“Although the temperature outside is now well below zero, I am lying in the snug and sweaty darkness of a seriously overheated Chinese train compartment. After about half an hour tossing and turning I have a bit of a moment and finally lose my self-control in a high-temperature-induced panic. I feel an urgent and desperate need for fresh air. I need to do something, anything, so I grab my tool kit, get out some pliers and begin to remove the bolts around the frame that obviously keeps the window closed. There are eight bolts, and I remove them one by one and put them each carefully on my table like I’m working on an unexploded bomb. My compartment door is locked, so as long as we don’t stop at a station I can continue my work unobserved by Li and Chen, my minders. The bolts are now all out, but the window still won’t open. I push, shove and try and slide it in all directions. Nothing happens. Taking a break, and sitting on my berth I scratch my head and wish that I were a qualified engineer. Why won’t the window open? I realise that I’m going to have to admit defeat to living in a sauna. But then in a horrible single moment of mechanical deduction, the reason it’s not opening finally dawns on me. This window is fixed shut and, unlike the windows in the corri­dor, has no opening part. What I have actually done is to unbolt the entire window and its frame from the carriage. At this moment there is nothing other than ice and grime holding the window onto the rattling and bumping carriage as we sway down the line towards Irkutsk.”

It would of course have been highly amusing to imagine me trying to explain to the Chinese officials why the window in my compartment was absent from the train in the heart of the Siberian winter. But the two viewpoints of fear and hilarity also made me think about the richness of adventure. When I first started out as a long range rail traveller I tried to plan everything so carefully. The smallest problem stood out as a personal crisis, and I was always worrying about something trivial. It is only over time and with some miles under my belt that I now see most problems as actually generally good things. Not only do they give me something interesting to write about, but they seem to make me a better traveller. So as I have raised my game as a rail adventurer, and now an author, I have actually learned to embrace the odd crisis. I’m also a bit more chilled out now too. By accepting that these things will happen and I will overcome them, I seem to become a more open minded, confident, and a more flexible person.

My first book is about my rediscovery of the joy of long distance train travel. After a longer gestation period than I had planned, it was finally published this week. Trans-Siberian Adventures is based on my first ever journey across Siberia – from Edinburgh to Shanghai.

My original blog has proved to be a useful journal, but the book has allowed me to take my writing to a new place – one that perhaps only two years ago I would not have imagined. I have been able to write about my experiences in much more detail and to provide what I feel is a more real insight into life on the rails. Blogging on the move has become a daily ritual of my travel, but like an artist, this is really just an initial sketch, rather than the full painting.

I feel I should point out that the photo at the top of this post might imply my impending custody in a Korean jail. I have to tell you that nothing could be further from the truth. I found Korean policemen to be the nicest law enforcement agency that I have ever encountered. This gives me a closing thought, one that I also mention in the book. It doesn’t matter if you don’t speak a word of the same
language; nearly all people in this world are innately kind and generous to
strangers. Don’t be put off travel by what you read in the newspapers.

I really hope you enjoy my book and that it might inspire you to give long range rail adventure a try. You can read more about Trans-Siberian Adventures on my book page. Please let me know what you think.

Once inside the station, all I find is an empty waiting room next to an empty immigration room. There seem to be about six of us and I think the others are Chinese. The bad news is that apparently I’m going to be here for an indeterminate number of hours – had I known I would have brought some more suitable clothes with me. The train is already being shunted away. I hope I get to see it (and my luggage) again.
I met a couple of very friendly Swiss chaps in the local station cafe. They have been on the train since Irkutsk but I have not seen them before. They must be living in a different time zone. One of them speaks a bit of Russian and a lot of Chinese, which to me is deeply impressive – it is like a super power, and it must floor the average Chinese person. Just imagine the joys of negotiation – it must be like being telepathic! I drink cheap coffee with them and eat a “Manchurian Pasty”, which contains an unexpected combination of hot dog sausage and mashed potato.

Three hours later..

I’m none the wiser, but it turns out I need to get back on the train without completing any formalities, so I don’t know why I ever had to leave the train. I later find out they have changed the bogies and wheels whilst I have been enjoying the local pastry culture. Sergei seems keen to have me back in his carriage without delay. He has changed into full uniform and even splashed some aftershave on. Does he know something I don’t?

Some more hours later..

