Travels in Russia – before the war - Novosibirsk:

1. The Excursion

I awake to glorious, blinding sunshine. My jet lag of the previous two days is now banished to memory. A quick look from my seventh floor balcony shows me that the snow has almost disappeared and Spring is finally here. I have been living in Novosibirsk for over four months now and I have seen most of the city on foot. Having recently acquired a car, it is surely time for an excursion further afield; time for me to resume my travels in this seemingly never ending country.

I have heard that the world’s largest railway museum is sited only a few kilometres outside the city so I decide this is my destination. Olesia, whom I only met for the first time yesterday, has told me how to get there, so I head for the M52 in rapt anticipation. Let me put this in context – I love trains – I have always loved trains, so here, I am in my element. Everywhere in Novosibirsk, there are trains; the train seems a part of the landscape; they almost meld into the environment. I have never seen the train so close to everything; there are level crossings on almost every road. Between the airport, where I work, and my apartment, there are seventeen level crossings alone. When you think about it, it makes sense. Siberia is huge – the largest area on earth – larger than Canada. Large parts of it are inhospitable and difficult to reach; distances are vast; roads can sometimes be poor, so it makes sense that rail is the transport of the people and the main means of distribution. The train tracks parallel the roads here regularly. I hardly travel a few kilometres in any direction without seeing a train. But all that is incidental – I am going to visit a museum - when I reach my destination, I am not disappointed.

Part of the world's largest train museum outside Novosibirsk (that's my bicycle in the foreground)

The museum is a marvel, a gem, sparkling and expectant in the fresh air and sunshine of a Siberian spring. There are so many exhibits to see, it is mind blowing. I have been fascinated by trains from a very early age and I am in my own personal nirvana as I dash from one locomotive to the next, earnestly taking photographs and trying to see and record everything. There is also a small exhibition of old Russian cars but for me, it is the trains that fascinate. Every imaginable type is here, from the oldest, most primitive locomotives to the huge powerful variants from the 1940’s and 1950’s, to electric trains and even the most recent RVR bullet-train that saw service between Moscow and St Petersburg during the 1990’s before being replaced by today’s ultra modern Sapsan. There are also special locomotives which I would never have seen before which perform all sorts of tasks including snow clearance and track straightening. There are many more devices which I cannot guess as to what function they performed. I cannot think of a single piece of rail equipment that is not represented here. Even Thomas the Tank Engine would be impressed!

The older locomotives are without question the most beautiful and I wonder at the huge distances they have travelled and the places they have surely seen and the stories they could tell; these behemoths have kept moving continuously, some for between thirty and forty years, all across the then USSR, from the depths of the Eastern Siberian winter and temperatures of -60 to scorching summers with the heat reaching +40.

After my first dash around the museum, I put away the camera and move more slowly now, for a closer look. It is possible to board some of the trains and visit some of the carriages and it is easy to visualize the passengers on these long distance journeys; I am fascinated to see that there are four separate classes of passenger carriages; the most I have seen before now is three. Fourth class is rather basic but still useable.

Suddenly, as I look at some of the goods wagons, I spy a cattle car and even though it is a warm day, a chill comes over me and I shiver in anticipation. I love Russia and its people and I have read its history comprehensively. I am momentarily saddened, tearful and angry, when I think again of the enormous terror and unspeakable privations that were inflicted on these people by evil men in the past. I wonder if this particular cattle carriage ever carried human cargo; but even if it didn’t, many of its counterparts did. I am from the west and like all people, I am a product of my culture. When western people think of Siberia, they immediately associate it with exile and prison and the Gulag; perhaps some Russians do also? I am reminded that none of my Russian friends in St Petersburg or Moscow expressed a wish to visit me here, despite my open invitation. I said, ‘but it’s a beautiful place, you will enjoy it’ and they said, ‘yes Liam, sure, but it is Sibir’. I obviously don’t understand.

