Train Life: Life on the Rails

I haven't talked too much about traveling on the rails, but I can't conclude my blog without giving a run down on train life.  There are three classes to choose from when you buy a long distance train ticket.  First class (I think they get functioning bathrooms and have access to a bar and restaurant), second class where you get a private 4-person room, and 3rd class where I obviously stayed.  Economy for life!  My motto.

I cannot vouch for the first two classes.  But third class is quite an experience.  You get assigned a bed number and it is a roll of the die.  You are either top bunk or bottom bunk.  If you're top bunk and you're not planning on staying in a laying position for days and days on end, you best make friends with your neighbor in the lower bunk.

Once you find your assigned bunk you are given sheets and you can dress your "bed".  You can ask for a cup which you can use to get hot or cold water.  This is all you have access to.  No food, no other meals.  Hopefully you brought your own.  You can buy Ramen or instant potatoes from the staff, but who wants to live off that for days?  Days.  Gross.

There is no shower and no running water in the bathroom.  I hesitate to even call it a bathroom.  The toilet is metal and when you "flush" it, it empties its contents into the wind. Just, outside.  Note to all, don't ever plan on taking a stroll along the tracks of the trans-syberian railway, I imagine it's not a pretty sight.

Now let me give you an idea on timing here.  The longest journey you can take on the fast train is 7 days straight Vladivostok to Moscow.  One straight week.  No shower, no real bathroom, instant potatoes.  The longest I spent was 69 hours.  It was enough.

Now, there are times when the trains stop for about 20 minutes.  In this time, if you dare, (the trains are precise down to the second in terms of arrival and takeoff) you can run off the train and grab some food at the station or go to the bathroom.  In the eastern part of the motherland, good luck finding a bathroom in the train station, they're too small.  In the Western part, you have to pay to use the bathroom.

I loved being on the train, but it's certainly not for everyone.  It's also illegal to drink on the train, so naturally, people hide their alcohol under the little table they are given.  They play these bizarre unlearnable card games to pass the time.  And they whisper a lot.  People make friends, and play guitar.  Occasionally they play a random Backstreet Boys song over the loudspeaker...it's really quite and experience.  It's also a smelly and unhygienic experience.  I think everyone should do this once.

Ivan the Terrible Fun Facts

In Korea, when anyone jokes about getting a drink or taking a shot, they click their tongues and gesture shooting alcohol or what they call "one shot."

In Russia, when drinking or taking a shot is mentioned people tap or flick the side of their neck.  After the third or fourth time witnessing this, I had to ask.

Turns out, during Ivan the Terrible's reign, the only people allowed to drink were people of authority.  That is, people in power under Ivan.  To signify their authority, they were branded with tattoos on their neck.

If people wanted to get a drink at the bar, they had to show their tattoo.  They would walk in and tap or flick their tattoo to prove they were allowed in to get a drink.  

And the habit holds true.  I thought it was interesting.

Day 36: Saying goodbye to The Motherland

My last day in the Motherland.  It's the saddest day.  I am in love with this country and vow to go back in my allotted 3-year visa.  

I visited Peterhof today, Peter the Great's Summer Palace.  As you might imagine, not as glorious in the winter.  Actually it was still great.  Of course, the fountain cascade was not in effect.  However, the contrast of the white snow against the brilliant golden statues was definitely a sight to see.  

Again at this place, I somehow got in for free.  Again, I swear I was entering at the entrance.  But alas I did not.  No one batted an eye at me.  I took a cold, yet beautiful stroll around the palace and said goodbye to my beloved Russia.

I had a long-ass layover in Beijing, China in an airport even more uncomfortable and expensive than JFK.  I met a Korean man making the same journey as I.  I kid you not, we randomly ran into each other about 6 times at the airport.  First in China at immigration, next on the first plane, then on the second plane, finally after landing in Korea while we waited for the buses to start going.  It was eerie.

I left Russia Wednesday evening and arrived in Korea Friday morning at 2am and went to work at my job in Yeosu, which is 5 hours from Seoul, at 2pm that same day.  I'm a champ.

Day 35: The Theatre

After walking around the palace today, I decided I had to at least try to get tickets to a show.  I can't leave Russia without having at least tried to get tickets to a show at one of these incredible and ancient historical theatres.  I walked into the Alexandrinsky Theatre two hours before curtain and asked for a ticket assuming my chances were slim to none.  Well I got one for tonight, for 4 bucks.  That's right, 4 smackeroos.

I had a drink before heading to the theatre.  After talking to the bartender I learned something really interesting about St. Petersburg.  In summer, sometime at night, the bridges go up for the boats and ships to go through and they don't come down until early the next morning.  There are multiple rivers that run through St. Petersburg.  This means, if you are stuck on the wrong side of the river when the bridges go up, you are SOL.  There is no way to get to the other side of the river.  You have to stay where you are until the bridges go back down early in the morning.  If you're out late, you're staying out late.  This also means the bars stay open all night long to accommodate.  Perhaps St. Petersburg alone pays a huge contribution to the alcohol consumption statistics in Russia.

Later on, I walked into what I swear was the front of this theatre.  If could not have looked more 'front-of-theatre' like.  Yet somehow, somehow, I went into the wrong enterance, thus entering into a maze of confusion.  I amazingly enough figured out where my seat was despite not once encountering any staff whatsoever.  No one checked my ticket.  No one interacted with me.  I didn't even set my eyes upon a single person who works there.  I could have walked in and saw that show for free.  Absolutely could have.

This show, I don't know how to describe it.  The set was awesome.  It was a plexiglass LED-lite floor made of 8X8 squares that elevated 8 feet up and down allowing actors to rise from underneath the stage onto the stage in these see-through boxes.  It was such a strange show, something out of the mind of David Lynch.  I loved it.  I couldn't understand a damn word, but I loved it.  I got the main idea.  It was awesome just to be in that theatre.  And the best part of the whole thing was that my ticket, again just to reiterate, cost 4 bucks.

Day 34: Burg Burg Burg

After a long day of contemplating hundreds of pieces of art, I decided I needed some good music and some beer.  I went to a jazz club that promised live jazz every night.  Well, every night except this night I guess.  I sat down and I wasn't really feeling the atmosphere, but I was there and had walked a loooooong time to get there so I was having a drink.  I watched a girl go in and out of the bar again and again to smoke a cigarette.  Eventually she ran out of cigs.  The bars here sell cigarettes so she asked the bartender to sell her a pack.  She asked him for the expiration dates and was unsatistied with the answers and refused to buy a pack at the bar.  This annoyed me.  The expiration date, really?  As if she wasn't going to smoke the entire pack that night anyway.  I watched her smoke 5 cigarettes over the span of an hour.  Stop it with the expiration dates.   

Next I went to a bar near my hostel.  I went to go to the bathroom and a drunk guy stopped me and started speaking Russian to me.  I told him I don't understand and that I speak English.  I said this in Russian.  He didn't understand apparently because he kept talking to me in Russian.  I said it in English.  The point still did not get across.  He asked me to dance with him to this awful house music that was blasting to an almost empty room.  I said ok, but can I please use the bathroom now?  I went to the bathroom and I could feel it in my bones, he was waiting for me outside the door.

Out I went and, as I accurately predicted, there he was.  We "danced."  The only other person in the dance room was his friend who, in between bouts of break-dancing, managed to slap my ass and slap it hard.  I yelled.  Loudly.  The first guy apologized.  After a few minutes I was over the entire encounter so I got ready to leave.  The guy followed me.  Outside.  He had no coat on and none of his things.  It was cold.  He kept talking to me and talking to me and I kept telling him I don't understand and I'm going home now and blah blah blah.  He wouldn't back down.  I wasn't afraid, but it was a little annoying.  Anyway, a girl walking down the street saw us and asked me in English, "Do you need help?"  "Yes," I said.  She sent the guy away and then told me I should learn Russian.  He was asking me where I'm from and telling me I'm beautiful.  Now normally, I'd take that as a compliment but let me tell you, that guy must have been really really really drunk because I have not washed my hair in days, I have no makeup on, and I'm wearing the frumpiest clothes imaginable.  Be serious.