This has proved to be one of my more stressful border crossings. Basically the Russian police thought that my passport might be forged, as it was valid for more than ten years. I tried to explain that if you replace a “full” passport in the U.K. before it expires you get to keep the remaining validity period on top of a new ten years, but it wasn’t well understood. Eventually a young customs officer acted my as translator and we got it all sorted out, but I could see the immigration officer didn’t like my passport at all. She kept thumbing through my visas and just staring it me. It doesn’t make much sense to me, as they let me into the country with a biometric visa and now I’m just trying to leave. Maybe they don’t see too many UK passports on this particular border. I understand that I’m doing it the easy way – if you come from China into Russia over this frontier I’m led to believe that it can be a proper grilling..

In other news, the customs people have had the train in bits – literally. They even walked over the roof of the carriage. They have mostly left now and I’m sat in the dark amidst a pile of my clothes and gear wondering what treat we have in store next.

A couple more hours later..

We have been shunted into “no mans land”. There are cameras and lights everywhere. Cameras watching cameras even. In another railway first, a single carriage Chinese train with the immigration team on board approach on the other line and get onto our train whilst it is still in no mans land. It’s just so Cold War, but I immediately feel more relaxed when the first person I meet welcomes me once he finds out I’m from the U.K and he even wishes me a “Happy Christmas”. The immigration proceedure takes place but without any further concerns over my passport. My luggage gets a further really thorough search, but they are polite enough about it.

Once we get into Manchzhuriya (on the Chinese side of the frontier) Sergei explains that the train is going to be here for a few more hours and I can get off and wander about. I wonder what there might be to do in such a place, but I follow him into the station anyway, as he knows where to find a black market currency trader. It’s a husband and wife team with a money counting machine and a big calculator on top of some upturned cardboard boxes.

This turns out to be an instructive experience for me. Firstly, for trusting a Chinese black market currency trader in the first place, and secondly for my pointless anger at myself when I realise I have been ripped off. However, it turns out its not as bad as I first think, but still a useful reminder to be in better control of myself “on the street” in China – where there are a few well practised traveller scams. Most revolve around art shows, tea ceremonies and accusations of paying with a fake note. Like a tetnus shot in the bottom, my immune system is now on full guard, so that’s a good outcome even though I’m slightly down financially on the deal.

I sit in my compartment for the evening whilst going absolutely nowhere. We have no electricity and no hot water, so I eat an emergency can of corned beef and have a couple of glasses of cheap Spanish wine that I have (legally) smuggled in from Moscow. I smile and remind myself that I have endured 11 hours of red tape and hassle without any complaint or sense of humour failure on my part and give myself a little pat on the back.

For such a large station there wasn’t much for sale on the platform, but I managed to get what I needed. With the sun up and clear blue sky it felt warmer than it probably was. The river that runs through the city was steaming with thick clouds of warm air rising in the Siberian chill.

I’m well into the usual routine today, and my caviar and blini diet is going well. I’m wondering if in fact the supply of caviar might be inexhaustible. The restaurant manager is called Valerie. He explains to me that he lives in Krasnoyarsk and we manage a sign language chat about a range of subjects, from local churches to hydro-electricity. What a nice chap he is – like so many Russian people I meet, this friendliness is hidden under the surface when you first encounter them.

I must start to try harder with the time zone changes today. I was guilty of having breakfast in Moscow time today – that was well past lunchtime local time, and had I lingered at the table it would have been dinner time in Beijing. The sun sets at just after 3pm Moscow time at our present position. Lets see if I can get an early start in tomorrow..

I have a slightly tricky situation to manage on board the train today. My secret window opening has been rumbled by someone, as when I returned to my compartment after breakfast I discovered that it had been locked up. I am guessing its by Sergei, but he’s not saying anything about it. My dilemma is that of course I have the key to open it up again, but before I could have just pretended it was unlocked, whereas if I’m found out again they will know that I must have the key. I’m annoyed with myself for not being more discrete. The temperature in my compartment is now an uncomfortable 28C, but I shall leave things until darkness until I reperform my magic act.

In other news, something is not right with the train today – the brakes have frozen or something, as we are lurching all over the place. There was one big jolt this afternoon, and I heard things go flying up and down the train. I’m hoping they will fix this at our next stop, Ilankskaya.

My time at Ishim is focussed on getting a resupply of water and chocolate, as the stop is only for 10 minutes. Siberian platform shops are a semi unique phenomenon, and a concept that I think it is safe to say will never catch on with major western retailers. The shop has a window plastered with every item on sale, and a tiny hatch to conduct business though. A bit of pointing and proffering some Rubles results in a transaction, and the item is passed out to you. Think of it as an outside version of Argos, but without the catalogue. I also bought a freshly cooked donught that was stuffed with meat and vegetables. It tasted pretty good, and I conclude that if it is still warm in this climate, it must have literally just come out the oven.

