Travel Guides: All Countries / Europe / Russia
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| | | | Across Russia with love and vodka
It is the greatest train ride in the world and one that conjures up images of Cold War suspense, bulbous-domed churches in the middle of nowhere, endless vodka and frozen, snowy wastes.
The Trans-Siberian railway runs for nearly 10,000km across the world's biggest nation. It winds through taiga forest and steppes of grassland as vast as seas, across rivers a mile wide, past villages clustering round it as if it were a lifeline, and through cities that in Soviet days were closed to foreigners and erased from official maps.
Riding the Trans-Siberian is hardly glamorous a la the Orient Express. Depending on your budget, you can elect to while away the hours in a cabin built for two, at a luxury price, a four-berth cabin, or a 52-bed sleeping carriage (which will certainly give you the full-on Russian Experience).
The Trans-Siberian Express does not exist in name. Rather, it's a collective term for the hundreds of services that make up the route from Moscow to Vladivostok on the Pacific coast, over 9,600km and seven days' ride away.
It starts from stations in the east of Moscow - trains heading down the Volga River to the Tatar capital Kazan leave from Kazansky station, while the trains that pass through Nizhny Novgorod leave from Yaroslavl.
The Trans-Siberian service we take is to Kazan, a 13-hour ride through the Russian night, and our choice of cabin is kupe, the four-berth option. Our cabinmates glare at us unwelcomingly at first, but we later realise this is standard Russian hospitality.
Within half an hour, Farit and Boris are sharing their bottle of vodka, toasting to international friendship and soundly whipping us in chess as the train rattles through the Russian night.
They are the first cabinmates on a month-long journey which takes us from the Moscow suburbs to Russian Far East cities, which are closer to Tokyo - or even San Francisco - than they are Russia's capital.
Travel guide: Russia
Not so silent nights in St Petersburg
For the Christmas Holidays I went to St. Petersburg, together with a friend.
We travelled with Saga holidays. We started out from Manchester Airport with a delay of about an hour, which in turn led us to miss our connection flight in Frankfurt. No matter, the ground staff in Frankfurt showed us into a very comfortable lounge and plied us with coffee, tea and other beverages until the time came for us to board our flight to St Petersburg.
We arrived very late, around 12.30 am local time. Nevertheless, the hotel restaurant staff served us a special prepared meal fit for a king. Our rooms were large, beautifully furnished and clean. I noticed all kind of goodies, laid out on a small table and every night when the staff came to turn down the bed, a chocolate sat on the bedside table. Such a lovely little gesture.
Our visit to the Hermitage (previously the Winter Palace) was a revelation, full of richness and beauty. Beautiful paintings adorned all the ceilings, doors and walls. Most floors had inlaid wood of many colours. I was mesmerised at the beauty and artwork of the Faberge eggs.
The amber room, too, is something to remember forever. Different colour amber pieces cover the walls from floor to ceiling.
Our visit to the St Peter and St Paul Cathedral is engraved into my memory.
The sun shone on Christmas day and a visit to Catherine's Palace and Park for a sleigh ride was on the agenda. Everywhere looked fresh and glistening in the sunshine. However, even with only a little wind, it was bitterly cold.
With three horses in front of every sleigh, we were soon on our way, through the woods. Just like in the film Dr Zhivago with all the trees covered in snow, it truly was a treat not to miss.
On our return, a large table set out baring a giant steaming urn with coffee, very hot pies, (delicious), and for every one a tot of the vodka.
Travel guide: Russia
Journey into the great beyond
From the Mail on Sunday
The waitress in the dining car is as fiercely cheerless as a blizzard and just as lovely. She brusquely slaps the menu on the table. Outside, the landscape between our last stop, Vyatka, and our next, Balyezino, is radiant in the summer sunshine; in here, there is a pronounced chill.
'Salad?' I enquire, already suspecting that this may be a rhetorical question. Salad is off, apparently. 'Nyet salad.' Other diners are chomping on tomato and cucumber starters, but I let it pass. There's a long way to go, and it would be a bad idea to offend the caterers this early in the piece.
