Final Farewells and Farcical Flights

So it is all over! I stayed safe and I didn't die, but now that I'm home my confused little brain is having a pretty tough time adjusting to "normal" everyday life. I am so very confused! Aside from the jet lag (which, only being 3 hours I thought wouldn't be an issue), I am completely unable to make any decisions, have forgotten how to put an outfit together, and distressed because I now dislike my previous first love, Dairy Milk chocolate, and have to keep fighting the instinct to speak to people in Russian. It's a pretty hilarious experiential state of affairs, and I imagine, even more hilarious, or maybe just really annoying to witness. After a far too brief stop at home-home, which was spent mainly acquainting myself with the puppy - I am writing this on my way to London, where the rest of my life is, and thought I would finish everything off with a final blog about St Petersburg and my somewhat ridiculous journey back to Blighty.

My final and overnight train from Moscow to St Petersburg was a sleepless affair, and I arrived in what used to be Leningrad at 0530, in the freezing cold and 2ft of snow. After a quick breakfast pit-stop to orientate myself into this new city, I walked through whirlwinds of snow being blown across whited out sidewalks and rang the bell of the hostel furiously to wake up the night staff and get out of the cold. Inevitably that day turned into a regroup day, spent largely on a big leather sofa in the hostel watching a polish music channel when The Brothers Karamazov got a little bit too much. That night I did go out for a delicious italian meal, with good wine, bread and tiramisu, and I then ducked out of a pub crawl after the first stop, two vodkas and being hit by a wall of tiredness.

Glamorous is to Moscow as Charming is to St Petersburg

Having now been to both, I can see why there would be such rivalry between Moscow and St Petersburg. Having already designated myself a person of little discernment, I don't feel the need to decide between them and I really do just love them both. While Moscow is edgy and contentious, St Petersburg is it's aristocratic and bohemian cousin. Everything in St Petersburg is ornate, classical and grandiose. To walk down the Nevsky Prospect (which is the most famous street in Russia) is to be a little overwhelmed by just how many of the buildings (practically all of them) are huge and intricately and exuberantly decorated. Of all the grand and spectacular buildings that abound in St Petersburg, the most breathtaking and utterly and completely overwhelming is The State Hermitage. After my lazy day on the sofa, I wrapped up in two pairs of leggings underneath my trekking pants, two shirts underneath two jumpers and my coat, and the hat, gloves, scarf etc... it had dropped to -12. I headed out with my new friend Michael, (who, it transpires, used to live approximately 5 minutes away from my flat in Muswell Hill) to this 22km giant of a museum. We reached the square in Dvortsovaya Pl and I was completely awestruck (for the first, of many times that day). It was vast, and beautiful and completely covered in snow with black silhouetted people moving around on an all white chess board. Where the snow had been cleared there were 7ft high mounds of snow dotted about the place, which were fantastic fun to run up, slide down and jump up and down on top of. When it got too cold, despite the many layers, to be playing in the snow, we went into the Winter Palace of the Hermitage through a snow covered courtyard, which looked as though it was in the middle of a snowfall due to the men on the roofs of the buildings, sweeping the snow off of the edge. This is a job in Russia,

I cannot describe to you just how massive, resplendent and grand the Hermitage is, and just how much art there actually is on display let alone the amount that is allegedly in storage. It is fabulous, and everything from the decorative floor tiles, to the marble columns, the gold on the walls and ceilings, and the art adorning the walls is utterly priceless. The further I walked and the more rooms I saw the more my brain just couldn't wrap itself around and ascertain so much spender. I know there is a lot of hyperbole in this paragraph, but none of it is exaggerated; this palace is the most awesome thing I've ever seen in real life and I guarantee you cannot imagine just how incredible it is. Go there! I never feel like this about stately homes or art galleries, and rarely even art, but it was sensational and my spine felt electric the entire day. I really want to go back there again, and again, and again, and this one spectacular museum might just be enough to swing it for Moscow in the seat abroad contest!

I feel as though I may actually be becoming a little bit educated in Art, and learning to appreciate the masterpiece that's inches away from my eyes. That is, after countless galleries of countless genres in my most recent countries. I've always enjoyed art, have been art-interested and will happily spend a number of hours in galleries, but my appreciation has been very limited. Visiting an art gallery has become a more interesting and stimulating experience for me lately - the height of which was the work of the impressionists on the second floor. Always a fan of the contentious and the feminist, I recommend you google the work of "Gerome" and take a look at his paintings depicting the suppression and exploitation of women in a very delicate yet uncomfortable way. My favourite is the painting entitled "Auction of a Slave Girl". Other high points for me were the Picasso and Matisse (except the still life which I abhor) and finally, finally seeing the Ballet Dancer Studies by Degas, which I have adored since I was a little ballet dancer myself.

Following on with the ballet theme, that evening I fulfilled one of my long-term little ballet dancer dreams and went to see a ballet at the Mariinsky Theatre! Dressed up in my opera outfit and nice boots, we caught the metro to the station nearest to the theatre and hailed a taxi to take us the rest of the way (it was cold and we were running late). Now, in Russia, unlike in Vietnam and China, every car is a taxi subject to a negotiated price. As I am sure you can imagine, I wasn't exactly overjoyed on learning this, given that little Hanoi passport mishap, so I only actually got a taxi when I was not alone. A young, slightly hapless looking guy responded to my hail and we agreed the fair fare of £3. Somewhat disconcertingly, as he drove off he typed the theatre destination into his satnav (worth more than his car) and started turning corners. Michaels crap guidebook told us that the theatre was a building with an unattractive exterior which was compensated by an ornate interior. Our amateur cabby pulled up outside a beautiful building which we concluded, because of the crap guide book, must be the Mariinsky Palace and not the Theatre. We explained this, using crap guidebook and the guy drove off and around for a little while before stopping, bang on 7pm when the performance was due to begin and said that actually he didn't know. Brilliant. We got out (passive-aggressively and without paying) and walked/slipped/slid back to the metro station and we had already driven past twice, and hailed a marked taxi. This guy charged us an outrageous £10 and took up to the building to which we had originally be driven by Mr. £3 - that not ugly building. Double and triple checking this actually was the right place, disbelief was postponed until we checked out coats and ran up the stairs to out cheap seats (which were actually better to disregard and stand) at the top and in the back! Fortunately the balled was spectacular and and instant distraction away from our expensive and ill-timed communication breakdown, which was further soothed by champagne and chocolate at the interval. Thank you, Michael! - and a toast to all things Russia. I've seen a fair bit of ballet but this was just outstanding, and a very emotional and memorable experience. The last act was the single most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my whole life - and of the last 4 months, those 40 minutes were the pinnacle, the climax and the highlight of it all!