I am nothing but impressed with the restaurant carriage on my train. My understanding is that these are run as a kind of separate business from the rest of the train and they vary considerably in style, albeit with a common menu. The one on this train is modern, well run and the food is excellent. Chef even added some herbs to my eggs at breakfast yesterday. Real herbs!

Today I have one thing on my mind. That is the possibility of caviar and blinis for brunch. Unfortunately there can be many things on the menu that are not available, but you never know if you dont ask, so I head west two carriages and eight doors to find out.

On this trip I broke my train rule number three and quickly regretted it – never wash your hands before passing between train carriages. Wet hands simply stick to the bare metal handles on the ouside ends of each coach. Some of the carriage crossings are quite challenging on this train, requiring a sort of a jump and a pirouette over the sliding and moving metal ramp covered with snow and ice in “no man’s land”. I must be out of practice. It’s all about timing and counterbalancing the rolls and leaps of the train.

Once I reach my objective I see that Valerie, the restaurant manager, is sat in his normal booth counting money and adding things up with an enormous desk calculator. He greets me and asks if I want a beer. Even on local time it’s not noon yet, but I have noticed that some of the Russian passengers enjoy a vodka or two for breakfast.

I ask about the blinis and am amazed to discover that they are actully on the menu – so we do have an onboard supply of caviar. This won’t last long, as now I know it exists I shall be having this dish at least once a day. I’m also enjoying the Russian style coffee on this train – its the sort where the grounds get mixed in and sink to the bottom. You might know it as Turkish or Middle Eastern in style. Two cups of this rocket fuel together with my blinis and caviar cost me 500 rubles, about £4.50. This is the bargain of the trip so far.

Out of the corner of my eye I notice that the restaurant manager has assembled a long hose to what looks like an enema bag. He seems to be planning some mad maintenance of some kind. He mutters to me “systemia, systemia” as he wanders off. I’m probably better off not knowing.

After lunch its very quiet on board and I think most of the train is having a siesta as we arrive into Omsk at 13.37. It’s clearly a popular place – for the first time this trip there are crowds of people on the platforms and I can spot soldiers, sailors and even an ice hockey team preparing to board our train. It is considerably colder this morning and this has an impact on my judgement of time. The stop is for 16 minutes, but after 5 minutes I’m keen to get back onto my very well heated carriage. I can appreciate how the Russians like them so hot, even though it doesn’t agree with me at night time.

I’m settling into a train routine already. Each morning first thing I have an admin session, procure food and water from the platform at the first stop and then head to the restaurant for breakfast. I don’t tend to eat lunch, as the days are short. I then spend the morning writing and the afternoon reading, but hoping off each time the train stops.

I’m not sure what Sergei makes of me, but I think he realises that I might have played this game before. Like some sort of higher order Masonic secret, I indicate quietly that I know about the secret cupboard in the outer compartment. This is the place where I like to chill wine and store cheese. We didn’t do a funny handshake, but he gets out his special key and opens it up for me. Of course, I actually have this key myself, but I dont feel it is quite right to reveal this to him. It’s the same key that opens my window and allows me to reduce the temperature in my compartment from roasting hot to about 20 degrees – or well below freezing if I get it wrong. I do this under the cover of darkness and close it again at major stops. Ice quickly forms where moisture from my breath hits the freezing outside world and this needs to be carefully removed before the window can be re-sealed properly. I have a special tool for this purpose – it’s an unmodified RZD coathanger.

This trip I have brought along a simple digital clock and it remains in my cabin set on Moscow time. This works well, as no conversion calculations are needed – I can see in an instant the time that relates to the timetable and where we going to stop. My watch can then be set to what is roughly the local time. I am advancing it one hour each day, which will get my brain ready for Beijing time later in the week.

It’s dark by 15.30 Moscow time and shortly after 16.00 we arrive at Balezino. Its a 25 minute stop, so I have time to wander up to the front and watch them switch the locomotive over, something that normally happens twice each day. I think the driver might think I’m a trainspotter, as my visits to take a photograph of his locomotive have not gone unnoticed. He winds down the window and starts shouting down to me in what sounds like friendly Russian. Of course I dont know what he is saying but I tell him my name and where I am from and we do some waving. I wonder for a moment if he is inviting me on board, but this has all sorts of complications, as he is uncoupled and about to take his engine away for the day. I’m aiming for Beijing and for all I know he’s going to go to the engine sheds of Kirov for the night. I opt to stay on the platform with a small gang of stray dogs until we are due to get going with the new locomotive.

