Day 15:
Now leaving Chita! Neither time nor money enough to dawdle, I'm afraid, though I would have liked to. Chita has a lot of positives: more beautiful streets, a more cosmopolitan atmosphere, and a bigger public square than all of the eastern cities. I have a sense that Chita has been rewarded for its place in Russian history - rewarded with largese and construction projects (in true Soviet fashion, right?)
For good reason, perhaps. In 1905, Chita was at the heart of tiny "Chita Republic." That year, in the midst of the revolutionary fervor that followed Russia's military defeat at the hands of Japan, Chita socialists proclaimed their independence from the Tsar's Russia. The leaders of this movement were detained and punished, but the spirit of Chita - long a place of exile for political rabble-rousers - would not be crushed. Following the revolutions of 1917, Lenin created the "Far Eastern Republic," which was a pseudo-independent nation covering some 1,300,00 square kilometres. This nation was about the size of modern day Quebec, and acted as a buffer between the new Soviet Union and the empire of Japan. Bolstered by American, French and English troops, the Japanese managed to occupy and loot both Chita and Vladivostok, but the buffer served it's purpose: the enemies were repelled and in 1922 the Far Easter Republic was absorbed back into the USSR.
This demands another trip to the library, though: there were American, English, French and Japanese troops aiding the white army against the Bolsheviks in the east. Were there any Canadians? Did we go to war with them bad Russians?
Afternoon, on the train.
Scorecard: Chita to Ulan Ude, 8:30 am train, 8 hours.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Day 14:
Just about finished this 27 hour train journey. Except, with the time zone change, I think it is more like 28 hours.
Not so much to report his time. Second class is much nicer than third. Each carriage sleeps about 36, within nine closed-off compartments of four bunks each. One each of these second-class journeys, I have been lucky enough to share my compartment with only one person.
Oh... I'm now in Siberia. Chita is close to where (politically, anyways) the Far East ends and Siberia begins. In both regions, there have been lots of prety sights from outside my carriage window. I particularly like the old shack/log cabin communities that cluster around the tracks every few hundred kilometres. They seem to me part American-west ghost town and part Soviet pipe dream.
So, if all goes according to plan, I should be in Mongolia in three days. There's a place in UlaanBaatar that serves the most wonderful chips. I can't wait.
Just about finished this 27 hour train journey. Except, with the time zone change, I think it is more like 28 hours.
Not so much to report his time. Second class is much nicer than third. Each carriage sleeps about 36, within nine closed-off compartments of four bunks each. One each of these second-class journeys, I have been lucky enough to share my compartment with only one person.
Oh... I'm now in Siberia. Chita is close to where (politically, anyways) the Far East ends and Siberia begins. In both regions, there have been lots of prety sights from outside my carriage window. I particularly like the old shack/log cabin communities that cluster around the tracks every few hundred kilometres. They seem to me part American-west ghost town and part Soviet pipe dream.
So, if all goes according to plan, I should be in Mongolia in three days. There's a place in UlaanBaatar that serves the most wonderful chips. I can't wait.
Day 13:
Rumbling along to Chita, right now. This ride will be about 27 hours... at the moment, I am dealing with hour number six.
Sleeping at the train station wasn't so bad. I was really only unconscious for two or three hours. And I wasn't alone, as quite a few locals had the same idea.
Tynda was actually quite neat. Though very small, it's the headquarters of the famed BAM (Baikal-Amur Mainline) railroad, which is a sort of second Trans-Siberian line, that runs to teh north of the main line and is intended to provide access to more of the bountiful natural resources of Siberia and the Far East.
The local museum in Tynda is dedicated mostly to showcasing BAM's (sometimes rather sorry) history. When construction began in the 1930s, BAM was declared a "Hero Project of the Century" by the Soviet regime, but it was not finally completed until 1991, just as the soviet union came undone. The Tynda museum sums up the construction history quite nicely - one delay had to do with the fact that during the Second World War, the line was dismantled, and the rails were used to build a support line into Stalingrad, during the German's long siege of that city.
Exhibits at the museum also spotlight the culture of indigenous Russian people. Not surprisingly, those cultures seem very similar to those of indigenous people of Canada's north. I think those links demand a trip to the library for further research when I get back home.
Also: Tynda sports some rather cool graffiti on the footpath near the train station:
"Punks not dead" and "Sex Pistols" and (curiously) "Art School!"
8:05 pm, on the train
Rumbling along to Chita, right now. This ride will be about 27 hours... at the moment, I am dealing with hour number six.
Sleeping at the train station wasn't so bad. I was really only unconscious for two or three hours. And I wasn't alone, as quite a few locals had the same idea.
Tynda was actually quite neat. Though very small, it's the headquarters of the famed BAM (Baikal-Amur Mainline) railroad, which is a sort of second Trans-Siberian line, that runs to teh north of the main line and is intended to provide access to more of the bountiful natural resources of Siberia and the Far East.
The local museum in Tynda is dedicated mostly to showcasing BAM's (sometimes rather sorry) history. When construction began in the 1930s, BAM was declared a "Hero Project of the Century" by the Soviet regime, but it was not finally completed until 1991, just as the soviet union came undone. The Tynda museum sums up the construction history quite nicely - one delay had to do with the fact that during the Second World War, the line was dismantled, and the rails were used to build a support line into Stalingrad, during the German's long siege of that city.
Exhibits at the museum also spotlight the culture of indigenous Russian people. Not surprisingly, those cultures seem very similar to those of indigenous people of Canada's north. I think those links demand a trip to the library for further research when I get back home.
Also: Tynda sports some rather cool graffiti on the footpath near the train station:
"Punks not dead" and "Sex Pistols" and (curiously) "Art School!"
8:05 pm, on the train
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Day Twelve:
Slept on a hard bench at the railway station last night.
As I've said before, Russia (particularly the Far East, but elsewhere also) is not very tourist-friendly. My guidebook observes that this, the largest country in the world, contains only THREE tourist information centres.
Three! Even the last couple of Korean stops on my journey (Samcheok and Sokcho, each with a population of 90 000) has helpful, English speaking information kiosks.
