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.