Mark on the Move

Nearly trapped in Nukus, Uzbekistan

Mark Mayo — Tue, 29 Jan 2013 06:34:26 +0000

The next morning dawned early, and being outside we woke with the sun. Mahmoud and his brothers took me around to meet the rest of their extended family first, which is difficult when you’re the ‘guest’ and can’t understand much – but hooray for some basic interpretation from Mahmoud, and basic sign language! We had breakfast there, which was great.

Eating breakfast with Mahmoud’s extended family

That’s when I made an error. Often I’ve had people ask if I’ve got a souvenir from home, and am annoyed at myself for not bringing some coins or similar to show people.
Instead I was only able to show some of the strange money I’d accumulated through Kazakhstan and Russia. Mahmoud’s mum jokingly made a gesture asking if she could hang on to one, and since I was getting so used to notes with large numbers on them being of little value, I accepted. They seemed very surprised and happy, and only then did I realise the sum I’d given them as a gift. Ah well, they did take me into their homes, and it’s nice to see gracious hosts taking you in unannounced.

Housing in Nukus

Next, it was off to the Savitsky Collection at the Karakalpakstan State Museum of Art – the only tourist attraction of note in Nukus. Well that’s not fair, there’s also the receding Aral Sea – but after much debate, I’d decided it was too far and too hard to get to – and more importantly, too expensive – you had to get tour companies to help you out – at least that was my understanding. Looking back, I could probably work it out with local transport now, but this was fresh into Uzbekistan for me.

Karakalpak Museum – home of the Savitsky Collection

Ihe Savistsky Collection is named after Igor Savitsky. He was born in Kiev, and after an expedition into this region with famous scientist Tolstov, hung around to collect works of art from the area. He also began collecting art from around Central Asia, and historic priceless Russian art which the current Soviet regime was banishing and destroying. Out in the distant land of Karakalpakstan, far from Moscow, he mostly went unnoticed, and as word spread of his underground efforts, people began even smuggling art out of Soviet hotspots across the Union to his collection, where only a fraction can now stands on display today; it is so massive.

Me with the famous Karakalpak poet, Ajiniyaz. Pen name: Ziywar.

It was quite something, even for someone like myself who doesn’t always appreciate the fine arts as much as I could have, to see classic Russian art, beside Socialist Realism, beside clothes, carpets and silk from the areas around. Quite a collection indeed.

Then it was time to get some cash, as I had only changed a bit on the dodgy deals on the train, and I was short on Russian cash since Mahmoud’s house. Although I was confident on finding my way out of the city and dealing it myself, he insisted on sticking with me, hailing cabs and taking me to banks. It was now that I was starting to get worried. Due to juggling my funds around, I had only one credit card I was able to use, and there were no ATMs to use my debit/eftpost cards. And all the banks we tried would only take the other major type of credit card.

Outskirt streets in Nukus, near Mahmoud’s place

Finally they insisted one across town would take my card, so off we went. Mahmoud explained to the guard at the door to the bank, who explained back that I could not enter the bank, as I was wearing shorts! As such, I’d have to give them my card and pin, and they’d withdraw the money for me, for safety.

I loudly explained back that for a bank concerned with security, asking customers to give out their pin numbers was unacceptable, and that they could either bring me a machine to enter it on, or let me in, as there was no other option (hoping they wouldn’t just tell me to leave). After some more heated discussion they conferred with the bank manager and decided that one crazy foreigner was welcome in after all.

Lake near Mahmoud’s place

Inside there was a guy who spoke a little English – a few words, so helped me fill out a form and get it all sorted. While that was being processed he took me around to the safe to get the money, and my jaw dropped. You may remember me saying that their biggest note is US$0.50. So imagine just how many notes the bank has to keep on site. I begged, and when he saw the look on my face, the manager smiled and for the only time in my life, I’m sure, I was able to take a photo inside a bank vault. Look at the moolah!

A few dollars. Seriously, just a few.

Then it was time to say goodbye to Mahmoud, and it got a bit strange, as he showed me the inter-city taxi rank, and then suddenly his English sort of faded, and started making inferences about cash. I’d already given his family a sizeable gift, and being short already had to dodge this, but it felt a bit awkward on parting after a great experience in the town with him and his brothers. Ah well. A rate was negotiated with the shared taxi for a seat to Khiva, and I stood around for 25 minutes or so while the cab slowly filled up, and then off we drove through sandy, bumpy roads before finally stopping in a city, outside a big wall. I asked if this was the gate to the city, and assured it was, and got out, and looked up. Wow…

The walled city of Khiva is inside the modern city, and I was at the Northern Gate. Except I didn’t know this, as the taxi driver had said Western Gate, so I was VERY confused for the first 20 minutes, for this reason, and because there was nobody around. NOBODY. I walked past temples like nothing I’d seen, past dusty alleyways and closed doors. I was so tired, and so hot, and so dusty. It was early afternoon, and the sun was directly overhead. I poured sweat, but I was getting used to this experience. And this time I’d remembered to check the Lonely Planet. It finally dawned on me why nobody was around – when it’s this hot – everyone stays indoors. In the coming days, I’d realise that any sightseeing should be done before 10am, and in the early evening. In between, you have to really want it to be out in the heat.

The actual West Gate of the walled city of Khiva

I arrived in a central square where the hostel was. Except, there was nothing. No sign. Fortunately a guy working on a stand nearby saw me and made a sign with his hands to indicate closed. I gestured ‘anything else around?’ and he said a name and pointed. I soon worked out that he meant the Mirzaboshi guest house across the square. I met the cheery owner, who happily showed me to a private room. It was a small guest house, with a main ‘house’ where the family lived, with a handful of small rooms leading off of a small courtyard out the back. I was evidently the only one staying, but it was really nice having a room to myself after the stress of the past few nights.