The next morning, still reeling from the night before, I toured the houses of Dostoyevsky and Pushkin and indulged in literary Russia. As you might expect, the Dostoyevsky household was a more humble affair than that of the blue-eyed poet, but both museums were well presented and tell a fantastic story of the writers lives in St Petersburg. One fantastic little anecdote about Dostoyevsky which I enjoy and think resonates quite well with the humour in his writing is the following: Fyodor liked his tea very strong and firmly believed that only he was capable of making it as he liked it. He would refuse to drink any other, except that which was made by his wife, whom he adored, but in so drinking he would declare "oh how miserable I am!" I love this. Probably because I really appreciate good tea, and Dostoyevsky.

After a successful navigation day following in great writers' footsteps, I made a second attempt at the Mariinsky the following evening, this time to see a beasty 4 hour 'proper' opera. I think I've either run out of navigatory luck of the gods of the compass and/or Mariinsky were having a little joke with me, because it went wrong, yet again! This time I left myself an extra 20 minutes to get there, and decided not to gamble on a taxi (I would be needing the passport very soon) and would walk to the theatre. I checked the route on my map and basically had to walk up one road until I came to the river and then I had to turn right. Simple, yes? One turn and a journey that I had already done by car a few times. I exited the metro station and walked up the street in the direction that the taxi drivers had done, for about 30 minutes, in -12. There was no river. Anywhere. I asked for directions and discovered that I had been walking on the correct road but in the wrong direction. I am much better equipped to deal with my navigatory ineptness when it is warm and sunny and I am on a motorbike. This time it was freezing cold, I couldn't walk properly on al the ice and my face was so numb I couldn't even slide around swearing to myself to ease the frustration. Oh and my nose was running which was the most annoying thing of all and actually drove me crazy. I eventually made it, late again, and aside from a very sore backside I very much enjoyed this epic experience, enhanced I think by having read the original - which wasn't credited to him, but I'm pretty sure was an adapted version of Sophocles.

I spent my last day looking at more art in this city of culture and class, in the Russian Museum. I can only recommend this to you on a cloudy day, because otherwise your experience might also be compromised by the glare of the sunlight off every single painting - so I spent that day side-stepping from one end of the painting to the other, just to see it properly - and probably looking like a right idiot the whole time. The Russian Museum did mark the last thing on the list of the things I wanted to do in St Petersburg and I returned to the cosy warm hostel feeling satisfied that I was done, and I was very, very ready to go home - but it wasn't quite that simple!

I arrived at the international terminal of Pulcova airport the following morning about one hour before check-in would open, intending to have a coffee and a cake and a very relaxed day. On my arrival however, I couldn't find my flight on the departures board, and after being bounced around 3 different offices, was told directly by stupid Polish Airlines that actually there wasn't a flight to Warsaw today (connecting to London). I replied, softly, that there was and that I was booked onto it. His solution to a problem he found most amusing, was that I could fly tomorrow and should just pay the fine for overstaying my visa. Now, for the duration of my trip I have retained composure, except for the passport incident. This has surprised me, because I've never been a very patient person, but I'd become cool, somehow. At this point however, I lost it, I actually lost it and the poor polish man was on the receiving end of my forked tongue of wrath in a flurry of English which I am sure was to fast for him to understand. A million phone calls back and forth later (and a little time to calm down) I bought a whole new flight which would take me to London via Stockholm later that evening. After waiting around in the airport for many chilly hours, I was all checked in and sat outside the gate waiting to board my flight when the big red "CANCELLED" sign flashed up and we were recalled. At this point I gave up any notions of getting to London that evening and shifted my ambitions to just getting across the border and not having to deal with the Russian Visa Police. After queuing for ages and being ferried back through passport control, I was assigned and checked into a flight leaving for Helsinki, which was then, almost as soon as we were checked in, cancelled because of the snow. Having explained my need to cross the border to the man whose job it was to sort all this out (and I did not envy him his 200 problem passengers) he told me to "stand there" and he ran away. I stood where I was told, for about 20 minutes, wondering whether he'd been hijacked by a more pushy customer (I had regained my cool by this point) or died of a heart attack from all the stress. I then spotted him running back through the terminal and thrust a sheet of paper into my hands telling me to check in at Desk 3 NOW! I did, was handed a boarding pass and told to go to Gate 1 NOW! I did, and as soon as I got there I was rushed through security and put on a plane... to Vienna! I had a few questions for the cabin crew in the aircraft, from whom I discovered where it was I was going, what time zone I would be in and that there were 2 flights to London from Vienna that evening and that I was 'probably' on one of those. What. A. Farce! Vienna went pretty smoothly with my magic sheet of paper which said something clearly very important and got me onto a flight to London Heathrow, very quickly. I had just enough time to find a Travelex and change all the random currency I had on my for Euros and make a call from a pay-phone to my dad telling him that actually, I was in Vienna, and where/when I would be arriving! When I did finally get to Heathrow, which I did not think I was going to happen that evening, my baggage, although chronically delayed, actually made it to the same airport as me! Hurrah!

So that is it - she bloggeth no more. Many thanks for all your comments and for continuing to read and I really hope that you've enjoyed the ride!

Muscovite

Tonight I will catch my last Russian train, to St Petersburg, my last Russian city. I have spent enough time on trains to not be too devastated by this prospect, but I am a little reluctant to admit the marker for the end of my trip. My schizophrenic self is also pretty excited to get back to the UK; to see you and have a pretty epic sleep because I am tired! So tired! The last few days have seen me play at being a Muscovite (this is make believe because I am currently not my most elegant self) and swanning around an unexpectedly contemporary, elegant and edgy city. I fear I am less discerning than I would have previously given myself credit for, for I find myself, yet again, professing my love for yet another city. My evident lack of taste aside, Moscow is wonderful and I really like it here. Prior to my arrival in the kooky, classy capital, I spent a somewhat less classy 3 days and nights on a train, from Siberia, from where I last wrote (or more accurately, from where I last speed typed my thoughts on the one spare hour I had - see how dedicated I am).