So I got to my hostel and was ready to sleep, the lights were out and it was about 1am.  And that's when I heard a tap on the side of my bed.  I don't know why, but the newest member of the hostel room decided he needed to speak to me, and now.  He sat down on the edge of my bed and just started talking and talking.  And then he told me he couldn't speak English, but then he talked more.  And then he gave me money from Belarus.  Why?  No clue, I don't ask questions anymore.  

Day 33: The Cat Convention

Today I had no coat.  Because yesterday it got puked on.  Luckily it wasn't so cold.  But I didn't want to travel too far in case it suddenly got really cold or started to snow.  Both of those things did happen.

I went to this place called "The Loft Project."  It's filled with art and artsy shops and vegan food.  St. Petersburg is the Portland of Russia I've concluded.  While I was there, there were people lined up at the fourth floor buying tickets to enter somewhere.  I saw a sign that said 100 Rubles which is about $1.50 so I figured I'd go in and see what all the fuss was about despite having no idea what I was buying a ticket to.

Turn out, it was a cat convention.  A convention for cats.  People spent money, unfortunately myself included, to walk around and stare at various cats in cages.  Cats.  The kind you can see on the street.  Let me reiterate: money, to see cats.  There was a lady with a microphone talking about the cats to a crowd of intrigued men, women, and children.  Very randomly as well, there were some raccoons in cages.  It was the strangest thing, ever.  I paid money to see cats.  Oh by he way, I HATE CATS.  Now, I understand, cats have a special significance in Russia's historical culture, but really?  A cat convention?  CATS.  I'm definitely in the Portland of Russia.

Day 32: Petersburg Pub Crawl

This morning, I decided to go to the museum of anomalies.  This is Russia's first museum, and its curator was none other than Peter the Great.  Good ole' Pete wanted to collect the bodies, fetuses, and remains of human and animal deformities and abnormalities in order to educate his people.  He wanted to diffuse the fear associated with such things. I'm not convinced this is the way things turned out.  This museum had the potential to be in line with The Mutter Museum in Philly.  Buuuttt, it was just alright.  It was just one room of deformed dead babies stuffed into jars filled with formaldehyde.  Not enough to impress me!

I headed on to the Peter Fortress which was pretty cool.  I found these high school kids sliding down the wooden observation desk because it had iced over.  I followed suit.  Probably not my best idea and I was wet for the rest of the cold cold damp day.

I ended at the Museum of Political History.  This museum was awesome.  However, it was incredibly confusing to navigate.  It seemed everywhere I went I was going backward.  And why?  I kept trying and trying to reorient myself to no avail.  So I just walked backwards through time.  I'm a little confused about Russia's political history.

Tonight, I decided to go on a pub crawl.  What a decision.  I met an Australian couple and a bunch of cute fun Russian people.  I decided to make myself the star of this pub crawl and I got plastered at the first bar.  They kept giving out free shots.  It wouldn't stop.  I was concerned people wouldn't drink them and they would be wasted, the shots instead of the people I mean.  I took this problem head on and headed to the second bar ten shots in.

The next bar had us drink shots with no hands.  Done.  And then I chugged a beer.  We went to the next bar where body shots were involved.  My friend Agus helped me with this one.  Then I found out that Angus hates gay people and we almost got into a fight.  My Aussie friend Travis held me back.

Finally we got to the club.  Another Coyote Ugly.  My Aussie friends were sick and they were asking me to help them home.  Like I was the grand expert of St. Petersburg.  Of course I helped them.  The girl, Flur, threw up on my coat.  And my new Russian friend Philippe walked me home.  I was plastered.  I got back to my hostel and runkenly (and likely very loudly) asked the hostel guy to wash my coat.  He said "Of course!  Anything can happen in St. Petersburg!"  And then I cooked all of the pasta in the world.  So much pasta.  Literally so much pasta.  And I ate it on my bed.  At one point I lost my fork and was trying to explain this to a guy in my room that I lost my fork and he couldn't figure it out.  I didn't end up finding it.  I am starting to think I need someone to keep me on a lease.

Day 31: St. Petersburg

Today, despite barely sleeping the night before, I decided to take on The Hermitage.  The Hermitage is the largest thing I have ever seen or been in in my entire life.  Did I mention the New Hermitage, the Old Hermitage and The Winter Castle are connected as well?  I was there for 5 hours and I barely scratched the surface.  It's so intimidating.  It's also gorgeous.  More so than the art museum in Moscow, I was literally high speed walking through this one, just to pass through rooms.  So many floors, so many rooms, so much art.  It was the definition of over-whelming.  You could genuinely spend an entire week in that place.

Day 30: Moscow to St. Petersburg

Today I rode the rails.  Moscow's underground itself is a museum, a work of art.  Such beautiful interiors and all unique.  However, as beautiful as it is, it's not for me.  So I left and walked around and eventually, got a drink.  

I took the train tonight from Moscow to St. Petersburg. I was not thinking when I booked my ticket.  I thought to myself, it's cheap and it's overnight so I don't have to pay for a hostel.  What I didn't consider was the fact that, unlike most of my journey, this trip was just seats, no beds.  So I "slept" in my chair overnight on the train.  It was pretty miserable.

Day 29: Moscow Again

Today I had to change my hostel because it was sold out.  So I booked a cheap hostel on Hostelworld.  I arrived and it turned out that the price listed on Hostelworld was not at all accurate.  There was a misunderstanding and an Egyptian man came to talk to me and help me.  He was very kind and also overly concerned about me.  The problem resolved but I felt bad about my attitude and how I might have treated the hostel lady who was very nice, patient, and kind about the whole thing.  I bought her gingerbread as an apology gift.

After the armory I decided I really just wanted to chill and drink some beer.  On Old Arbat Street I found this fun craft beer shop, but after I felt I had overstayed my welcome, I moved on.  I couldn't find any other cool bars, and I was approaching the end of my options.  One opinion remained, Coyote Ugly.  I figured, it can't be like the Coyote Ugly I'm thinking of.  It was.  The girl at the bar kept talking to me, but I'm pretty sure it was just for the purpose of getting a drink out of me each time.  However, she introduced the owner of the bar to me, a Ukrainian guy.

We talked a lot, though, I was drunk so I'm not really sure what about.  Of course we talked about politics.  The last thing I remember was that Buddhism and China got involved and I must have looked a little dazed because he said he had to get back to work.  Eh, he wasn't that attractive anyway.

Day 28: Moscow Part 2

I went to the art museum today, giving myself three hours to do so.  Woah.  Russian people know art.  They know all the art.  I was in there almost 4 hours and I didn't finish.  I was tired but also I can't stand old baizantine chapel religious art which is what the bottom ten rooms were dedicated to, so I finally booked it.  I saw some great art though, a great museum.  Mostly I just spent my time running through the museum, a light jog if you will, to just try and get through it.  Man, all the art.

And thennnn I went to the Soviet Arcade Machine museum.  That was so cool.  I got to play all of the old arcade machines from the Soviet Era.  So fun and at times very hilarious.  One of the games was attacking tanks with other tanks...very stereotypical stuff in there.  The ultimate idea of soviet retro, yeah it's a thing.  Eerie and fun.  There was also a rooster that kids could ride and the translation in English was: "Kiddies Ride Cock."  I've always said English needs to be checked with a native speaker, and I'll say it once again.

Then this evening I met my French girlfriends for delicious Georgian food.  They told me all about their dorm life and their encounters with all of the different types of people who live here.  Including the fact that none of the rooms in the dorm have consistent furniture.  Some of them have a table, some of them have a desk, some of them have chairs.  If you have a table AND chairs you have hit the gold mine.  Anyways, they were so sweet.

