A slow approach to Moscow, but nevertheless we arrived on time at 11:20 at the Byelorusskii Bokcal. On the platform was a large rotund man holding up a card proclaiming: 'Phillip'. That was me! This, my entry into the 'Intourist' net, couldn't have been an easier meeting. He took a photo of me standing by 'my' locomotive and then led me to a car which took us in ten minutes of erratic driving to the Hotel Belgrad (a forbidding-looking tower block). Inside was another (lady) guide, also especially for me, who was there to incorporate me into a trans-Siberian 'package'. My journey thus far I had booked direct through British Rail. Now I was under the wing of 'Marco Polo', my travel advisers in Bristol, and the China Travel Service, who actually booked all the trains from Moscow to Hong Kong. She introduced me to my 'group'. As groups go, this was an ideally minimum size one; just three of us, the other two being young Austrians, who joined me for the good lunch I needed at 1 o'clock.
It turned out that Andreas and Erich were dairy farmers, who had left their respective fathers milking while they had a trans-Siberian holiday, flying at each end from and to Vienna. Andreas, the elder, spoke really good German-accented English. They had already been three days in Moscow, so knew their way around., and together we went by metro to Red Square to see St Basil's Cathedral in the afternoon hazy sunshine. THE postcard sight of Moscow, with all its fantastically twisted and coloured and vari-formed domes. It would have taken me three times as long to get through the metro system on my own.Then I walked back alone; first of all right round the Kremlin wall by the river. Right round was not my intention, but it is ringed by rapidly-moving six lane traffic at nearly 50 mph with no pedestrian crossings except where we had originally come in. It thoroughly put me off walking tours in Moscow, but later I did use a long pedestrian-only street with market stalls and shops which put me in a better mood. I bought some apples from an old lady sitting on the pavement.
The 'group' met again at 6 for supper at the hotel restaurant. A good steak and chips, with chai of course, and macaroons, and then up to their room for their habitual evening drinks of Austrian Schnapps. I introduced them to my trans-Siberian handbook, which they had not seen the like of before.
Then early to my room. Real luxury all to myself, but I had had to pay a monstrous single room supplement for it. It included a shower cum sit-down bath arrangement with towels provided but no bath plug of course; my own 'universal' one worked this time having failed on two previous occasions. I had washed some clothes before supper although there were no proper drying facilities. So improper methods were used; draping clothes over bedside and table lamps for half the night.

Friday, September 22nd
Trans-Siberian start day. First another large 'help yourself' breakfast, even two sorts of cereals, both apparently bleached. One like puffed wheat and one in small rings, both tasting the same, but OK. Also a variety of salad type mixtures, liver pate and unlimited rolls, butter, jams, tea and coffee - even with hot milk.
Then Moscow in the rain. A tour by car just for me, with the same guide as yesterday, the other two having done this tour already. A suitable occupation for a wet day. The car was a Volga, as was yesterday's from the station. After half a mile, one windscreen wiper dropped off, so we stopped in the middle of the road for it to be retrieved, and the arm raised out of the way. Too many buildings were pointed out for me to remember. The guide spoke understandable English, but her main languages were German and Dutch.
To Red Square again, with a stop for a walk past the Lenin Mausoleum (closed today; no regrets), and a Church reconstructed in 1991 as a copy of a 15th century one destroyed in Soviet days ('Our Lady of Kazan'). Who paid for this?
Went into the GUM store, the huge three-storey 19th century shopping centre; elaborate cast iron work on upper-storey balconies and bridges, all newly painted. The forerunner perhaps, of all modern shopping 'malls'?
The previous day I had found that buying stamps was even more difficult than in Cologne. I had failed completely, so I asked my guide to take me to a post office. Our driver knew of one close by, so he took us to it. However, even when confronted with the building, we could not find our way in; no notices, two doors locked, but eventually we were directed to a small door round the corner where we finally got in. A dark and dingy place, but stamps were available. I bought a few for myself and a dozen for Andreas and Erich who were in a similar plight. What's wrong when a Russian cannot find her way into a Russian post office, and no attempt is made to attract people in or to sell anything at all? Secrecy is a built-in part of life.
