Vodka, beer, smoked fish, kangaroo and a cabin full of Ruskies

The mad russkies!

So we got lucky with Victor and Gallia, then amazingly had the cabin to ourselves for two gloriously relaxing nights.

All that changed at 10am this morning though, with the arrival of Alec and Alexander, two young fireman from Norilsk (which is not that far from the artic) heading to Irkutsk for training.

Within minutes, the little table in our cabin (which for the past two days had played host to the Moscow-Irkustk 'Shithead' World Series) was piled high with vodka, beer, smoked fish, cheese and ham (although the Ruskies tried to tell us it was kangaroo). By 11am, the cabin was full, the fish had been gutted (using carl's leatherman), and the first round of vodka had been drunk. We'd been joined by two more fireman - andre and another alexander - and a lawyer, Irene, who was dragged in because she could speak English and quickly became known as 'the translator'. By 2pm, three bottles of vodka had disappeared, Em was struggling to speak English as well as Russian, and we were comparing Russian techno with Western techno. At 3pm, we begged to be let out of the cabin for a toilet stop and headed for the refuge of the restaurant car. Along the way, we ran into an English guy we'd met in Moscow who introduced us to three Aussie women, all in their 50s, on their annual 'girls' trip. We chatted to them for a couple of hours and shared some potato/donut delights that Carl had bought from the platform at one of our stops. We were joined briefly by some weird Russian man (we think he was mafia). Em spoke to him in Russian (meaning she repeated all the Russian phrases she knew, ending nicely with das vadanya, and he wandered off looking extremely confused).

Finally, we made it to the restaurant car. We settled in with a drink and our trusty cards, and hoped for some peace and quiet to sober up! No luck. A skinhead, tattooed russky clocked our cards, pulled up a chair and insisted we play durec. New rules again - carl was baffled, we lost and Em just laughed and laughed. Eventually, we were allowed to escape ... we skulked back to the cabin, desperately hoping that it was empty or our russian friends had passed out.

We should have known better. More beer, more vodka and more durec (with different rules again). Some magic tricks, a stop at Tayshet - once an infamous transit point for Gulag prisoners - and a chance to stretch our legs on the platform for half an hour.

Now at 11pm, alec is snoring like a trooper and we can't sleep. Bring on Irkutsk.

Ahhhh, quiet ...

Having breakfast with Victor and Gallia

Victor and Gallia - our first cabin mates for the journey from Moscow to Irkutsk in Siberia - have just got off the train at their home town, Kirov, about 10 hours from Moscow.

Hilarilously, they work for Amway and had just been in Sardinia for an international Amway conference. Like all good Amway-ers, it took them all of five seconds to start pulling all kinds of Amway gear from their bags. Not surprisingly, the Russian demonstrations failed to impress us ... luckily, they didn't seem upset.

They spoke very little English - in fact, Gallia spoke none at all. But we managed to get by. They fed us crazy Russian food (like horrible salty dried shrimps), left us food when they got off the train and Victor taught us a Russian card game called Durec ... or tried to. Carl remains baffled and we both lost every game I think. Now we have the cabin to ourselves, although probably not for long.

The Red Square, Moscow

Carl in the Red Square, Moscow

Moscow metro madness

We read on the train from St Petersburg to Moscow that the Moscow metro takes more passengers every day than the London and New York metros combined. Undeterred and determined not to spend 700 rubles on a cab, we headed straight there steeling ourselves for a bit of push and shove. We bought our tickets, walked through the doors and were greeted by the biggest scrum of people we have ever seen. Hundreds of people scrumming their way onto one escalator. We looked at each other. Then back at the scrum. Then back at each other. I thought about the size of my pack and the potential disaster if I was pushed forward a little too far. "Hell no," I said. "Let's get coffee and come back after peak hour."

Our eight hour train journey on the Red Arrow from St Petersburg to Moscow had passed without incident. We'd shared our cabin with two russky businessmen, both on their way to Moscow for meetings, and managed some sleep but not enough to face the metro without caffeine in our veins.

One hour later ...

We looked at the scrum. Then at each other. Then back at the scrum. It was a little smaller, but not much. "To hell with it," I said. "If we get split up I'll see you at the next station." We pushed our way in. My feet left the ground and I was swept to the top of the escalator. Carl was lost in the crowd.

I waited at the bottom of the escalator. When Carl finally made it, we stopped and stared again. Then steeled ourselves. London tubes were nothing like this. Again, I got swept onto the train. Carl squeezed in. Our packs were pressed against people's faces. But to hell with it. The train spat us out at our stop, we breathed a sigh of relief. We made it.