I think again of the writings of Solzhenitsyn and Applebaum about the Great Terror and the Gulag. I have not seen a museum in Novosibirsk dedicated to the victims of that awful period in history but that does not mean there isn’t one. I saw one once in Suzdal, in western Russia, on the Golden Ring. It was very graphic and deeply moving. When I sit in my apartment, I can see the main Novosibirsk railway station from my window and I wonder at how many millions of poor innocent souls passed through there on their way east and north, most never to return; the vast majority guilty of no crime; just people picked at random to be expedient instruments of the State who wished to control its people through terror. I wonder at their thoughts – anxiety, fear, dread, maybe even a little hope still cherished? The main station is a beautiful building and ornately decorated inside and out. To the casual visitor, it looks just that – an attractive, well designed building. It is very comfortable and user friendly. On closer inspection, one can see that, even today, it is still not possible to exit the station directly from any of the platforms which are situated on the lower level, to the main station and the exit on the upper level. Of course there is an exit, but it is just one carefully guarded door, so back in the days of mass transits, even if someone managed to escape from the train, they could not exit the station. The designers were well briefed.

I am disturbed from my reverie by the playful laughter of children as they frolic about staring in awe at the exhibits and I am brought back to reality. I am reminded that this is a different Russia now and that this is a beautiful spring day. The quality of light is astonishing and reminds me of the west of Ireland where light quality is dictated by good weather and the purity of the air. So, air is obviously as clear here as people claim. The children are playful and giggling and full of the joys of life and know nothing of what transpired in this land in the past. And that is only as it should be. I think of the Irish song writer, Paul Brady, who said:

‘This wasn’t meant to be no sad song,

we’ve sung too much of that before’

and I realise I started out today to explore the Siberian countryside. So, I consign the past to history and move on. It is still a wonderful day so I decide to head for Barnaul. This is a city about two hundred kilometres from Novosibirsk so is easily reachable and returnable from in a day.

I love visiting different places – all over the world. I have travelled widely, both for pleasure and for work. I have lived in numerous locations, so much so that I won an Irish radio competition one time for the person with the most addresses. But everywhere I am based, I have to see every part of it and anywhere that is within driving distance. Ukraine for me was ideal. I lived there for two years and was based in the centre, in Kyiv. So, all other places were easily reachable over a weekend and I explored the country comprehensively. People ask me why I visit places which are not popular tourist destinations; places like Barnaul. They say, ‘in Russia, cities are all the same.’ I smile and say ‘no they are not, every place on earth is unique and has its own unique features; it also has its own people and culture and everywhere differs, albeit sometimes only slightly but it does differ.’ Not everywhere can be Paris or Rome, but each has its own unique character. I am interested in people and culture from different places so I will always find something to observe or something to interest me, no matter where I travel to. Yes, there is a certain sameness about the suburban architecture in most Russian cities but it doesn’t make the rest of the city or the people the same; it depends on what you look for. I don’t see the tower blocks – I want to know about the people who live in them; each one different; each one unique, with their own story to tell and their own views on life.

The trip is fairly uneventful with few hills but typical Siberian landscape; flat, rolling landscape with infinite amounts of trees and great expanses of pastureland. Green shoots peep out from under the fast melting snowdrifts; if you look very closely, even the odd wild flower can be detected. You are never far from water in Siberia. Lakes and rivers abound. As I watch the ice fishermen, they remind me again about the Russian liking for extremes. Today the temperature is +7! I stop beside a lake and I watch, fascinated; large tracts of the ice have already melted; you can clearly see the water; other parts have ruptured; yet more parts are rupturing and cracking as I stand there. Yet these men don’t bat an eyelid and they persist in their quest, their rods descending into the murky depths hoping for a catch. I can only think of two words – danger and extremes. Every year, lots of people are killed in Russia when the ice melts and they are either left marooned or swallowed up and drowned. I would advise them of this if I thought for even a moment that they would take heed.

So I move on again. I stop for a coffee and remark at the enormous difference in prices between the cities and the countryside. A coffee out here costs about fifty cents but in the cities, it can be up to four euro. Food is healthy, wholesome and good value.