'How about the fish?' 'Nyet fish.' She is similarly, loftily - indeed, rather magnificently - dismissive of enquiries after beef, chicken or soup. Eventually, she jabs a pencil to indicate that she might, if pushed, be prepared to serve me omelette with sausage. When it arrives, it's as atrocious as might be expected - the thought of what Russians would consider bad food is a truly horrifying one - but my journey now has a purpose.
The train for the first leg of my journey to Beijing left Moscow's Yaroslavski station last night, and has almost three days to go to Irkutsk, its terminus and my first stopover. I have about 70 hours to get a smile out of Ms Nyet-Salad. I thank her profusely and leave an immense tip. She doesn't flinch.
You can fly from Moscow - an ostensibly capitalist city that is still taking to the free market like a goat to roller-blading - to Beijing - a Communist citadel being triumphally reinvented as a neon-spangled consumerist Babylon, the Great Mall of China - in eight or nine hours.
However, the distance between the two deserves better than being ignored from on high. The 4,887 miles of the Trans-Mongolian route contains forests and deserts, factories and farms, cities and villages, Nike super-stores and statues of Lenin, two border crossings involving searches, and hours of mysterious waiting, and one change of wheels (China's rails are narrower than those of Russia and Mongolia: at Erlyan, just inside the People's Republic, the train is jacked up while new bogies are attached).
The passengers are equally diverse - Russian soldiers, Mongolian bootleggers, Chinese diplomats, Uzbek and Kazakh traders, Australian and British backpackers, and platoons of German tourists (who have block-booked the restaurant car).
As the big blue train leaves Moscow, there is only one other person in my four-berth second-class compartment. Valentin is from Omsk, and while his negligible English and my non-existent Russian make conversation impossible, we find common ground with a timetable printed in English and Russian.
As I swap instant coffee for some of his excellent home-made biscuits, we review the name changes the towns ahead of us have undergone: Vyatka, previously named for Stalin-henchman-turned-Stalin-victim Sergei Kirov; Yekaterin-burg, the end of the line for Russia's royal family, for years called Sverdlovsk after Yacob Sverdlov, the Communist official who organised the Romanovs' murder; Perm, once known as Molotov.
The train, unlike almost everything else in Russia, is clean, comfortable, efficient and, Ms Nyet-Salad aside, run by cheerful and friendly people. The smartly uniformed female attendants vacuum and polish the carriage twice daily and perform heroics in keeping the lavatories bearable (sadly, standards slip dramatically when, after Irkutsk, the carriages are crewed by men).
Travel guide: Russia
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| | | | Stock up for the journey
Each carriage has a pair of toilets and is fussed over by provodnitsas (carriage attendants) who keep the hot water samovar topped up, vacuum the corridors and are stocked with pot noodles, beer and chocolate for anyone foolish enough to have forgotten to bring food with them.
Each train also has a restaurant car, which often does not want to serve foreigners. Even when they do, they often don't have anything to serve - which nine times out of 10 is a blessing.
What the train lacks in formal dining, it makes up for on the social aspect. Russians are impressed at anyone prepared to visit their country and are generous to a fault.
During the course of our month-long trip, we take eight separate trips. The longest of them, from the Buddhist city of Ulan Ude through to the raffishly charming Khabarovsk, takes 52 hours.
Our cabinmates, from the two teenage boys heading to find work in Yekatarinburg to the geothermal energy lecturer returning home to Vladivostok, are unfailingly polite and generous. Even the old man who arrives in the middle of the night with a vodka bottle poking out of his coat pocket turns out to be harmless and a chess tutor of some renown.
The tales of tourists being knocked out with sleeping gas and having their valuables stolen by gangs of thieves is rubbish. While it would be stupid to leave your belongings in plain sight, it's no worse than any other train in the world.
Russia's scenery can be one of beautiful monotony - huge swathes of grassland and low rolling hills, interspersed with clumps of forest and the derelict remains of old Soviet factories and abandoned towns. It's a sometimes surreal, ghostly view, a glimpse into the remains of a long-crumbled empire.