My Siberia experience was of both a city, 70km or a 3hr electric train ride from the lake; and a minimally populated, remotely located village on an island actually in the lake. The latter, while being one of the more basic of the places I have stayed, was one of the more unique and exciting, perhaps only topped by my night in the Vietnamese jungle. The 'guesthouse' was more of a complex of guesthouses than a single hotel, and had a number of smallish wooden cabins, banya houses (oh, the banya!) and restaurants (which were all shut because it was the winter and no one is stupid enough to go to Siberia in the winter). In each of the wooden cabins were about 2-3 bedrooms, a toilet (with a primitave flushing system) and a really, really cool fire/chimney/heater thing. The heating system had something to do with fire and bricks and trapping heat inside the thing that looked like a chimney but wasn't. I have no idea how it worked but it was very effective and kept me toasty warm all night. The interior of the cabins were entirely wood, as you might expect, and were super-quaint. The best way to explore the island (in the November temperatures - which I think hit -18, 20 degrees warmer, can you believe it than the mid-winter temperatures) is by Jeep, so that's what we did. Our driver took us the length of the 80km island, stopping at various points of interest or outstanding beauty. Our other drive the day before, in the minibus, also stopped a few times, but that was so we could push the van up the snow covered hill. I say 'we'. That's what the Canadian forest fire-fighters were there for. And to look pretty. No pushing was required on the jeep, for what I ignorantly describe as a 'jeep', was a Russian made something, which was about 3ft off the ground and had a fully servicable engine (I was told) between the driver and front passenger seat. It was a beast - and invincible! So many times we were bouncing around in the back of the truck as the driver either carefully manouvered though snowy forests (there was no road, he was driving up against tree trunks - and HOW this is even possible I don't know) or speeding down one hill to gain enough momentum to get us up and over the next hill. Even if we weren't on a beautiful island in the middle of snowy Siberia, the truck/jeep/thing adventure was fun enough!

When we reached the peak of the island, the road was impassable even by super-truck and so we hopped out and went for a short 90 minute hike around. Lake Baikal is one of the 8 energy points of the Earth according to Shaman teachings. I would do a bad job of explianing Shamanism, and a lot of my friends have degrees in theology, and so I shall not even try - but I will say that this island and the peak in particular, is a 'holy' place. As we were walking around, we kept coming across Buddhist and Shamanist shrines. The Buddhist shrines were piles of rocks, to which you are invited to add your own stone - I'm not going to pretend I know why. The Shamanist alters were all made of wood, often trunks or branches of trees to which you tied a ribbon or other fabric and gave gifts of small change (and I saw a few cigarettes - what self respecting god/spirit doesn't enjoy a ciggy now and then?). The millions of colours of the fabrics, aside from all having a separate meaning, make quite a spectacle to behold. They're beautiful, especially contrasted to the grey of the snowy sky. I also noticed a string of Tibetan prayer flags draped around and through the branches of a tree which was growing on one of the further edges of the peak. We walked back to the truck, in the footsteps of what I really, really, really hope was a wolf (!), there were at least pretty big paw prints in the snow, and back at the truck our driver had made a fire, fish soup and a pot of tea for us! We had a picnic in the snow, which was surprisingly cosy thanks to the tea and delicious soup.

I would have liked to have stayed longer on the island, but that train timetable isn't so flexible, which meant I caught the minibus back to Irkutsk the next day. There is a system with Russian trains, of which you should probably be aware should you ever decide to do the Trans-Siberian, that is; the lower the number, the better and newer the train. Generally speaking, I am told, they come in groups. i.e. 1-10 = good. 11-100 = not bad 101+ = for drunk Russian soldiers only. I personally cannot testify to the accuracy of this grouping because all of my trains, thus far, have been below 10. That wasn't an accident. My options for getting to Moscow were the train #389 which left on 18th and took 4 days, or the #1 which left on 17th and took 3 days. I didn't know about the #1 until I got to the station to buy the ticket, and having braced myself for the #389 I instantly agreed to this faster, newer, nicer train at a marginally higher cost. Had I not been quite so excited I might have paused to consider that actually this meant I had time to stop in another city on the way - but I didn't and so off to Moscow on the #1 I went!

This time I knew what to expect and came prepared; both in spirit and in food. My spirit was more prepared that it needed to be because this was a NICE train. It was brand new, spotless and not only were there two nice toilets, there was running water and warm running water! Trust me, this is the Trans-Siberian dream! Whilst I really did enjoy the dream-train, it did lack quite a bit of the character that endeared me to the other, less nice train, which was kitted out in lace and patterned fabrics on any and every surface that could be decorated. But I wasn't complaining. The food this time was also a great success, and the 3 full shopping bags that I brought with me (intending to share) turned out not to be 'perhaps a little much' because all I did for 3 days was sleep, read and eat. There was nothing left by the time we arrived in Moscow. In actual fact I even bought another chocolate bar from the provodnitsa. I should be more ashamed of this, and you're about to find out why.

Travelling from Irkutsk to Moscow also meant I travelling west, across 5 different timezones. My watch had been set to Moscow time a day prior to my journey, officially so I could "start adjusting", unoffically because everytime I checked the time I freaked out thinking I was going to be 5 hours late for my train. For the duration of the journey, I was living in a strange, very strange and confusing almost timeless world, where everyone else in the carriage slept at different times,I woke up in the dark and the sun set at noon. I found that I was tired a lot, would nap a lot, and when I wasn't napping I was eating because I was always hungry. Actually that might not be the train. On my last journey, which was 60 hours, I got through the Communist Manifesto (text and commentary), Crime and Punishment and some Cormac McCarthy book. You have a lot of time on your hands. This time around I made it 2/3rds of the way through both 1984 (enough with the communism now) and The Brothers Karamazov, both of which I had started and abandoned earlier this year. The train is a relaxing time and I was very happy to have my head in alternate books for this length of time, although I did start to go a little crazy by day three. There was one confusing point when, having just woken up, I just couldn't comprehend why the telescreen hadn't seen Dmitri Karamazov do the deed? But hey, when I read Harry Potter I actually had Quidditch dreams. I get quite involved with stuff.