Day 27: Moscow

Went for a walk with the Aussie this morning before he had to leave to St. Petersburg.  I keep meeting people and we're always just missing each other.  It was nice to have a friend while it lasted.

I went to the Kremlin and was appalled by the prices so I decided to just skip it and go to the park and go ice skating.  I arrived at the park and lo and behold the rink was closed.  I asked a couple walking by to confirm.  Is it closed?  Yes they said but there is another park with ice skating.  I can get there by subway or take a taxi.  Or, they added, I can share a taxi with them.  That I did.  They were so nice.  The guy is a police officer and he asked me my opinion of Putin.  Then I asked him his opinion of Putin and he said he couldn't tell me because he works for the government, he's a detective.  That's damn shady.  It was a trap!

At the end of the ride I offered them money but the guy said "No, thank you!  It's your present!"

I skated, it was evening at this point, and it was so nice.  I walked into the rink to hear the Dire Straits blasting over the sound system and I knew it was gonna be a good time.  So peaceful to skate.

Day 26: Suzdal to Moscow

If I had to choose one word to describe Russia it would be: slippery.  The past three weeks I have been walking around on nothing but thick black sheets of ice.  On top of it all I'm a huge klutz so everywhere I go, I go slowly and carefully.  

Today, I went sledding.  Not down snow, down ice.  All the cool kids were doing it.  I bought myself a little plastic sled for a dollar and went to the ice hill that people were sledding down.  There were two boys who dared ride their bikes down this icy mountain of terror.  It wasn't graceful.

I lent my sled to three young girls whose own sled was too intimidating for the journey.  They kept thanking me.  A poor stray dog made the mistake of walking/sliding/falling down the hill.  He slid.  A lot.  He could barely make it back up.  Basically, the sledding became a series of all of us helping each other back up the hill.  It was so slippery.

I decided after that that I'm just going to sled to everywhere I need to go.  It's much easier than walking.  If there is even the slightest decline in my path, I'm just gonna sled.  Why not?  It'll be hilarious.  And fun.  It's happening.

I arrived in Moscow and the second I got to my hostel I met an Aussie.  He suggested we take a walk.  What an interesting guy.  He has been traveling almost a year.  All over South American, Europe, even Syria.  He interviewed a refugee, illegally, in the back of a van.  It's an incredible story, and now he's looking for a news source to publish his video.  His story really needs coverage.  I think this world is very desperate for some true journalism.

We went to St. Basil's Cathedral.  It was around 1am, so it was closed.  After a lot of begging, I convinced my friend that we should enter the gates anyhow, not thinking much of it.  All of the sudden we hear a big booming voice over a loud speaker and a car with flashing lights is driving towards us.  The Russian police.  Perhaps, the KGB.  (That's me being dramatic).  They were yelling things in Russian which I assume meant some variation of "get the heck out."  Oops.  I'm that traveler now, the one that breaks and enters and gets in trouble with the po-lice.  It's out of my system now?

Day 26: Vladimir to Suzdal

It is so refreshing to be in Suzdal from Vladimir.  I love this adorable and beautiful little town.  It's so pretty.  I loved Kazan but this town hands down wins the 'my favorite place' award. It reminds me of a small New England town.  There are cobblestones and horse drawn carriages, little outdoor markets and cutsie shops.  There are kids sledding down and icy hill of terror.  There are kids riding their bikes down the icy hill of terror.  All of the old churches are gorgeous.  It's just gorgeous.  I lovvveeee this town.

I started the day on a little walking tour following my map that my hostel man gave me.  Adorrrrable hostel, btw.  On the path I had to cross the river to get to the monestary.  The path was closed.  The alternative path was a very slippery hill.  No way I was walking.  I sat, and slid down that hill like a champ.  

Later on, I wanted to climb the clock tower to get a good view of the city.  I happened to arrive at a perfect time because a group of people were getting let into the tower when normally, it's locked.  I think the guy letting us in asked me if I was part of the tour group.  I just shrugged my shoulders and smiled and he let me in.  Alas my glorious charm saves me again.  I climbed to the very top, and I couldn't help myself, I rang the bell.  Then, a Russian girl kind of scolded me.  I smiled and apologized.  And then the guy behind me climbed up and rang all the bells.  All the bells.  Oh did she yell at him. 

Side note:  I don't know what is going on but I keep a) getting into places I shouldn't be because no one is checking and b) entering places in what very very much seems like the big grand obvious entrance only to find I have entered in the most completely backward way.  Examples to follow in future posts.

Then, I lost my map to the wind.  Anyway I was so exhausted, so I came back to my hostel early, vowing to get sleep and to go out tomorrow.  I bought a sled for the icy hill of terror and what I thought was mead.  I took a swig, not mead.  Syrup?  I'm telling you, when you think you're going to drink something beer-like, a mouthful of syrup is an awful experience.

Tonight I met these very sweet French girls.  They are studying in Moscow.  I swear not 10 minutes into the conversation they invited me to have dinner with them in Moscow on Wednesday.  And we think the French are not friendly.  Ha.

Drinking Culture and Mead

Yesterday, I bought a bottle of mead that's indigenous to the local area I'm in.  It's a type of honey-wine.  A shout out to Alex Shields here.  I brought it back to my hostel, drank what I could, and had to toss the rest.

Today, I found outdoor markets selling the same kind of mead.  I found a smaller bottle of it and brought it back to my hostel that evening.

I cracked open the bottle, and was curled up with some TV ready to go.  I took a big swig of the stuff AAAANNDDDD syrup.  It was syrup.  Not delicious honey wine.

Now let me tell you.  Imagine you're really thirsty and you grab a glass of water and take a gulp.  To your horror, you find it's not water, it's vodka.  This was like that.

After I begrudgingly swallowed all the syrup, I took the bottle to the hostel man.  I asked him, "This is syrup, right?"  He affirmed my suspicions and then told me about a place I could go in town to have a tasting of all the different kinds of honey wine.

There I went.  For 5 bucks they give you 10 half-filled glasses of different wines to try.  I was the first one in the tasting room but was soon joined by a group of women who were also doing the tasting.

I was at my third glass, I had seven to go, and I realized I was drunk.  Meanwhile!  Meanwhile, the group of women that came in after me had finished all their wines and were headed out the door.  How.  How? RUSSIAN WOMEN. Let me tell you, by the time I was done with the tasting of what must have been equivalent to 5 glasses of wine, I WAS WASTED.  How did these women do it?  Hot. Damn.

This leads me into a segment about Russia's drinking culture. For those who don't know, Russia holds the record for the country with the 2nd highest alcohol consumption (mainly vodka) per capita.  By the way, which country is number 1?  Korea.

While Korea's drinking culture is very VERY obvious, Russia's, to my surprise, is not.

Before I came here, I had the impression that getting on the train was going to be a giant party and we'd all be passing around the vodka.  Now, people DO drink on the train.  But they do it in secret.  There is even a secret hand gesture for it.  Turns out, it's illegal.

I really expected to see a lot of partying and craziness go on, considering how much they are presumed to drink.  But the Russian drinking scene must be more subtle than I assumed it was going to be, especially having lived in Korea for so long.

That being said, it's not like I haven't seen people drinking.  I went to get tea at a cafe at 8am on a Wednesday last week and there was a man who walked in and got a shot of vodka and a beer.  8am.  Wednesday.

A few days ago, again very early-maybe 9am, I was at the train station waiting for my train when I passed a man who had just finished downing his second beer.  So...it is there.  Just not quite in the way I thought.

A week or so ago I found myself in a freezing cold town with nothing open.  Museums are closed on Monday's, planning fail on my end.  After much avail and freezing fingertips I decided, eh, I'll have a drink.  Why not.  It was around noon.  I was honestly shocked to find a bar, but I did and I was not the only one in there.