Believe me when I say that at most, Samcheok probably receives 200 English speaking tourists in a year - mostly Japanese nationals. But still, the city has an information desk with English materials and a staff of two (!) English-speakers. Khavarosk as a population of 620 000, and they don't even TRY to make things easy for tourists.
But that doesn't really matter. The silliness of it all makes me feel like Marco Polo with a stylish backpack and muddy boots. No, the real problem here is something else. It's the paperwork! Oh, the fucking paperwork!
See, I got off the train at about midnight, after a 30 hour ride. It was too late to go wandering the streets looking for a hotel, so I set about getting a cot in the train station's rest area.
But no dice.
See, in any other country, one would just pay some money and then flop down for a quick nap. But not Russia. In Russia, there is paperwork to be done before one can sleep. There is the showing of proper identification. And then there is the ubiquitous ledger. Even the Russians on hand that night were having a tough time jumping through all of the hoops - filling out the forms, showing the ticket to prove they had just arrived, being catalogued... when I came to the head of the line, the clerk shrugged and with a curt "Nyet," sent me away. It would be simply impossible for a foreigner to even THINK about filling in all the proper forms to get a bed.
And it's not only a problem when trying to get a cot at the fucking train station. See, even native Russians need to use a passport to travel domestically. And when I went to the post office to mail an old t-shirt back home, I had to fill out three forms. Three IDENTICAL forms! I don't even know what the forms asked for, since I just passed them to the guy standing behind me in the queue to fill out. The kicker is that I didn't get to retain one of the forms, which leads me to believe that from now until the end of time, three forms in three separate filing cabinets in Russia will record that once upon a time I mailed my favorite punk rock t-shirt back to my Grammie in Nova Scotia.
And... And... fuck, it just goes on...
I visited the railroad museum in Tynda today. It was a great place to visit, but I took me about ten minutes to get past the front desk, since the Babushka manning the desk had to sell me separate tickets for each of the four rooms of the museum, and then another one to allow me to take some pictures! And while I had to spend time finding enough pockets to store the stack of ticket stubs she handed me, she had to busy herself recording my presence in five separate ledgers!
And, well... then there are the public toilets. But. Well. Another time.
8:51, Tynda
Slept on a hard bench at the railway station last night.
As I've said before, Russia (particularly the Far East, but elsewhere also) is not very tourist-friendly. My guidebook observes that this, the largest country in the world, contains only THREE tourist information centres.
Three! Even the last couple of Korean stops on my journey (Samcheok and Sokcho, each with a population of 90 000) has helpful, English speaking information kiosks.
Believe me when I say that at most, Samcheok probably receives 200 English speaking tourists in a year - mostly Japanese nationals. But still, the city has an information desk with English materials and a staff of two (!) English-speakers. Khavarosk as a population of 620 000, and they don't even TRY to make things easy for tourists.
But that doesn't really matter. The silliness of it all makes me feel like Marco Polo with a stylish backpack and muddy boots. No, the real problem here is something else. It's the paperwork! Oh, the fucking paperwork!
See, I got off the train at about midnight, after a 30 hour ride. It was too late to go wandering the streets looking for a hotel, so I set about getting a cot in the train station's rest area.
But no dice.
See, in any other country, one would just pay some money and then flop down for a quick nap. But not Russia. In Russia, there is paperwork to be done before one can sleep. There is the showing of proper identification. And then there is the ubiquitous ledger. Even the Russians on hand that night were having a tough time jumping through all of the hoops - filling out the forms, showing the ticket to prove they had just arrived, being catalogued... when I came to the head of the line, the clerk shrugged and with a curt "Nyet," sent me away. It would be simply impossible for a foreigner to even THINK about filling in all the proper forms to get a bed.
And it's not only a problem when trying to get a cot at the fucking train station. See, even native Russians need to use a passport to travel domestically. And when I went to the post office to mail an old t-shirt back home, I had to fill out three forms. Three IDENTICAL forms! I don't even know what the forms asked for, since I just passed them to the guy standing behind me in the queue to fill out. The kicker is that I didn't get to retain one of the forms, which leads me to believe that from now until the end of time, three forms in three separate filing cabinets in Russia will record that once upon a time I mailed my favorite punk rock t-shirt back to my Grammie in Nova Scotia.
And... And... fuck, it just goes on...
I visited the railroad museum in Tynda today. It was a great place to visit, but I took me about ten minutes to get past the front desk, since the Babushka manning the desk had to sell me separate tickets for each of the four rooms of the museum, and then another one to allow me to take some pictures! And while I had to spend time finding enough pockets to store the stack of ticket stubs she handed me, she had to busy herself recording my presence in five separate ledgers!
And, well... then there are the public toilets. But. Well. Another time.
8:51, Tynda
Day 11:
Boris Yeltsin died two days ago. I asked my teenage friends what sort of national mood that news lead to. They said that it wasn't a big deal. Most young people, the said, are largely indifferent to politics. Old people, when they think about politics, are mostly nostalgic for the Soviet Union. Poor people now have no help, while back then everyone was taken care of, in a fashion.
I noted how powerful those images of Yeltsin standing on a tank, standing up to the Russian military remain in the western world. Still, my friends insisted, his death was not a big deal to the average Russian man.
Still on the train, right now. In the book I'm reading, Robert Kaplan quotes Paul Fussell on the art of travelling:
"the explorer seeks the undiscovered, the traveler that which has been discovered by the mind working in history, the tourist that which has been discovered for him by entrepreneurship and prepared for him by the arts of mass publicity (185)."
furthermore, he says that travel is a lot of work:
"Etymologically, a traveller is one who suffers 'travail,' a Latin word deriving in its turn from Latin 'tripalium,' a torture instrument consisting of three stakes designed to rack the body. Before the development on tourism, travel was concieved to be like study, and it fruits were considered to be the adornment of the mind and the formation of judgement. (185-86)"
Meanwhile, Kaplan disagrees a little bit:
"I have learned as much as a tourist as I have as a so-called traveller. In the 1970s, I knew young people travelling along who could put up with the cheapest hotels and the most arduous conditions, yet who were less concerned with learning about the local culture than finding a place to buy hashish; even as I met senior citizens in large groups, staying at antiseptic hotels, who were walking encyclopedias of archaeological sites (186)."