Another stop we had was at an old monastery, whose many buildings have been a museum since the revolution, but one church was now in use again. We went inside; a smell of incense and candles, and a wedding party was expected. We did not wait for this, which seemed a pity, but we then drove up to the University on Lenin Hills, where, in another church nearby we found a wedding actually in progress. The bride and groom were wearing crowns, and had to walk three times round the altar holding on to the Priest's cassock with one hand and carrying a candle in the other. Communion was taken while standing up, with wine and bread. There were two witnesses only, no family congregation.

In the afternoon, a tour to the Kremlin, this time with Andreas and Erich, in a minibus with the same guide. It was still raining. In the Kremlin are many cathedrals; we entered one, the Tsar's family cathedral, which had a balcony for women, with the men at ground level. The doors to the altar were closed, which is normal except for services. Many, many icons in various rooms, mostly arranged in rows on iconostases. A marble floor (from Italy).
Outside we were shown the broken bell of 300 tons, which had never been rung. A bit that had been broken off was 11 tons. It had been cast there on site. There was also a huge cannon never used, each cannon ball weighing a ton. The ex-government buildings of the Kremlin are not now used for government, but the president works there in administrative offices. No one lives in the Kremlin now.I think I can safely say I was not entranced by Moscow. As my phrasebook neatly says: "St Petersburg is a very beautiful city. Moscow is a very big city". Perhaps it would be better if the sun were shining.
The saddest story I can relate about Moscow is the fate of the 'Garden Ring'. Moscow centre is encircled by rings of concentric roads, very wide and very full of traffic. "Now we are in the Garden Rink", as my German-speaking guide expressed it; "there were once gardens all the way up the centre, but , of course, the gardens had to be removed to make room for all the cars." Oh dear. In the evening, after the hotel supper we met our guide again for the journey to the station: Yaroslavskii Bokcal (one of nine Vauxhalls in Moscow). The two miles took nearly an hour due to the mad traffic conditions, but that was good, as standing around on an inadequately covered platform in the rain was definitely cold, and we still had half an hour to wait before the train arrived. Departure was 8:35, 10 minutes late, as we set off into the night trapped in our moving cocoon, the 'Ship of the Steppes' as you might say. At least there were now no more trains to catch for more than a week.
My ticket put me in the next compartment to Andreas and Erich and I soon found out that my new companions were to be Valentina and Mikhail, on their way back to an army camp at Ulan Ude after visiting relations and grandchildren in the Ukraine; a genuine babushka and dyadushka in fact. Pleasant company, I hoped - Ulan Ude was four days away.
Also another man in the bunk above me who was only going as far as Kirov. It was more spacious than in the previous train, but not much. At least the bunks weren't stacked three-high.
Various sheets and pillow cases were supplied. I had thought that by now we would have a Chinese guide, having booked through the China Travel Service; but no; no guide, only help from the Russian-speaking Provodnitsa, the attendant who was to rule our coach; pleasant enough, and she tried to be helpful.
The first cups of chai arrived at 9:30 (and proved to be the last). Much later, the other three with me settled down for supper; a long loaf and a long sausage and vodka. I had to accept some of the latter, and enjoyed the first few sips, which was enough. I was allowed to go to bed at 11:30, but they did not do so until 1 a.m.

Saturday, September 23rd
Sun and slight frost. This is where my 'Bryn Thomas' (the trans-Siberian handbook) comes into constant use.
It was unsatisfactory that my companions did not want to get up. I was up at 7:30. We had a stop at Shariya at 8:00 and were allowed out. There was no platform. I took a photo of a silver painted bust of Lenin (one at every station according to my book, but I never did see another).
Scenery was on the whole birch trees 20 yards back from the line, haycocks in places on the strip in between, and an occasional wood pile. But what were the scattered flowering cherry trees? That was just what they looked like, and it was definitely not old man's beard.
No windows open, but at the end of each coach one can have a view of both sides in the 'vestibule'. The corridor between coaches is open to fresh air from below, with only rattling metal footplates to walk on. Anything dropped there, such as a passport could well be gone forever. The train was 15 coaches long. The end door of each coach has a window in it; this means that in the last coach there is a continuous view back along the line; useful for photographs.
We passed one herd of white goats on the lineside grass strip and an occasional single Friesian cow. The train is called the 'Vostok' in spite of not going to Vladivostok. Vostok apparently means 'east'. It has 'Boctok o Mockba-Pekin', written in Russian and Chinese, on large notices on the sides of the coaches.