Russian cities are noisy, dirty and often concrete-filled, but Russia does have areas of aching beauty. Lake Baikal, the biggest lake in the world, is regarded as the Pearl of Siberia, a unique environment where the glacial water is so clean and clear that you can drop a coin and still see it tumbling to the depths 40 metres below.
In the European area of Russia, the hills, covered in wheat and with massive combine harvesters rolling in the distance, look like something from old Soviet propaganda films.
And despite their often chaotic air, every Russian city - from the New York-on-speed chaos of Moscow to the edge-of-the-world charm of Khabarovsk - has something to reward the adventurous traveller.
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The likely Ladas
Our next treat was a visit to the ballet where we saw Don Quixote. To our amazement, most people walked out as soon as the curtain fell after the first act. All returned when the bell rang and sat in different seats. After two more intervals - each time with different neighbours - suddenly more people entered, standing all against the walls. Presumably, they came in free of charge. However, the performance was outstanding.
You have to visit St Petersburg to believe the traffic chaos. With five million people in one city and most now owning a car, often old or very old Ladas, the traffic is slow, to say the least. Others, without a car, use the Metro. Thousands of people stream on daily basis down the stairs of the Metro, on their way to work.
Many people still live in the tenements, sharing a kitchen with five or six families. Those buildings look cheerless and drab.
One old woman, sweeping snow, held up three fingers and said, "roubles", she then offered me the shovel to clear my path. I declined, but offered her the roubles.
All the people working in the palaces and musea seem very proud of their heritage. Each offered help and advice.
Distrust still lives on in the older people, but the younger generation live with a lighter heart. The children I met in various palaces, where they were on school visits, are very well behaved and polite, dressed nicely and warm.
St Petersburg is truly a city of contrasts. The impression it made on me will last a lifetime.
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A samovar for shaving
They serve tea on request, in glasses cradled by silver holders which are relics of a bygone era: the engraving on the side depicts rockets and satellites being launched from a Kremlin perched on top of the world. A samovar at one end of the corridor provides boiling water for coffee, soup, noodles and shaving.
Siberia - the wasteland to which generations of dissident Russians were exiled - is synonymous with desolation. But at this time of year it looks surprisingly benign: the open spaces are never so empty as to be intimidating, the forests never dense enough to be oppressive.
From Moscow to Irkutsk, it's a bit like looking out of a train window at Berkshire for four days (there are doubtless British rail commuters who know the feeling). The train stops every three or four hours, 10 to 15 minutes at a time - long enough to disembark and browse the impromptu super-markets that await at each station.
A minor industry serves long-distance rail passengers with food (dried fish, fresh vegetables, instant noodles, imported confectionery bearing sell-by dates that elapsed in the first Reagan administration), drink (hideous local soft drinks, excellent local beers, vodkas ranging from export-quality nectar to gruesome window-cleaning moonshine) flowers and immense stuffed toys.
These markets are how most local travellers feed themselves, sparing the expense of the dining car and the tender mercies of Ms Nyet-Salad. Our relationship does not improve as we proceed. This becomes a particular concern after the third day when Valentin departs at Omsk.
He is replaced by a trio of middle-aged Russian men who, while affable enough, are around a week the wrong side of an annual bath, and wish to use the compartment as a venue for their card school.
I make myself as presentable as one can in a tiny, moving bathroom, rehearse a couple of pleasantries from my Russian phrasebook, and present myself to Ms Nyet-Salad. She sits me down without a word, reappears 20 minutes later with omelette with sausage, furiously and unfathomably pulls closed the curtain on the window next to me, and storms off. I tip her twice the cost of the meal.
I spend most of the rest of the ride to Irkutsk in the corridor, watching Siberia go by. The outbreaks of civilisation are grotesque industrial ruins of cities looking like they've just been visited by an enemy air force, or quaint and colourful wooden villages which suggest Switzerland rebuilt on a severe budget.