My travel companions this time were only actually with me for the first day and left, never to be replaced at Novosibirsk. So not only was I on the nicest train that runs from Vladivostok to Moscow, I had my little compartment #6 all to myself and 3 bags of food. Boy, was I happy! We arrived into Moscow around 6.30 on the evening of the third day and by 7.30 I had checked into my hostel and booked tickets for the Bolshoi. Backpacking is never this easy!

Most people I have met along the way that have been here, have said they disliked Moscow. Most commonly I have heard the complaint that it is too busy, too expensive and the people are very rude. Now, I must just be as steely-hearted as the rest of them, but the rudeness doesn't bother me, and I actually quite like that this is a city in which you don't have to be happy all the time. It is cold here, and busy and crowd/queuing etiquette borders on neanderthal, so why would you be happy 24/7? This ain't Beijing. You don't dance in the parks come nightfall. The city and it's inhabitants are arrogant, self-important and preoccupied with elegance and glamour. It is a beautiful, complicated and interesting city and I really, really love it. This has been the easiest city I've been to, by far, the one that I've felt most at home in and the one that has interested me the most. It's a lot like Paris, both in architecture and attitude, but infinitely more interesting, more gritty and is still so evidently changing and opening up.

When I start my Training Contract, I get to go abroad for a 6 month secondment to another W&C office. Moscow is a very serious contender, and the longer I am here the further it is creeping up the preference list. I could easily live here, and actually want to, and so it will turn on whether I choose easy or scary, the latter of which would be Tokyo! The other advantage about coming here on secondment is that W&C would put me up in a nice apartment. I hope at least that this apartment would be nicer than a sleeper train, which currently my hostel is not. It's fine, but pretty grotty, cramped and the staff are a little bit ditzy. My bed also has the worstest, oldest, dampest and brokenest mattress ever - seriously, I slept much better on the train. We've also reached a new level of snoring appreciation - but seeing how his feet remain on his own bed, there had been no midnight violence. Ear-plugs are an absolute godsend. Crappy living quarters aside - and I think I would probably be traveling with more patience if I hadn't been slumming it for 4 months now - I've met some great people, and there's so much to do in the city that I've literally slept and showered here.

The first day of sightseeing took me to Lenin's mausoleum in Red Square and the Kremlin. I saw Red Square for the first time in the snow. All of my tourist snaps are consequently pretty grey or of snowflakes in front of and blurring iconic buildings. But it was nice so see such a recognisable place when it was snowing. Having almost completed my inadvertent communism tour and thus far passed up on two other mausoleums, I figured I should see at least one pickled communist leader, and Lenin really was the original and the best. Having now been to one and being totally creeped out by it, I am not at all disappointed that I passed up Mao and Ho Chi Minh. It was a very strange and still atmosphere, despite the through-flow of spectators. The glass coffin was internally lit and the corpse looked much like a wax model, but for the hair on his head and his mustache, which was realistic enough to turn the veritable wax-work into the corpse of Lenin. The concept behind preserving leaders I do not really comprehend - and I thought the snow covered memorials in the wall of the Kremlin were far more dignified than poor old Lenin. I made a terrible mistake in visiting the Kremlin on a weekend and had a rather overwhelming induction into the Russian attitude towards queuing, but it didn't detract too much from the experience and the Kremlin itself was very beautiful, interesting and a far more conventional tourist attraction.

The other notable Moscow activity has, of course, been my visit to the Bolshoi Theater, which in case you didn't know, is world famous, especially for the ballet. The ballet isn't on at the moment, so I bought a ticket for whatever was showing, which turned out to be an opera that is running this week only. Now, there's such a thing here as door control. Essentially if you don't look the part, you can be turned away. This meant I absolutely had to go shopping - there was no way in hell I was getting through in my walking boots and trekking pants. Oh I had such fun, & for so long in Moscow's nicest mall, which has more fairy lights than shops, and nice shops at that. After trying on half of a number of shops, admittedly only half looking for an opera outfit and half because I enjoyed wearing all the nice clothes, I found a lovely little blue dress, which was very opera-appropriate. Then the shoes. Well, it's pretty cold here and I was too scared to bear my legs in just a pair of tights (rather than the 2 layers they've become accustomed to), so I went looking for boots, and boots I did find! I accidentally bought two pairs, which I do not regret, but will be foregoing the expensive fur hat in consequence.

The opera itself was very curious and contemporary. It was a production in which the director was certainly trying to say something about how we now live, and I think the struggles of identity and internal conflicts - but the director was trying to say that thing in Russian, and thus, the complexity and nuance of the message was partly lost on me. That said, I've never seen anything produced in the same format or using the same techniques, the musical score was sensational and I enjoyed myself (and dressing up) very much! It was a very glamorous affair and I am glad I went shopping beforehand. Luckily I am young enough to apply a coat of mascara and a bit of concealer and look "fresh faced" which I pretended was a legitimate make up look for an evening. After 4 months of not wearing only suncream on my face I felt made up at least - it's amazing what a coat-too-many of mascara and some nice shoes can do! I was somewhat intimidated and in awe of all the fur and silk that surrounded me - Russian women really are the most elegant in the world!

There's so much more I could saw about Moscow and all I have done here. St Petersburg, I am told, is a far superior city and so my hopes are high. I am now in the last week of my time away, and I cannot believe how quickly I will be home. It is going to be quite a shock to the system - but a nice one. For now, however; One City; One Week; One Hell of a Finale!

Baikal, Birch, Banya and Bogka

I am currently writing to you from an island, called Olkhon Island, along the west of Lake Baikal in the middle of Siberia! It is cold and beautiful, and this and the train has been exactly what I hoped and dreamed it would be when I was pouring over Lonely Planet guidebooks and gap year brochures in my flat in Muswell Hill all those months ago. I loved China and I also loved Vietnam, but I went there because I was curious, wanting to go everywhere and Vietnam seemed like as good as place as any to start, and it was close to, and plan-able distance from Russia. Visiting Russia was the one thing I have wanted to do for a really long time, and I am happy to report, it has not disappointed.