Andreas and Erich joined me for breakfast: Bread and cheese awaited us in the restaurant car; tea was soon added and then two poached eggs, somewhat underdone. Some jam, or, of course, marmalade would have made a lot of difference, but there was plenty of tea. Jam was, in fact, added on subsequent days. Very few people; it is perhaps mainly organised parties who use restaurant cars, and we had not come across any of these yet; certainly no English voices.
My trans-Siberian book had created some interest, and I had an exchange of photographs with Valentina; I had a few that I had taken mainly for Australian eyes, and she had her daughter's wedding photos. Andrew, Adam and Ambar were all of interest. Potted plants in the corridors were plastic of course, but looked alright, and there were flowers in the restaurant car as well. At 11:30, we arrived at Kirov and we lost one of our companions; he had now arrived home. A quarter of an hour stop, for photos of the locomotive, and driver cleaning the windscreens; I thought perhaps the wiper had fallen off! Two policemen came up and made some remark. I just said "Angliiskii" and they said "OK". There's no accounting for 'Angliiskii'.
Then coffee, with hot water from the 'Samovar' at the end of the corridor, accompanied by the very lastest of my digestive biscuits. Samovar seems a strange word to use, I would merely call it a 'geyser' I think (although it was heated by a coke stove which I found the Provodnitsa stoking that morning). Anyway, constant hot water.
Long goods trains passed by, perhaps a quarter of a mile long; logs, tankers and closed vans. At 12:30 the Ulan Ude couple roped in a friend for lunch and produced another long loaf and long sausage, and offered me a slice of each, with another go of vodka. I accepted these as the restaurant car meal was not until 2, although they had refused earlier to try my digestive biscuits (luckily). They later accepted and enjoyed some salted peanuts in exchange for a bottle of beer.
The station names are normally merely displayed once, high up on the main buildings and often very difficult to see from the train. Some are without platforms and often not recognised as stations at all, but these are probably not Vauxhalls.
Lunch in the restaurant car was a nice fried chicken and chips. On the next table were American voices, four ladies, so I introduced myself, having not heard English voices since before Cologne on Monday (and they were Welsh). Two of them were from Wisconsin, both farmers, one of Highland cattle and one of emus. The other two were Swedes. No doubt we would meet again.
Then there was a quarter of an hour stop at Balyesino and another short walk. At 4 o'clock I was offered a really grim smelling pickle, with bread and sausages. I refused, but I thought it might be difficult to refuse forever. Then another stop, at Perm, and another little walk. These little walks were always spiced with a little danger. When the train moves off, it does so with no audible warning. The next train is four days later.
A sunset glow over the trees, but most of the day had been cloudy.
The two Swedish ladies, but not the Americans, appeared at supper. They were saying that the restaurant cars are privately leased from the State, which would account for the great differences in quality and quantity of food and service that one reads about.

Sunday, September 24th (Trans-Siberian day 2)
We entered Asia and Siberia, but as these great events were both in the middle of the night, we missed the marker posts telling us we were there.
Little bits of snow lying, but only for the next hour or so after waking up at 6 Moscow time, when we stopped at Tyumen. The sun was well up in the sky, it was 8 local time. Time confusion escalates. The restaurant car operates on Moscow time for the whole journey to avoid constant changing of clocks, but it does make some concessions to local time; for example, Saturday breakfast was at 9, Sunday at 8. Even though 8 on Sunday was more like 10 local time.
Additional confusion that day because of the end of summer time and clocks go back an hour. That's why I had breakfast on my own. Andreas and Erich were still locked into their compartment when I wanted to go to the restaurant car when I thought it was 8 o'clock. Nevertheless breakfast was ready, even though the staff did give an impression of mild surprise. It was 7 o'clock to them. Scenery: still birch trees.
Thought for the day: is the journey going to be too long? Possibly yes, for anyone with only two or three weeks to spare for a holiday, but for me it was still quite a pleasant prospect to go trundling along like this at 50 mph with no end in sight and no hurry to get anywhere.
The view of all these birch trees was probably exactly the same as Auntie Bee and Lukie saw it in 1908.
At 8:30, new time, we had a stop at Ishim. Slightly drizzly. I got out and bought some German chocolate in the street outside the station. Concrete sleepers here; why, in this centre of the wood industry? All buildings and stations were drab and colourless, but, of course Vauxhall itself always was a bit drab and colourless. Most stations have footbridges, but this is not the usual way of crossing the tracks, unless there is a train in the way.
