I’m on the twice daily “Cambodian Express” that travels between Bangkok and Aranyapathet, which as you might have read in my recent post, is very close to the Cambodian border. It’s also a train first for me – as I’m travelling in third class – here is a copy of my ticket to prove it.

This costs me less than 50 Baht (£1) for a seven-hour journey. Have I finally gone quite mad in a Colonel Kurtz sort of a way? No, there are only third-class carriages on this train. Of course, it’s just a local train to the locals, but the “Cambodian Express” is what us farangs sometimes call it, as it can have only one true long-range purpose – direct rail travel from the heart of Thailand through to Cambodia…

It’s quite a busy train with lots of stops. The carriage I am in has a toilet (of sorts) at one end and an open plan washroom at the other. The seats are benches and there are fans in the ceiling. There are severe looking metal shutters to keep the sun and any stray projectiles out. Armed railway police and ticket inspectors walk up and down, along with a ladies selling kebabs, chicken rice, fruit and shrimp paste. A sinister looking man wearing a camouflage jacket and Raybans stands at the end of our carriage with a walkie talkie in one hand. The kids sitting opposite me wear Colt firearm polo shirts and play aimlessly on their local android devices. Welcome to Thailand!

The smell in here is hard to define. Strange fruit being peeled, barbecued meat from passing markets and bonfires outside mix with an occasional vegetal stench. A slice of life on each platform – madman chanting, officials dressed in slightly too tightly tailored shirts with big calibre handguns and ladies selling a strange concoction of coke (a-cola) in a plastic bag.

I reach Bangkok in the evening and re-enact the end sequence of “Ice Cold in Alex”. The beer is a bit slow coming and I almost feel I have to explain why I might have a bit of thirst on. Fortunately, I don’t though, as just in the nick if time a lovely Indian lady sits me down and arranges a pipeline of draught Singhas to my table by the edge of the river. A great way to finish another leg of this journey!

This is the second rail leg of my Vietnam journey – this time on a train called the “SE3” – which like the SE1 also travels from Hanoi to Saigon, but setting off later in the day – so a lunchtime departure from Da Nang on day two. This hasn’t been a particularly fun trip, so apologies that there not many photos here, but you will soon understand why I was otherwise engaged.

11.20
Da Nang station waiting room is getting busier by the minute, as my train is delayed by an hour – also the time that the Northbound SE4 is due to arrive on the same platform – mild but managed pandemonium. I get a seat amongst a bunch of Vietnamese aunties close to the door of the platform and try to settle in, but something is wrong, I’m feeling a bit poorly. The waiting room is getting hotter, louder and I need to lie down.

14.10
Both trains arrive. Because of the way they are reverse shunted in to the station and new locos are attached, it would be quite easy to get on the wrong one. A kind porter helps me out though. A quick scrum and I am on carriage 11, berth 1. That’s like seat 1A on Concorde – only for people like Richard Burton and me! My immediate impression is that it is a good train – still generally grubby – but pressed clean white cotton bedding and air conditioning that is working well.

The samovar is also operational and I check the water temperature to make sure that its boiling (always do this). This train is painted blue, unlike the colour scheme of all the other state trains in Vietnam. Maybe its a Vietnameese version of the “Mallard”? It certainly won’t break any speed records – 15 hours to Saigon – but it might be a more prestigious train than the SE1. I notice that the guard has his own small cabin and the food trolley is much more extensive here too. Unlike the SE1, there are no women living in cupboards..

I try to settle in with my Vietnamese compartment mates, but have to lie down. I do my best to have a conversation but my mind is set on lying still and doing nothing. I must be ill as I find it easy to screen out the shouting and screaming and close my eyes for an hour.

When I open my eyes, back in the real world, to begin with I’m sharing with a Vietnamese lady and grand daughter going to see their relatives in Qui Nong, and also a medical sales guy going South to a meeting in Tuy Hoa. They are all charming, and I’m beginning to actually enjoy sharing a compartment with the locals. I swat a few mosquitos around me in case they might be a carrying a deadly disease – or as Captain Willard would put it I – “terminated their command with extreme prejudice”..