As is fitting for a Trans-Siberian adventure, my Russia experience began with a train. When my visa expiry date and the train timetable were taken into consideration, it transpired that I had two options to get me across the border and into the Motherland. Option #1 was to catch one single train, first class from Ha’erbin to Khabavosk and to deal with the border crossing, customs officials and any bribes that I might potentially have to cough up (I am worryingly unphased by all of this…) on this nice comfortable train. Option #2 was a bit trickier and involved getting a local train to a Chinese border town, staying overnight & catching a bus at dawn the next morning to reach the border crossing before it shut for lunch, then getting through the border crossing, catching another bus to another town and then getting the one daily train to Chita and then changing trains to get me to Irkutsk. I did decide to do a difficult thing (unwittingly) and I haven’t expected things to be easy or to go smoothly the whole time, but I felt a little intimidated by the latter option given my lack of Chinese or Russian customs control vocabulary and so I took the easy option. The easy option was actually pretty luxurious (the only tickets available for the only train that would get me across the border before my visa expired were 1st class – pity) and I had a very nice carriage compartment all to myself, but it was also not without its difficulties. The woman in charge on all Russian trains is called the Provodnitsa, and she runs a very tight, er, train. Lucky for me she either took a liking to, or pity on me and all official business was conducted slowly, patiently and exclusively through the phrasebook. This worked for most things, but we had a few minor issues when we reached border control. The ‘bolshi’ red-head poked her red-head through my door and indicated that I should put on my coat and my shoes. This was shortly after the train had stopped for a while and I had seen the same red-head strutting up and down the side of the train, in her coat, in the snow, spanner in oil-dirty gloved hand (she may be my new feminist icon). I followed my orders and dressed as instructed but then nothing really seemed to happen for a long time. The train was moving again, but where it had been stopped for a while it was a bit colder and I thought that maybe she had been concerned that I would be getting a bit cold and that’s why she told me to dress up. I sat pondering this for quite a while, and then we pulled into what looked like a station. I stayed put, not wanting to do anything wrong (she’s a scary lady) and then she came running and flailing up the corridor yelling my name, and ushering me off the train. She then stopped and looked at me as though I had done something wrong, she turned and went back into my compartment and started packing up my luggage and dragged it out onto the platform. I was ushered towards the big group of people at the door to a building, and stood quietly next to a policeman in a very nice furry hat. Once they discovered I was English I was, for some reason, given special treatment and ushered to the front of every queue! I have heard some horror stories about Russian bureaucracy, and I can well believe they are true, but thus far the system has certainly favored me, which I guess is karmic reward or something, given the nightmare I went through in Hanoi (pretty sure karma doesn’t work that way, but it’s nice to be on the good side of a bent system for once). At this border crossing there were lots of Chinese traders dragging bags and bags and bags of produce through the gates. I have since been told anecdotally, that should you ask one of these traders for help on the customs form you will be instructed to tick ‘nyet’ for every box and then hand over a couple hundred roubles to be pocketed by the officials. Bureaucracy at its best.

When you are travelling on your own, and especially when you are travelling alone on trains, you always have to be a little bit on guard and a little bit awake, in case something should happen or someone is speaking at you in Vietnamese/Chinese/Russian/”English”. I say especially on trains, because when the train hits your station, especially in China and Vietnam, you have to go and you have to go quick. For the duration of this journey, in addition to the requisite standby alertness that has become so habitual the last three months, I was pretty anxious because I didn’t know what time the train was going to arrive beyond some time Monday morning, which was as far as my Chinese could get me when I booked the ticket. I was crossing time-zones, I thought, and morning could mean any time from 2am-11am. Sunday night I had trouble sleeping and woke up every 30 minutes to check that my luggage was packed and I could dress and go quickly when I needed to. I am aware, and tried to convince myself as I tried to get to sleep that I would be better to just relax and get some proper sleep so I could actually do a competent job of organizing myself and getting to a hotel when I reached Russia, but all this effected was ironic appreciation.

We arrived in Khabavosk around 0530 Beijing time. I was woken gently by the provodnitsa, and while my well practiced reflexes are usually quick and border occasionally on impressive, that morning I had the reflexes of a brick wall and mumbled something along the lines of “nee how (Chinese for ‘hello), are we at Khabavostock (which I think was a combination of Khabavosk and Vladivostock)”. She stifled a smirk and nodded and pointed to some time on her watch that I couldn’t see without my lenses and I nodded, sat and stared glassy eyed out of the window for a while, and it took me a little while to realize that what I was staring at was my first bit of Russian snow! All strapped up into the coat, hat, gloves and backpacks I padded my way carefully down the snow covered station steps and actually managed to orientate myself on the map! Before I left England, my wonderful friend Rory spent a painfully patient 2 hours teaching me the Cyrillic alphabet and I had been practicing for the whole time I had just spent on the train from China. I was super proud of myself when I managed to translate the English street names in the guide book (why English – the street names aren’t in English?!) into what I should look out for in Cyrillic and to my surprise not only did I get the translation right, I actually managed to find the street and the hotel! I think that after doing this travel thing for nearly 3.5 months, I am finally learning how to read a map! I even found my way to the hotel, very slowly because it was very icy and downhill, and managed to remain on my feet, although at one point I did nearly get hit by a tram because I wasn’t looking. Oops. I had to check into a hotel rather than a hostel in Khabavosk because there aren’t any hostels and not many tourists go there. It’s very far east, very cold, and there’s not too much to do or see there. I checked into my very, very nice hotel, walked straight into a very, very fancy shower that had jets and things to massage your legs (!) and then crawled into bed to catch up on the sleep I didn’t manage to have the night before, and I lay there and realized that I had no idea what time it was, what time zone I was in and that I had to stop speaking Chinese and somehow start speaking Russian. The Russian speaking is still going quite badly.