Mirzaboshi guesthouse courtyard

I went out after a bit and explored a bit more, as the afternoon cooled into evening, and the stars came out, twinkling specks contrasting brightly against the dark night sky. A few small restaurants had music playing, and I picked up a snack, rather than a meal, and retired to my room, looking forward to a good night’s sleep. My room was small, with two beds lined in series, and a wall fan which I was thankful for. I pointed it at my bed, did some reading and dozed off, looking forward to a day in Khiva.

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The Adventure that is Obshi-class Train Travel from Kazakhstan to Uzbekistan

Mark Mayo — Fri, 29 Jun 2012 06:19:57 +0000

A camel wandering around near the station at Aktau. Because that’s normal.

I had my train lined up to leave around 9pm, and got to the station with time to spare. I wandered in to find the train on the platform, so tried to board but was informed I was on the next train. Confused I looked around and found that either it was working on a different time zone or everything was just out by an hour. I would later find out that all trains in these countries run on Moscow time, and have done so since Soviet times. Oh well. I wandered around the food sellers for a bit and chased a stray camel down the road with my camera, before returning and walking the wrong way down the train before being sent to wagon ’0′ down the other end. Turned out it was ‘logically’ in the middle of the long train. As such I was fairly warm by the time I found the wagon, and was looking forward to sitting and cooling down onboard.

I was in for a shock.

The crowd boarding / seeing off the train in Aktau

I boarded, walked into the cabin and the outside of my body turned to a river of sweat. It was a sauna packed full of peoople. Much like any platzkart carriage, it had 54 beds, but instead of having a person to a bed there were 3-4 people sitting on every lower bed. Most had something in the hands waving it uselessly to try and cool themselves down. I used my charades skills to look confused and ask a person where my seat was, showing them my ticket, but they seemed more confused and just waved me down the wagon. I quickly established that there was no assigned seating, and so I squeezed in between two others on a seat on the long-window of the wagon, stuffing my bag underneath. 2 minutes down, the best part of 24 hours to go.

About a minute later, however, a guy came up to me and said something to me semi-angrily. I suspected he wanted my seat, but in my best broken Russian said I didn’t speak Russian. Oops, turns out he was speaking Uzbek. He switched to broken English and said I was in his seat, but kindly allowed me to squash in as well. There were now four of us squished together. Literally sitting against each other. 3 minutes down.

Eventually, my clothes now soaked in sweat and only drink already half gone, we started to move and everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief as a tiny little breeze started coming in through the window.

Mahmoud, who showed me around the start of my time in Uzbekistan

The guy whose spot I’d grabbed introduced himself as Mahmoud, and after a few sentences back and forth started hearing others saying the various words that I could vaguely recognise for tourist and New Zealand, the topic filtering around the cabin. I’m sure the word for crazy was there too. I think mostly they were just surprised to see a westerner in this class of cabin. Personally I was surprised to see that many in that cabin.

The night went on, still stinking hot, and slowly some drifted to the beds above, the problem being that with so many people, most of the top beds were being used for luggage. People would nap for an hour and then switch with someone else, and twice those of us on our bench had to get up to move to allow a Muslim to perform his morning prayers (Mahmoud included).

Sellers and passengers milling around at train change in Beynou

We stopped at Beynou again and had an hour’s break, thank goodness. At this half-way point Mahmoud said it’d be great if I wanted to come and stay with him that night in Nukus – he and his brothers’. Sounded good to me. We were going to be in separate cabins for the next twelve hours as it was a different train, but we’d meet up again at the end. We bought some food from the sellers crowding the platform, and I proceeded to cause shocked faces among a few of my previous carriage buddies as I bit into an apple. I wondered what I’d done, before realising which hand I’d used. One of them helpfully (and very graphically) demonstrated first what the right hand was for (hand to mouth) and then (ahem) what the left hand was for…

I boarded again into a new carriage and found a spot, thinking I’d got quite a good amount of space until just before departure everyone piled on and it was crammed again. This time, we’d be crossing the border, and the guards came through checking passports. When seeing the New Zealand passport, however, they insisted I come and sit with them. As they had comfier mattress seats with more space, I happily agreed. Still hot down their end, at least they had piles of chai tea to offer me, and I happily spent the next several hours attempting to converse with them, sipping tea and napping.

Stoking the fire onboard for hot water for chai tea

We came to the border with Uzbekistan and the border guards got on to check people’s passports. Fortunately they had an English speaker who sat with me and went through the form. They insist on you declaring every cent you have of every currency, which was time-consuming as I now had several – even some left-over Polish. I decided not to mention my souvenir coin pouch in my daypack which still even had Peruvian coins from a previous long trip.

Uzbekistan has an unfortunate currency system. Their highest note is 1000 soms, which works out at about $US0.50. If you use the official rates, that is. All my advice (which was basically a sentence in the Lonely Planet) was not to – the black market could save you about 30% on any transaction. I was unsure about this but figured I’d see what people did. And soon enough a guy got onboard while we were still stopping and asked me if I wanted to change money. My usual suspicious self when money is traded at the border, I checked the rate, which was pretty great, and got some soms. However, because of the small value of their biggest note, I got several WADS of notes. I had to stuff them into four separate pockets; there was no way it was fitting into my wallet. Still, I was feeling mildly pleased with myself, I’d only just crossed the border and done my first black market trade!