17.00
Shivering now, so get out my down jacket and try to sleep. My fellow travellers eat instant noodles and fried chicken from the trolley service. The smell to me makes me feel dreadful, but there is nothing I can do about it. I mention in passing I’m not well to the medical sales chap in the berth above me, and he wishes me a speedy recovery after Tet. I can’t wait until Tet to feel better though..that is 22 days away (Vietnamese lunar New Year).

18.00
Declare myself formally on “sick parade”, and break out the field first aid chest. I take all the pills that I dare, drink a double Dioralyte at an improvised dilution ratio and set up for bed. My stomach is cramping badly and I can only lie on my back.

22.18
A strange and urgent feeling that I haven’t felt for many years. I’m going to be full on proper sick. Right now. Shoes on and fortunately the toilet is empty (berth one is close by) so I just make it in time. Half an hour of projectile vomiting ensues. (There goes my record of not having thrown up since 1985..)

23.00
Feeling somewhat better, I turn in for the night. Sleep comes occasionally and with constant adjustment of the bedding. It’s mainly very cold, but warms up sometimes for no apparent reason, adding to my fever. The other thing that you have to contend with on the SE3 is the announcements half an hour before each stop. They are lengthy, highly professional and pre recorded in English as well as in Vietnamese – with game show music – maybe a Vietnamese “Who isn’t a (Dong) Millionaire?”, “Or The V Factor”? Anyway, I now know the population of every province we have passed through and their tourism selling points.

04.30
Get up feeling slightly rested, make some reasonable coffee and sit alone in the darkness whilst everyone sleeps fitfully around me. Start to write this blog. After 10 minutes I feel sick and head for the toilet (which I should mention is quite like a Russian submarine on this train – lots of pipes and valves,  and you would not want to press the wrong button). Spend another 20 minutes retching and heaving, even though I have not eaten for almost 24 hours. “Better out than in” as they say. The window is open in here and I’m soothed by the fresh cool morning air.

What has made me this sick? I woke up feeling okay this morning and went down hill as the day went on. Maybe a 48 hour delayed reaction from oysters and clams possibly..? My symptoms suggest it could be, as I have tingling and breathing issues too. It’s not an unexpected problem to have to deal with, but nonetheless a challenging one on a train..

Anyway I’m about to check in somewhere that I can convalesce in for 48 hours before I begin my fairly intensive trip to get me to Bangkok on Sunday night. I could name just a handful of hotels in the world that I would be happy to be ill in, and one of them is The Caravelle in Saigon.

This particular motorbike was originally provided to North Vietnam by the Russians where it served as a Police bike for much of its life. It had a crew of three and space for a detainee where I’m sitting.. It still retains a working siren, but we don’t use it much as it scares the water buffalo.

It wasn’t a long trip (I wished it was – such huge fun!) but we quickly got “off road” and I was quite surprised what we were able to cope with – as were the mountain biking tourists who must have been wondering about the mushrooms they had in their Pho for breakfast..

The beauty of a side car is not just comfort – but also room for a picnic! Guan, my bike buddy, batman and guide (from the hotel) was just superb. And with a sidecar you can chat as you drive along..so “Easy Rider”!

We covered some mileage between farms, villages and lakes mainly on narrow paths. This was a side to Hoi An that I hadn’t seen before. At one point Guan turned the engine off, got out and pushed – I offered to get out and help restart our aged bike, but actually he was in fact just showing respect to a local funeral ceremony we were passing in a village that grew only kumquats..

The Ural was designed for rough terrain, and we put it to the test a few times! The hotel has about six of these bikes and two mechanics who try to keep the ancient engines working. The noise and the smell make it all feel very authentic – as does the need to double declutch and kick start the bike into life.

I have made a note to self to look at some longer bike trips in the future. All to soon we had to return to base..where I headed to the bar for an icy beer. I now dream of the possibility of riding a bike to Laos.

Good evening, and welcome to another episode of “border games”. It’s been a relaxing day, drinking tea, dozing, taking pictures of the fantastic landscape around Guilin whilst eating fiery stew from the restaurant carriage. Tonight I am starting with some “pre border, border games” at Nanning station. This is the last big city before the crossing, and most people finish their journey from Beijing here. Except me!