Next stop : Nazevayevskaya; rather cold outside. Valentina and Mikhail had bought a large lunch of hard boiled eggs, rolls, and instant coffee packets from platform stores. Then a vacuum cleaner came around into corridors and compartments.
I wonder how many people hereabouts have ever seen the sea, which must be about 1000 miles from here, and then only the Arctic Ocean? Andreas and Erich seemed to spend most of their time in their own compartment drinking beer. I spoke to another German couple who borrowed my 'Bryn Thomas'. We passed a vast petro-chemical works in the distance before Omsk, two miles away from the track, perhaps to avoid prying eyes. Plenty of room for it, anyway.
The approach to the town was marked by masses of little doll's house dachas, each detached in its little garden plot, but obviously no one could afford any paint.
Omsk (spelt Omck). The quest for postcards led to actually seeing some behind glass at a bookstall, but it was closed. None visible at any of the other stops yet. Half hour stop here. The small shops outside the station are really most depressing. Customer unfriendly would be the modern term, I suppose. Small peeling-painted wooden shacks with a few items for sale just visible through small windows; and one very small window half open, through which one can speak to the lady shopkeeper, who sits almost hidden in the far corner, until forced to get up to serve a customer. Most items for sale are just not visible, they apparently have no desire to sell anything and hope to sit comfortably in a corner all day without being disturbed. So why are they there? I suppose that is their accepted life and they have no idea or hope of any change or improvement.
The chocolate I had bought previously was from a street market stall, and goods were laid out on the ground. A much more open and friendly place.
Supper was about 9, and bed soon afterwards. I was aware of the approach of the big city of Novosibirsk after midnight. I looked out to pay my respects to the long bridge over the River Ob, celebrating its centenary this year. I was not aware of Taiga station, the junction for Tomsk, at 4 a.m.

Monday, September 25th (Trans-Siberian day 3)
Drizzling again. I got up at 7 roughly, local time, which would be 4 Moscow time. Restaurant car breakfast was at 7 Moscow time, so would be rather late. I had coffee in my compartment after shaving and washing a shirt. The restaurant car obviously suffers from 'train lag', a sort of slow motion jetlag.
Stopped at Mariinsk when I got up; there was a large centenary placard below the station name, although I thought it was the Omsk-Novosibirsk section that was 1895.
I tried to explain in simple words to Valentina how Auntie Bee's train was held up by brigands near Irkutsk in 1908 (not strictly accurate, but a good story which she understood in the end). To be accurate, perhaps I should add that it was the train in front of Auntie Bee's that was attacked, and hers was delayed as a result.
Having passed Taiga station, this was supposed to be 'Taiga' country with dense pine forest, but the scenery still looked to me like the all too familiar interminable birch trees, but more attractive than interminable pine trees.
'd.d .. d.d, .... d.d .. d.d, .... d.d .. d.d.' I would like to have a recording of this to remind me of the continuous undercurrent of sound we lived with constantly, with the occasional 'clunk, clunk' as we passed over junctions, and the whining whinge of the wheel flanges as we negotiated sharp curves. Definitely no long welded rails here.
At 6 am, a ten minute stop at Bogotol. It was now raining. Taiga pinewoods did materialise later but there were still birch trees as well. I had a successful conversation with a Provodnik on the last coach of the train. Having prepared several words, I was able to ask him whether he could open the end door and clean the window to make it better for photographs. He not only did this, but allowed me to take a couple of photos with the door open and him hanging on to me with his arm round my waist to make sure I didn't fall or even jump out. The last coach seemed to be the only one with a Provodnik rather than a Provodnitsa; I can't quite see one of them with her arm round my waist. I realised later that he was in fact the guard of the train.
Pale autumn colours in the trees as Siberia receded in a curve of rails as we looked back towards Carmarthen.
Then we curved more up into the hills, into the lignite mining country, seeing occasional tips of brown earth from the pits. Little villages perched on the steep hillsides reminiscent of a South Wales valley, but the buildings all little dolls' houses, rather than those long straight streets.