I enjoyed my few days in Khabavosk, and spent a lot of time wandering around this city that I found myself able to navigate with ease, visiting the most beautiful churches I have ever seen in my whole life and strolling idyllically along the Amur River, which is very beautiful when you’re facing away from the industrial end. I wrapped up as warmly as I could, but found myself feeling very inelegant when compared to all these beautiful Russian women wrapped up in furs, in leather boots and oozing glamour. One thing that did take me by surprise was that people would just start talking to me in Russian. This hadn’t happened in China or Vietnam (with Chinese or Vietnamese), and I realized that for the first time I don’t stand out and could actually look Russian (bar the trampy travel clothes). It surprised me how much I had actually relied on looking obviously different when I had been travelling and that people would responsively, treat me differently, and either try to overcharge or help me. When I was in those countries where I stood out like a sore thumb, the one thing I found myself missing the most was bread! Russia is most certainly the place to come should you ever be deprived of good bread for an extended period of time, and as much as I loved Chinese food (and I really do LOVE it), coming to Russia is like coming to all-you-can-eat-day at ‘carb-world’. It’s amazing! There’s so much bread, and cake, and pastries and everything that my little carb-deprived heart could ever desire and I pretty much haven’t stopped eating since I got here. I think those suits that were measured for my skeletal-Vietnamese-self are going to need some adjustment when I get back to the UK, for sure.

From Khabavosk I decided to make my next stop in a Siberian city called Irkutsk. The original plan was to go first to Ulan-Ude, but it was difficult to arrange a train here. It is surprising, but the majority of the itinerary that you pull together is subject to, and will probably change depending on what trains you are able to get and at what times, and so to Irkutsk I was next headed. Russian trains, wherever you are in Russia, run by Moscow time. When I was in Khabavosk I was +7 hours from Moscow, and so it was nice to discover that my train would leave at 1132 local time, rather than 0432 local time because this was actually Moscow time. I am told that one of the greatest joys of travel by train is shopping for food before the journey. The morning of my journey I ventured out into the falling snow, found a supermarket, and trailed the shelves looking for snacks for the 60 hours or so, ahead of me. On the train from Ha’erbin the train was very well heated and I was very hot a lot of the time. What primarily informed my food decisions therefore, was how well food would survive in the heat. Whilst I met my perishability criteria, when it came to my selections, I got it very wrong. I had packed a lot of fruit, crisps, cookies, bread rolls, instant noodles and some cartons of choco-milk. What I was supposed to pack, and what my fellow travel-companions had packed for their journey was bread, cheese, sausage, tomatoes, cucumber, tea, fruit, chocolate – a whole indulgent picnic, as well as the requisite instant noodles. This train was much cooler and a more comfortable heat, and from what I saw, food was kept well and eaten often. Coming from China and Vietnam, which are countries where you are smiled at a lot on the street, I initially found Russia to be a very unfriendly and frosty place. You don’t smile on the street; you scowl. What I have learned however, that whilst the street may be one place where you are eyed with suspicion and reserve, once you start to communicate with a Russian, you will be utterly overwhelmed with hospitality and generosity. I found it particularly difficult to break the ice with the three Russians sharing the compartment I was in; no-one spoke any English and my Russian is still at a very, very basic level and is geared towards buying things. After a few hours of persistent attempts to try and endear myself to them, we had a breakthrough and for the rest of the trip they were overwhelmingly inclusive (even though I don’t speak the language), insisted on feeding me a lot of food a lot of the time, and when I wasn’t being fed I was being offered tea and being asked questions which I couldn’t understand or answer! They were very patient with me, which was good, because we had a long way to go, and one guy even corrected my pronunciation as I read a Russian newspaper trying to sharpen my Cyrillic. The atmosphere inside the train was warm and relaxed. I was warm, but less relaxed for the first half of the journey, not knowing how this Russian train thing worked and not wanting to make any cultural faux pas and offend my new friends. One of the things (of many) they constantly mocked me for was my keenness behind the camera lens. Every time we came to a different type of scenery, or the sun came out, they would shout “Tamara” and make a camera noise and motion out of the window. The scenery is quite spectacular, and this happened a lot.

The first night on the train I had a lot of trouble sleeping and lay awake until about 0300. This didn’t bother me at all, and was potentially the most relaxing sleepless night I’ve ever had because I lay across my top bunk, tiger-style, and stared out of the window at the beautiful taiga forest covered with snow. In the darkness the whiteness of the snow and the birch trees reaching up out of the snow seemed luminescent, and were clearly visible through the blackness of night in the middle of nowhere. There are three main types of landscape that I have viewed so far, coming from the east to Siberia. The main one is called ‘taiga’ and refers to forests of birch and fir trees which are dense and plenty. When you’re not gazing whimsically out of the window at a million snow-covered trees, you might find yourself passing through a desolate plain of nothingness, where all you can see is essentially the horizon peering out from the miles of browned grass, punctuated occasionally by a tree, or two. Towards the end of the first train ride and after we reached Ulan-Ude the train takes you across the edge of Lake Baikal, which is absolutely stunning, calm and massive. The deepest lake in the world, and at its widest point it is 80km across, to ride alongside one of the coasts can sometimes feel like you are riding next to the ocean, especially because I traveled on a misty day and the other side of the lake was rarely visible. An exciting occasion on the train, and something to look forward to when the smells that make it oh such a sensory experience start to fog you out, is when the train pulls into one of the larger stations and makes a prolonged stop for up to 30 minutes. When this happens, the entire carriage pours out onto the platform, in their train attire of shorts, shirts and sandals – and a coat, and clusters together in the snow smoking rather than taking in the fresh air. There’s something quite exciting about long distance train travel, I think, and getting out at these stations, as well as breathing in some icy air and stretching cramped limbs, it is nice to experience the station atmosphere and be reminded that you are actually doing the Trans-Siberian!