As I get close to Barnaul, my phone beeps indicating an incoming e-mail. I stop to check and I discover it is my friend Olesia, asking me if I went to the museum and wishing me an enjoyable weekend. I suddenly realise I have perfect 3G coverage – in the middle of Siberia. Russian people may shrug but Irish people would not. In Ireland and most of Europe, 3G coverage is fine in the cities but once you are in the countryside, you are lucky to get even 1G or 2G coverage. It is possibly due to the fact that when you drive in the country in Russia, every few kilometres, you will see massive communication masts. These were here long before mass mobile communications technology was invented and were presumably for military use. So, when the technology came in, Russia already had the infrastructure in place and just needed to add the mobile antennae.

So don’t let anyone think that Russia is behind in technology – it isn’t – in fact, no country on earth, in my experience, has so embraced mobile technology. Everyone here has I-phones or Samsung Galaxy’s, but mainly I-phones. I am fascinated at how Apple factories in China can make so many so quickly. These phones are not old models either – they are the very latest. Russians treat their mobile phones as much as a fashion accessory as a device for communication. They must have the latest and trendiest model with the most up to date technology. But for me, this situation is wonderful. I can reach everyone I work with and everyone I know anywhere and at any time. People readily give me their phone numbers and e-mail addresses here and in only four months, I already have many new friends.

Mid afternoon and I reach Barnaul. On the way, I was stopped by very polite traffic police who advised me of speed limit. I was apparently 10k over the limit but generally, they allow 20k over here. The police are very friendly, more so than elsewhere. For me, it is reflective of the general populace. I have found Siberian people to be very welcoming and friendly. In cafes, bars, restaurants and shops, I am pleasantly surprised on a constant basis. They always ask where I am from and when they hear Ireland, it usually results in a long conversation and a series of questions. Invariably, we exchange contact details. In fairness, I found people in other Russian cities friendly also but the openness of Siberians tends to prove the Russian saying, “Russia is not just Moscow or St Petersburg.”

Incidentally, the police ask me where I am going to. When I say to Barnaul, they look confused and ask me why? Why would a foreigner want to visit there without a specific purpose? They say ‘there is nothing to see.’ I smile and I assure them that I will find something. I am tempted to give them the answer a famous explorer once gave when asked why he wanted to climb Everest. ‘Because it’s there,’ he replied. I tell the policemen that I visit places for precisely the same reason when I have time available. So they wish me luck and with a smile, they tell me to enjoy and be happy. Once again in Russia, I was not disappointed. The city was wonderful, with pre-revolutionary architecture, wide leafy avenues and numerous parks and green spaces. It was a very special day and I was happy to add many more places to my store of memories.

2 - The road to Omsk:

Some would say the road to Omsk is 600 kilometres of nothing. It is true that there is no major conurbation and only a very rare glimpse of a tiny village, occasionally peeping out from behind small woods set off in the distance. But look a little closer; stop your car and breathe the wonderful fresh air; take a short walk on the steppe; touch the rich black earth, almost peat like in its consistence. You look at the vastness of it, all untouched, virgin land, teeming with life and richness and you realize that with a few hundred square miles of this, you could feed the world’s hungry. For me, this type of landscape embodies my concept of the real Siberia. Endless flat steppe, marshland, trees, wild grasses, wild flowers and the long straight lonely road racing towards the seemingly impossibly unreachable horizon.

The road surface is surprisingly good, possibly because most traffic here moves at a constant speed; fast. There are only two lanes but traffic is light and there are no tailbacks, no blockages, only rare crossroads and turnoffs and little visible signs of human habitation. While Russian traffic police are usually very diligent and can be found patrolling most main roads, there appears to be an unwritten pact out here. It’s as if they are saying, ‘OK guys, you’ve got a hell of a long journey so it’s alright if you step on it a little’. But beware; all over Russia, small memorials, usually in the form of crosses, dot the roadside. I have seen an occasional one in Ireland marking the spot where some unfortunate person was killed in a road accident but you rarely see them from your car. They are usually discreet and I have seen most of them while cycling. Here, they are everywhere and very clearly visible. On every road I have travelled, there are numerous examples of them. While Russia does have a very high incidence of road deaths, I guess the reason they are so common is that it appears that one is erected for almost every person who meets their demise this way. That’s an average of forty thousand people annually or the entire population of a good sized Irish town. In Ireland, we always had a tradition of saying a prayer if you passed a memorial and old habits die hard so today, I am turning off my music on a regular basis to pray for some poor person who never made it to Omsk.