Lunch was at 4 pm. Then I had a tea party. I was invited by the two Swedes to their 1st class compartment, to talk about travel in general, and Auntie Bee and me in particular. They seemed intrigued by the idea of 'Welsh farmer follows Great Aunt to Australia'. They go off on a fairly extensive trip every year; no husbands mentioned, but both have grandchildren. Barbro and Kerstin, Barbro being the good English speaker. They were doing very fine, intricate embroidery to pass the time, and were to be joining a party in Beijing for a three week tour of China. I should think they were very like Auntie Bee and Lukie.
Supper was at 9 pm. Difficult to keep track of my 'Bryn Thomas' book now, as so many people wanted to borrow it. A young German couple had emerged from somewhere bound for Irkutsk and a few days exploring the lake before continuing on to Vladivostok. The journey without such a book would have lost much of its interest for me.

Tuesday, September 26th (Trans-Siberian day 4)
Thought for the day: This train, a potential prison at the start, has now become a home from home. One could go on like this forever. I got up at say, 7 am, we now being five hours ahead of Moscow. First breakfast of coffee, apple and biscuits, as the sun attempted to break through layers of cloud creating beautiful dawn colours while doing so. But an unpleasant mist soon swamped the sun and lasted for another couple of hours.
Irkutsk. Stopped here for 20 minutes at 9 am. I had time to make my way out of the station and across tram lines to buy a toothbrush and chocolate at one of the little road-side shops. I managed to detect one toothbrush lurking in a corner and was successful in prising the shopkeeper from her seat to sell it to me. (My toothbrush was mysteriously absent last night).
The German couple left the train and Andreas and Erich were joined by Dave and Sue, a young couple from Horsham who had been three days in Irkutsk, on their way from Moscow to Beijing. Two days would have been quite enough, they said, to enjoy all the sights of Irkutsk. They had booked through a firm in Bristol, but not my Marco Polo.
Breakfast was eventually at 10 am, and then we approached Lake Baikal. From Irkutsk, we climbed up over a peninsula and then a steep descent winding through birch woods. To my great joy and delight, at the back of the train, I found a window actually half open, the only one in the train, which could be used (a little awkwardly) for seeing the whole length of the train snaking round the curves, and for taking photographs.
By this time the mist had risen and autumn colours were good, although rather muted by the continuing absence of sun. First sight of the lake was from several hundred feet above it, looking down a colourful golden wooded valley. A spectacular horseshoe curve with tunnel was the final descent to lake level. But the lakeside town we stopped at for ten minutes was not attractive; unkempt and dirty-looking with goods yard and a few boats at the quayside. This was Slyudyanka. We then followed the lake, alongside or near it for the next 120 miles. What a difference the sun would have made for this most scenic section of Siberia. Baikal is the deepest fresh water lake in the world (over 6000 ft), 400 miles long, and containing 20% of the world's fresh water supply. It has a unique fish: the 'omul', but 'nye bolshoi' (not big), according to Valentina. Mikhail didn't say much, so I had to talk to Valentina. She drew a picture of the omul for me, and wrote out a long description of the lake which I failed to translate. I presented them with postcards of Princess Diana and Big Ben.
'Sea' defence work was in progress beside the line; blocks of very white stone which she called granite, but was as white as chalk. We had seen much of it recently, including use as railway ballast chippings. The almost continuous watery scenery was certainly a great change for us.
We may not have shared Auntie Bee's train ambush experience, but in that very same area our train did suffer two broken windows in the corridor of our coach, caused by stones thrown by Buryati nationalists apparently. So you never know. Just as well they didn't choose the time that I was taking photos through that open window. Only the outer glass of the double-glazing was broken so there was no discomfort for those inside. Buryatia is one of Russia's provinces that thinks it would like to be independent.
Lunch was at 4 pm again. I returned to the compartment to find a note on the table, a 'thank you for your company' note; from 'Valya and Misha' (Valentina and Mikhail). They had already packed up ready to leave.
We arrived at Ulan Ude, and Valya and Misha departed. He was back to work in the army, but the Ukraine is really their home. Two new people took their place: a Buryati man, going to Mogoitui, and a Chinese lady going to Manzhouli (the border town in Manchuria). He called himself 'Buryati, not Russian', but was very affable and friendly - definitely not a stone thrower.