Alcohol concept bars?

We saw one of these bars when we were wandering around last night and had a little chuckle to ourselves. After three days in St Petersburg, we are pretty confident that alcohol is not just a concept for the old ruskies, but a social and business imperative. Or maybe it's a fashion accessory. Whatever the reason, everyone everywhere is drinking booze. Workmen, business people, kids, old babushkas ... everyone. Not that it's a bad thing. It's just odd. And it makes it bloody hard to navigate the streets.

At first, we were wondering why St Petersburgers couldn't walk in a straight line. Then we realised it's because they're all drunk. But they seem happy (except for the miserable sods working in restaurants and cafes but maybe they're not allowed to drink on the job?), so I suppose that's all that matters. Plus six months of freezing temperatures is enough to drive anyone to drink. At least, that's the impression we get from the lady who manages our hotel.

Still it's a pretty cool city. Very European, although on a much grander scale than most European cities we've been to. The buildings are huge, the churches are huge, the monuments are huge, the streets are huge. Even most of the cars are pretty darn big.

We had a pretty relaxing few days. We've done a few of the sights. The Hermitage took us two hours, which is possibly some kind of record but we're really not that into art. The one museum we did want to visit - the Blockade museum, which covers the siege of Leningrad in which more than 1 million russians were killed or starved to death - was closed when we got there. But we did visit the naval ship, Aurora, which apparently started the Russian revolution, so that was pretty cool.

To be honest though, we are looking forward to jumping on the train to Moscow tonight. It's the first leg of our train journey. We leave St Petersburg at 11:55pm on the Red Arrow and get into Moscow at about 9am. Rumour has it 1st class on the Red Arrow is a pretty comfortable way to travel. But we're in 2nd class. At half the price, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Five things we've already learnt about the Russkys

1. Public drinking is not just legal, it's compulsory regardless of age. No need to head to the local boozer. Your nearest park or metro station will do.
2. All that glitters is gold. This is the motto of the new Russkys, dressed to impress at all times (even when walking the dog) in gold, silver, sequins, and killer stiletto knee high boots.
3. Thou shalt always carry your wife/girlfriend's handbag. Either that or Russky males also like to add a bit of bling to their winter wardrobe.
4. Thou shalt always greet wife/girlfriend with bouquet of roses or leaves that you have picked up from the gutter. I am waiting, but somehow I don't think Carlosky is going to oblige.
5. Serving customers is serious business. Do not smile and do not speak.

Our first night in St Petersburg (and the only evidence I have left of my new beanie, lost forever at the Hermitage)

On the road again ...

One Aussie. One Kiwi. One plane ticket around the world.
We're off on our next big adventure so its time to get the blog kicking. Check in regular to find out where we are and what mischief we are up to.

A howler ...

Phew, it's the end of birthday week for another year. Lucky, because I don't have the energy that I used to. I am, after all, now officially in my mid-20s (okay late-20s). How did that happen?

The Howling Bells at Koko

Last night, we marked the end of birthday week with a bit of Aussie music at a fantastic club in Koko in Camden. The Howling Bells were great but the venue was the real showstopper. An old style theatre, the balconies decorated gilded with red and gold, chandelliers all over the place.

My actual birthday was on Tuesday though. I had to work, but all the birthday messages I recieved made the day bearable. Dinner at the Electric Brasserie on Portabello Road and a movie at the famous old Electric Cinema didn't hurt either. On Saturday night, we put on our dancing shoes and headed to a club in Brixton. Got home at 5am ... not a bad innings for an ol' bird, don't ya think?

Thanks for everyone who texted, emailed or called! A big shout out to all those misbehaver who helped me run amok on Saturday night. Now, it's time to catch up on all that beauty sleep I missed ...

It's snowing on Quill Lane!

So I risked life and limb this morning to run outside in my ugg boots and pjs and take a picture in the snow. Later, when there's a bit more, I'll go out and do a snow angel ... and I'll ignore the disapproving looks I get from the English who think snow is just a disruption to their train journey. I may also go and find a nice spot in a cafe, near a window, and watch people slip on the cobbles ... sadistic I know, but you can't beat a bit of real life slapstick!

Snow on our lane

No barbecues right now!

Australia V Denmark

Revoke his passport! He doesn't deserve it! Don Carlos watched the Socceroos play Denmark tonight ... and he wore his Danish soccer shirt. And he sent this message to me at half time:
"3 nil to the mighty danes, half time. Barnesy sung the national anthem! Worse display than the aussie boys".

Traitor. Was certainly a different story last year in June, when the danes didn't make it to the world cup and the Aussies did. Need a little reminder ...