Siberia is a great place to indulge in the voyeurism that is the principal joy of rail travel, those endless blink-long glimpses of places you will never see again, into lives you can only imagine: soot-blackened railway workers who wave on the approach to Krasnoyarsk, sunbathers by a trickling river that curls around a hamlet near Ilanskaya, intriguingly frequent lone voyagers on motorcycle or foot, yomping across formidable tracts of nowhere between human settlements.
As the rails rattle below, I plot my next assault on the ironclad defences of Ms Nyet-Salad. At lunch (omelette with sausage) on the second-to-last day, I perceived a slight softening.
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| | | | Fried eggs with rice
Upon a particularly raucous guffaw from the Germans I rolled my eyes in mock despair and caught, on the glacially lovely face of Ms Nyet-Salad, what looked like an answering smirk.
My hopes for my last supper are, therefore, high, but they do not maintain altitude long. Tonight, even omelette with sausage is nyet; I dine on two mercilessly fried eggs draped over a glutinous heap of rice, and Ms Nyet-Salad's demeanour makes it clear that whatever might have transpired between us at lunch was an indiscretion of which she has no wish to be reminded. It's over.
My last brilliant idea, of turning up for breakfast on the final day and presenting her with a huge bouquet of flowers and an enormous toy elephant, is abandoned when the platform traders at Zima, the last longish stop before bedtime, have nothing for sale but radishes, chicken and a ferocious vodka which eases by the final hours in an agreeable stupor.
After a couple of days idling in Listvyanka, a village on the shores of Lake Baykal, I return to Irkutsk for the train to Ulan Bator. It has come from Moscow and is largely populated by Mongolians going home with what looks like Russia's annual output of portable tat.
Every compartment is piled with beach balls, costume jewellery, hairspray, deodorant, shoes, watches and Teletubbies bought cheap in Russia, to be sold in Mongolia or en route.
When the train stops at Slyudyanka and Ulan Ude, bidding for polyester dresses hung out of the windows is spirited to the point of occasional scuffles. For most of the 12 or so hours it takes for the train to roll to the Russian border post at Naushki, the corridors thunder with Mongolians swapping merchandise.
A gross of chocolate bars goes for ten cartons of eggs, a crate of beer for a box of shampoos - so that when the inspectors board, none is exceeding the personal limit permitted for one item.
I don't catch the name of the middle-aged woman sharing my compartment - Mongolian sounds like several violin strings snapping at once - but I can tell she's worried. Having failed to offload enough of her enormous shipment of cigarettes, she sets about maximising the storage possibilities of the compartment, unbolting a ceiling panel, prising open heating vents, cramming all available space with her cargo. Clearly she's done this before.
At Naushki, Russian customs officials make their way down the carriage. In a train full of dedicated smugglers, the Russian customs guards search me. My second stopover is in Mongolia's pretty but dishevelled capital, Ulan Bator, notable for its friendly people, cheap shopping and murderous traffic.
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| | | | Abba impersonators
In the evening, I play it safe, sitting on my hotel balcony and watching a German troupe of Abba impersonators play to a crowd of 50 in the park opposite. When the train for the final leg of my journey rolls out of town, it is apparent that Ulan Bator marks the point at which the luxuriant green emptiness of Mongolia's north begins to give way to the harsh yellow emptiness of Mongolia's south.
The Gobi Desert's visual repertoire of sand strewn with camel carcasses and occasional encampment of the circular tents, or gers, of Mongolia's nomads, is interrupted by rugged breeze-block towns - Choyr, Ayrag, Saynshand - that look like they were built by people who don't expect many visitors.
Nevertheless, the platforms fill with hopeful traders as the train pulls in. My first view of China is as crowded and busy as my last of Mongolia was lifeless and quiet. Between the industrial cities of Datong and Zhangjiakou, there isn't a flat surface that isn't being farmed.
Even where the Great Wall crests the forested hills around Badaling and Qinglongqiao, there is scarcely a vista not filled by someone repairing, building, cleaning or on their way somewhere in a hurry.
