Trans Siberian Fever

And I thought, what better, safer place to go than Russia?

The arctic motherland. The world's largest country, home to Vladimir Putin, the KGB, Communism, onion shaped domes, Matryoshka dolls, and 144 million people who generally as a whole don't speak English.

I stayed in a lovely, cheap hotel right near Kitay-Gorod subway station and enjoyed walking around The Kremlin. At first I thought it was a newspaper agency. Then I learned it was the seat of the Russian government. There are quite a few buildings that belong to the Kremlin, standing in a most formidable way together in one complex that makes them the most beautiful, powerful and educational group of buildings that any one person could hope to come across.

The Assumption Cathedral struck me the most. The inside was stunning, with all the walls covered in mosaics and the 4 beautiful pillars planted on the hardwood floor. Lots of stuff happened here. Like, the most important people are buried here. And the Tsar of Russia was crowned here. And a lot of other stuff, too. There is so much information that you can't sink it all in, but right in front of you is such a massively epic and monumental piece of their history, all you can do is say, wow, that's a lot of stuff.

Some very elderly Russian fellows start congregating at the alter, facing all those now deceased who stare back, through but paint and color. They sing a hymn in Russian. The effect of their voices inside the cathedral was made far more striking with the acoustics, making their voices fill the whole sanctuary in its entirety. You feel their notes resonate inside your own body. I stand there in awe.

And, the Tretyakov gallery, where my favorite painting was not a painting, but a real piano. In the middle of this art gallery, on a hardwood floor that reminded me of my music school days, there it sat. A grand, in wide open space, with a black adjustable leather stool, just like we used. Just waiting for me to sit down and play. And I stood there, in front of the museum representative, pointing and asking if I could play the piano. I spoke repeatedly into my phone for google translate to hear me in English and spew it out in Russian, and in her strong Russian accent, the response was a very immediate and definite, "no." I heard my father laugh.

The chilly Russian air filled my lungs, the Russian soil on my boots (not really, it was concrete) and who was there to send me off, but Uncle Randy, talking in my ear! Through technology, not just wavelengths and ESP. All aboard! Vse Na Bort! Your Trans Siberian adventure awaits you, on the longest railway line in the world.

To emphasize what kind of distance we are talking about, a train from Moscow to Vladivostok by rail is 9, 288 kilometers. If you got in one of those Cessna aircraft, the ones that the Wright Brother's first flew, that has propellers, and you flew at 200 km/h without stopping, it would take you 32 hours. If you flew that distance in our normal modern day large aircraft that goes 945 km/hour, it would take you 6 and a half hours. Smaller aircraft with less speed, up to 8 hours. If you got into a spaceship, and traveled at the speed of light, it would take you 0.021 seconds. Similarly, the driving distance between Vancouver to St. John's Newfoundland is 7, 458km.

And, why would you do this?

It was 7 nights and 8 days of coffee, pigs in a blanket, chips, and the Crash Test Dummies as I wrote my book feverishly. The rooms were small, the beds cosy, and the coffee was the perfect combination of cardboard and paper towel. I chose to be in a room that had 2 bunk beds, 4 people in total. But I only ever had one roommate, usually an old Russian woman, so it was always quiet. Nobody could speak English anyway.

Lay down to rest. The train rocks back and forth, back and forth. Gently you sway, side to side, sliding up and down the length of the bed. A sailor at sea, a flight attendant in mild turbulence. After long enough, you will inevitably fall asleep. Eventually you realize there is no sleep laying still anymore. Was there? Was there a time when things did not move, when your bed was stationary? No. There is no rest, not unless you rock. And then, we stop. And I wake up.

But why, Bailey? Why would you do this?

There it is, Lake Baikal. The deepest lake in the world, 1, 642 meters. This thing holds about 23% of the entire world's freshwater. It has more water than all the Great Lakes combined and it's 25 million years old. Go ahead, jump in.

The world living aboard the Trans Siberian train, both inside and out. My computer sits on the table with an empty aluminum chocolate wrapper beside, as I type and type my life growing up in Canada. Natasha, a 60 year old Russian woman, sits in front of me, her polka dot shirt visible. She shares the entire last half of the trip with me. Just the two of us. Her reflection in the center of the photo shows she's putting down a cup of tea she has just sipped. We sit there in silence, looking occasionally out the window then back in towards our craft. She knits as much as I write. Not a word of English between the two of us. The outline of the empty bunk above is apparent on the top right, and look closely, just underneath it you can see the sleeve of her wool grey coat, hanging on the wall.

Outside, the world passes by in a haze. Snow blankets the ground between the train tracks as buildings, light posts, power lines float across the window and then out of view, never to be seen nor heard from again. The landscape outside changes, but you remain. Have another sip of cognac, dear, it will do you good.

Daylight dwindles, reality slips through your grasp, as each day you are pushed ahead, a time difference of 7 hours from start to finish. We stop for a few minutes in the night. Go ahead, step outside. Breathe in the fresh Russian air of Novosibirsk, Perm, or Yekaterinburg. Stretch your legs and keep inhaling deeply. The air mixes with second hand smoke from the passengers, among them Oleg, the Russian train guard. Time to go again. The train rocks, back and forth, back and forth, it's morning now, or is it afternoon? Look out the window to see field upon field, tree upon tree. Was I dreaming that? No, get back to your book. Driving through the fields on the gravel road, at the bottom of a hill. Just waiting for the train to pass so we can drive up Pretty Hill and watch the film festival. No, that was a dream. I am in the train, not waiting for it to pass. It's not gravel I am on, it's train tracks. Or, is it? Is it morning yet?

Have a another sip of cognac dear, it will do you good.

We have arrived in Vladivostok. It is the morning of October 24. Your legs are jelly, your backpack heavy with all you thought you needed for 2 weeks. Walk out into the Russian sunlight. Feel the ground of Vladivostok, so still, so stationary. See the people, going about their day as usual, completely unaware of what you have just done. This moment is yours. Look at the train you just conquered. More than 9 thousand kilometers. Well, carry on. Let's go get something to eat. Just before I take a picture, Oleg looks out the door from inside the train. He waves at me. He takes one last glance outside, left then right, and closes the door I entered seven days ago. I will never see him again.

Dasvidanya, Oleg. Dasvidanya Trans Siberian adventure. Until next time.

And, why would you do this? Because it's never about the destination. You know that.

Bailey Sue