I chose to come to Irkutsk because it is a city close to Lake Baikal and one that is fairly well set up for tourists, with hostels and cafes with English menus etc. After nearly one whole week of not having a proper conversation with a person not on the other end of the phone to me because no-one spoke any English, I was so very excited to be greeted by an English tongue when I arrived at my hostel!!! I think I was actually picked up at the train station by an angel masquerading as a Russian taxi driver with a Lada, because when I arrived, I asked the driver to take me to an art gallery within walking distance to, and on the same street as my apartment hostel, which was pretty tricky to locate and only written in the guide book in English (again, thank you LP). I had asked the driver if he spoke ‘Angliski’, to which he vehemently shook his head, but seeing the backpack and hearing the faltering request he must have guessed where I actually wanted to go because he drove me past the art gallery to show me where it was and then took me to the door of the hostel behind some apartment block somewhere on Lenin St that I would have had difficulty finding, and waited with me until someone came to the door. I tipped, and I tipped big. Not only did a cool old Russian man with a cool vintage car and a fur hat drive me through the streets of Irkutsk, he took me to the place I wanted to go without even having to ask! Sure beats Hanoi Taxis. After a very long and hot shower to scrub the remains of the train off of me I made myself at home in the hostel. It felt really great to be back among other backpackers, to have access to the internet and a kettle and supply of tea on hand. The next day I went out for some breakfast, found the intended café with surprising ease, and fuelled up with some buckwheat porridge and tea. It was such a nice introduction to Siberia, because even though my nose nearly fell off due to the cold on the way to the café, I sat in a window seat with the sun shining through on to my seat and watched as the trams rumbled past Russia happened around me. I spent the day walking about a surprisingly pretty city, visited a museum about those persons politically exiled here, ate some ‘omul’ fish from Lake Baikal and accidentally attended a service at the Russian orthodox cathedral, which was quite spectacular and very interesting, coming from a Cof E background.

The next morning, I and a few others that I had met and enjoyed talking (in English) to, caught a local electric stop-at-ALL-stations train to a small village near to the lake. We had planned and intended to hike along the lake, and started off by hiking about 4km through a very Russian forest. It was very beautiful, and there were millions and millions of fir and birch trees, all standing to attention like stoic soldiers in the snow. It is actually Autumn here, Winter starts properly at the end of December and runs through to March, and the forest was a mix of colours with the autumn browns, the greens and because there was still quite a lot of snow, white also. About 1km in we came to a large river, which had already completely frozen over. We crossed over on a precarious little bridge, only to step onto the ice and slid about, giggling like crazy. The giggles promptly stopped, and my heart, when I heard a loud ‘crack’, but the ice was too thick to break fully, so I slowly maneuvered off the ice and stuck to the snow covered mud. We came through the forest and out into the open just before the lake, and then we were kidnapped by a lady who had opened a museum on the bank of Baikal and wanted visitors. She was one of these ladies who takes her subject very seriously, soberly and weightily and just cannot comprehend why someone else isn’t doing the same. Her subject was primarily one man who was an author, philosopher, linguist, traveler etc… she loved him. There were also lots of paintings, some good, that she had collected, and an extensive explanation about each exhibit that she droned though, and then was translated for my unenthusiastic ears. When I thought it was finally all over (I came to walk, not to be talked at in Russian and look at bad art) she gave us a rather long ‘sermon’ on the powers of water and how we should say thank you to water and stones and that they will give us good energy when we are in a bad mood or do not appreciate the world. At the end, the very end of our accidental tour she tried to make us buy our own personal stone to thank and give us good energy. I was hasten to get back out into the fresh air and continue my hike, but a nice, friendly Russian man followed me out of the museum and handed me a pretty pink stone on a key chain, and said in English, that he had chosen this for me as a souvenir to remind me of lake Baikal. I was very happy with my gift, and had a lovely chat with the Russian, who disappeared off down the railway tracks in the opposite direction to us shortly afterwards. We later saw him on the train home and we had a broken conversation about Russia.

It is said that every time you swim in Lake Baikal you add 25 years to your life. Well, we were hiking in about -6 and a quick swim was not high on my agenda. I did splash my hand around a little bit, and pose for some photographs, but it was pretty cold and so we set off and walked along the rail tracks of the circum-Baikal railway on our way to the next village. As we were walking, some very pretty Russians who were stood on top of one of the railway tunnels carved into the mountains called down to us to come and drink with them. We did. After climbing up the very steep mountainside, we saw that they had built a little camp fire and gotten through a fair amount of vodka (Bogka in Russian) already. We found out that they had just graduated from university and were camping and getting drunk by the lake – and why the hell not. We drank with them, my first Russian vodka and it was good, and then bum-shuffled down the steep hill and continued our hike. We walked for about 6-7km along the railway tracks, having to jump out of the way of a speedy oncoming train once, and reached the next village as it started to get dark. The views of the lake were beautiful, and it was so incredibly peaceful, that but for the sound of our walking it was perfectly silent. The ‘train station’ at this village was a wooden platform by the side of a rail track, with a sign erected to indicate the name of the village and another to indicate the times of the 6 trains that would pass that day on their way to Irkutsk. A lot of very large and loud freight trains passed us as we were waiting, and then finally our little electric train came and picked us up, and took us back to the hostel.

I decided to spend quite a bit of time out here at the expense of visiting lots of different cities along the way because I have discovered I really, really love being in the countryside and outdoors, certainly more than I enjoy visiting cities. My third day in Siberia therefore, I travelled up to Olkhon island, which is very deserted, has two villages on it, a population of less than 1500 and is in the middle of this very beautiful lake. It took pretty much the whole day to get out here, and we came by mini-bus and ferry. Driving through actual Siberia is something I will never be able, or want to forget. It was incredible, and would alternate between this feeling of being in absolute awe at the landscape and the feeling that you actually are in the middle of nowhere and there is actually nothing for miles and miles and miles and the only thing you can really see is the horizon. It was wonderful!! That evening (after 4 pm because it gets dark quickly here) we sat around waiting for dinner doing the only thing that you really can do on this island when it gets dark – we drank. I should elaborate on ‘we’: I am currently traveling with two Canadian forest firefighters, lovely, and a couple who have been living in Australia for the past two years and are moving back to the UK. He is from England, and she is Polish, very beautiful and can communicate with the Russians by speaking Polish – it’s amazing!! The vodka is good, the food is good, but what is amazing, actually amazing, is the banya! I am officially a banya convert. Now, if you live in Siberia you have a small problem regarding hot water. Actually you have a problem regarding running water, but the banya deals with the heating, not the running problem. The banya is like a sauna, and is used by the Russians for bathing. 2-3 times a week, you will banya. To banya, (I love the word even, can you tell!?) you sit for a while in a baking hot room, very hot, hot, hot, hot, then you go into another room and ladle freezing cold water over yourself and return to the hot, hot room. It sounds crazy, I know it sounds crazy, but it is amazing, and you feel so clear and clean and energized but also supremely relaxed and just happy. Tonight I intend to combine the vodka with the banya and I am expecting great things. Tomorrow I am travelling back to Irkutsk and then getting on a 74 hour train to Mocba. Siberia has been incredible, if a little chilly, and I am so very happy here, and that I decided to come here. It’s incredible.