Wednesday, September 27th (Trans-Siberian day 5)
Up at 7 again, with another red-streaked dawn sky, but again the sun did not win through. This was at Karymskaya. Then another 12 miles to Tarskaya, the junction for the Manchuria line and the end of electric traction. Coffee and apple again for first breakfast. Then a short stop at Mogoitui, where the Buryati man left us. Mostly open hilly steppe land with birch trees still the most prominent of the few that exist there; cotton grass growing.
Old style telegraph posts, many at odd angles, or even lying on the ground still with wires attached. A quarter of an hour stop at Oluvyanya. Breakfast was at 10:15; the daily ration of omelette or poached eggs was well worth having. At Borzya, a 20 minute stop, Dave and I took photographs of each other beside the three diesel locos.
Even with three locos, there was a long slow wind up a single track from here into the barren hills. It felt a bit like approaching the roof of the world, expecting a rapid descent into a different land after the border. But in fact the climb was to continue afterwards to an eventual 3,140 feet in the middle of the night, which was a pity.
We had the last meal in the restaurant car at 2:30, and were also presented with a packed meal, as I suppose they were obliged to feed us all day, and their timing system would make the next meal due after the border, where the Russian restaurant car was taken off.
Now we could finally forget about Moscow time, now about six hours behind us. We approached the border at about 10 mph for the last few miles, and then "Zabaikalsk" announced the Chinese lady. I could still see nothing but semi-desert, but she had noticed the little TV mast on top of a neighbouring hill. And soon it really was Zabaikalsk and the end of my Russian visa: 'London-Moscow-Zabaikalsk', it said. A few cows, and three horses and a dog wandered alongside as we approached the town, and two steam locomotives were actually in steam on a goods train.
Then at 4:15 the start of our four and three quarter hour stop to savour the delights of the neighbourhood. First we were deprived of our passports, and our currency declaration forms collected and compared with the entry ones. Then we were allowed out (there was no option), and the train was soon shunted away while a lone cow strolled at her leisure across the tracks. I realised that this must be the bogie-changing time, so many of us followed the train on foot beside the siding to the scene of operations.
For me it was more or less a repeat of what I had seen at Brest, except that each bogie was lifted away by crane and a new one collected from alongside, instead of having the rope-pulled train of bogies. Several cranes were working at the same time, but only one track of the shed was used, so it did all take a very long time. However, there was a restaurant of sorts on the station, and we could walk where we liked over the rails and into the sidings amongst the trucks, coaches and cows. The money changing office was shut, despite the advertised opening times, so I was left with 12 pounds worth of useless roubles. Is it ever open?
I went into the town along two unmade-up drab looking streets, and found a shop by noticing people coming out with bags; no window, no notice and a shut-looking door. Inside there was a sort of grocer's and I bought a good supply of chocolate (only one type of bar available); there was nothing else I fancied. I had to interrupt an endless exchange of village gossip in order to get attention, by saying that I was trying to catch a train at Vauxhall (more like: 'excuse me... me... train... bokcal'), but I did eventually get served.
We had been told we would have a wait of two hours. After about three hours the train returned all in one piece on the narrow gauge of the gauntleted track, (gauntleted track is two tracks interlaced rather than one dual-gauge track), and we were allowed back on board. I then had a supper of the restaurant car packed meal, and tea. This second wait, while we were back in our own 'home', as it were, did not seem to matter. We then left Vauxhall for the last time of the trip, and carried on for a few kilometres into Manchuria. The approach to Manzhouli in the dark was marked by Chinese characters in the sky, in neon lights, a foretaste no doubt, of the brighter life of China. Then all the same round of passport and money checks.
Then I was robbed! A small, smiling, round Chinese girl in an ornate uniform with a very large peaked hat, came along and asked me if I had any plants. "No", I said. "Any apples?". "Yes", I said (unfortunately). "Let me see". She then proceeded to see, and stole my last four apples (but she did allow me to eat one), and then went smiling away. There was just nothing I could do. I was too frightened of the hat. But I did take my, no doubt disease ridden apple core into China with me; I hoped they did not mind. I wonder what Marion would have done. She would have had her pockets full of seeds by now. She can find interesting seeds anywhere, even on station platforms (especially if there are no platforms). Luckily, I did not mention my peanuts, apricots and raisins. Other people were not even asked for their apples. I expect she was just hungry, and four apples were enough.