I met a guy here who teaches English.  He told me a lot of the bars here never even close, they are 24 hours.  Who's drinking a beer at 6am?  Not my business I guess.

THAT being said, drinking is frowned upon, or downright not allowed in a majority of the hostels I've stayed in.  It's baffling.  I feel like Russia's drinking culture is this quiet, underground subculture, and I want to learn more about it.

Day 24: Nizhny Novgorod to Vladimir

This morning I boarded the train to Vladimir.  "O'le Vladdy" as I like to call it.  As I went to put my bag down underneath this huge pile of bags I heard a voice say "you can put your bag on top."  "English?  How did he know I don't know Russian?" I thought to myself.

Turns out, they are a couple from South Africa traveling across the railway like I did.  In fact, we had the same guide book.  We compared notes.  They had a LOT to say about Trump.  And Putin.  And the South African government.  They are both pilots and they love to travel.    The wife is a meticulous planner and the husband hates having a plan, he says if everything is planned and you have a perfect trip, then you don't have any fun stories and no one wants to hear about how nice the plane ride was.  Touché man, I love it.  They do long camping trips in Africa every other year and they convinced me that South Africa is so beautiful, I must visit there next.  They were so great.

Once I arrived in Vladimir, I found my shady hostel.  It actually seemed nice at first.  The front desk woman was very friendly.  Too friendly in my opinion.  It was eerie.  Long story short, as I don't want to post too much about this on my blog, I'm pretty sure the "hostel" was actually a brothel.  I'm damn well sure actually.  It was awful.  Awful.

Day 23: Nizhny Novgorod

This morning after I woke up, the man sleeping in the bunk underneath mine decided it was time to introduce himself.  This was an old man, Sergie, big mustache, and again, no idea why he was hanging out in the hostel all day.  We spoke briefly and then I departed thinking that would be the end of it.

It's getting colder and colder.  I took a cable car ride over the river thinking it'd be a nice view and a cool thing to see.  It was very nice, but I guess it's mostly used as a way to commute from one town to the other.  I'm sitting on the cable car, taking pictures and have a stunned look on my face watching the pretty view and my co-cable car riders are just staring at their phones, texting, whatever.  But but, the view!  It was amazing!  Le sigh...

When I got back to the hostel that evening I went to the front desk to print something.  That's when I heard a tall, dark, and handsome voice say "Did you come here to escape Trump?"   Without hesitation I responded "Yes, I thought to myself, 'If he wins where will I be the safest'?"  I finally found my first American in Russia.

Later that night I ran into Sergie again.  He, of course, needed his picture with me.  We took a picture and then no other words were exchanged.  No idea.

Day 22: Kazan to Nizhny Novgorod

I arrived in Nizhney Novgorod at 7am.  I figured I'd get to my hostel and take a nap.  Wrong, so wrong.  I got all the lost one could get.  It was so cold out so I just kept taking all the trolleys and all the metros trying to get myself somewhere that appeared on my map.  Just so much fail.

Finally, FINALLY, I somehow with my magical brain figured out where I was and I got myself to the hostel.

After that fiasco and the rather long day I had, I decided that this was the day to try the Russian Banya.

What is the banya you ask?  The banya is a place where you go take off all of your clothes, sit in the hottest room imaginable until you can't take it anymore, and then you leave the hot room and beat the crap out of yourself with some branches soaked in hot water.  Sound crazy?  It is.

Nah, it's cool.  It's similar to the Korean Jimjilbang, but there are some serious differences.  One being that Russian women maintain their lady bits and Korean woman do not. (There is a reason for this and if you'd like to know, PM me).  

I went into the banya and had such a hard time because of the language barrier.  No one could understand what I wanted which was simply just to go to the banya.  They probably thought I was crazy because it's something only old Russian women do, and I'm a nutjob tourist.  I just figured it's such a Russian thing and I had to do it.  Anyway, we figured it out and there I was, a lone, young, thin tourist girl among old, overweight typical Russian ladies naked in a room together.

I really had no idea what I was doing or where I was supposed to go or in what order, but I just kinda guessed and I think I did it right.  I was definitely in a very very hot room for amounts of time.  I tried to hit myself with the branches but I felt like an idiot so I stopped.  It was relaxing though, in a very, uh, sweaty way.

Hey, I couldn't go to Russia and not go to the banya.

Day 21: Kazan

I've made it to Europe.  Apparently, this means more people.  Also apparently, the thing to do in Russia if you want to get out of your apartment for a few days, or need a quiet place to study or something is to just live in a hostel.  I keep meeting all of these Russian locals in these hostels who just hang out here all day long.  So weird.  But lucky for me because today I met my Russian soulmate.

We met in the hostel and he, since he had the day off work, said he'd show me around the town.  We went everywhere and ate traditional foods and saw good architecture.  We went to the recreation of an old Tatar village.  My favorite part though, was our very special excursion to IKEA.  I don't know if he thinks I've never seen anything like it before?  I honestly have no idea what the logic was behind it but I pretended I was into it because it took us so long to get there and I didn't want to disappoint him. He told me to tell all of my friends about the IKEA in Kazan.  I said I would.  Hey, there is an IKEA in Kazan.  It's just an IKEA.

Wait.  He is my soulmate though.  He loves Madonna, are more so, he loves her new album.  AND, he loves my favorite song on the album.  AND AND AND he loves Cher.  We broke out into "All or Nothing" song and dance in the street!  It was great.  Oh no, as I type this I am starting to think maybe he's gay...goddammit.  This happens to me everytime.  Dammit dammit dammit.  Of course he's gay.  That explains the IKEA thing. How was that not the biggest red flag ever.  I'm so dumb.

Alright it's okay because....I met my real soulmate later.

Tonight I went out with people from the hostel.  Among them was a Tatar man who looked like what I imagine a buff, tall, handsome King Tut would look like.  He looked Egyptian.  He had golden eyes.  And he's a vegetarian.  And he doesn't love Putin.  Among us also was a cute girl with long black hair.  And this amazing couple I met.  The girl is from Uraguay and the guy is from Argentina.  They were both photographers traveling India alone, and they coincidentally met, fell in love, and moved to the Dominican Republic.  It's amazing.  They are an inspiration.

We had a lot of fun.  I drank too much beer.  I was drunk and the Egyptian and the black haired girl took me somewhere to get food.  It was some wrap and it might be the alcohol talking but it was the most delicious thing I have ever eaten in my life.  I'll never forget eating that delicious delicious wrap.  Also, the Egyptian man was NOT gay.  And I love him.

Day 19: Ganina Yama, finally

Despite only getting three hours of sleep, I headed to my appointment with the woman I met to go to Ganina Yama.  Her daughter came along who is studying English in university.

It was hectic getting to this place, but we made it.  We saw the sights and I even, as a special guest of America (seriously, Americans need to get out more and travel, then I wouldn't be such a luxury) got to not only climb up the otherwise closed off bell tower, but to ring the monestary's bell.  It was awesome.  And loud.  And the Russian bell man wouldn't let me cover my ears.

On a side note, I understand I'm in Russia and I should know Russian.  However, isn't the point of a major museum to inform and educate people about the contents of the museum?  You'd think they'd want to educate people besides themselves.  Russian people know the Romanov history and it would be nice to extend the knowledge to other people.  Right??  Especially this history, this is a history I know the world is interested in, we even made a Disney movie about it.  That being said, not a word of English or any other language for that matter besides Russian was in the museum.  Fine fine fine, I get it Russia, you hate English, you hate everything but Russian.  Foreigners, stay away.  Got it.  I just thought this museum might be an exception....wrong.