Kaplan's observation brings to mind a quote (paraphrased) from the travel novel "Are you Experienced" that sums up my feeling about much of South East Asian travel:
"Anyone who says that he wants to expand his mind and then goes off to Thailand for three months is talking out of his arse-hole."
Boris Yeltsin died two days ago. I asked my teenage friends what sort of national mood that news lead to. They said that it wasn't a big deal. Most young people, the said, are largely indifferent to politics. Old people, when they think about politics, are mostly nostalgic for the Soviet Union. Poor people now have no help, while back then everyone was taken care of, in a fashion.
I noted how powerful those images of Yeltsin standing on a tank, standing up to the Russian military remain in the western world. Still, my friends insisted, his death was not a big deal to the average Russian man.
Still on the train, right now. In the book I'm reading, Robert Kaplan quotes Paul Fussell on the art of travelling:
"the explorer seeks the undiscovered, the traveler that which has been discovered by the mind working in history, the tourist that which has been discovered for him by entrepreneurship and prepared for him by the arts of mass publicity (185)."
furthermore, he says that travel is a lot of work:
"Etymologically, a traveller is one who suffers 'travail,' a Latin word deriving in its turn from Latin 'tripalium,' a torture instrument consisting of three stakes designed to rack the body. Before the development on tourism, travel was concieved to be like study, and it fruits were considered to be the adornment of the mind and the formation of judgement. (185-86)"
Meanwhile, Kaplan disagrees a little bit:
"I have learned as much as a tourist as I have as a so-called traveller. In the 1970s, I knew young people travelling along who could put up with the cheapest hotels and the most arduous conditions, yet who were less concerned with learning about the local culture than finding a place to buy hashish; even as I met senior citizens in large groups, staying at antiseptic hotels, who were walking encyclopedias of archaeological sites (186)."
Kaplan's observation brings to mind a quote (paraphrased) from the travel novel "Are you Experienced" that sums up my feeling about much of South East Asian travel:
"Anyone who says that he wants to expand his mind and then goes off to Thailand for three months is talking out of his arse-hole."
Day Ten:
Speaking to Paula in Korea via an internet connection:
"How DID Nabokov end things for Lolita and her man?"
"Ah, probably a place in the suburbs and a couple of brats."
I'm back on the train. Twenty-nine hours and I'll be in Tynda. The Russian far east is so empty - I'll be on this train for almost thirty hours, and I'll only end of in a city of 39,000 souls. I could go south for 13 hours to get to Vladivostok, but travelling west? It would take 65 hours to get to the closest major city.
It's clear that the Soviets and the Tsar both tried so hard to turn this wasteland into something. Both regimes built so many cities from the ground-up. The Tsar built this awesome railroad, and the Soviets constructed so many "purpose-built" shack-towns to harvest the resources of the region. The Tsar fought a war with Japan over essentially barren islands and territory. With a headquarters a world away, they fought (albeit unsuccessfully) the big, bad Japanese army, for a place described by Russians as "the gateway to hell."
Moscow and St. Petersburg are so European in character, I have been told, but this place is something else entirely. My friends from yesterday described Khabarovsk as "an Asian city."
It sort of confuses. Why go to all of this effort? Well, yeah, empire building is obviously desirable. But, the Far East is so removed from the dynastic intrigue of Europe... what connection does the settlement have to the European world? Or what lasting influence does Chinggis (Gengis) Khan leave on this territory? This was all part of the Mongol's "Golden Horde." I guess the adverse question is possible - what influence did the Mongols have on the shape of the European world? It's fun to note that just as the Roman Empire endured and influenced Europe in some form until the fall of Trebizond in 1461, the last of the Mongolian empire kicked around until the 1783 destruction of the Crimean Khanate.
Oh, anyhow: Today was pleasant. Khavorosk is a great city. While Vladivostok was sort of old and dirty, Khavarosk is rather clean and youthful. The main streets have a certain energy about them; children do skateboard tricks in Lenin square while a woman with a nosering busks American pop-songs on her saxaphone to earn spare Roubles. Sitting in that square to take it all in is quite a pleasant experience.
And, duly, I had tea with my new friends. I professed a desire to stay a few days with them, and while that was the truth at the time, I'm not sure how long I could endure them. Giggly teenages make me feel pretty damn old.
After tea and a lesson in Russian curse words, I said goodbye and got on the train. Second class, this time. Much more comfortable.
9:45 pm, on the train
Speaking to Paula in Korea via an internet connection:
"How DID Nabokov end things for Lolita and her man?"
"Ah, probably a place in the suburbs and a couple of brats."
I'm back on the train. Twenty-nine hours and I'll be in Tynda. The Russian far east is so empty - I'll be on this train for almost thirty hours, and I'll only end of in a city of 39,000 souls. I could go south for 13 hours to get to Vladivostok, but travelling west? It would take 65 hours to get to the closest major city.
It's clear that the Soviets and the Tsar both tried so hard to turn this wasteland into something. Both regimes built so many cities from the ground-up. The Tsar built this awesome railroad, and the Soviets constructed so many "purpose-built" shack-towns to harvest the resources of the region. The Tsar fought a war with Japan over essentially barren islands and territory. With a headquarters a world away, they fought (albeit unsuccessfully) the big, bad Japanese army, for a place described by Russians as "the gateway to hell."
Moscow and St. Petersburg are so European in character, I have been told, but this place is something else entirely. My friends from yesterday described Khabarovsk as "an Asian city."
It sort of confuses. Why go to all of this effort? Well, yeah, empire building is obviously desirable. But, the Far East is so removed from the dynastic intrigue of Europe... what connection does the settlement have to the European world? Or what lasting influence does Chinggis (Gengis) Khan leave on this territory? This was all part of the Mongol's "Golden Horde." I guess the adverse question is possible - what influence did the Mongols have on the shape of the European world? It's fun to note that just as the Roman Empire endured and influenced Europe in some form until the fall of Trebizond in 1461, the last of the Mongolian empire kicked around until the 1783 destruction of the Crimean Khanate.
Oh, anyhow: Today was pleasant. Khavorosk is a great city. While Vladivostok was sort of old and dirty, Khavarosk is rather clean and youthful. The main streets have a certain energy about them; children do skateboard tricks in Lenin square while a woman with a nosering busks American pop-songs on her saxaphone to earn spare Roubles. Sitting in that square to take it all in is quite a pleasant experience.