The landscape of NW Uzbekistan

And then I nearly wet myself as the guard came back on as we started moving, saw the trader and went ballistic at him, and literally had him thrown off a moving train!. Yes – read that again – the train was moving slowly – but it was actually in motion when the trader was removed! I panicked – my new soms burning a hole in my pocket, praying they wouldn’t check the very detailed monetary listing on my immigration form again. I’d heard stories of Uzbekistan prisons (the bug hole in Bukhara) and I didn’t want to go there! And then next thing, the guard returned, smiling, with his own guy, and asked me if I’d like to trade any money. The first guy had simply been stepping on someone else’s territory. Smiling politely I thanked them, but no, I’d happily use the banks in town. Cough.

Mid-afternoon we stopped and some food sellers came onboard. The guard said I should eat, and I said I’d heard about shashlyk – but he made a face and insisted I eat Plov. This sounds like a conversation, but it went more like this:

Guard: something something something (right hand to mouth motion), questioning tone
Me: oh I get this, he says there is food. Sweet, I’ll get me some of these mighty fine sticks of meat. “Shashlyk?” (questioning tone)
Guard: something something disgusted face nyet, something something plov (rubs belly, makes happy face)
Me: Hmm, I may have made some grievous tourist error. Make decisiony-looking face, “da, plov, da”.
Guard looks pleased, money changes hands, Mark gets food.

One of the guards finally agreed to a photograph. Note the chai bowls and pot

Ok, fine, I’ll give that a go. Plov is mainly rice, often with a few veges thrown in (small amounts of carrot, onion and often entire garlic cloves!). Finally it has a meat, which is usually just a handful of small pieces of mutton. It was pretty good, being exceedingly hungry, and I bought a large Coke to share with the guards as well. They also shared some of the plov, which may be why he was pointing me towards that.

We finally pulled in at Kungrad as the sun was setting, and I hopped off to find the others. Mahmoud insisted he could sort a taxi, and that I should stand back to avoid affecting the rates with my foreigner-ness. I dutifully hung back while he organised two seats, and then the two of us hopped in back, along with an older guy in the front and a big local in the back as well, with me in the middle, and our old Russian-make car bounced off into the night, on roads so horrendous I realised that this was probably where Danny had his sand crash, and could totally understand why. Huge potholes when the road existed at all, and then it’d just change to piles of sand at a moment’s notice.

We paused briefly for Big Fellow to buy a giant bottle of beer, and then continued as he happily passed it around the car for us all to share. It wasn’t bad, and I was relieved to see the driver merely stuck to his cigarettes, passing on the alcohol. Mahmoud also declined, on religious grounds.

Mahmoud, his brothers and myself at their place

Nukus was about an hour away, and we were the last two to get dropped off. It was a clear night and the stars in the desert were spectacular. Mahmoud was at his brothers’ place, the only problem being his brother had gone out, and we had no key. After a neighbour called around a bit we tracked the brother down, and the other brothers appeared out of nowhere as well. We chatted for a bit around nan bread and sweets, before Mahmoud showed me where to sleep – he’d kindly prepared a matress and duvet outside, under the stars. In what I thought was a bit strange at first but later found out to be tradition – they generally don’t leave guests alone, he had prepared one for himself as well, and I settled down under the stars in a remote village in Uzbekistan, in the back yard of someone I’d just met, after one of the one bizarre car rides and definitely the craziest train journey I’d ever been on. What a day.

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Aktau and the Caspian Sea – Where the Streets Have No Name

Mark Mayo — Tue, 26 Jun 2012 06:45:33 +0000

It’s me. And the Caspian Sea. Err Ocean. Err Lake. Oh fine, Caspian Sea.

It’s not without coincidence that one might have U2 in your head in Aktau – where the streets have no name. Originally a custom-built camp for oil industry workers, insted all addresses in Aktau are of the form x-y-z – three numbers, the block number, the building and the apartment number. It sounds horrendously confusing at first, but it doesn’t take long to start asking what district (microraion) something is in. During the Soviet regime it was renamed Shevchenko, to honour the Ukrainian poet Taras Shevchenko who was exiled here for his political ideas, but after the collapse of the USSR in 1991 it reverted to its Aktau roots.

Aktau is Kazakhstan’s only seaport on the Caspian sea, on the Mangyshlak peninsula. As such it was a bit of diversion from the main track east – I should have changed at Beyneu – but I was determined to see and go for a swim in the Caspian Sea. And as such I grabbed a taxi and headed to the hotel I’d found – the cheapest I could find online and again a brutal price – more than those of Finland! This was probably my biggest money mistake so far – I’d forgotten I’d bought the Lonely Planet for Central Asia, and if I’d thought to check as I was now in Kazakhstan and in areas covered by the book, I’d have found accommodation for a third of the price.

Aktau residential area in Microraion 2

However, I didn’t, and as such my taxi pulled up at Hotel Rahat in Microraion 2, then went off to an ATM and came back so that I could actually pay the guy in Tenge, as I had none. I checked in and got the ‘cheapest’ room in what was a business hotel really, with great breakfasts (they cost though), and I had a junior suite! Such luxury for a backpacker, with a bathroom bigger than any room I’d had in a hotel, and my own balcony as well. Just luxury, and wow did it hurt my bank balance…

I was just in time for breakfast once I’d unpacked, so I ate with a view of the Caspian. Freighters in the distance, some smaller boats, it looked good, and I made plans as I chewed on pancakes and had some great coffee.