Back in my compartment after the last stop of the day in Perm, I notice that I have accidentally accumulated a few pints of fine snow through the tiny opening I have created in my window. As if this wasn’t bad enough, the brakes have frozen and I manage to cover myself from head to foot in a glass of Merlot when the driver tries to slow the train down. I spend some time mopping up wine, snow, and red snow from most surfaces of the cabin before turning in for the night.

I had stocked up on supplies earlier in the day at my local Sokolniki supermarket, and now had an extra three bags to carry containing assorted noodles, biscuits, and porridge, not to mention a stash of reasonable quality European wine. Such was the scale of my luggage that the lady guarding the “special needs” seating area inside the station took pity on me and let me me park myself somewhere easy. The other people here are all families, the old and the infirm. So much for my adventurer credibility!

As I arrived on Platform 1 I was greeted by that very distinctive smell of lots of coal being burned to heat up the carriage samovars. An industrial smell, necessary as the carriages have no connection yet to the electricity from a powered locomotive.

Train No 020 was a middle-aged but very well presented set of Russian carriages (NB if you are reading this and have also seen the photographs on the excellent Seat 61 website, these are not the carriages used on this service any more, look instead at those on the 001/002 train).

I said goodbye to Rita, my ever so kind “helper” and immediately went for a quick walk up front. I was a bit confused what was going on for a moment as the train started to move off without me (don’t panic!) but it was actually just a shunter positioning the carriages on the platform before the main locomotive arrived and was attached for the night’s journey ahead.

I was in for a few surprises onboard. The biggest of these were Sergei and Rimma, the carriage provodnitsas (I think that’s the feminine version of the word). Sergei was a well presented man in his 30’s wearing a carefully pressed RZD uniform and fashionable business type glasses. I was pretty surprised when he came to see me to collect my ticket and spoke to me in near perfect English. This has never happened to me on a Russian train before. Deeply impressive. Rima, his co-worker, is so different from the provodnitsas on my last train – she is a blonde lady in her late 30’s who is perpetually happy, and enjoys her work. She only speaks Russian, but is an expert in sign langauage.

Just when I could not have imagined anything could be better, a lady from the restaurant carriage popped her head into my compartment introduced herself and a basket of goodies on permanent offer. She was also happy to go and find me an icy Baltika No 7. When she returned I noticed she had hidden my beer under her menu, and it reminded me that I think technically you are not allowed alcohol outside the restaurant carriage on a Russian train, but I think this is very flexible if you behave.

Looking round my compartment, it is the modern RZD type, similar to that of the train to Vladivostok (002). Not quite as good though, in that there is no power supply inside the cabin, but my trusty Power Gorilla should mean this is no big deal. There is a TV and keycard locking system, but but for some reason they do not work. But most importantly to me, there is a locked window, and it takes me 30 seconds to open it up using my special key, and I am rewarded with a blast of fresh wintery air. I can’t work out the system, but seemingly randomly, some carriages have occasional windows with skylights that open up, mixed with others that have totally sealed windows. Once again I have struck lucky.

Sleep didn’t come easily to me on my first night, but after we left Vladmir at 02.52 I turned in and got some reasonable rest. I find the good thing about a train journey of this length is that a shorter night’s sleep and a short afternoon nap can be quite restorative. I dont know why this is, maybe just the decadence of knowing that you can sleep when you want to and set your own agenda each day – or even operate your very time zone. No one is going to tell you that you are late for breakfast, or tell you when to go to bed!

My first point of business in the evening was food. Having been caught out by the PKP fast diet plan on the Warsaw express, I wasn’t going to be “at home” to Mr & Mrs Cock Up again. I queued up at the information counter in Warsaw Centralina station to get some guarantees on the catering arrangements ahead. When it was my turn it became quickly clear that no English was spoken, so I tried again at the Inter City office where there was by now a massive queue. The person I spoke to could not tell me what I needed to know so a supervisor was called, then his supervisor, and before long the whole office seemed to be working on my single question – does the D10 train to Moscow have a restaurant carriage? I felt a lot of eyes staring at me behind my back – people who probably needed tickets quickly to get somewhere important, but it was too late to run now. Finally, the top person (who looked horrified that I had even asked such a question) said there was no onboard catering. With this in mind I hit the supermarket to get rations for the next 24 hours.

The D10SZ is in its first week of daily service. It is a brand new Russian train that has replaced the D10, which could be either a random set of Polish or Russian carriages. The only down side of the new arrangement was that it was to leave at around 7pm, meaning a long night on the border and a later arrival into Moscow that I would have preferred.

