The Siberian Ham

[tikistitch]

Wanted to add some babble to this imagery from our Trans Siberian experience. Here's the first thing: no WiFi on the Trans Siberian! Woe is us.





Your hardy travelling companions, Wombat Mark, Cookie Lys, and Transformer Andy. They're ready for (almost) anything. Well, except maybe Svetlana in the Russian dining car.



We were in First Class, which is cool, since it meant only two people to the compartment (instead of 4), the bathroom stayed almost nice, and we had SHOWERS. These are the British girls we shared our shower with. They spent their time running around in their underwear, which surprisingly seemed to attract a bit of attention amongst the male passengers. Tiki immediately forgot their real names, and dubbed them Paris & Nicole.

They actually brought a picture of themselve in full cuteness, which they taped to their compartment door. We wondered why, other than pure narcissism of course. One night, tiki was changing into PJs, and thus had locked her compartment. We heard our handle rattling, and a small knock. We threw on our tshirt, and opened the door, looking for our lovely Mr. Tiki. Instead, we saw a small group of boys entering Paris & Nicole's compartment, next door. Yes, Paris & Nicole had taped a photograph of themselves to their compartment door, yet their swains remained literally too stupid to find it.



Some days after we left Moscow, Paris & Nicole stopped by tiki's compartment, with a discovery!!! We had showers!!! ZOMG.

Here's a picture of the shared shower, after it was discovered by Paris & Nicole.



Unfortunately, we didn't get any pictures of Svetlana, our Russian dining car hostess. We don't know that's her name, so we just made it up. We first became aware of the lovely Svetlana when we wandered into her abode, and she immediately screeched, "STATION!!!" We thought at first we had discovered a fellow Bill & Ted fan amongst the Steppes. But, no, as an English speaker explained at length, the Russian dining car didn't run when the train was in the station. Nor too full. Nor when it was too late. Nor when the cook was in a bad mood (read = always).



Tiki soon learned to obtain sustenance instead from the jolly Chinese conductors, who would gladly deliver cookies or very very VERY cold Chinese beer for American dollars. Our travelling companions however were more stubborn, and proceded at least daily to the end of the train for more teh Drama.



We soon learned to avoid actions which would upset the Russian Dining Car Crew. Including asking for change for any bill bigger than $20. Russians find making change appalling. Our biggest regret: we never tried "Sprats With Oil." Though we were content to leave The Ham alone.

We were intrigued by this last entry as it explained so much about our Russian experience. We believe the lack of articles "the" and "a" in the language has led to a persisent mismatch of quantity to need. For example, at restaurants, there is the menu. No matter the size of the group, the menu is, grudgingly, distributed. It is then passed around the circle to determine order, then again to point out items to the waitress, and then again when the waitress returns to announce that items are not after all on the menu.

One morning, when Mr. Tiki had instructed us to alight at a small town station early in the morning in quest for something to fill his hungry tummy, we approached a kiosk to see the woman ahead of us in light wrapping up a loaf of bread. Eureka, we thought, no searching the vocabulary list, just pointing. We thus pointed to the loaf of bread, only to receive a typical Russian Burst of Drama. "NYET!" with multiple waves. No more bread. There was, in this whole Russian town, only the bread, one loaf for all the masses.

We never consumed the ham. So, if you go on the Trans Siberian Express, it still awaits.

But as all good things must come to an end, at length, we arrived at the Mongolian border, and it was time for passport check. A jolly 6 hours later, we moved from the Russian side to the Mongolian side, for another passport check.



It was at this point that our friend, Wombat Mark, first had an inkling that Ozzies might need a visa before they were permitted entry to Mongolia. As this proved true, courteous Mongolian gendarmes kindly forced WM off the moving train at gunpoint for the purchasing of said visa. Meanwhile, whilst Mark contemplated his life of exile in Siberia, or worse, a lifetime in the Russian dining car with Svetlana and the Ham, our engine started suddenly steaming backwards. Towards Russia.

The Chinese conductors grinned and shouted, "We go back to Russia!"

A one, the car screamed "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"



Some hours later, Wombat Mark was back in the fold, and it was long after midnight. We decided that we were tired of being screamed at in the Russian Dining Car, so ventured to the newly hooked Chinese Dining Car for expected Sino-Abuse.



Er. It was....pretty.

People were....nice.

Best of all, there was....beer!!!!!



And noodles. Mmmmmm, noodles. Mmmmm, Mongolia.



We'll say more about Mongolia soon. There was Beer. And, there was Dr. House. (Yes, really Ann!) And a place like TGI Fridays only with toilet-bowl-sized beer. And, they'd been to Disneyland. But we're suddenly hungry for noodles. And beer.

Comments

[annlarimer.livejournal.com]

Allsorts meat and fish -- the delicious liquorice meat and fish!

Mongolia looks like my various siblings' apartments in the early 1970s. "Tolkein is far out, man!"

[tikistitch.livejournal.com]

You're so totally dying to know about Dr. House--Ulan Baatar.

[annlarimer.livejournal.com]

I'm still kind of gobsmacked by Paris and Nicole.

All right -- tell me of this Dr House.

[tikistitch.livejournal.com]

Paris & Nicole made our trip so full of bitchy wonderfulness. Plus, no annoying little dogs.

We went to a national park outside Ulan Baator, Outer Mongolia. These crazy guys drove us about an hour outside of the city, sometimes on the road, sometimes off the road, sometimes heading right into an oncoming lorry. (It was more fun going back, after they'd spent the day drinkin' beer.)

Anyways, we get to this national park, and they've got kewl rock formations and horsies and people using falcons to hunt for stuff. Plus, golf courses!! And this cute little Mongolian family invites us into their traditional hut/tent dealo to eat cookies for a while. Whilst we awaited our Authentic Experience (which eventually included frozen crinkle cut fries), a gabbled, and a resentful looking Mongolian teenager huddled over their television, scanning for terrible Russian music videos.

Then, it was House MD. It just was. House and Cuddy and her boobies. And, Hugh opened his mouth, and spouted...I dunno, maybe Mongolian? Maybe Chinese? Or Russian? It was deep and rumbly and cranky. After a minute of stunnedness, I screamed "Dr. House in MONGOLIA EEEEEEEEEE!" and everbody looked like I was off my rocker, which I am. The teenager scowled more deeply and then hit the channel button to see more bad Russian music videos and I swear I saw him smile a snotty little smile like "gotcha, stupid tourist." In retrospect, I should have wrestled the little bastard for the remote.

[annlarimer.livejournal.com]

I would've screamed, too.