My guard (seen here slightly annoyed with me taking pictures of everything!) got me out of my carriage (but my luggage is left in it) and handed me over to a member of staff on the platform – I am the only passenger on the whole train from Beijing continuing to Hanoi.. I have been escorted to an international waiting room, where I suspect others will join the T5. I feel a bit like a schoolboy taking a plane trip alone – I have a lady who is going to come and collect me and escort me back to the train when the time comes (and I have no idea when that is). The practical reason for all this is apparently a lot of shunting and reconfiguring of the T5 to prepare it for the run to the border. They obviously don’t know that I’m a veteran of cataclysmicly big shunts in the bogie sheds of Terespol and Eirlan!

The lounge in Nanning is full of slightly dodgy looking middle aged men in black leather jackets, smoking and fiddling with their Blackberries. A Chinese version of “Blind Date” blares across the room and a security lady waves a metal detector wand in the general direction of anyone coming in. The girls on “Blind Date” are too easy on the eye, and everybody is mesmerised by what’s on the television screen.

22.43 (local)

I have been escorted back to the train – now on an otherwise deserted platform 13. I hadn’t realised, but I’m more valuable cargo than I thought – my “minder” from the lounge has physically had to sign me back over to the train guard. They have a black A4 file for me!

I thought that the other people in the lounge were coming with us, but apparently not. It’s now my private train consisting of me, my carriage, a spare carriage, a luggage van plus about ten guards. I asked the conductor about other passengers, but he confirms it as a non stop train just to personally convey me to the Vietnamese side of the Chinese border at Pingxiang. I can’t wait to see how this crossing goes, given size of the likely queue at immigration…

Given the train is much smaller now, I was able to take a gratuitous engine shot. I was mildly rebuked for doing this, but I figured that the whole benefit of a private train is that it goes when you want it to.. I couldn’t take any photographs of it earlier today, as a 20 carriage walk and no timetable made such a visit a bit high risk.

22.56 (local)

We have just gently pulled out of Nanning – about three hours to run to the Chinese side of the border. I think the guards are settling in for a rest given they have no one other than me to worry about, and what’s the worse thing I’m going to do? (other than possibly try to remove the window!)..

Sitting back in my compartment I’m wondering if this development has any downside. I do hope the Vietnamese authorities don’t single me out for any special treatment…

The driver is tooting his horn every 30 seconds, which isn’t easy to sleep through. However I can’t fault his excitement to get me to the border on time. I guess its possible that it was hooting like this all last night as well, but you don’t hear it at the back of a much longer train. In front of my bathroom there is now a sign that I assume says something like “opening this door is not a good idea”

02.24 (local, Beijing time +8 GMT)

Silence apart from the humming from the idle diesel locomotive as we sit at a Pingxiang station platform. A very polite Chinese official has checked my visas and left with my passport which he tells me he is going to stamp. The crew are mainly in bed, so it’s like the Mary Celeste in here now. No one is telling what to do, so I’m just sitting in my compartment (or should I say “my train”) waiting for new orders..

03.18 (local, Hanoi time +7 GMT)

Very unusual. After about half an hour at a very slow speed, and with no lights, the T5 went through a small jungle and emerged on a single track at Dong Dang. An immigration man was hanging round in the darkness waiting for the train, so a delegation of two of the conductors from the T5 (with all their passports) and myself followed him across the tracks into the station. The T5 guys just had a document check and returned to their train, so I said “bye bye” (a well understood English expression in China) whilst I waited for 10 minutes or so in the cold to have my visa stamped and officially enter Vietnam. No declarations, no customs, no health check, in fact no paperwork at all.. The same official then very kindly showed me to two deserted Vietnamese carriages on the opposite platform that will become the continuation of the T5, now in Vietnam known as the “M2”.

Void of any sign of life he proceeded to help me open up a door to the train, as the guards were asleep inside. A fine fellow indeed.

I’m now sat in my simple compartment if the M2, the only human passenger, waiting for an engine to arrive and take us to Hanoi. I do have a stowaway though – a small mouse lives in here too. He’s just gone for a trip down the corridor towards the bathroom. I’m going to remain chilled about this as we only have a few hours together and he is hardly a “Siberian Hamster”. I need a name for him, and of course it has to be “Basil”. I’m hoping we will get along okay.

03.48 (local)

A couple of toots and we are off on the local one metre gauge line – this is the same as the Russian gauge which I used up to the Mongolian border.. Next stop Hanoi at 08.10. The carriage rocks and sways like a boat on what feels like ancient suspension.