And, duly, I had tea with my new friends. I professed a desire to stay a few days with them, and while that was the truth at the time, I'm not sure how long I could endure them. Giggly teenages make me feel pretty damn old.
After tea and a lesson in Russian curse words, I said goodbye and got on the train. Second class, this time. Much more comfortable.
9:45 pm, on the train
Monday, April 23, 2007
Day nine:
The blood on the mattress was the first sign that something was amiss.
In today's reportage: third class rail travel, and totally hot 19 year old Russian girls! And that blood on the mattress? Yeah, that was on the train. Fucking Russia!
So, Lonely Planet likens third class train travel to living in a refugee camp. Third class is, really, where the poor people of a generally poor country go when they need to get around. The carriages sleep 55 people in a dorm setting.
Pretty awful, that third class. Awful, awful, awful...
Uh... where to begin? Okay, 55 bunks to a carriage. There are bunks at floor level, and there are raised bunks. I was assigned a raised bunk, of course. And there aren't any ladders or anything. One is required to sort of haul and shimmy into the upper bunk. And everyone gets a roll-out mattress to sleep on. Mine, as I mentioned, was bloody. How the fuck does that happen? Passengers are given clean linen to cover the mattress, but I didn't get any, since it's easier for the attendants to just ignore the weird foreigner than to ask if he wants some comfort.
So, anyways, yeah, I spent thirteen hours on my dirty mattress, without enough room to move around. I slept occasionally. And occasionally I was bitten by the bugs that lived in my mattress (really).
I was on the super-cheap train, so I wasn't allowed to leave the carriage to visit the dining car. I just laid down for hours and hours and hours.
Coming up tomorrow, though, is a 31 hour voyage in SECOND class. Luxury!!
But today wasn't entirely bad. See, I met some pretty girls! Upon arriving in Khabarovsk, I set about finding a hotel. That proved difficult... I wandered around and around without finding my preferred cheapie. But after a few hours of wandering, I was approached by some pretty teenage girls who wanted to help me find my way. And then did - they found me a hotel, knocked the price down by half AND booked my next onward train ticket.
Those girls are Carol and Karina, both 19 and blond and language students at the local university. We chatted a bit about this and that:
"Does Khabovosk have a decent cultural scene?"
"Well, we have vodka and borcht."
"No, like youth culture for you guys. Do you have some nice bands?"
"Sort of. We have music, but it's all rock music. We like pop music more."
"Like what sort of music?"
"Well, we APPRECIATE bands like Abba... Duran Duran... George Michaels... but the newer singers are better: Jennifer Lopez, Beyonce, Justin... (dreamily) Oh, Justin forever!"
Eventually, I had to send those girls on their way, so I could do some exploring. I found Lenin Square, eventually. These ex-Soviet cities that I have visited all have wonderful public squares. I only wish that I will be able to see some sort of rally or public even sometime. Maybe May day?
I had a late tea with my new friends just a few moments ago. I kept thinking like I was suppose to like... make a move or something. But I didn't. Apparently, 19 year old Russian girls aren't my bag. And also, I never got around to finishing my Nabokov paperback, so I don't really know how such things turn out.
scorecard: 11:30 train, Vladivostok to Khabarovsk, 13 hours
11:30 pm
The blood on the mattress was the first sign that something was amiss.
In today's reportage: third class rail travel, and totally hot 19 year old Russian girls! And that blood on the mattress? Yeah, that was on the train. Fucking Russia!
So, Lonely Planet likens third class train travel to living in a refugee camp. Third class is, really, where the poor people of a generally poor country go when they need to get around. The carriages sleep 55 people in a dorm setting.
Pretty awful, that third class. Awful, awful, awful...
Uh... where to begin? Okay, 55 bunks to a carriage. There are bunks at floor level, and there are raised bunks. I was assigned a raised bunk, of course. And there aren't any ladders or anything. One is required to sort of haul and shimmy into the upper bunk. And everyone gets a roll-out mattress to sleep on. Mine, as I mentioned, was bloody. How the fuck does that happen? Passengers are given clean linen to cover the mattress, but I didn't get any, since it's easier for the attendants to just ignore the weird foreigner than to ask if he wants some comfort.
So, anyways, yeah, I spent thirteen hours on my dirty mattress, without enough room to move around. I slept occasionally. And occasionally I was bitten by the bugs that lived in my mattress (really).
I was on the super-cheap train, so I wasn't allowed to leave the carriage to visit the dining car. I just laid down for hours and hours and hours.
Coming up tomorrow, though, is a 31 hour voyage in SECOND class. Luxury!!
But today wasn't entirely bad. See, I met some pretty girls! Upon arriving in Khabarovsk, I set about finding a hotel. That proved difficult... I wandered around and around without finding my preferred cheapie. But after a few hours of wandering, I was approached by some pretty teenage girls who wanted to help me find my way. And then did - they found me a hotel, knocked the price down by half AND booked my next onward train ticket.
Those girls are Carol and Karina, both 19 and blond and language students at the local university. We chatted a bit about this and that:
"Does Khabovosk have a decent cultural scene?"
"Well, we have vodka and borcht."
"No, like youth culture for you guys. Do you have some nice bands?"
"Sort of. We have music, but it's all rock music. We like pop music more."
"Like what sort of music?"
"Well, we APPRECIATE bands like Abba... Duran Duran... George Michaels... but the newer singers are better: Jennifer Lopez, Beyonce, Justin... (dreamily) Oh, Justin forever!"
Eventually, I had to send those girls on their way, so I could do some exploring. I found Lenin Square, eventually. These ex-Soviet cities that I have visited all have wonderful public squares. I only wish that I will be able to see some sort of rally or public even sometime. Maybe May day?
I had a late tea with my new friends just a few moments ago. I kept thinking like I was suppose to like... make a move or something. But I didn't. Apparently, 19 year old Russian girls aren't my bag. And also, I never got around to finishing my Nabokov paperback, so I don't really know how such things turn out.
scorecard: 11:30 train, Vladivostok to Khabarovsk, 13 hours
11:30 pm
Day Eight:
Last day in Vladivostok.