Then there were soldiers walking along the roof, and making holes in the corridor floors. Apparently we were all drug smuggling suspects (as well as apples). We were away finally at 11:15, seven hours after reaching Zabaikalsk. I was sorry for my Chinese companion, having all this delay when only a few kilometres from her home; but she was allowed to leave at about 10:30. So now I was on my own for the night.

Thursday, September 28th (Trans-Manchuria day)
I woke up at 6:30 surrounded by China, and realising that there were now just about 24 hours to go before arriving at our destination, Beijing, and having to leave our 'home'. Still looking out on to what I call Mongolian type hills, but over the hump of our highest point. I had been aware of a slow climb and a rapid descent at times through the night. Once again, the sun rose promisingly.
Later we were beside a river and on to a flat plain. Pools bordered by spindly birch trees with cranes and flocks of gull-type birds made pictures like Chinese paintings. Low houses, geese, goats, bicycles, children off to school, pigs, maize being cut by hand and carted by horses. Everything apparently kept in better order, cleaner, and more life and activity than in Russia. Was all this why China seemed immediately more attractive, or was it just that the sun was still shining?
At 9:15 we had a 10 minute stop at Ang Ang Xi, but the guard had his watch an hour earlier, on Beijing time, so once again we were back to 8:15. Soon afterwards we passed many working oilwells among the small trees and marshy country nodding away like those beside Poole Harbour. One of the largest oilfields in China, apparently. A lovely morning of sun and wind, as some corridor windows of our coach had been unlocked and opened. Several steam locomotives passed by.
Then the large city of Harbin at 12:15 where we had a half hour stop. Several people started photographing the steam engines outside their shed, large black 2-10-2s of the type still being built until last year, all with bright red wheels and white-wall tyres. We were not allowed to go to the far end of the platform; some fat controller intervened, but we were near enough at the middle of the platform. Also featured in the photos were platform trolleys selling food, one with hot dumplings.
Then we left for the south leaving Auntie Bee and Lukie to go on to Vladivostok; they had had to travel this far through Manchuria and then back into Russia because the direct line had not yet been built.
We did not investigate the Chinese Restaurant car that morning and anyway we had no money; we relied on our own supplies. I hoped that robber was enjoying her apples - MY apples. Dave did try buying something with US Dollars on the station, but they were not accepted, in spite of what we had all read about them being welcomed everywhere.
Later we passed through an agricultural plain. Rice cut by hand, tied into sheaves and stooked; more and more maize, and more and more rice.
At Changchun we had a 10 minute stop. I have a good photograph of two steam locos coupled together, running past our platform just as we got out, and more photos of locos outside the shed to the south of the station. A goods train appeared alongside and paced us energetically for half a mile or so. A fine red sunset seen through a thin line of trees, was quite impressive.
I walked along the corridor to see Barbro and Kerstin again, through the new Chinese restaurant car, looking much cleaner and neater than the Russian one, and more cared for. Later some of our number did have a meal there and dollars were accepted. Then sleep again for the last time on this train: 'd.d .. d.d ..... d.d .. d.d'. Would I ever be able to sleep again without this, and the continuous gentle rocking motion that carried us forward through so many countries?

Friday, September 29th
Beijing approaches. Up at 5 am. A shave, coffee and peanuts. Pack away the Trans-Siberian handbook and the Russian phrasebook, and take a last look around our travelling home, which I find I have not yet properly described:
The compartment is about 7x5 feet. A very small but solid folding table by the window. Folding steps to the top bunks. Window curtains and blinds (never used), and a single curtain hanging from wire halfway up the window; this has to be slid along and held back by hooks behind the bed-head light in order to provide an adequate exterior view.
The main light is good enough for reading, but would be better if it were better. Large luggage lockers under the bottom bunks, but obviously only for things rarely needed, which could be locked by the attendant's key if required. Mattress, sheets, blankets, pillow case for a large soft pillow, which also makes a good back rest when sitting down on the too wide beds (too wide for sitting, that is). One surprising fact was that the temperature was never too hot as I had feared, despite no control being available in the compartment. Slightly cooler would have been perfect, but no complaints.
We had left the last stop 5 minutes early, at 4:55 by the station digital clock. From Moscow to Beijing we had been averaging 35 mph.
So Beijing at last.

NEXT

Start l Moscow to Beijing l Beijing to Hong Kong l Hong Kong to Perth l Perth to Gosford l New South Wales

Return to Family page or Home page.