Afterwards, the mom starts running around like crazy running up to strangers and asking them a question.  The daughter looks embarrassed and I ask her what's going on.  Apparently the mom was over the whole bus thing and wanted to hitch a ride back to town.  I thought, please, that's never going to work.  But alas, we hitched a ride with a nice couple in a fancy fancy car.  Russian people are so kind.

After we got back to the city I said goodbye to the mother and her daughter who both thanked me so much for the day.  Thank me for the day?  I didn't do anything!  

Eighteen more days of meeting the motley-est crew of people I have ever met in my life.

Day 18: GanIna Yama, Attempt 2

This is my second day of trying to get to Ganina Yama.  This is a difficult place to get to, apparently more so in winter.  

I was at the bus stop and the bus I wantèd to take didn't stop.  I ran after it, desperately waving, flailing even, and still it just cruised on by.  Russia doesn't care, Russia does what it wants.

 I must have looked sad or disappointed because a woman came over to me and started talking to me.  I told her I didn't understand and then she talked more, and faster and louder and began using props.  I was overwhelmed.  She found an old man who knew a little English and got him involved in the craziness.  Side note: He is a film maker.  In fact, he filmed during the 1996 Olympics.  Anyway, long story short, they made me get on a random bus with them.  I had no idea where we were going.  We went into a shoe store while the woman called her daughter.  The people working in the shoe store were so confused; as was I.  The woman came back into the store ten minutes later and handed me the phone.  I didn't know what to do with it so I did the only thing I could.  "Hello?" I prayed.  "Hello" I got in response.  Phew.  

Well, blah blah blah, this woman and her daughter are personally taking me tomorrow to Ganina Yama.  Meanwhile, the poor old man, who was probably until this point on his way to work, was just a random unnecessary pawn in this whole insane encounter.  Finally, he went his own way.  

Then, this lady, who did not know a word of English, took me around town and bought me lunch.  We were at the cafe getting lunch and she starts running around asking every single person in he cafe if they spoke English.  Finally she found someone and brought her over to me.  That someone helped the lady and I confirm our plans to meet the next day.  I'm pretty sure this lady is not all there in the membrane.  But, she is harmless, and very very generous.  These kinds of ridiculous things ALWAYS seem to happen to me.  Do I look that pathetic and helpless?  Don't answer...

Later that evening, I arrived at my hostel ready to party with my new friends.  They did not disappoint.  We added another friend to the group; I'll call him Alexander 2.  It started at 11pm with whiskey and went till 5am - when we finally ran out of whiskey.  We had so much fun hanging out, joking around, getting our points across in our respective languages.  At some point the phrase "I'm sick and tired of these M&$:$&;@&$/$& snakes on this M@&$/$&;$&@& plane" made an appearance, though I don't exactly remember the context.

So much ridiculous went on.  Nera and I geeked out over K-pop and Dima and I went on our heated yet passionately lovable political rants.  The Alexanders, following suit with their namesake's history, sat quietly in the background.  It was the best night in Russia.  I can't explain my passion for this night,  I only knew these guys for three days, but I feel like I've known them forever.  I'm going to miss them; I love them.  They legitimately feel like long lost friends.

Day 16: Yekaterinburg and the election

Tonight I took myself to a bar to drink away my sorrows, my election sorrows that it.  It was a slow night and it was just me and the barkeep.  He took pity on me.  Actually, it was a relief to meet him because I was under the impression that all Russians wanted Trump, but my bartender just said "yeah, your country...mistake."  "Cheers to that," I said while downing my third shot of vodka.

I came back to my hostel pretty drunk.  The young Ukrainian guy Dima, who runs the hostel, was their with his two friends, Nera and Alexander.  I came in and the first thing they said to me, excitedly, was "Trump!!"  Well, there's the stereotype.  "NO!  NO TRUMP!" I said.  It quickly got hilarious.  We spent an hour using google translate to get our escalating high-energy opinions across.  IT WAS SO FUNNY.  They also love Lenin, Stalin, and Putin.  I understand Lenin and Putin.  Stalin?  I mentioned that he was like Hitler and Mussolini and they said "Nooo!  They were dictators!"  I was like..."ummmmm..."  And then he said that all Americans are brainwashed.  Maybe he's right.

I talked about the "grab women by the pussy" comment and they told me every man gets drunk and says "yeah tits, pussy" and gestured.  He told me Putin probably does this and the country doesn't care.  In fact, they respect it.  Because it means he's manly.  

I honestly wish I could get across how hilarious this night was.  I was dying.  We were just laughing so hard the entire night. 

 Eventually I made them turn off google translate and swear off politics.  Then we just talked using gestures and my favorite charades-style communication.  Dima is a musician and I got to listen to his music.  We vowed to Skype each other and study English and Russian.

I wish I could describe these guys, they were my instant Russian best friends.  I will miss them forever.

Day 14: Tyumen to Tobolsk

Here is the day I finally messed up.  I was really looking forward to seeing Tobolsk after reading about how beautiful it is.  It is beautiful.  But apparently on Mondays every museum is closed.  I was really looking forward to seeing the prison museum, alas, closed.  And FREEZING cold out mind you.  Fuh-reezing.

At the will of the frostbite I got on my fingertips when I was young, I gave UP being outside and hit the bar.  It was empty, but it was open.  They didn't ask me, I didn't ask them.  I got my beer jacket on, listened to their weird jazz-like music, and talked to a woman who very much both in appearance and tone, resembled Cyndi Lauper.

After the long day of just giving up and being cold and killing time, I decided to head to the train station for the night to sleep in the resting rooms.  I started looking for a taxi.  While there were a ton AT the train station, after some time it became apparent that were not a lot going in the other direction.  

Getting desperate, I stood outside of what I can only assume was a bus station and waited patiently.  A man drove up to me and asked what I was doing.  "Taxi" I said.  I tried to explain but we couldn't understand each other and he gave up.  5 minutes later he came back.  He gestured me into the car.  In the front seat, I sat while he called his daughter who knows English and I explained to her I needed a taxi to get to the train station.  She talked to her father and he told her he would drive me.  This kind kind man drove me twenty minutes to the train station.  We could barely speak a word to each other.  I imagine he had a million other things he'd rather do, but he very graciously drove a cold young desperate lady to the train station.  He didn't want money but I left it for him anyway.  There is good in this world.  There is altruism.

Day 13: Tyumen

Wait P.S.  I found out that Russian people ARE living in the hostels!  They're just living here. It's cheaper than rent.  They be chillin'.  I finally asked because I was just getting so confused.  European hostels are full of travelers, sight-seers, etc..  So, why are there Russia people just hanging out in these hostels all day doing nothing?  They live here.  Still doesn't explain the doing nothing part.  I'm especially still confused by the old men living here.  Did their wives kick them out?  Haha, maybe I shouldn't laugh at that...

Back to the story.  Across from me on the train these few days is this annoying family.  They play cards all night and wake up early and whisper, loudly.  Aware of the paradox?  Me too.

They had gotten on my last nerve this morning when they invited me to play cards with them.  Of course, despite the fact that I knew I wasn't going to be able to figure out how to play the game, I couldn't say no.

Turns out, they are amazing people.  We talked for 8 hours.  By talked I mean, they didn't know a word of English, but we just managed to figure it out.  Lots of charades.

The first two hours they tried in vain to teach me this card game.  I must have played 30 rounds, still no idea.  Though I'm sure they thought I was pathetic for not being able to figure out how to play this seemingly simple game, I did manage to impress them with my wicked card-shuffling skills.  And by THAT I mean, I simply shuffled and they thought that was exciting.  They don't shuffle the way we do I guess.  It's really the little things.  The little differences in cultures that are so amazing to me.

The family was a mother, father, and son.  The son, about my age, kept talking and talking and talking to me in Russian.  I probably didn't pick up 90% of what he was saying.  But I smiled and nodded.  Somehow I did seem to pick up the general concepts of what he was talking about.  Language is really amazing in that way, isn't it?  