I sat down on a park bench to way my lunch (cheap supermarket cheese and crackers, of course). After a few moments, three old ladies sat beside me. Two of them, continued the conversation they were having while walking in the park, and the third sat on the end of the bench and sang. She just sat and sang a quiet song. Neat.
I took a stroll along the city waterfront today. That made for a few pleasant hours. So many of the men here are tough looking: shaved heads and leather jackets (black and shiny and cheap). The women (young) all wear leather boots and very tight jeans and too much makeup. They all look like they are living in 1992. But they are all really pretty, regardless!
Snapped a few nice pictures, wrote some postcards, and did some internet stuff at the central post office. Today has been all about killing time. But also: I lightened my load! I abandoned a couple of t-shirts and my sweater and my Korean lonely planet and a few odds and ends. I think I've got the backpack about where I want it to be for the rest of this journey.
Perhaps I will remember this city as the city of crusty bread and processed cheese slices. Everywhere, one can buy bread. And it comes by the piece, rather than the loaf. I haven't even SEEN a loaf of bread... I think that all the bread is baked in big Soviet-era factory ovens in 100 foot loaves, and then sliced up for delivery to canteens across the country. In any case, 30 roubles is enough to buy four hunks of bread, two slices of cheese and a cup of horrible coffee. Good times!
Vladivostok, 5:30 pm
Last day in Vladivostok.
I sat down on a park bench to way my lunch (cheap supermarket cheese and crackers, of course). After a few moments, three old ladies sat beside me. Two of them, continued the conversation they were having while walking in the park, and the third sat on the end of the bench and sang. She just sat and sang a quiet song. Neat.
I took a stroll along the city waterfront today. That made for a few pleasant hours. So many of the men here are tough looking: shaved heads and leather jackets (black and shiny and cheap). The women (young) all wear leather boots and very tight jeans and too much makeup. They all look like they are living in 1992. But they are all really pretty, regardless!
Snapped a few nice pictures, wrote some postcards, and did some internet stuff at the central post office. Today has been all about killing time. But also: I lightened my load! I abandoned a couple of t-shirts and my sweater and my Korean lonely planet and a few odds and ends. I think I've got the backpack about where I want it to be for the rest of this journey.
Perhaps I will remember this city as the city of crusty bread and processed cheese slices. Everywhere, one can buy bread. And it comes by the piece, rather than the loaf. I haven't even SEEN a loaf of bread... I think that all the bread is baked in big Soviet-era factory ovens in 100 foot loaves, and then sliced up for delivery to canteens across the country. In any case, 30 roubles is enough to buy four hunks of bread, two slices of cheese and a cup of horrible coffee. Good times!
Vladivostok, 5:30 pm
Day Seven:
Said one French traveller I encountered at my hotel in Vladivostok:
"I went to the service centre to buy a train ticket. They said to me that they could help me out, but that I would need to pay a 200 rouble service charge. I said that I didn't need the help, since I can speak Russian, and that I was only looking for a timetable. They said that they could tell me the train times, but that it would cost me fifty roubles."
He concluded, "Now I know that I am in Russia!"
Indeed, Russia is really draining my wallet. So much so, that I will cut the Russian voyage short by a couple of days. I know that this is partly because the American dollar has dipped so much compared to the Russian rouble. Whatever the cause, I am paying fifty bucks for my super-shitty hotel. And earlier today I spent twenty-eight bucks on lunch without even thinking about it. Fuck! I will have to stick with self-catering and sleeping on trains to make up for all of this.
Oh... I did save a few bucks by buying my first train ticket for third class. They tell me, though, that it is quite rancid. We shall see.
This is a port town, both in civilian and military terms. The Russian military men are interesting to look at: big men, with bulbous sort of noses... from all of the vodka, perhaps. Many of the older sailors sport the same beard and side burn styles seen on the men celebrated in the local historical museum. That's cool. The Indian navy is in town right now, and those thing, immaculately dressed young men cut quite a figure beside their swarthier Russian comrades.
What else? It's a ruined kind of town. It's got the same very old, once-great buildings from the early twentieth century that were on display in Shanghai's suburbs last year, but also the same cheap concrete monstrosities of Ulaan Baatar and other post-communist cities. But there are also lots of beautiful things; colorful storefronts, the over-polished train station, and so many young people. And, of course, like everywhere else, there are hints of money and wealth and opulence and all those cosmopolitan things. Well, the people aren't exactly cosmopolitan, but they are really pretty...
*;35, Hotel Moryak.
Said one French traveller I encountered at my hotel in Vladivostok:
"I went to the service centre to buy a train ticket. They said to me that they could help me out, but that I would need to pay a 200 rouble service charge. I said that I didn't need the help, since I can speak Russian, and that I was only looking for a timetable. They said that they could tell me the train times, but that it would cost me fifty roubles."
He concluded, "Now I know that I am in Russia!"
Indeed, Russia is really draining my wallet. So much so, that I will cut the Russian voyage short by a couple of days. I know that this is partly because the American dollar has dipped so much compared to the Russian rouble. Whatever the cause, I am paying fifty bucks for my super-shitty hotel. And earlier today I spent twenty-eight bucks on lunch without even thinking about it. Fuck! I will have to stick with self-catering and sleeping on trains to make up for all of this.
Oh... I did save a few bucks by buying my first train ticket for third class. They tell me, though, that it is quite rancid. We shall see.
This is a port town, both in civilian and military terms. The Russian military men are interesting to look at: big men, with bulbous sort of noses... from all of the vodka, perhaps. Many of the older sailors sport the same beard and side burn styles seen on the men celebrated in the local historical museum. That's cool. The Indian navy is in town right now, and those thing, immaculately dressed young men cut quite a figure beside their swarthier Russian comrades.
What else? It's a ruined kind of town. It's got the same very old, once-great buildings from the early twentieth century that were on display in Shanghai's suburbs last year, but also the same cheap concrete monstrosities of Ulaan Baatar and other post-communist cities. But there are also lots of beautiful things; colorful storefronts, the over-polished train station, and so many young people. And, of course, like everywhere else, there are hints of money and wealth and opulence and all those cosmopolitan things. Well, the people aren't exactly cosmopolitan, but they are really pretty...