Greetings from Mongolia! I’ve just crossed the frontier from the Russian Federation and am now sat quietly in the darkness on the Mongolian border. It’s all very Cold War again – soldiers standing to attention on the platform and immigration officers carrying briefcases ready to board and examine everyone that they find on train 004. Guard dogs roam freely on the platform.

I think my paperwork is in order, but judging by the degree of close inspection my visa was given before being taken away, I’m not 100% sure. The officer who took it from me actually saluted me in my compartment – as I’m not sure on Mongolian army etiquette I didn’t return the salute, as I wasn’t wearing headgear – I hope that’s the right drill out here. I will flatter myself and assume that she knew she must have been dealing with a VIP passenger, as he had a whole First Class compartment just to himself.

I have the Christmas decorations up in my compartment, and hope they help break the ice with the officials – this is hardly the normal behavior of a smuggler or an illegal immigrant surely?

It took about two hours to get out of Russia, and about another two here to get into Mongolia, so it’s hardly fast track, but at least I can sit in my own compartment sipping a glass of Merlot reading my book (“A Captain’s Duty” by Richard Phillips). There are a gaggle of officials walking up and down as well as some “not so officials”, including a couple of women who are black market currency traders, offering local Torag at a rate I didn’t get to hear about.

I’m awaiting the arrival of the Customs people, who I’m sure will be interested in my taste in Spanish wine (the best stuff I could find on offer in an otherwise dull Moscow supermarket).

No restaurant carriage tonight, so I have already dined alone on smoked sausage, crackers and chicken liver pate. I couldn’t face the Russian instant noodles after all – maybe I will on the Chinese border tomorrow night..

The colossal crashing bang and lurching of our carriage suggests that the Mongolian part of the train has arrived and has just been attached. This is good news, as it means that tomorrow there is the prospect of beef dumplings for lunch! Yumsk.

Just as I write this a very seriously dressed lady soldier in full combats and boots has been poking her flashlight around my compartment – that’s the third search of the train on this border crossing. She has left looking satisfied, so I hope that’s okay. Was I marked out for an extra search?

I just need my passport to be returned now, and as the train is now moving (but backwards) I’m hoping this standard Mongolian border procedure..

I walked back to Little Russia for my final meal as the Russian restaurant is peeling off at 16.00 (local). On the journey back through second class you get to see a real slice of Trans-Sib life – Europeans sharing mad travel ideas over instant noodles, Mongolians mainly sleeping or drinking, Russians playing dodgy DVDs on old laptops, and Chinese guards making dumplings. I took some shots of the Russian menu so I will separately post it under a “food” label in case you are reading this wondering how you might survive on “Pot Potato” for a week.. I have broken out my condiments box today for the first time as everything has begun to taste the same to me.

Closer to home a minor disaster was narrowly averted last night. My Dutch neighbours (with whom I share a bathroom) left the shower on – all night. Given that my English neighbours on the other side had a flooded compartment when someone had too long a shower yesterday, I have been quite lucky. What has saved the situation is that it was left on as hot as it goes, so the drain did not freeze. There was a kind of sauna effect in there, but no flood. If this were a submarine it would have been a court martial offence. I’m not going to mention it though – I hardly ever see them and think they are living on Moscow time (madness). Let’s hope we have enough water left until next re supply.

The samovar won’t boil this morning, but I think that’s an unrelated problem. “Mr Blond” says simply “later” when I ask him about some hot water for my morning fix of reasonable coffee. I don’t know if he means it will be fixed in a few minutes or a few days. That’s a bit odd given we are burning tonnes of coal each day to keep the carriage at South East Asian jungle temperature.

Ulan Ude was a great stop this morning. Bright, sunny and freezing cold. Actually the words “freezing cold” do not adequately describe how cold it is, seriously cold – I would guess -15 to -20 degrees. It’s an official train 004 dress code order – ushanka ear flaps will be worn down..

People look a bit different here – not so much European and Eurasian with darker skin and rounder faces – to me they generally seem happier too – despite the temperature everyone seems in good humour, except my second carriage guard “Mr Green”, but he’s not a humorous person..

The platform is littered with fruit, nuts and stacked supplies that the Mongolian traders are shipping over the border as “hand luggage”. I’m sure that Michael O’Leary would have an apoplectic fit if he ran Russian Railways!