Another side note: Russia is similar to America in that, when someone doesn't speak our language, our solution is to talk more and talk louder.  So....I still don't understand and now I'm more confused and my ears hurt.  Anyway.

Later we were joined by a military guy who knew a few words of English.  Then we were joined by his friend who works in the special operations unit.  He is VERY proud of this.  He showed me countless photos and videos of the Special Ops., of him beating the crap out of people, of his black eye and bloody knuckles, propaganda videos, pro military advertisements, allllllllll of the photos of him in his uniform holding various weaponry...he loves what he does.  Loves it.

Lastly, we were joined by a 12-year-old boy named Nikita.  Nikita heard me speak in English and he came over.  He loves English and said it was he dream to talk to an American in English.  This boy was so adorable.  So so adorable.  He was so happy to talk.  I gave him my email and address and he coved it away in his passport.  He was so so cute.  Whenever I think that I don't really love teaching, I think about kids like Nikita, and I absolutely love it again.  This kid was adorably brilliant.

I also learned today that Russian people are very protective.  If they like you, you're in.  A woman came on the train and tried to tell me to move my things and that I was in her space.  The mother in the family I met fiercely defended me and sent that woman packing.  It was fierce.  Like, Tyra Bank's Zoolander Face fierce.

The time flew by when I was talking to these guys.  8 hours seemed like nothing.  We had such a nice time.  Finally, it was my stop and I had to say goodbye.  Again, I didn't want to.

The dad gave me a big bear hug and said what I can only infer was "good luck with everything Katie."

The Special Ops guy followed me out and gave me a gift.  His coveted, Special Ops. dog tag.  I couldn't believe it.  I was honestly moved beyond words.  There may have been tears, I don't want to talk about it.

Day 11: Irkutsk to Tyumen

So, for the first time in 11 days, I kinda messed up the time.  I forgot that every train ticket is given in Moscow time.  So I arrived at the train station thinking my train was coming at 1pm local time, but as it turned out, it was 1pm Moscow time so I had 5 hours to kill.  Normally, I'd take my things and walk around the city in this situation, but it was so so cold and I was sick so....

Trying to think of a quick fix to my stomach bug, I headed over to the pub across the way and bought a shot of vodka.  The college fix I like to call it.  Or these days, the uninsured millennial fix.

That didn't work, and upon research, that was a poor decision.  When I ordered the shot, the bartender asked if I wanted anything with it, and I said no.  She thought that was really strange so I, in attempt to redeem myself, asked for water.  She gave me water and then called to her friends in the bar, laughing, and said something about Americans and how they drink their vodka with water.  Yeah yeah...

On a bright note, I loved the train staff for this train.  My train lady told like half of the train that I'm American.  At one point I went to her to get a cup.  "Prastichiyae," I said through the door, "excuse me."  She couldn't see me, but apparently because of my terrible attempt at Russian she could tell it was me, and she called back "Ah, American boy."  And THIS is going to be the story that I am always going to try and tell, and it's always going to fall flat, because it was a true "ya had ta be there" moment.

Day 10: Return to Irkutsk

So of course the ride back to Irkutsk was bumpy.  Bumpiest few days of my life.  I've never experienced car sickness until this day.  When we finally arrived back in Irkutsk the American/Russian man asked me "so, do you still love to travel?"  Meaning, no one could possibly enjoy traveling anymore after the 6 hour bumpiest bus ride ever.  Touché man.

I really hate goodbyes.  I hate them.  So once the van arrived back in Irkutsk, I shouted goodbye to my friends and I ran out of there fast.  Fast as I could go.  When I got back to my hostel, well, it turns out they gave my room away to six smelly boys who were sleeping in the middle of the day.  This worked out to my advantage as I ended up in this random luxury room they have.  It cost 5 dollars to stay there for the night and I was sleeping on memory foam and had my own private bathroom, kitchen, and a TV.  You can't beat it.  Ever.

After seeing some more sights in Irkutsk, I decided to get some dinner and a drink and call it an early night.  I went to a restaurant called Jumanji.  That's right, a Jumanji-themed restaurant.  It looked Jumanji-esk inside, but it did leave a lot to be desired.  However, now I have a dream to open my own Jumanji-themed restaurant.  One that will actually do the film justice.  I'm thinking live monkeys in cages...maybe I hire a guy to be the hunter and shoot at things...definitely some out-of-control foliage, possibly giant spiders?  Definitely a lion.  So many possibilities.

Day 9: Olkhon Excursion

This morning we took a 7.5 hour bus excursion through Olkhon Island.  It was cold, but beautiful and a good opportunity to get to know my English speaking cohorts a little better. 

Now, I've scaled mountains on buses, I've driven through steep and narrows streets, but this was the most terrifying 7.5 hours of my life.  I am Ah-mazed that we didn't get stuck.  We drove through sand dunes, ice, forests, mud, snow, you name it.  I have video evidence of the car at what I swear are 45 degree angles.

We stopped to eat a lunch cooked by our driver.  I got to talking to the Russian man in our group.  He and his wife, and later his children, lived in America (Connecticut actually!) for 26 years.  I asked why they moved to America in the first place.  "No children," he answered.  I have yet to figure out exactly how moving to America was the solution to that problem...  

Anyway, he just moved back to Russia with his youngest daughter a month ago for his wife's work.  He became the translator between us and the tour guide.  He was such a nice guy, but despite his attempt at translating....I have no idea.  No idea what the bus driver was trying to say.  I did understand one moment however.  We came to a cliff with two sides.  He told us that legend has it, if you want to get pregnant and have a boy, go to the left of the cliff.  If you want to get pregnant and have a girl, go to the right.  One guy on the bus asked allowed what I could tell the rest of us were thinking: "What if we don't want any children?!?" I could hear desperation in his voice.  "Perhaps you walk straight through the middle of the cliff and jump off," I offered.

Day 8: Irkutsk to Olkhon

Day 8:  Irkutsk to Olkhon

I decided my priority of the day was to find a bank and get smaller change for the apparently  atrociously large bills I was given at the bank the first time.  I have a few "hundreds" and a few "twenties."  Now you'd think it would be fine to give an establishment a twenty and get change.  Wrong.  I keep trying to use a twenty and the people behind the counter freak out.  Nyet!!  They act like they are offended by such a large bill.  I'm baffled by this.

Later I went into what looked like a bakery and I attempted to buy a pastry.  "Nyet!!"  Not sure why on that one, I just awkwardly left the bakery.

I went to an art museum in town at the suggestion of my Ithaca art major friend who said I must see Russian art.  Well, this place was great, but its finest feature in my opinion was the room dedicated to cat art.  Portraits where the head, instead of a famous general or an aristocratic woman, is replaced with a cat.  This, on top of the sign I saw of some sort of weird cat theatre performance, makes me think Russia has some weird obsession with cats.  Their cats videos on YouTube must put ours to shame.

Later on, I had to find my way to Olkhon.  I had read that I could take a bus from the central bus station so I went up to the ticket counter and said "Olkhon" to which I received another "Nyet!!"  So, I started to consider my options, because I knew I had to get to Olkhon, that was the plan and I don't love straying from a plan once I get it in my head.  I went to the nearest hostel and asked if they knew a way to Olkhon.  I'll bet you can guess the answer...."Nyet!!"

It was cold so I went back to the bus station just so I could stand somewhere warm and think about what to do.  Then I had my eureka moment.  There is a tourists office in Irkutsk. That's where I decided to go.  

"Da!!"  They set up the "private" bus to get me to Olkhon.  Success.  In the few hours I had to kill, I checked out the Volkonsky museum.  The Russian women at the museum, probably because I seem so disheveled with my heavy backpack, took sympathy on me.  They followed me around and handed me the English descriptions for each room and told me to sit down while reading each one.  Then they helped me get my backpack back on.  It was very cute.