*;35, Hotel Moryak.
Day Six
Still on the boat. It turns out that a lot of these Asian Russian nationals are Koreans. I've been told that there were many Korean people living on Sakhalin island as Japanese laborers (read: slaves) during the occupation of Korea and the territorial tug-of-war between the Russian and Japanese empires in the early twentieth century. When the Russians took the island after the second world war, many of the Korean people remained and became Russian citizens.
This was explained to me by Yulia (not the same person as Julia, from last time). Yulia is a twenty-two year-old Korean-Russian who is travelling on the boat with me. Her grandmother was a member of the first generation of Korean laborers sent to Salakhin by the Japanese. Not suprisingly, Yulia now identifies more strongly with her Russian heritage than with her Korean background, although she has visited Korean seven times in the past twenty years.
Yulia, by the way, is quad-lingual (a real word?) and works for a French bank operating in Vladivostok. She hopes to immigrate to America in the near future.
The other Asian-Russian people here are of Kzech and Mongolian ancestory. Yulia supposes that the Korean authorities recently carried out oa sweep of illegal workers, since so many of the passengers are carrying huge amounts of baggage.
Interesting woman, that one.
Anyhow, the ferry took about 100 passangers (plus lots of cargo containers) to a little town called Zarubino. Everyone got off there and took a bus to Vladivostok; only Julia, myself and a quiet young Russian man remain on the boat for the last leg of the journey. We should be arriving there in about four hours.
It's really spooky here with no one around.
5:22 pm, Dong chun ferry.
Scorecard:
3:00 pm ferry, Sokcho to Vladivostok, 30 hours
Still on the boat. It turns out that a lot of these Asian Russian nationals are Koreans. I've been told that there were many Korean people living on Sakhalin island as Japanese laborers (read: slaves) during the occupation of Korea and the territorial tug-of-war between the Russian and Japanese empires in the early twentieth century. When the Russians took the island after the second world war, many of the Korean people remained and became Russian citizens.
This was explained to me by Yulia (not the same person as Julia, from last time). Yulia is a twenty-two year-old Korean-Russian who is travelling on the boat with me. Her grandmother was a member of the first generation of Korean laborers sent to Salakhin by the Japanese. Not suprisingly, Yulia now identifies more strongly with her Russian heritage than with her Korean background, although she has visited Korean seven times in the past twenty years.
Yulia, by the way, is quad-lingual (a real word?) and works for a French bank operating in Vladivostok. She hopes to immigrate to America in the near future.
The other Asian-Russian people here are of Kzech and Mongolian ancestory. Yulia supposes that the Korean authorities recently carried out oa sweep of illegal workers, since so many of the passengers are carrying huge amounts of baggage.
Interesting woman, that one.
Anyhow, the ferry took about 100 passangers (plus lots of cargo containers) to a little town called Zarubino. Everyone got off there and took a bus to Vladivostok; only Julia, myself and a quiet young Russian man remain on the boat for the last leg of the journey. We should be arriving there in about four hours.
It's really spooky here with no one around.
5:22 pm, Dong chun ferry.
Scorecard:
3:00 pm ferry, Sokcho to Vladivostok, 30 hours
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Day Five
On the boat to Russia! I think we're moving, finally. It's a big boat, so it's sort of hard to tell. This shall be, by far, the longest period I have spent at sea. My previous best is about six hours between island in Indonesia. This time should be about thirty.
I'm silaing third class, so I'm in a partitioned room that sleeps five people on some very thin floor mats. I'm sharing my room with four Russians (there seems to be only Russians and Koreans on this boat). There is a woman here, Julia, who worked the past two months in a jeans factory near Seoul. It's remarkable to note Russia's decline - from a superpower and world menace in the 80s, to it's current status as a supplier of cheap labor to a second-rate country like Korea. Heck... China supples factory labor for the same industries in Korea. Are these two countries equal now? What would Stalin think?
Russia seems to have a lot of Asian people. Well, on this boat, anyhow. I wish I knew a little about the demographics of the country... perhaps they are indigenous, which would make sense, because Russia IS mostly in Asia. I would ask, but I think that "so, are you, like, Asian?" might be a little inpertinent.
On the boat to Russia! I think we're moving, finally. It's a big boat, so it's sort of hard to tell. This shall be, by far, the longest period I have spent at sea. My previous best is about six hours between island in Indonesia. This time should be about thirty.
I'm silaing third class, so I'm in a partitioned room that sleeps five people on some very thin floor mats. I'm sharing my room with four Russians (there seems to be only Russians and Koreans on this boat). There is a woman here, Julia, who worked the past two months in a jeans factory near Seoul. It's remarkable to note Russia's decline - from a superpower and world menace in the 80s, to it's current status as a supplier of cheap labor to a second-rate country like Korea. Heck... China supples factory labor for the same industries in Korea. Are these two countries equal now? What would Stalin think?
Russia seems to have a lot of Asian people. Well, on this boat, anyhow. I wish I knew a little about the demographics of the country... perhaps they are indigenous, which would make sense, because Russia IS mostly in Asia. I would ask, but I think that "so, are you, like, Asian?" might be a little inpertinent.
Day Four
Scorecard: Samcheok to Sokcho, 4:30 pm bus, three hours
Oh, my hip is so sore. My first injury of many, no doubt. So a short entry.
I saw a pretty girl on a scooter in Samcheok. I though "Yeah, she must be a coffee girl." And my eyes followed her... right into a "coffee shop."
Fucking Korea!
See, Korea has these women called "coffee girls." Lonely Korean men call a "coffee shop" and then a pretty woman drives to his home on her scooter to deliver some coffee. And if he likes what he sees, he negotiates the price of sex with the woman. Yeah, prostitution is everywhere here.
Samcheok is small and charming. I went to the municipal museum and to an exhibition on cave sciences. Now in Sokcho. Russia tomorrow!
9:28 pm
Scorecard: Samcheok to Sokcho, 4:30 pm bus, three hours
Oh, my hip is so sore. My first injury of many, no doubt. So a short entry.
I saw a pretty girl on a scooter in Samcheok. I though "Yeah, she must be a coffee girl." And my eyes followed her... right into a "coffee shop."