View from the Hotel Rahat balcony

Unfortunately by the time I got out and started to explore, a mist had come in over the sea. It was clear enough above land, but over the water – you could barely see more than 100m out. I walked down to the endge and had a look around, photographed some skittish stray horses I’d seen earlier from the taxi. It was quite effective with the mist, and still very warm. Insanely warm. This was hotter than anything I’d had since Berlin. I felt a little self-conscious as I had my ‘expensive’ bag (daypack with all my valuables – camera etc) on me, and frankly I’d not brought a change of clothes. Nevertheless, nobody around was that close, so I dropped down to my pants and waded out into the sea. It was a good decision not to dive in, as there were all sorts of odd obstacles under the water – concrete blocks, bottles and the like. It was refreshing and great to get out of the heat. I came back into shore and sat on the rocks for a while, enjoying the sun and drying off, before starting to walk towards town, ignoring the odd looks from the locals.

Of course being a naive walker, where I assume I’ll come across some form of public transport or that ‘future Mark’ will decide to get a taxi, I started walking to zones 4 – 6, where the main sights were. Future Mark was to get very hot and tired and blame Present Mark immensely for this, but would obstinately continue to walk in the heat regardless…

The main beach in Aktau

I should mention that Aktau is Kazak for “white mountain”, something of an irony given it’s on the coast of a sea and that it’s actually in a depression – one of the lowest points on earth at 130m BELOW sealevel. This to me also raises the question of the difference between a lake, the sea and the ocean – to me the big water around the world is the ocean (Pacific, Indian etc), and then what the difference between a lake and a sea is … is dubious. But the result is that the level of the Caspian Sea is apparently below sealevel.

Sights in Aktau

The Caspian Sea

Going for a swim in the Caspian Sea. This was a must. I’d done this, and to me, anything else was a bonus. Fortunately, there was a lot of bonus to be had.

The Shevchenko monument

Shevchenkho Monument

Poor old Taras Shevchenko, at least has a monument. His poem “A Dream” initially amused, then angered Tsar Nicholas when it turned to mocking his wife – the Tsar commenting “”I suppose he had reasons not to be on terms with me, but what has she done to deserve this?”. Taras was imprisoned in St Petersburg, then exiled to this region as a private, and continued to live a life of turmoil, being pardoned, banned from St Petersburg, returning to his old Ukraine, being arrested for blasphemy, and released but ordered to return to St Petersburg, buried, then exhumed and his remains transferred to Moscow by train and then by horse-drawn wagon to his homeland, the Ukraine. Wow! Anyway, they made a monument to his work and life, here where he was exiled.

MiG Monument on Victory Mall and the WW2 Eternal Flame Memorial

WW2 Eternal Flame Memorial

This is actually pretty cool. Like many other Russian and European cities, there’s an Eternal flame. This is at the top of a long pedestrian mall, with a model of a MiG as well. I’ll leave it up to the plane experts to identify which model it is…if they can…

The beach

As I mentioned, there was a quiet spot near my hotel where I went swimming. However by the actual town (zones 4-6 and a bit further north) is a fantastic beach area, with beach bars, shops, and fishing. On hot days like the two I spent here, this was a fantastic area to hang out.

Taxis were interesting in Aktau. I had some difficulty communicating (again), and although I’d been told not to accept rides for more than 200, that never seemed to work out – always costing me 600 around town, even with negotiating. Still, that’s pretty good compared to walking in the heat. Oddly I always walked the long walk into town, but took the taxi home, even though it was cooler in the later afternoon…

MiG Monument on Victory Mall

Booking my departure train – Obshi class

Ah, there’s always a lesson to be learned as a traveller. For much of my travel planning, I was using Wikitravel, although Stackexchange’s new Travel Beta site was starting to pick up steam, and already a guy in St Petersburg on it had been helping me (shout out to @VMAtm). By now I’d worked out that to get into Uzbekistan, I’d have to take a train (once a day) back to Beynou, and then onwards to Kungrad, which was near Nukus, which was sort of near Khiva, where I wanted to go first in that country. Danny was already negotiating the sands of Uzbekistan, having had a good fall, and I was chasing to catch up.

From Wikitravel:

There are three types of trains:

Along the main streets of Aktau

fast trains (skory poyezd) or express trains (train nos 1 to 149)
slower trains (skorostnoi poyezd) (train nos 151 to 169), and
passenger trains (passazhirski poyezd) (train nos 171 to 699).

There are four types of sleepers:

soft wagon (miagki vagon) – 2 berth compartments
kupeiny vagon – 4 berth compartments
platskartny vagon – benches in a large car
obshi vagon – don’t take that one

Numbered buildings in the x-y-z numbering manner

So along I went to the train booking office. In my best (atrocious) Russian, I drew my drawings of a cabin, and asked for ‘kupe’ class. The answer was ‘nyet’. This applied to ‘platzkartny’ as well. Then I remembered my great overnight seated carriage trains in Russia – two seats to myself, actually pretty comfy. So I pointed to my chair and implied ‘like this’. She looked very troubled, and hesitantly said ‘yes….’ but in Russian, so ‘da….’. She showed me the price. It was fantastic! So I bought my ticket for obshi class; for later tonight I’d be on the train to Uzbekistan. To me, this was the most exciting country ahead, so I was excited. Very excited. I should have been worried. So very worried…

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To Kazakhstan by Train – Very Nice, High Five!

Mark Mayo — Fri, 26 Aug 2011 22:29:17 +0000

The train going into Kazakhstan was pretty similar to those in Russia – with the platzkart and kupe cabins. I’d opted for the kupe again, given that I hoped there’d be a powerpoint for me to use. I was missing my Kindle, annoyed I’d not been able to find a replacement.