After ten days indulging in one of the world's best arguments for taking the scenic route, I'm almost feeling guilty by the time we arrive, dead on time, in Beijing. Almost.
Travel facts: Regent Holidays (0117 921 1711) offers an 11-day itinerary on the Trans-Mongolian railway.
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| | Destination Guide : Russia |
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| | | A vast land |  | Why go on holiday to Russia?
Because you can! It's now possible to travel all over Russia and there's a lot to see. Russia stretches to the Arctic Ocean in the north, Turkey in the south and the Pacific Ocean in the east.
That's an enormous array of different landscapes and cultures. This is, after all, the land of the KGB, Anna Karenina, Siberia and vodka.
How much does it cost?
Prices vary but as a rough guide, costs start from £500 in January for a seven-day holiday to Moscow and St. Petersburg. In the summer months prices rise to around £600. This is for a basic tour, with train travel and breakfast in a two-star hotel. Intourist Travel on 020 7538 8600 will be able to organise your itinerary and visa.
A three-night city break staying in four or five star hotels in Moscow costs around £400 and in St Petersburg around £500. Three star hotel rooms in both Moscow and St Petersburg are from £35 a night.
When should I go?
July and August are the warmest months and the main holiday season. They're also the dampest, so if you want to avoid the crowds and rain, try May-June or September-October.
Spring is generally slushy, muddy and horrible. Winter is bitterly cold but the snow can be beautiful.
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| | | Follow the Red-brick road |  | What should I do when I'm there?
The Kremlin dates back to 1150AD. Ivan the Terrible, Stalin and Napoleon have all shared the same views across the Moscow River from here.
It's open to visitors - apart from those wearing shorts - daily, except for Thursday. Once inside you can experience centuries of Russian art and history.
What about communist history?
Despite calls for its removal, Lenin's Tomb still stands at the foot of the Kremlin Wall and is free. Burial places of other Soviet luminaries include those of Stalin, cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin and Marshal Georgy Zhukov, who led the defeat of Hitler.
Just outside the Kremlin is Red Square - 400m by 150m of cobble stones where the Soviet rulers chose to show off their military might.
What is Russia's second city?
St Petersburg's elegant buildings and ornate bridges over the River Neva draw comparisons with Paris and Venice. At Dvortsovaya Ploschad is the stunning Winter Palace.
One of the world's greatest art galleries is The Hermitage; its enormous collection amounts to a veritable history of Western European art, with artists like Picasso, Rembrandt and Rubens on display.
A stroll down Nevsky Prospect will show you a modern side to Russia. This most famous of Russian streets is packed with restaurants, bars and fashionable shops.
How about a train journey?
Take a trip on the Trans-Siberian Railway. A six-day, 9,446km journey from Moscow to Vladivostok, on the Pacific coast, is the best way to see this massive country. The route passes Siberia's Lake Baikal - a body of water as big as Belgium.
What else should I see?
With the Caucasus mountains as a backdrop, the Black Sea resort of Sochi has a sub-tropical climate, warm seas and a trendy resort complex. Heading inland, there are waterfalls, hilltop views and spa towns to enjoy.
The Solovestsky Islands were the site of Stalin's infamous Gulag camps, and have been a place of imprisonment and exile since the Middle Ages.
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| | | A night at the Bolshoi | | Where's good for nightlife?
Because of Russia's economic situation, clubs open and close down with bewildering frequency. It's best to check the Moscow Times on Friday for the latest details. Moscow offers everything from very shady Mafia-run nightclubs to jazz and raves.
The Hermitage Club in the Inner North attracts an artsy student crowd while Pilot at Inner North West draws out a more dance-based crowd.
If you'd rather watch others dance, a night of ballet at the Bolshoi is popular with tourists and locals alike.
What's the food like?
Most Russians eat at a stolovaya, a cheap and cheery eatery. For just 50p, fill yourself up with such delights as fish, meatballs, soup and boiled vegetables. You'll find these in markets or station areas; some are decent, some very grotty.