Fucking Korea!
See, Korea has these women called "coffee girls." Lonely Korean men call a "coffee shop" and then a pretty woman drives to his home on her scooter to deliver some coffee. And if he likes what he sees, he negotiates the price of sex with the woman. Yeah, prostitution is everywhere here.
Samcheok is small and charming. I went to the municipal museum and to an exhibition on cave sciences. Now in Sokcho. Russia tomorrow!
9:28 pm
Day Three: April 17
So, Gyeonju is sort of cool. It was the captail of the Silla dynastry (one of the three kingdoms in Korea in the BC years...) from 57 BC to 668 AD, at which point Silla conquered the entire pennisula and it became capital of all Korea (until 918, anyhow). Accordingly, it has a lot more visible history than most Korean cities.
Yesterday, I joined forces with some travellers at the hostel (two European students studying in Seoul and a Malaysian tourist) and visited a few sites. Some highlights:
Tumuli Park: a collection of Silla tombs; large grassy hillocks containing remains and treasures. These are similar to the "civilian" tombs in the hills, but a whole lot bigger.
Wolesong Park: containing a neat seventh century astrological observatory.
Anjapi Pond: Picteruesque artificial (though very old) pond created in 674 ad.
Gyermin Forest: A forest? A forest!
Earlier today I set off with Ming, that Malaysian gentleman to visit some sites a little bit outside of the city limits. We visited Bulguksa temple, which (again) sort of blends into the whole Korean temple junket, but also Seokguram Grotto, which is a very impressive statue of the Buddha surrounded by images and statues of more than three dozen dieties and protectors. Getting to the site of the grotto required a bit of work, but it was worth the effort.
I'm in Samcheok now, which reminds me that I should include a scorecard for today:
2:30 pm bus, Gyeongju to Samcheok, 3 1/2 hours.
I hunted around for a Yeoinsuk (sleep on the floor, share a bathroom) that the Lonely Plent tells me has beds for twenty bucks a night, but I don't think that it exists anymore. I was able to find a Lovel Motel, though, with thirty dollar rooms. It's the cheapest in town, I think, and the private bath will allow me to do some laundry later on.
Samcheok, 8:38 pm
So, Gyeonju is sort of cool. It was the captail of the Silla dynastry (one of the three kingdoms in Korea in the BC years...) from 57 BC to 668 AD, at which point Silla conquered the entire pennisula and it became capital of all Korea (until 918, anyhow). Accordingly, it has a lot more visible history than most Korean cities.
Yesterday, I joined forces with some travellers at the hostel (two European students studying in Seoul and a Malaysian tourist) and visited a few sites. Some highlights:
Tumuli Park: a collection of Silla tombs; large grassy hillocks containing remains and treasures. These are similar to the "civilian" tombs in the hills, but a whole lot bigger.
Wolesong Park: containing a neat seventh century astrological observatory.
Anjapi Pond: Picteruesque artificial (though very old) pond created in 674 ad.
Gyermin Forest: A forest? A forest!
Earlier today I set off with Ming, that Malaysian gentleman to visit some sites a little bit outside of the city limits. We visited Bulguksa temple, which (again) sort of blends into the whole Korean temple junket, but also Seokguram Grotto, which is a very impressive statue of the Buddha surrounded by images and statues of more than three dozen dieties and protectors. Getting to the site of the grotto required a bit of work, but it was worth the effort.
I'm in Samcheok now, which reminds me that I should include a scorecard for today:
2:30 pm bus, Gyeongju to Samcheok, 3 1/2 hours.
I hunted around for a Yeoinsuk (sleep on the floor, share a bathroom) that the Lonely Plent tells me has beds for twenty bucks a night, but I don't think that it exists anymore. I was able to find a Lovel Motel, though, with thirty dollar rooms. It's the cheapest in town, I think, and the private bath will allow me to do some laundry later on.
Samcheok, 8:38 pm
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Day Two:
Stuck indoors in Gyeongju now. It's really raining out there. Still in the same hostel as last night - Han Jin Jang. This is an odd place. I've been told that it has been operating for more than three decades, and accordingly, it's got a lot of character. These days, though, it doesn't seem to enjoy much traffic.
The hostel is contained within a two story building, with about 15 rooms for let. There's no dorm beds, but for a few bucks less, travellers can get a room with shared facilities. The rooms are kind of shabby, and the building is furnished mostly with the detritus of it's thirteen years.
All that junk gives the joint some character, of course. I ran into a Polish travellers (a student in a Seoul-based business program) who said to me "you can feel t7he history here... and it's so interesting that no matter where we go, these backpacking places are all the same... same beds... same toast with jam in the morning..."
Like I said, this place has been going for thirty years. The pictures all over the walls suggest that its heyday was sometime in the mid-80s. There are photos everywhere, but the most recent I can find is from 1997. There are many photos from the 80s showing of the owner of the place (Kwon Young Joung) performing yogic feats, but these days he seems to shuffle around rather slowly.
I understand that the hostel was heavily promoted in some old Lonely Planet editions; an excerpt posted on the wall behind me says:
"This is one of the friendliest hostels I've ever come across in my travels and, from the letters which we receive, many travellers agree... the rooms are spotlessly clean, the hotel well maintained... I can't recommend this place enough and travellers from all over the world who have stayed here keep in touch with Mr. Kwon."
Meanwhile, my current book says:
"People don't stay here for the rooms; many are rather grotty. However, the kitchen, courtyard, meeting room and roof deck are great places to commune and plan forays with fellow travellers" (186).
Anyhow, the common areas feel a little bit haunted by the past guests. The current guests, like the owner, tend to shuffle quietly through the hallways.
That said... this IS a thirty year old backpacking joint! I think that age affords it some sort of "legendary" status, and staying here allows me to check off a box on my vagabonding checklist.
Over and out.
April 16, 9:30 pm, same as above.
Stuck indoors in Gyeongju now. It's really raining out there. Still in the same hostel as last night - Han Jin Jang. This is an odd place. I've been told that it has been operating for more than three decades, and accordingly, it's got a lot of character. These days, though, it doesn't seem to enjoy much traffic.