Train going the other way, from Aktobe to Atyrau

Although I was in a kupe cabin of four beds, I was sharing only with a Russian / Kazakh woman, Victoria, who spoke a few words of English. She lived in Aktau and had been visiting family in Astrakhan. As the trip was 42 hours long and included two nights, it didn’t matter that we spoke little of each others’ language – you could spend five minutes trying to figure out how to explain one word to the other – time becomes irrelevant. An engineer with one of the Aktau oil companies, she had many stories about how things had changed from Soviet Union times. Back then every trip the company sent her on would be flying – it was that cheap, these days the train was the only sensible way to go. Of course half way into a 42 hour trip, your view on what is “sensible” changes somewhat.

One of the cargo trains we pass

Although there were the occasional stops, and I tend to shutdown eating-wise on journeys like this, she insisted despite my protests this wasn’t to be and kept making me share her teas, food, and some oddities – chocolate-covered cheese. This worked out very well for me.

Desert rainbow!

At the Kazakhstan border I got a good long grilling in broken English, where I’d come from and so on. Was I really travelling through Kazakhstan on my own? A tourist? What were my plans afterwards? He then called it in, saying that it was the first time he’d seen a New Zealand passport, so had to figure out what to do. All cleared, he shook my hand and welcomed me to Kazakhstan, and I swallowed the temptation to quote Borat with “Very nice, high five!” (aside: Borat’s accent is not even close to accurate Kazakh). This was now country number 58 for me!

The oncoming storm systems

It started to rain shortly after entering Kazakhstan – just light rain, with a storm visible in the distance, lightning included. The landscape opened up to wide, bare, flat plains, with tussocks of grass. A spectacular rainbow passed us, and half an hour later, another. Before long, Victoria exclaimed and pointed out the window – there was the first of many camels to be seen. Some ambling in trains out in the semi-desert, others in backyards in the villages we passed by.

Temple on the steppe

There was a four hour stop in Atyrau, but being at 6am I opted instead to stay on the train and nap while the train shunted back and forth 50 or so times. Victoria came back on with lots of shopping, she seemed pleased with her haul.

The second night, at Beyneu around midnight we stopped and a lot of new passengers boarded. We gained a couple in our carriage, more eastern-looking Kazakhs, also bound for Aktau. They had a ton of luggage, and chatted quite a bit to Victoria – and I gathered some of it was about me, as I’d pick up a bit here and there. Mr “Nova Zelandya” was becoming a common curiosity.

Camels in the desert

Victoria pointed out the vehicle roads near the track. “Very dangerous – barely a road”. I thought of Danny on his scooter. At least he’d made it through there already.

The line itself must be really popular, and I couldn’t work out why we stopped many, many times along the way, often in the middle of nowhere. This was one of the reasons it takes so long. Eventually I decided that it was stopping at small shunting stations, as for the most part it seemed to be one track, and doing this would allow trains in the other direction to pass.

Villages on the steppe

Finally around 9am, almost perfectly to time again, we pulled into Aktau – or rather the small town nearby – Mangestau. Saying goodbye to the others, I followed the mass of people heading for the fence, jumped it and engaged in the horde of taxi drivers, eager to see my first Kazakh city, and to find the Caspian Sea!

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Astrakhan – Two Sides to a City

Mark Mayo — Fri, 26 Aug 2011 05:26:53 +0000

I arrived early in Astrakhan and hopped out into the mess of taxi drivers triple parked outside the station. I tried communicating with a few of them the name of my hotel, but to no avail – before finding one finally who reckoned he knew the street I said. Or gestured. Probably.

On the tracks at Astrakhan

A port on the Volga river, very close to the Caspian Sea – Astrakhan has had a key position in history, and traded hands many times – from the Golden Horde, to Ivan the Terrible, the Cossacks and the Russians. Now a city of 500,000 – it has a varied ‘style’ (which I’ll get to) and the most hyped tourist thing about it is that you can get a 10 day cruise up the Volga to Moscow – something I’d love to do one day!

Astrakhan - not looking great

It was 6am and I was tired, so after 20 minutes when the taxi driver came to a pause on a street and asked me where the hotel was, I was unimpressed. It turned out he had roughly the right address, but the hotel was hard to find. After asking some people, I finally remembered I had the phone number, and after giving them a call he headed down what looked like a rubbish tip inside a construction zone driveway, to reveal the Gold Jin (like Genie) hotel.

Ladas, communist-era apartment buildings

They were undergoing a lot of renovations to be fair, and despite speaking no English they seemed quite happy to let me check in early (6.30am now). I crashed into my first proper bed in several nights and had a few hours of sleep.

Astrakhan starting to look pretty nice and clean

Rising, I decided to wander in an attempt to firstly find some food and secondly locate the train station again by foot as I had forgotten to buy my ticket out – after the ‘once per day’ train in Volgograd I was wary of being stuck in an expensive hotel. It was cheap for the town but still far more than a hostel, again none of which existed in the city, as far as I could find online.

Nicer architecture in the city center

After several blocks and an hour wandering down dusty wreckers’ yards and among Soviet-era apartment blocks, I was unimpressed with the city. It was dirty, dusty and depressing, and most importantly despite having found the tracks – Google Maps once again was rather lacking in its description of the city, and as such I didn’t really know which way to follow the tracks to the station. Eventually I gave in and found a cabbie, a young chap who excitedly attempted to practice his English with me and even took a really long roundabout way to extend the conversation. Fortunately he charged me half of my initial ride, so it was fine. I also learned the Russian word for train, after my saying ‘station’ in Russian brought up further questions. Despite the fact that “vaxhal” usually means train station, and “avtovaxhal” means bus station. By now I was accustomed to making a fool of myself and the onomatopoeic “choo-choo” got the desired response. The irony was that the bus and train stations were actually beside each other.

The promenade on the Volga river

I entered the train station after a search by the police, and stared at the board. My Cyrillic was improving but it still took me a while to spot the train I wanted to Aktau, Kazakhstan, for the following day. Finally I borrowed a pen from a stall owner and scribbled down the train times and date that I wanted, and approached the counter, hoping my train ticket buying technique was now honed enough to avoid any confusing questions.