We have swapped crews and locomotives again and are now making slow but steady progress up hill towards the border with Mongolia which we will reach at about 17.00 (local). This means I’m dining “at home” tonight as there will be several hours of border games, which I will report on later. The scenery is quite amazing as we leave behind the rivers and forests and climb hills toward the flat plain that forms the edge of the Gobi desert.

Leaving this blog now as I feel the need to play air guitar slightly wildly to “Animals”! I have shut my compartment door, and hope no one catches me doing this.

Lots of platform food action here – beer, weird dried fish and chilled dumplings – we must be getting more Eastern if the food is anything to go by. The mode of transport for these mobile “shops” is by sledge between the platforms!
A chilled out afternoon chatting and reading. There are a couple of Londoners getting off from our carriage in Irkutsk tonight – that’s about midnight train time, but locally in time for breakfast (with no chance of sleep). Adam (also overlanding to Singapore, but via Laos by bus) suggested that I invest in some hostage insurance for such trips in the future, especially if I am going through Central Asia next time. I have made a note to self – contact a company called “Black Book” on return, assuming I am not taken hostage first. I suspect he has it though as his father happens to be the chairman of a well known multi national company – and does not want to have to pay the ransom money!
The sun is now slowly setting in a spectacular fashion, I can’t stop taking snaps of it.

My Beijing time zone says it’s not long until beer o’clock, so I will shortly put on my gloves and head torch for the journey backwards four carriages to the restaurant I know as “Little Russia”.

On that subject, getting between carriages is an art that I seem to be getting quite good at – the trick is never to let go of the door handle of the carriage you are leaving until you have the next handle in your hand. Does that sound like a possible ancient Chinese proverb? However my technique does not prevent the snow accumulating in my standard Russian train issue Crocs though..

Bye for now!

So I woke up today after a night of mixed sleep as we pulled into Krasnoyarsk at 06.24 Moscow time, 10.24 local time. I’m not quite sure what was going on, as there was no coal to load. That makes the stop a high risk strategy for the tourist, as with no coal going on there is also no indication of how close we are to departure. I think I got yelled at yesterday as we got ready to depart and I was taking a photograph on the platform. In Chinese there is no perceptible sound of urgency to the foreigner – or in fact everything sounds urgent. The guard might have simply been saying “Lovely view from this platform in the soft morning light, have you tried F2.8 with a longer exposure?”, but it sounds like “Quick! Climb up now you fat foreigner or you will be left behind in this icy cold place forever!”..

I took a stroll up to the front of the train at Balabinsk last night – it feels like a long walk, and up at the front there is just you and the crew, no guards to shepherd you back to safety. Anyway for the trainspotters amongst you, as you can see, we have been pulled by a fairly modern Russian locomotive for the past 24 hours. Please don’t ask me to tell you what type it is, as I don’t know, and even if I did I know, I would pretend not to..
The shops here were plentiful, but no big brands, odd sizes or refunds..

On board carriage 9 everything is working well – a minor flood in one of the showers (yes – en suite showers or sorts here in first class) and the toilet drain has frozen, but otherwise all good. If you read my 2012 blog you may have heard about my carriage guards, named by me as “Guard A” and “Guard B” – both helpful, but quite different in their approach. On this train I will call them “Mr Blond” and “Mr Green”. Mr Blond is a jovial and friendly person who actually speaks a little bit of English. Mr Green, his opposite number, is in hiding most of the time and sits quietly reading and texting a lot from his compartment. He is covering the night shift. When I went to stash some white wine in the icy space between the carriages last night, Mr Blond spotted this and insisted that he store it in the guard’s kitchen fridge, which was good of him. Anyway I have given them both a small bottle of Johnny Walker and all seems well. As I write this they are making some rather fine looking dumplings for their own breakfast, which look far nicer than anything on sale in “Little Russia”.

I retired to my compartment after an early dinner last night (very passable Schnitzel, but as Alan Partridge would say, “the tomato sauce should be my decision”..) and watched out the window as tourists played in the snow and Russians chain-smoked cigarettes.

I think that’s all for now. Thanks for stopping by and hope you find my posts of interest. Please feel free to comment below – you don’t have to log in to do this as I have changed the settings.