I hopped on the packed 6 hour long private bus to Olkhon.  Being the last one to be picked up, I had to sit in the back.  It was an absolute struggle, with my backpack, to squeeze past people to get there.  I'm pretty sure I hit a woman in the face with my water bottle.

Not 30 minutes into the trip we hit trouble.  A tire needed to be replaced on the van.  We all got out and watched in the cold as the tire was dismounted and a new one was mounted.  Back in we went.

As we finally arrived at the ferry station, all set to get out and onto the ferry, another problem struck.  A woman, or the driver, the question still remains, lost one of her bags.  This resulted in a 30 minute long screaming match between the two of them.  However, in this time, I found some other fellow, English speaking travelers.  A kiwi named Anna and a girl and her father.  Guess where the girl and her father are from?  Connecticut, Hartford county.  <--- Danny, it's my small world story.

We got on the ferry and then onto the next bus that would bring us to our hostel.  Craziest bus I've ever been on IN MY LIFE.  Imagine the bumpiest road you can think of plus a driver going 80 mph.  I literally was in the air half of the ride.  There was a point where I swear the back of the bus must have flown at least 5-10 feet off the ground. Anna goes, "ahh it reminds me of home in New Zealand."

New Zealand has now become a questionable country to me.

Day 7: Listvianka

Well, it's off season.  So I am the only person here in this hostel.  Sometimes I feel like I'm the only foreigner in all of Syberia.  

After spending the morning wandering around Listvianka, I headed to Taltsy, a traditional wooden village in the forest.  It was snowy, but it looked like that beautiful rainbow-like fake snow that you buy at the Christmas Tree Shop with which you decorate your window sill, or the bottom of your Christmas tree.  I felt like I was walking into the first song in the movie Frozen.  " Born of cold and winter air and mountain rain combining...".  It was completely stereotypical, exactly what you think of when you picture Russia: log cabins, snow, bearded men, pancakes, bears...

Afterwards, I made it to Irkutsk and to my hostel.. again, I was the only person there. The hostel man was ironing when I came in around 5pm.  I got situated, left, got food, came back and he was still ironing.  Around 8, I went out again to get some beer and I drank it in my dank room of solitude until I emerged around 11 to use the bathroom.  He was still ironing.  I burst out laughing.  "All day!!!" I said.  Shaking his head, he grimly responded with a sigh, "all night."

For the life of me I can't imagine what he was ironing.  As I said, I was the only person there.

It's Katie, just Katie

I must be pronouncing my name wrong.  

At first, when I got to Korea, I thought, hmm, maybe Korean people just can't pronounce my name, despite having all of the sounds of my name in their alphabet.  So I got used to responding to "Kayray" or "Kaylee" or sometimes "Kelly."  Ironic, I thought, because neither "R" nor the "L" sound is part of their alphabet so they're just making it harder for themselves.  In Korea, I started introducing myself at "KT, KT Olleh!," as an attempt to pair my name to a company in Korea called KT Olleh.  I thought, this will solve the problem.  There will be no mistake.

WRONG (Trump trademark).  I'd introduce myself at "KT, KT Olleh!," I'd get a laugh, and then they'd go "Oh Kayrah" or "Oh Kaylee."

I bring this up because I've discovered this is not just a Korean thing.  I have introduced myself to a few Russia people who have in term started calling me "Kerry" among other names.

I've come to decide this is a me problem.

Day 6: Slyudanka to Port Baikal

What a day.  I arrived in Slyudanka at 4am. It was freezing.  I sat in the train station until one of the workers, around 7.30am, told me something in Russian which I assumed meant that I couldn't just sit there all day.  So I put on warm things and went looking for a coffee shop.  

Turns out Russians don't love the coffee so much.  But I found other things to do, mostly walking around, photographing the lake.

Around 11 I found a cafe and decided to get some food.  Boy was that a trip.  I just wanted a Bellini and because I didn't know what the waitress was asking me it turned into this whole awkward ordeal, with a lot of laughing, though not on my end.  

Once I boarded the slow scenic train to Port Baikal I was invited to sit with these two older gentleman.  Again, we hilariously struggled to communicate with each other.  The one guy helped me get all the good angles for my pictures.  And he asked me via google translate if I could "throw them to him" meaning could I send them to him.

This train trip was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen in my life.  So gorgeous.  Pictures will not do this beautiful lake, surrounded on all sides by snow capped mountains, justice.  Perfect weather too.

This train, though only traveling about 50 kilometers, took 5 hours to arrive in Port Baikal.  The point is for the train to go slow so people can take in the beauty of the lake.  Once we arrived though, I was a little nervous.  I had booked a hostel in Listvayana, but it wasn't clear to me how to get there, despite attempted research on how to do so.

I said goodbye to my gentleman friends and was witty enough to follow a group of Chinese people, thinking, these are an organized people.  Sure enough, they lead me to the ferry from Port Baikal to Listvayana.  They were traveling there also.  It was very dark, but the ferry across the clearest, cleanest lake I have ever seen was a ride I'll never forget.  So haunting, so dark, so mystifying.  The sky was so dark, the new set of constellations I was laying my eyes upon for the first time was emensely gratifying.  A different, brand new sky.

The group of Chinese travelers that I met were amazed that I was traveling alone and of course, they wanted their picture with me.  I have taken, not by my choice, photos with at least 20 different people at this point.  I must be walking around with a sign on my back or something.  They gave me warm packs for my hands, concerned that we don't have these kind of products in America, and they paid for my ferry ride.  They kept telling me to be careful.  They were so cute.

Well, I parted ways with my Chinese friends after the ferry ride, and set forth to find my hostel in the dark cold night. 

Day 5: Still Still on the Train

Ah, it seems my star has faded a bit.  Though I am still getting "hellos" as people pass my bunk, I have not yet today garnered the surround attention that I received yesterday.  The day is young.  

I did however make a few appearances on some Russian Facebook pages as I found out.  Maybe I'll meet enough people on my trip that I'll become the Kevin Bacon of Russia.  #Dreams

It was my last day/night on the train (my stop came at 4am) and I started to get a little sad. I have attachment issues.  I loved my train friends and I didn't want to leave them.  Especially my Korean friend, whom I actually hopefully will see again in Korea one day.  Alone again, stranded in the Slyudanka train station until daybreaks.

A touching moment of the train that I'll never forget as my trip neared its end was a stop to the major city of Ulan-Ude.  Many people were getting off at this stop.  As I mentioned before, a lot of people in my train cart were young men whom had just finished a year serving in the Russian army and were returning home.  As the train began slowing into the Ulan-Ude station, crowds of people carrying balloons began swarming the train cart's exit. Families and friends gathered in throngs cheering and yelling, eagerly awaiting their beloved soldier to step off of the train.  All the hugging and the happiness...It was honestly so sweet.  Could bring a tear to your eye.

Day 4: Still on the train

Today I remembered why I love to travel.  I've been so lost lately, and today I rediscovered my passion.  I sat most of the day by the window reading, writing, studying....  I was across from a group of rowdy boys, early to mid twenties I'd guess.  Suddenly, Desert Rose by Sting came blasting over the, until then unused, train sound system.  The boys made a joke of it and did a little dance.  Then the Backstreet Boys greatest hits came on, followed by some Whitney Houston.  Then the sound turned off and has yet to be heard from again.  Russia.

I went back to doing what I was doing when my Korean friend came over to interview me; he is collecting dreams.  That is, he is interviewing anyone he can about what their dream is.  I have no idea what my dream is.  I don't expect to become a very exciting chapter in his dream book.

Later on I was sitting innocently on my top bunk when a boy from the rowdy boys group came over to me, drunkenly, and handed me a Mars bar.  He started speaking to me in Russian and I had to say I don't understand.  Ya ni panemayoo.  Then the entire group of boys came over, after finding out I'm American, and hovered around my bunk, many others on the train began looking on including the train staff.  One of the boys could speak a little English and thus became the throng's translator. He said the guy who gave me the Mars bar thinks I'm beautiful and the Mars bar guy chimed in "you, best of best."  Aw, shucks.  