I was out of luck. She understood the date and time, but kept asking “Mangestau”. Thank goodness I’d spoken to a Russian on travel.stackexchange.com the previous day and established that this was the small town and region near Aktau where the end of the line was. However mixed among her other words it took me a few goes to identify this, but eventually got my ticket and the times and everything matched what I expected, so it looked good.

Cyrillic, the daily bane of my trip

I popped into a supermarket just outside, and spent some time wandering the aisles, just looking at what was on offer. It’s the first time I’ve seen frozen vegetables in bins where you just take scoops of the appropriate pile. I was also getting better at identifying some of the words around. It’s funny, but more often that not food items are the best part of any language I know.

From here I walked down the street for a while, figuring I could grab a cab if needed. After a while I came across the river, and finally, this was the Astrakhan I was looking for. To any future travellers – theGold Jin hotel is neither central nor convenient. There are others for similar prices which are in far better locations.

I followed the river around to a few churches, and the waterfront even had a Brighton beach-like promenade, with roller-skaters, couples walking and people just enjoying the fading sun. It’s a really nice part of the town, and it’s disappointing it’s not easy to find from the hotel who firstly spoke zero English (ok fine, it’s Russia) and didn’t have maps, despite their remote location.

The 400 year old Kremlin

One final highlight which I thought was basically a large walled cathedral, I would later find was the old Kremlin, built in the 1580s to 1620s. Although closed, it was nice to walk around and see it and some more of the city.

Eventually I grabbed another cab and headed back to the hotel, tired, but I figured I’d check out in the morning and do some sightseeing until my early-afternoon train to Aktau.

Yes, you try finding your station on this!

Surprise! 6am, and I was awoken to loud knocking on the door. The employees, now suddenly with a grasp of the English language (albeit limited) told me that I’d been there 24 hours and therefore either had to pay or leave. Unimpressed, given that their checkout time was midday, I tried to argue, but was in no position to question when their English vanished again, so I settled on paying and spent the morning on Skype and generally making use of the hotel if I was going to be paying for it. Finally an hour before departure, I grabbed a taxi and headed to the station. After crossing my fingers that the police wouldn’t insist on searching my bags at the entrance, I wandered around for a bit looking for snacks, before picking up some more Pistachios and drinks, and what turned out to be the most pitiful looking scoop of icecream I’d ever seen. But hey, 15 Rubels. The station also had a bird cage down the end with several rather large birds I’d never seen before. Finally the train arrived, and I wandered across the tracks and into the carriage, after yet another confusing discussion with the provodnitsa as I was still unable to work out how they could figure out my cabin room from my ticket. Next stop, Kazakhstan!

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Volgograd to Astrakhan by Train

Mark Mayo — Thu, 11 Aug 2011 01:26:12 +0000

At 7.30pm I was back at the station with some slight rain coming down, and snacks in hand ready to board my train to Astrakhan overnight.

Train tracks at Volgograd

I’d booked a seating class ticket and briefly panicked when I saw what appeared to be several drunken army soldiers waiting for the train, but they seemed to be in a different wagon. I boarded and was quite pleased with getting two seats again and the carriage being only a third full. It was going to be about 11 hours, so this was fine.

The Angel - "Mamayev Kurgan" memorial

As we pulled out of the station I saw up on the hill the angel statue that I’d been searching for. It was pretty big and impressive, and quite the symbol for the city. The train pulls over the Volga river to the east side, and then follows the tracks south to Astrakhan.

After a while some of the soldiers came into our carriage and were being rather loud and drunken, with a few of them taking a look at what I was doing on my laptop and sitting behind me I decided it was time to pack it away. They then started causing a bit of a scene with a passenger at the back, before our wagon’s providnitsa came along and chased the lot of them out, and I ended up sleeping pretty much through until the morning.

Welcome to Astrakhan

Next thing I knew we were pulling in to Astrakhan, my final city in this leg of my Russian trip…

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One Day in Volgograd

Mark Mayo — Wed, 10 Aug 2011 06:59:46 +0000

Volgograd was formerly known as Stalingrad, and was the center of one of the most important and bloodiest battles during World War II. As like many river-side cities it has strategic value, and being on the major river (Volga) between the Caspian Sea and Moscow, perhaps even more so…

Early morning on the Volga River

Having established I had the day in Volgograd, I started walking, picked up a map courtesy of an open wi-fi network, and found that the Volga river was actually pretty close by. I headed down there first, and spent about an hour just sitting in the sun on the banks of the river, a welcome feeling after being couped up in the train for nearly two days. In the river were a couple of small boats fishing, and some fisherman on the banks as well trying for the early morning catch.

Central square in Volgograd

The big ferry terminal building was to my left, and so I wandered along, wondering briefly if I could get a ferry down to Astrakhan. It seemed that it might be possible but I found the ferries even more complicated than buying train tickets, and eventually decided not to bother. Upstairs they had an open coffee shop (which apparently doubled as a strip clup at nights!), and as it came with free wifi I had a Chinese dish (quite the mix of food this place!) for breakfast, and checked email and the like.

Central Volgograd and one of its parks

The rest of the day I spent wandering around town, stopping when my bags became annoyingly heavy, and when a brief flash-storm came rushing through out of nowhere. In the afternoon I came across what appeared for all money to be a Communist Party rally, and again I felt mildly frustrated that I couldn’t understand the langauge – but it was interesting to watch anyway, with the anthem playing as well.