Modern Russia is not renowned for its cuisine, though Georgian cuisine is a notable exception to the rule. Fear not, however, as most large cities have international restaurants catering to all tastes - at international prices, of course.
Vodka is the life blood of the nation, but the quality can vary from excellent to lethal. Always buy screw top bottles and check they haven't been tampered with.
What should I buy?
Good Russian crafts can be bought at the Saturday and Sunday Market at Izmaylovsky Park in the Outer East of Moscow. Rugs from the Caucasus, attractive pottery and jewellery from Central Asia are good buys.
What is there for children to do?
Russia is famous for its circuses and all big cities will have one. They are normally mixtures of music, dance and cabaret, as well as animal and acrobatic shows.
Do be aware, however, that the use of animal performers can often disturb, rather than entertain, westerners in the audience.
Tourist office
There is no official tourist office in the UK. You should be able to get information from the Russian Travel Centre on 020 7224 4678.
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| | Fact File : Russia |
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| | | Russia | | Did you know?
The average Russian drinks more than 12 litres of pure alcohol a year. In the form of beer, wine or spirits — especially vodka — of course.
Language
Russian.
Visas
All visitors need visas. To get one you must first confirm accommodation for every night you are staying in Russia. You will need to hand over your passport and visa so it can be registered.
Getting there
Sheremetevo-2 airport in the capital Moscow or St Petersburg airport. Once there, it's best to travel by rail, as domestic flights are unregulated and have the world's worst safety record.
Flying time from London
Three hours to Moscow or St Petersburg.
Getting around
Driving can be a bureaucratic nightmare. You need a certified Russian translation of your driving licence from the embassy in London. The best way to see this massive country is the Trans-Siberian Railway. River transport is great, with main services between Moscow and St Petersburg, along the Volga. Moscow has perhaps the most beautiful metro in the world — and trains run every two minutes.
Currency
Rouble.
Costs
Prices vary but as a guide: roll of camera film £1; 500ml bottle of beer 25p; moderate local restaurant meal £3; tourist restaurant £20; four-mile taxi ride £4; litre of petrol 20p.
Weather
July and August are the warmest months and the main holiday season, but the dampest. To avoid the crowds and the rain try May-June or September-October. Winter is bitter but there's always vodka to warm you up. Spring is slushy and muddy. Summer 24C (75F), winter - 10C (-15F).
Time difference
Russia is a huge country so time differences are enormous, from three to 12 hours ahead of the UK.
International dialling code from the UK
00 7.
Voltage
220v, 50Hz.
Opening hours
Most shops open Monday to Saturday, with food stores hours 8am-8pm with an early-afternoon break (pereryv) of an hour, other shops 10/11am-7/8pm with a 2-3pm break. Department stores open 8am-8pm, and cities have 24-hour kiosks. Banks open 9am-noon Monday to Friday, and 1-6pm in major cities.
Health — before you go
Make sure you are immunised against tetanus and diphtheria, and take out travel insurance.
Health — when you are there
In certain cities, like St Petersburg, the water is definitely not safe to drink. Use bottled water if you are at all unsure. Avoid cheap vodka, and if you are eating street food make sure it is hot and well cooked.
Warnings
Street crime against foreigners is a problem in Russia's major cities. Muggers favour underground metro areas, overnight trains, stations, airports, markets and tourist attractions, and have been known to break into locked and occupied hotel rooms. Avoid travelling in the Chechen Republic, Dagestan, North Ossetia, Ingushetia and Kabarda-Balkar (including the Elbrus region) and its border areas as they are all unstable. The biggest danger to travellers is kidnapping.
Emergency
Police, Tel 02. British Embassy, Sofiyskaya Naberezhnaya 14, Moscow, Tel 956 7400.
Customs
If you are invited into a Russian home it's seen as rude if you turn down any food offered.
Pets
Not advisable as quarantine rules apply.
Tipping
Very few places in Russia expect you to tip. Top hotels add between five and 15% on bills.
Tourist office
There is no official tourist office in the UK. You should be able to get information from the Russian Travel Centre on 020 7224 4678.
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