

Of course, before I went to Moscow, I had to buy a train ticket or two to get there and back. Easier said than done, even in Russian. I knew where the station was, knew what class I wanted to travel, and how I was going to pay, and even knew which dates I wanted to be in Moscow. I arrived at the main railway station and headed inside, looking for the ticket office. I should’ve guessed that, as this was Russia, the ticket office would not be in the station itself.
I asked at the information desk, and was told to go back outside, take the door on the left and go to the fourth floor (well, that’s what I thought she said). Got as far as the 2nd floor and realised I was at the first aid office. Quick explanation and they directed me to another building. My understanding of Russian not being perfect, I decided that I’d try every alternative in the direction indicated, while still looking for the place they said (Past that building, next door after the Police office).
My first choice proved to be where I could buy tickets, but only for local trains, or electrichka as the Russians call them. Excellent, I was getting warm. Out the door again, and not up those steps, because that’s the Police and, hey, those nice First aid ladies were right. I’d found the long-distance ticket office, only 150m from the main station – same side of the road, but 150m away. Now to buy tickets. After a short wait in the queue, it was my turn.
Either my pronunciation was bad, or she was being difficult. I had to write down the dates I wanted. Quick glance at the calendar, scribble dates, wave passport and credit card, and hey presto, return tickets to Moscow for 1500RR (under NZ$100). I think the transaction took less time than the search for the ticket office. The next day I realised I’d made a bit of a cock up with the outward leg, and was leaving on Friday night, not Thursday. Back to the ticket office, armed with a couple of new words – mistake, and to change (vt.). The correction went a lot smoother than the original purchase, I got offered a choice of upper or lower bunks, and had to pay an extra 200RR because of the way the system works.
Careful reading of the ticket indicated I was in wagon 1, berth 24, class platskart, which is third class sleeper. I arrived at the station, and began hunting my carriage Obviously; wagon1 would be at one end or other. And by the time the eyes had registered the carriage numbers, I was almost by the locomotive, and the wrong end. Walk back 20+ carriages and wait with the other peasants. At least I had a bed, unlike sitting class, where you have a chair. Went through the ticket/passport control and got on the train (what is this thing about passports?).
Chatted with my neighbours, then returned to my berth: I was sharing with a middle-aged Tatar family – him, her and a sister. The train started off and after a few minutes out came the food. So I dragged out my food, some alcohol, and instantly the mood improved. Basic rule #1: share. They’d come prepared for a long trip, and I’d had dinner, but they appreciated the sentiment. After dinner and a cup of tea, we retired to bed, with me on the top bunk.
It took some time for me to get comfortable, as Russian trains are heated, like their houses, to damn warm. The sheet was enough cover, but a blanket was available for the cold blooded. The bunk came with a mattress, pillow, pillow cover, and a sheet. Security was adequate: either put your bags in the locker under the bottom bunk, or above the top one. And as there are stewards in the carriage, it’s reasonably safe. The next morning as we were packing up, my Tatar bunk-mates insisted I have the leftovers from dinner – cheese, biscuits, some fruit.
Left Kazan at 19:30, and arrived in Moscow at 7:00. It was still dark o’clock as the Russians were on daylight saving, but dawn was just breaking. The return trip was scheduled for 22:08 on the Sunday. Would I have good bunk mates, like the family I shared with? I wondered this as I waited on the platform on Sunday evening. I had the same wagon and berth numbers going as coming. Filled into the train, checked my space, and lo and behold! The same family as before; we all burst out laughing so loud another passenger came to see if everything was all right. They’d been to a wedding in Moscow and were returning to Kazan. We chatted a bit, then everybody hit the sack.
Next morning I managed to take a few photos out the window, but discovered that the camera liked to take its time about warming up. Missed a few choice shots because the camera wasn’t ready. Not its fault, just the nature of digital cameras. I was used to the heat by now, and so slept okay, and the train arrived on time in Kazan at 9:30 Monday. We all said goodbye, and I staggered home to grab a quick shower and a coffee before class. Russian trains: love them.
Next: the weather.