Communist Street

The center of Volgograd doesn’t have much in the way of tourist sights, aside from some statues, the big square, and the usual war and eternal flame memories that seem prevalent throughout ex-Soviet countries. It also has a big angel memorial statue – “Mamayev Kurgan” somewhere in it, and although I’d seen it on a rough tourist map, I walked for ages in the direction of where it should be without any luck, before needing to head back to buy some snacks and catch the train out of time.

Volgograd and its "Mamayev Kurgan" memorial statue over the Volga river

Volgograd seemed to be ok to visit as a city, but I think it’s more useful as a place to leave from rather than a destination – I’d love to take the week long ferry to Moscow one day…

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The Kazakh Visa and Train from Saint Petersburg to Volgograd

Mark Mayo — Sun, 07 Aug 2011 10:08:15 +0000

After dropping my stuff with the kind staff at Apple Hostel (given I was no longer staying there), I headed off for a coffee while waiting for the consulate to open. Eventually the time came and … actually, I kinda covered this in my post about the visa, so I’ll just quote:

“Monday morning, back from Moscow I was at the consulate at opening time, and not really looking at me the woman took my passport, and 10 minutes later returned with the visa inside. I paused briefly, considering saying something, and decided it wasn’t worth it. I checked the dates, and left, finally, visa achieved!”

Right. It was raining again, and my feet were soaked. The reason being, as is tradition with me – I tend to wait until my shoes are literally falling apart before I buy new ones. It happened in Morocco when I was walking around for days in the wet, and in Ireland when I was there during their flood of ’09. And so I returned to the hostel to ask Irena where the nearest cheap shoe shops would be. Conveniently there were a few nearby, and I eventually found a big mall with mostly designer stuff, but one shop with some cheap-by-Saint-Petersburg-prices shoes. Sneakered up, I exited to find the rain had stopped, of course, but at least I had shoes.

Farmland countryside enroute to Volgograd

I stopped in at the train station to buy my ticket south to Volgograd, and walked around for a while, got some food, and finally returned to get my stuff and head to the station. It was going to be a long trip, and I’d settled on Kupe class for two reasons – 37 hours in a bed slightly too short would be annoying, and secondly it’d mean I’d have power points – a huge plus given I had no English language books on me and odds were I couldn’t really hold a conversation with my cabin mates.

Restaurant carriage on train

I found the train and wandered on, ending up in a cabin with a family – two parents and their kid Maxim. I was to hear his name called in anguish many, many times on this trip – he wasn’t the most obedient of kids, and coupled with his over-protective parents made for a repetitive ‘Maxim…Maxim…Maxim’. Again I seemed to have ‘my’ bunk – I somehow always get given the top right bunk in each group, which suits me – I can hide away on the top bunk if I want to, without feeling guilty about keeping someone from using their ‘seat’ on the bottom bunk.

Small towns enroute

This trip would mean that I’d get two nights on the train, and as such on the second evening I decided it was time to be a tourist — although I’d gotten out regularly and bought snacks in the villages, I decided I was going to use the restaurant car. I wandered down and immediately realised my problem – naturally, the menu was in Cyrillic. The chef, pleased that a tourist was using his services, actually spoke some English and a little Spanish, so between the three languages we managed to translate a few of the items for me, having some delicious soup and some decent chicken, while I watched the villages and fields go by out the big carriage windows.

Farm houses and livestock mostly

The countryside is very different again on this route, compared with the forests of Siberia and the lakes of Murmansk – with more small villages, farmland and open countryside – still rather green.

As we came towards Volgograd in the early morning, the provodnik woke us and we started seeing the Volga river, finally pulling in to the station bright and early. I said goodbye to the family, and headed out to see Volgograd after confirming the only train to Astrakhan, where I next wanted to stay, was at 7.30pm that night, giving me a day in the city.

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A Weekend in Moscow

Mark Mayo — Sat, 06 Aug 2011 09:31:50 +0000

This wasn’t my first trip to Moscow, having been here twice in 2008 on the trip to Siberia for the eclipse with Pascal. As such for me this was more of a ‘I can’t come back to Russia without seeing Moscow’ trip, as well as an excuse to get out of Saint Petersburg for the weekend while waiting on my blasted Kazakhstan visa.

Red Square in summer

Moscow is 860 years old, and full of reminders of its imperial and Soviet past. For me it’s always conjured up images of Red Square and the Kremlin, of James Bond movies and Soviet troops marching by. And that’s totally all it is.

No really, in the 20 years since the end of the Soviet regime, Moscow has changed a lot. Whether for the better for tourists is debateable – sure, it’s more accessible and arguably safer, but now McDonalds is all over the place, Starbucks appears twice on the famous Arbat street, and the prices are higher than almost any other European city. Fortunately, however, the sights haven’t been altered, and you can stroll happily around Red Square and get a shot in front of St Basil’s Cathedral without any hassle (unless there’s a pre-Olympics parade on and you have to bribe your way in as we may or may not have needed to do in 2008). The Kremlin has a steady stream of tourists going in and out, and even “President Putin” is on stand-by to greet the many visitors outside the Russian History Museum. And of course since the Kremlin gets blown up in the next Mission Impossible film (oops, sorry, spoilers), it was best to see it again now

"President Putin" comes to greet the crowds

I started walking from the hostel thinking I’d go to a metro station, but ended up walking all the way to the Red Square. It was mostly downhill when hilly, and you get to see a lot more of Moscow this way. I walked past a street with Moscow’s first international food festival – which was unbelievably tempting, but I decided I could get international food, well, obviously – in other countries, and I should press onwards towards Red Square.

