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In my latest audio enabled post, I take a look back at my journey from Russia, across the Trans-Siberian railway into Mongolia. If you’re viewing this through a RSS reader, there’s a chance it hasn’t shown up –- I’m working on overcoming this gremlin, however in the meantime I invite you to visit the original post. Continue reading ‘Trans-Siberian: It’s Right Down My Street (Audio)’
Russia is macho. Resilient. Fearless. But even the strongest of souls will succumb to the trance inducing effect of their local water. Read, vodka. They love the stuff. Alcoholism is more a local hobby. Continue reading ‘The Reprint: ‘Punch, Drunk, Love’’
This weeks Reprint shows one of the beautiful entrepreneurs of the Trans-Mongolian railway. Many of the stations are located in seemingly forgotten corners of Siberia, so a string of cabins full of hungry punters is a splendid bonus. Continue reading ‘The Reprint: ‘All in a Days Work’’
“You miserable, mangey, manky maggot! I bloody kill you! How dare you come into my restaurant and make such demands of me! Beg! Beg for mercy you flake of feeble fuzz. I’ll crush you with my clenched palm and smear you over the window with my elbow. Now, run! RUN! What you still here for? RUN!“ Continue reading ‘The Reprint: ‘The Victor’’
Dumdum-De-DUM, dumdum-De-DUM, dumdum-De-DUM. It took me the whole 5 days from Moscow to Ulaanbaatar, to decide how I would portray the drum of the Trans-Mongolian train I alighted this morning. Say it with me, dumdum-De-DUM, softer, dumdum-De-DUM, emphasise the capitals dumdum, De-DUM, one-two, three-four, dumdum-De-DUM. Never has a journey left me so relaxed. To my right are a set of antelope horns, the hostel foyet is filled with lounge music and all I want to do is hug the keyboard, close my eyes and drift off to dreams of faraway places. Dumdum-De-DUM. Continue reading ‘Trans-Mongolian; it’s right down my street.’
I won’t usually be updating this quick but I’ve been consumed by the whole writing dream. Moscow has become more of an obsession than a destination, with each step I take along it’s roads I develop a new emotion for the people and the place. I woke today with desires to explore the famous Gorky Park, upon arriving I was so exhausted from the concentration I’d put into the journey, that I fell asleep on a bench for 2 hours or more. I can’t be sure, as I don’t carry a timepiece, I simply tell the time from glances at watches or food receipts- which is rare as I still cannot understand a word in written or spoken Russian so as yet have shunned the temptation of eateries.
I had a beer last night with a young Dutchman named Timo, amongst other things we discussed the Muscovite persona; straight faced, silent, kind, abrupt but one word Timo offered hit the nail on the head “they’re xenophobic” he proclaimed, and I swiftly agreed. For me, the people of Moscow appear to be sheepishly exploring the concept of freedom and expression, with tentative steps. Comparisons can be made with many major capitals, especially their European counterparts; the style of Paris women, the seclusion of London, the feisty nature of the Spanish, the pace of New York. Though underneath the xenophobic layer you’ll find the strong might of the Russian people, bore from the Soviet iron. I broke through this today, with comical ingenuity. Continue reading ‘Sleepless in Moscow’
As the air hostess undid the last, teasing button, a sight unfolded that no traveller would find even with the aid of their guidebook. I gazed, longingly. I knew if I blinked, I would regret the moments I missed, as she knelt down slowly beside me she whispered those unforgettable words, “what drink would you like with that sir?”. With this, I woke from my mile-high slumber, groggy if somewhat startled.
My blurred vision afforded me the unexpected site of plastic-coated mint lamb, the smell drifted with me as I turned to feast my eyes upon the trolley wielding Adonis. To my dismay, ’she’ had turned into a ‘he’ and my whole fantasy came crumbling cruelly down around me. I took little solace in washing it down with the glass of bitter orange juice, generously insisted by BMI. Continue reading ‘I’m in a Russia to start a travelling…’
