Around the World in 80 Girls: The Epic 3 Year Trip of a Backpacking Casanova by Neil Skywalker Page A
Authors: Neil Skywalker
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me difficult questions in Russian, making phone calls and faxing my picture around.
Finally, a t some point an officer from the Russian side of the border walked in, probably to find out what was holding the train up so long. He had a lot of stripes on his shoulder and a massive hat; he looked impressive, was clearly high-ranking, and spoke reasonable English. He asked me where I was from, and I told him Holland. As soon as I said that he cracked a huge smile and got all enthusiastic. Apparently he was a major Football fan, and he said that since the Russian national team hired a Dutch coach they had started to have some great successes on the field, for the first time in years. I joined in his enthusiasm about the famous coach Guus Hiddink and kept talking about Football. He started talking to the Kazakhs and apparently convinced them to let me go, because that’s just what they did. All I had to do was sign some documents and that was it. I didn’t even get a fine or anything!
I got back on the train and everyone asked what happened. The train was moving again and I explained while people unpacked all their smuggled stuff from everywhere in the wagon and put it back in their bags. Some hours later we arrived in Novosibirsk.
At this point I was running short on time to visit; I had to go to Mongolia before a specific date or my Mongolian visa wouldn’t be valid anymore. The next train to Irkutsk, a mere 1,850 km away, was leaving in a few hours and I bought a ticket for it, just in case I hadn’t spent enough time on trains of late. Because I didn’t end up using the Kazakh money for bribery, and since I was out of USD thanks to that bastard in Almaty, I wanted to change it to Russian rubles. Funnily enough, I couldn’t find an exchange booth anywhere. I tried several banks next, but none of them could or would change it. No bank would take the money, not in Russia, Japan or China.
After Hong Kong I gave up, and to this day I’m still stuck with $150 worth of Kazakh money. I’ll have to go back.
Th is train ride took yet another forty hours and I slept for most of it. The trains are interesting at first, since they were all made back in the Soviet era, but the Soviet propaganda imagery gets pretty boring after a while. Bear in mind that the trains I took in Russia were never the “real” Trans-Siberian train, an overpriced tourist trap. These were the real trains that real people took, who always got wide eyes when they saw my huge backpack, since they’d almost never seen a tourist in among them before. They got interested and it was easy to strike up conversations – well, at least as much of a conversation as my limited Russian allowed. Everyone gets their own bed, and the toilets are reasonably clean, though the sink there is the only one and everyone has to freshen up and do their teeth there, which seeing as there are 48 beds per carriage can make for a bit of a lineup.
There were a few shady characters in the train wagon, particularly two Siberian truck drivers who for some reason needed to be on the train. One was wearing a black eye patch and looked pretty beat up and the other one was a drunk. Other passengers warned me not to hang out with them but there was no escaping. They just kept sitting close to me and I decided to make the best of it and we drank some vodka together. The next morning when I woke up they were gone but all my stuff was still there, so everything worked just fine.
Normally the girls/women called provodnitsas who work on the trains – serving drinks, looking after passengers, all that – are fucking horrible but this time there was a nice-looking girl working and she was super friendly. She brought me free tea the whole day and we chatted a lot. Her English wasn’t good enough for a normal conversation but we got along. The last ten hours the wagon was almost empty and I was so bored that I actually helped her clean and fold all the sheets and blankets. After almost
Finally, a t some point an officer from the Russian side of the border walked in, probably to find out what was holding the train up so long. He had a lot of stripes on his shoulder and a massive hat; he looked impressive, was clearly high-ranking, and spoke reasonable English. He asked me where I was from, and I told him Holland. As soon as I said that he cracked a huge smile and got all enthusiastic. Apparently he was a major Football fan, and he said that since the Russian national team hired a Dutch coach they had started to have some great successes on the field, for the first time in years. I joined in his enthusiasm about the famous coach Guus Hiddink and kept talking about Football. He started talking to the Kazakhs and apparently convinced them to let me go, because that’s just what they did. All I had to do was sign some documents and that was it. I didn’t even get a fine or anything!
I got back on the train and everyone asked what happened. The train was moving again and I explained while people unpacked all their smuggled stuff from everywhere in the wagon and put it back in their bags. Some hours later we arrived in Novosibirsk.
At this point I was running short on time to visit; I had to go to Mongolia before a specific date or my Mongolian visa wouldn’t be valid anymore. The next train to Irkutsk, a mere 1,850 km away, was leaving in a few hours and I bought a ticket for it, just in case I hadn’t spent enough time on trains of late. Because I didn’t end up using the Kazakh money for bribery, and since I was out of USD thanks to that bastard in Almaty, I wanted to change it to Russian rubles. Funnily enough, I couldn’t find an exchange booth anywhere. I tried several banks next, but none of them could or would change it. No bank would take the money, not in Russia, Japan or China.
After Hong Kong I gave up, and to this day I’m still stuck with $150 worth of Kazakh money. I’ll have to go back.
Th is train ride took yet another forty hours and I slept for most of it. The trains are interesting at first, since they were all made back in the Soviet era, but the Soviet propaganda imagery gets pretty boring after a while. Bear in mind that the trains I took in Russia were never the “real” Trans-Siberian train, an overpriced tourist trap. These were the real trains that real people took, who always got wide eyes when they saw my huge backpack, since they’d almost never seen a tourist in among them before. They got interested and it was easy to strike up conversations – well, at least as much of a conversation as my limited Russian allowed. Everyone gets their own bed, and the toilets are reasonably clean, though the sink there is the only one and everyone has to freshen up and do their teeth there, which seeing as there are 48 beds per carriage can make for a bit of a lineup.
There were a few shady characters in the train wagon, particularly two Siberian truck drivers who for some reason needed to be on the train. One was wearing a black eye patch and looked pretty beat up and the other one was a drunk. Other passengers warned me not to hang out with them but there was no escaping. They just kept sitting close to me and I decided to make the best of it and we drank some vodka together. The next morning when I woke up they were gone but all my stuff was still there, so everything worked just fine.
Normally the girls/women called provodnitsas who work on the trains – serving drinks, looking after passengers, all that – are fucking horrible but this time there was a nice-looking girl working and she was super friendly. She brought me free tea the whole day and we chatted a lot. Her English wasn’t good enough for a normal conversation but we got along. The last ten hours the wagon was almost empty and I was so bored that I actually helped her clean and fold all the sheets and blankets. After almost
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