St Basil's Cathedral, and me

To change things up a bit, I decided to do something we didn’t do last time – actually go into St Basil’s Cathedral. I’m not sure why we didn’t, but to be fair, it’s not the most interesting inside – the exterior is more impressive. Built in 1555-61, it now contains a museum within. The initial downstairs chamber is impressive, with colour everywhere and all sorts of mosaics, and then you follow what used to be a secret staircase up into the actual cathedral, made up of several mini chapels. Each one is different, some very basic, others with interesting ceilings or the occasional painting, but otherwise fairly sparse. I thought it was worth it though, for completeness.

Alongside the Red Square is a large shopping center – ‘Gum’ (although when you only partially know Cyrillic it looks like ‘Gym’, and as such I kept hearing Homer Simpson quoting ‘What’s a Gym?’ in my head). I went inside, and it’s quite spectacular inside, with ‘trees’ blossoming downstairs, and brand after brand stores everywhere. There’s something almost amusing about essentially pure capitalism in a building right on Red Square.

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One of the

The Metro - spectacular underground

Back at the hostel I really wasn’t feeling too great, and despite some people starting to make a night of it, I headed to bed.

Next day, I caught the metro to the station to buy my return ticket. With much difficulty I explained that I was after cheap tickets, ideally seating, and the woman seemed to be struggling although determined to meet my hopes. Seeing disappointment when she mentioned the price (it was double what I’d paid initially) she hunted more, ad nd then lit up – if I was prepared to go to a different station to leave, she could sell me cheap seat tickets again. I had no problem with that, I still had to return to the hostel to get my stuff in the evening.

Palace interior - no wait, it's the Metro!

Ticket sorted, I headed out on the metro to Smolenskaya station, the closest stop to where we stayed last time – on the insanely touristy Arbat street. But first, the metro. With no zones, each journey costing 28 Rubels (55p), regular trains and being absoultely spotless, it’s something to behold. Like Saint Petersburg, it’s deep down, has music playing in some stations, and has chandeliers, art and statues in various stations, with wide platforms and spacious halls. Last time I found it really difficult to get around, with us needing to check with the staff quite often, but perhaps that was just inexperience and worry about the Cyrillic, as this time I easily found my way around, and popped out at Smolenskaya, recognising the street immediately.

Riverside view of Kremlin Wall

Walking down from the station to Arbat street, you pass what is still the only walk-through McDonald’s I’ve seen in my life, and like last time it had a policeman outside. Turning left, I was once again on Old Arbat Street. A random hodge-podge of tourist cafes, souvenir shops and several street vendors, it looked nicer this time – last time they were doing a lot of construction and renovation on the street.

Cathedral of Christ the Savior - Largest Orthodox Cathedral

Walking through this, I followed my way around and down a few more blocks, until I reached the river on the far side of the Kremlin from Red Square. Wanting to do the walk along the wall, if only at river-height, I continued along this way – a nice walk with the sun starting to come out a bit, until eventually you turn the corner and are presented again with a promenade up to Red Square (and I was presented with a hideously gigantic Transformers 3 billboard to the right).

I crossed under the street and headed to the hostel where Danny had stayed. It was a few blocks away but once again it was nice to walk down different streets and in each under-road passage it gave me more opportunity to look for naff-naffs. Finally after following the directions past a couple of churches, getting very lost as the directions weren’t quite right and I didn’t have Moscow maps on my phone, I finally located it. Unfortunately the staff who knew about Danny’s expected package that I was going to pick-up informed me that it still hadn’t arrived. He’d just have to hope no malaria-infested mosquitos bit him in Kyrgyzstan…

Trinity Church in Serebryaniki Street

I headed back to the nearest metro, and back up to the hostel to get my stuff, before spending an hour in a coffee shop getting some grub, before heading to the station for my train back to Saint Petersburg.

The train ride was actually platzkart this time, and as such I probably got a better sleep, but really I was more concerned with how my visa would turn out. I arrived back into Saint Petersburg early morning, and headed towards Apple Hostel to dump my stuff, and wait for the consulate to open…..

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Saint Petersburg to Moscow by Train

Mark Mayo — Wed, 03 Aug 2011 01:35:48 +0000

Still fuming a little from the Kazakh Consulate, I headed to Moskovsky station to buy a ticket to Moscow. The staff at the hostel had been helpful and written down what I wanted in Russian, although I felt this was a little like cheating, but hey, I still handed over the note after standing in the queue for 30 or so minutes.

Arriving in Moscow after overnight train

It was the absolute cheapest, in seating class – not even platzkart, and as such would cost me about 10 pounds for an overnight (10 hours) trip to Moscow. You can go faster on the express trains, but this meant essentially free night’s accommodation and I could nap on the train.

I went back to the hostel for a few hours before the trip, then got some food at the station and hopped aboard as it starte to rain a bit. I was really down the back of the train, in a huge open carriage with rows and rows of seats. Found my spot down the back and settled in.

Throughout the night the train stopped and started, and some people came and went but aside from the two opposite me who made a little noise initially, it was pretty quiet and I actually got woken by them as we pulled into Moscow mid-morning. The seats were actually really comfortable and for the most part, everyone had two seats to themselves. As an extra benefit if you’d tried, some of the seats even had power points.

I hunted around initially to find the metro, then headed underground, memories of 2008 flooding back as I saw the metro map and started recognising stations. I had some rough directions to Chocolate Hostel (good name!), and with a bit of wifi and my notes, it wasn’t too long before I’d found the unassuming, unlabelled building with the hostel inside.

Chocolate Hostel is not huge, and is one of the more expensive hostels in Moscow, but it’s very nice, has breakfast until 12 (smart, they realise travellers often need a sleep in), and has great facilities.

I checked in, sorted my bed, had a shower and the like, and headed out to rediscover Moscow!

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