The hostel is contained within a two story building, with about 15 rooms for let. There's no dorm beds, but for a few bucks less, travellers can get a room with shared facilities. The rooms are kind of shabby, and the building is furnished mostly with the detritus of it's thirteen years.
All that junk gives the joint some character, of course. I ran into a Polish travellers (a student in a Seoul-based business program) who said to me "you can feel t7he history here... and it's so interesting that no matter where we go, these backpacking places are all the same... same beds... same toast with jam in the morning..."
Like I said, this place has been going for thirty years. The pictures all over the walls suggest that its heyday was sometime in the mid-80s. There are photos everywhere, but the most recent I can find is from 1997. There are many photos from the 80s showing of the owner of the place (Kwon Young Joung) performing yogic feats, but these days he seems to shuffle around rather slowly.
I understand that the hostel was heavily promoted in some old Lonely Planet editions; an excerpt posted on the wall behind me says:
"This is one of the friendliest hostels I've ever come across in my travels and, from the letters which we receive, many travellers agree... the rooms are spotlessly clean, the hotel well maintained... I can't recommend this place enough and travellers from all over the world who have stayed here keep in touch with Mr. Kwon."
Meanwhile, my current book says:
"People don't stay here for the rooms; many are rather grotty. However, the kitchen, courtyard, meeting room and roof deck are great places to commune and plan forays with fellow travellers" (186).
Anyhow, the common areas feel a little bit haunted by the past guests. The current guests, like the owner, tend to shuffle quietly through the hallways.
That said... this IS a thirty year old backpacking joint! I think that age affords it some sort of "legendary" status, and staying here allows me to check off a box on my vagabonding checklist.
Over and out.
April 16, 9:30 pm, same as above.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Finally! Hostelling in Korea. After two years, even.
Anyways, here's the scorecard for day one:
8:10 am bus from Suncheon to Busan, 3 hours
7:30 pm bus from Busan to Gyeonju, 50 minutes
I suck at goodbyes. But last night I did my best. I cried a bit, despite myself. I think, however, that this diary is supposed to be about my travels, and not the life beforehand, so let's move on.
Left Suncheon on the second bus of the day to Busan. Travelling by bus is almost always the best choice in Korea. The trains are comfortable and fast, but the coverage and departure frequency of the bus routes are tough to beat.
I took my friend Hal-Lan with me to Busan. We work together. She's a really nice kid, about two months into her first teaching job. Hal-Lan is sort of inexperienced at life and work, but is learning rather quickly. And there is some travel in her future also, with a month in Europe pencilled in for this coming summer.
Today was my second trip to Busan. Last time, I concentrated on some urban sites: the Busan aquarium (nice), the "famous" Haeundae Beach (horrid and fake), Napodong Market (delightful) and the Busan Museum of Modern Art (pretty nice). So, this time around I went with Hal-Lan to a place outside of the city. We escaped the urab jungle to Beomeosa, a rather wonderful Buddhist temple complex. And yeah, all of these giant Korean temples all sort of look the same, but they usually impress if one is in the proper mood and if the weather cooperates - Beomosa also has some nice hiking opportunities.
Another note abuot Busan: my Lonely Planet says that Busan's populace has "a quirky custom of banging into strangers in public places" (208). That statement is hilariously accurate! Navigating crowds is always fun for Koreans and tourists alike.
Anyhow, Hal-Lan asn I walked a bit, and had a couple of nice meals. She took a bus back to Suncheon, while I took a 7:30 bus on to the city of Gyeongju. And hey, I know I said that the bus system is top notch here, but beware nigt time buses: the heat is always on, and the windows never open. A hapless tourist can find himself trapped in a sweat box for an overnight journey. Yuck!
So, yeah, I'm in Gyeongju, in one of Korea's few hostels. It's called Han-Jin Jang Hostel. It's a tatty place, and a bit too expensive, but it seems sort of sup-ercool, in a shitty sort of way. But more about this place when I explore some more tomorrow morning.
April 15, 9:43 pm, Gyeongju, Han-Jin Jang Hostel
Anyways, here's the scorecard for day one:
8:10 am bus from Suncheon to Busan, 3 hours
7:30 pm bus from Busan to Gyeonju, 50 minutes
I suck at goodbyes. But last night I did my best. I cried a bit, despite myself. I think, however, that this diary is supposed to be about my travels, and not the life beforehand, so let's move on.
Left Suncheon on the second bus of the day to Busan. Travelling by bus is almost always the best choice in Korea. The trains are comfortable and fast, but the coverage and departure frequency of the bus routes are tough to beat.
I took my friend Hal-Lan with me to Busan. We work together. She's a really nice kid, about two months into her first teaching job. Hal-Lan is sort of inexperienced at life and work, but is learning rather quickly. And there is some travel in her future also, with a month in Europe pencilled in for this coming summer.
Today was my second trip to Busan. Last time, I concentrated on some urban sites: the Busan aquarium (nice), the "famous" Haeundae Beach (horrid and fake), Napodong Market (delightful) and the Busan Museum of Modern Art (pretty nice). So, this time around I went with Hal-Lan to a place outside of the city. We escaped the urab jungle to Beomeosa, a rather wonderful Buddhist temple complex. And yeah, all of these giant Korean temples all sort of look the same, but they usually impress if one is in the proper mood and if the weather cooperates - Beomosa also has some nice hiking opportunities.
Another note abuot Busan: my Lonely Planet says that Busan's populace has "a quirky custom of banging into strangers in public places" (208). That statement is hilariously accurate! Navigating crowds is always fun for Koreans and tourists alike.
Anyhow, Hal-Lan asn I walked a bit, and had a couple of nice meals. She took a bus back to Suncheon, while I took a 7:30 bus on to the city of Gyeongju. And hey, I know I said that the bus system is top notch here, but beware nigt time buses: the heat is always on, and the windows never open. A hapless tourist can find himself trapped in a sweat box for an overnight journey. Yuck!
So, yeah, I'm in Gyeongju, in one of Korea's few hostels. It's called Han-Jin Jang Hostel. It's a tatty place, and a bit too expensive, but it seems sort of sup-ercool, in a shitty sort of way. But more about this place when I explore some more tomorrow morning.
April 15, 9:43 pm, Gyeongju, Han-Jin Jang Hostel
Thursday, April 05, 2007
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