If you have never been to Warsaw Centralina, its basically a big brutal style 1980’s station that operates mainly underground. The caverns and passageways that connect the station to the subterranian entrances are filled with shops, kiosks, travellers and tramps going about their business.

Rule number two in my long distance rail code is to never be late for a night train, so I arrived with more than half an hour to spare. The train cruised in right on time, and my carriage (344) was one of the brand new Austrain built ones. Deeply impressive. It even smelt new, like that new car kind of smell. I unpacked my bag and settled in, changing the berth configuration so I had both a seat and a bed – there were actially four beds as this train now operates as one class, you just decide if you want to share it or not and buy a ticket accordingly.

I have some big news to convey to you. There is a shower at the end of my carriage. Yes a real shower, with all mod cons. This is a Russian Railway first for me, and I’m looking forward to trying it out. To find it you just walk into one of the two toilets and turn left – it is inside the toilet next to the outer wall of the carriage. There is nothing to advertise its presence, so you just need to find the right WC.

After a couple of hours we reach Terespol, and I have no troubles from the Polish security team seeing off the train over the River Bug to the Belarus side. It’s a super Cold War bridge type border! This is where my Belarus transit visa kicks in (valid for 48 hours) and ties up with my Russian visa entry dates. There can be no flexibility with this, so a precision plan is required.

I made a few schoolboy errors on my Belarus entry paperwork, so a slightly excitable officer marched back and forth with my form asking for more information a couple of times. His boss seemed more relaxed and stamped my visa and wished me well. Customs were pretty thorough and took an interest in all my belongings, especially my medical kit and a Christmas “Red Cross” parcel from the Edinburgh Explorer’s Club that I have no idea of the contents of. Amazingly they accepted this and it remains unopened in my bag ready to go under the Christmas tree on my next train.

On arrival in Brest (the Belarus frontier station) I counted nine officials getting off my carriage before we reversed back out the station and into the shed for a couple of hours of work swapping the bogies of each carriage.

I’m not getting on very well with one of the two providnitsas in my carriage. Her name is Lira, and she has tried to stop me taking photographs in the shed. Does she think that the Russian railway gauge is still a state secret? I cant work it out, but she even pushes me away from the window at one point. I don’t react and just let her get bored waiting for me to take another picture. I would really like to get a smile out of her before the train reaches Moscow, but I might have my work cut out. The border guards are more friendly than she is.

Local time has moved on a couple of hours (to Moscow time) so its not until about 03.30 that we are underway again. There is no point trying to get to sleep before then as the rough shunting of each carriage results in quite a few bangs and sudden impacts. I sleep fitfully but quite well and don’t get up  until10.30 the next morning.

Throughout the night I have been hearing a switch being pushed and a loud beeping noise before it is switched off again. I think this has something to do with the lack of power in my compartment this morning. Thankfully I have my trusty Power Gorilla with me, and can keep all my devices charged up with no difficilty. That gadget has paid for itself many times over in my travels now.
Against PKP wisdom, there is actually now a restaurant carriage, which was attached at the border last night. It’s located right next door to 344 – so an easy walk. It’s a step back to the cold war, and inside the fuggy atmosphere of the creaky carriage I’m greeted by a friendly old chef.

The next few moments are comedy gold, as we don’t have a word in common and I have misplaced my vital “point it” book that I use to speak with pictures. I reach for a Russian translator app on my phone but it is totally useless for ordering breakfast. Chef does a better impression of a chicken than I do of chicken eggs, but thankfully before I chance a breakfast of centrally planned Soviet design, he finds a menu with some English. I need to redouble my efforts and give myself a talking too – my “point it” book should be with me at all times.

I hoped off for a few minutes at lunchtime to get some fresh air. The train is actually quite short now, maybe four sleeper carriages and a restaurant car. All the standard seated carraiages must have been taken away at the border last night. So the day is spent chugging through the Russian countryside before arriving into Moscow Belorusskaja at 16.20, a journey of about 22 hours. The time actually flies by. I find longer day train journeys much more tedious than this long but more comfortable experience.

As we cover the last few miles towards Moscow, Lira appears and returns my ticket with a curt nod and a frown. I notice her eyeing up my Power Gorilla recharging my camera, and wonder if this has any connection to the power being switched off in my compartment last night…

I would really recommend this train, but be prepared for a late night followed by a lazy day on board catching up on missed sleep. The first 12 hours are self catering, so pack accordingly.