I stop and take a look round and revel in the vastness of the place. On days like this, I would love to bring the daft buggers who perpetrate the notion that the earth is overcrowded out here. After three hours or so of seeing nothing but trees and grass and not a single dwelling, they might change their minds. Not convinced? OK, try ten days of it – it might get you half way across Siberia but if you are stopping for food and rest, you’d need about a month travelling constantly. If you are not convinced by then, there’s something wrong with you. The same experience can be had in Canada of course.

After another hour of a steady 160 kph (100 mph) on open roads straighter than a preacher, I think I see buildings in the distance. In wide open spaces, distances can be deceptive. I had the same experience once in the Nevada desert where something that seemed close was actually ten miles away. This time it’s only about seven and as it materialises from the hazy sunshine, I realize it is not a mirage. Neither is it a city or even a town though. There is a sign which tells me the village is called Chelim, which I think has a nice ring to it. (It’s almost saying to me, check me out Liam). So I do as it’s close to lunch time anyway. The actual houses are all set well back from the road, at least two kilometres away and all look to be so old as to be either abandoned or close to and all are probably pre-revolution dwellings from the nineteenth century.

The only other building is a roadside café, which just advertises itself as ‘Stolovaya’, which literally means canteen or dining room for workers. Now, Russian roadside cafes can be hit or miss. They run the full scale from appalling through average to very good. But you won’t be able to tell this from the outside or often indeed from the interior décor. The key, like in many other countries is often the number of trucks you see outside. Today there is only one but I will try anyway - I hit the jackpot. In what looked a very ordinary, somewhat ramshackle building, with standard functional tables and chairs, I was served a veritable feast.

First I had the most delicious soup made from vegetables and potatoes and some of those 'secret' ingredients that Russian Mothers seem to know all about and guard jealously. When times were tough and food was scarce and that which was available was bland, the clever home maker had her fund of knowledge of how to make the food flavoursome. I’m sure Irish Mothers had similar secrets unless my memory is playing tricks on me. I don't want to know the recipe - it's good that these things remain mysterious. I'm just privileged to taste the result. Russian soup is not like in most countries. It is literally a full meal it itself. It is never pureed and you can see the vegetables and the meat and the potatoes. Today’s bowl is actually more akin to a basin and I struggle to finish it.

After the soup, I have roast chicken with mashed potatoes - another Russian specialty - the potatoes I mean. Again, I have no idea what they put in them apart from milk and salt and pepper but I could never get them to taste that good. Perhaps it is in some way related to the potatoes as Russian spuds certainly leave Irish ones in the shade for flavor. And that’s from an Irishman who loves his spuds. By the way, I could also have had pork, beef, fish or burgers. If I was vegetarian, I was also fully catered for with an array of vegetables and salads that would grace any buffet. The food was simply prepared and simply presented. No frills but none were required.

A cup of coffee and a friendly smile from my waitress and I am on my way again. Oh, and most importantly, the entire meal cost four euro. I am so delighted with myself that I think, ‘why would anyone bother buying food in a shop when you can eat so cheaply in a restaurant. But it is only a momentary lapse. I remember that:

Most people don’t earn my salary. Most salaries are very low.

Most roadside cafes are not like this one.

Restaurants in the cities are very expensive.

It is six hundred kilometres from Novosibirsk to Omsk. Normally, on poor Russian roads, with the requirement to slow through villages and towns and speed checks, the journey would take you twelve hours or maybe longer. With a speed detector and a clear road, you might do it in six. But this isn’t an ordinary Russian road; this is one which goes through a veritable wilderness, albeit to me, a magnificent wilderness. Today, I do the journey in five hours and I make it back in a little more than that. Mind you, both the outward and the return journeys featured stops to breathe the purest air, revel in the sheer isolation of it all and to enjoy the beautiful countryside. Who was the idiot who said Siberia is boring?