This turned into almost three hours of boys trying to talk to me, and this poor guy translating.  About 10-12 people got involved, asking me questions, engaging, questioning "Clinton?  Clinton?  Trump?"  "Clinton!!"  I strongly responded.  If you are trying to escape American politics, Russia is not the place to do so.  

The boys from the initial group that gathered were guys who just finished serving a year in the military, and one gave me his army hat as a gift.   I am so afraid he is going to return home to his family and they are going to say "Where is your hat?" and he is going to have to gloomily answer "I gave it to some random American girl on the train when I was drunk."  

They asked me about basketball.  They love Eminem.  And they think all Americans are fat and have guns, and live in the ghetto.  The guy who thinks I'm "best of best" introduced me to his best friend and throughout the night kept calling him "stupid animal."  His friend continued to defend himself.  "No no! I'm stupid animal, no!"   One guy was just looking up English phrases on his phone and with no rhyme or reason would very randomly blurt out some obscure sentence in English and eagerly await a response.  We were taking about "Why am I in Russia?  And What do Americans think about Russian people?"  And suddenly he goes "specialty of the house?"  I was like, "what?"  And I looked at his phone and the surrounding words were beer and burger, food words.  So he meant "what are the famous foods in your country."  

I wish I could better describe this scenario.  I am the first American that most of these people have ever met.  I felt like a celebrity.  It was honestly hilarious, all of them hovering around my bunk, unabashedly asking me questions, having them translated, and eagerly awaiting my response.  There were moments when almost the entire train cart was involved.  The train staff woman, the provodnista, did NOT like me.  She kept glaring at me, at us, but everyone else was having a good time so I wasn't too worried about it.  I got a lot of kisses on my hand and I'm pretty sure I've made a lot of appearances on Facebook and Instagram based on the amount of pictures I took.  I Kate touched the hand of fame.  It's glorious.

Day 3: Boarding the Train

So Russian people don't use deodorant.  I guess, despite not being able to shower for five days straight, I'll still be the best smelling person around.

I was walking to get some hot water for my coffee and I heard a "hi!" from a timid, smiling Korean face.  "Ah, home" I thought to myself. 

I made friends with this Korean guy who had also befriended a few non-English speaking Russians on the train.  It was me, a Korean guy, and two older Russian men owho had already cracked open their second bottle of vodka.

What I love (and miss) about a new language is that so much of learning a language is intuition, instinct, and body language.  I only know about ten words in Russian.  But between that and my Korean friend's Russian phrase book, we were able to unveil a lot about each other and had an, albeit, hilarious conversation.  Like, we were showing each other our war scars.  One of my cohorts has lost a thumb in ao tragic sawing accident, for example.  Ah, casual train talk.  

I read that Russian train-goers may offer vodka and food to you on the train,  however, I didn't expect it to happen so quickly.  But here I am, three shots in, trying to learn some crazy Russian card game.  Only 36 cards to a deck??  I'm not sure if I'll ever figure it out.

At first, I was starting to feel the tinges of boredom that can come from spending what will end up being a total of 69 hours on a train, no shower, no breaks, very limited bathroom use, but now I think I've discovered the secret to endless train entertainment.

The Accordion Man

Tonight I went to get wine at this little pub on the hostel grounds.  There I met an old Russian man and a young Italian man.  The Russian man loves English.  But he kept telling me I don't speak English, I speak American.  He also kept telling me I know nothing, which is probably true in the grand scheme of things.  But he told me so many times "you know nothing," that the Italian guy and I kept exchanging looks, and laughing to each other.  

The Russian man was a musician and he played me a song on the guitar, Seasons in the Sun.  Then he told about how he was a famous musician, an accordion player, but last year he had a surgery and now he can barely use his hand.  He got really upset about it a few times throughout the night.  It was sad.  But he took me somewhere and played piano for me.  

He was a funny old man.  He asked me why Americans don't travel to Russia.  I tried to give an honest answer about how we are kind of xenophobic, but he just stopped me halfway through and told me I know nothing.  He also told me I should go to America and tell all my friends that Russians are kind (they are) and they don't want war with us despite whatever the news says (me either).  I promised I'd do my best.  Russians are kind and they don't want war.  He also assured me that Russians had nothing to do with the interference of our political election.  I'm not so sure on that one.  Then again, I know nothing.

Day 2: Vladivostok

Now when I say some characters, I do truly mean, I have no idea what these people are about.  Most of my life, whenever I have hostelled, I knew I was in for meeting or at least rooming with other travelers and likely some interesting people.  People who are staying the night to sight-see or are overnighting for business, travel, whatever.  But in this hostel, I think some of these people just live here?  That's not even the word.  Um, hibernate? One woman - she slept all day.  And then she slept all night.  Then she took a shower.  Then she WENT BACK TO SLEEP.  

I'll elaborate.  I woke up at 8 and left the hostel to go exploring.  I needed to find a bank to change money and, after standing outside of one for ten minutes mustering the courage to go inside, I was finally successful.  Then, I got lost.  So, around 12 I went back to my hostel to re-group.  When I got back that woman was still sleeping. 

Vladivostok is an interesting city.  It's an old city, with old soviet buildings scattered everywhere.  Amongst these old buildings are new, modern, innovative buildings and bridges, boats, and a very beautiful coast.  It's new; it's old.  Overall though, not a ton to see, unless you have a car and can drive out to the beautiful islands that are dusted off the coast.

I did stop in one museum.  As I was purchasing my ticket, a woman was pointing in the direction of my coat pocket and saying something.  I keep shrugging my shoulders and she kept pointing until the ticket woman yelled at me "at the cat!"  The woman was pointing at a cat in the distance behind me.  Suhrryy....

I headed back to the hostel and lo and behold the sleeping woman was sleeping.  And the other smelly characters that were staying there were in fact there.  Playing video games, watching Putin on TV, eating Ramen.  What were these people doing there? I guess I'll never know.

Day 1: Suwon to Vladivostok

I went to visit an old friend, whom I haven't seen in over three years, in his hometown of Suwon thinking it would be a convenient stop along the way to Incheon airport.  Well, it was convenient, but not necessarily my best decision.  I forgot how much he loves to drink.  We met up at 7pm and I don't remember getting back to his place, but he tells me it was around 3am.  The last conscious moment I had was at 11pm.  That's a lot of lost time.  I honestly have no memories, but I will forever remember the worst hangover of my LIFE the next day.  And this is how I began my 36 day journey to Russia.

I got to the airport and, despite my hangover, I was feeling like a total BAMF with my coat, backpack, and nothing else - ready to take on the hugest country on earth.  It was only when a man came up to me at the gate asking me something in Russian that the reality of how little grasp of the language I have really hit me.  I totally choked.  My default in this situation is to smile and nod however, Russian people don't like when strangers smile.  They see it as insincere.  That's when I realized I'm in for a month of really awkward situations.

Now side note, whenever I book a flight, I ALWAYS choose the special meal option.  Why?  1) You get your food first.  2)  It's always healthier and more delicious.  I SWEAR by this.  I bring this up because I did not do this on my flight to Russia.  So our inflight food was a smoked salmon sandwich.  Now, I loves me some lox, but on a plane? Like, in the air?  Where did that salmon come from and how long was it sitting in a paper box.  I want to know.   But maybe that's just me.

My plane arrived late and I, very unfortunately, had to take a taxi to my hostel.  It was expensive and I had a fight with my driver because he tried to swindle me.  Also, he stopped to get gas midway through the drive and kept the meter running.  I was having none of that.  I won the fight, got to my hostel and despite rooming with some true characters, I slept.