Beijing, Beer and that Big Beautiful Wall

I am writing to you now from a city called Khabarovsk in the far east of RUSSIA! I have finally made it and with zero days remaining on my Chinese visa. I was sad and clearly reluctant to leave China, somewhat mitigated by my excitement for Russia and knowing that I will have to come back to China (and probably also Russia seeing how I only have 3 weeks) because there is just so much I haven't seen and so much time I need to spend there without running off to the next city. When I was vaguely planning my trip, I wasn't attracted to the idea of going to China at all. I remember having conversations about how little time I could spend there before I left for Mongolia and I planned on 2 weeks maximum. I haven't been to Mongolia and I have also enjoyed and been constantly surprised and excited by this literally amazing future super-power. I'm not sure what, if any, preconceptions I had of the capital but I have found Beijing to be the most surprising of all the things I have been surprised about in China. Like with the rest of country (apart from Chengdu, which in retrospect, I didn't like much) I love it completely and it's complexities, contradictions and the whole communism thing intrigues me all the more.

I can't define or describe Beijing. It is vast (the size of Belgium, did you know?) but beyond this it is so multifaceted and seemingly contradictory that every adjective I think appropriate to describe it sends me into a dialectical spin - because on the other-hand it's just not, but it is; it's both - both polarities. You see my problem? Take Modernity. Beijing is a thoroughly modern city. It has outstanding infrastructure, a coherent and well signposted road network, a spotless and easily navigable metro system and everything appears to be clean, polished & confident. This of course presupposes a lot about what we think a 'modern' city is (the Shanghai Expo had a few ideas about that - if you caught any coverage). Economically, Beijingers are becoming wealthier and the rapid increase in car ownership, both in the capital and in the cities around the country, seems as good an indicator as any of financial trends. Socially and politically however, those attributes earmarked as signs of a developed society; welfare, "democracy", discursive debate, controversial new art and theatre, are nowhere to be seen. The focus of this debate, that I have seen at least, is always focused on the failing and inappropriateness of Western systems for China. I don't disagree - but in this sense, it doesn't feel as modern as it looks. Less abstractly, as you walk around Beijing (or drive, because you wouldn't walk across Belgium), on one street you could be on any street in any city in the world, and then the next turn takes you down the narrow and ancient alleys of a hidden 'hutong' district. Beijing is crammed full of history and in some areas you are breathing in the atmosphere of a thousand years. Beijing is ancient, historical, culture-rich, yet also cutting-edge, uniform and indistinguishable from city X. Because it is so big, spread out and people are busy running around making money, by day it can also feel quite impersonal. At the same time, walk on a little further and enter the park to your left and you will find an entire community (of the older generation mainly) working out on the exercise equipment, or playing cards, Chinese chess or singing karaoke! In the evenings the millions of dogs hit the streets and everywhere you can see neighbours stopping and chatting on street corners, while the dogs entertain themselves, as dogs do. In the evenings and parks again, music is blaring and there's an entire community outside doing aerobics and line dancing. The park is full - it's wonderful! (I joined in, twice!)

Essentially I can't tell you what Beijing is like except that it is a bunch of incongruous coherent opposites! It is however, awesome, exciting, unexpected and a place you should definitely consider for your next vacation!

If it's hard to communicate an overall impression of and feel for Beijing it's easier to pick out a few highlights of the time I spent there. Highlight #1 was definitely leaving the nasty hotel. I hailed a taxi to take me the whole one block to my hostel; had I left the hotel at all in the 3 days I spent there, I might have discovered just how central I actually was. As irony would have it, the hostel was one of the nicest I've stayed in and a private room here might have been a better all than 'splurging on some moderate luxury' while I recovered. I took day one pretty slowly, eating snickers bars (a rare treat) and watching DVDs curled up in the over-heated TV room. I was in China and so naturally, all the DVDs available for me to watch were fake. I was 1/2 way through 'The Blind Side' when everything froze and spluttered pitifully. I asked the man behind the desk to help me - his solution was to snap the disk in half and put on GI Joe. Erm - well, okay then! This really annoyed me, especially when the exact same thing happened with film #2 and I fixed it by turning the DVD player off for 15 minutes and starting again. The cheapo DVD player must have overheated, but now the cheapo DVD was in 2 pieces, in the trash. Unimpressed. I spent the next week with my head in racks upon racks of pirate movies trying to locate an un-snapped copy. I found it and also bough "Haatchi; A dog's tale" because neither Nicola nor Chloe would go and see it with me in the cinema, and I refuse to pay full price for it - that's what Wood Green Orange Wednesdays are for! Yes I am aware that in about 14 weeks I am going to start training as a solicitor, with potentially my first seat in the IP department. I can't defend myself - it's blatant hypocrisy.

There are about 3 million things to do in Beijing, and I had roughly 4 days. I spent day 1 with some lovely American girls and we hopped, skipped and jumped from the Temple of Heaven to Tiananmen, to the Forbidden City, Jingshen park & then to the night market to sample some tasty local delicacies. The Temple of Heaven is set in a massive open, green park, and before we even reached the sight seeing bit, we spent a good 40 minutes hanging out with the locals, somewhat in awe of the variety of talent and skill being displayed so casually on a Sunday morning. In lots of outdoor parks in China, you will find exercise equipment which resembles a colourful adult playground. There's equipment a lot like cross trainers, weight pulleys, a big disk you have to spin around with your arms and loads of parallel bars. On some bars the women collect, natter and loosen their hips by swinging their legs back and forth, while on other bars, men, clearly in their 60's & 70's swing around with the vivacity of an 18 year old gymnast. One of the Americans I was with was also a gymnast and she followed suit, equally as impressive, but for the 50 year age gap. My attempt was pitiful and I barely managed to swing my legs over and hang upside down. I always hated gym, and it's no more fun now because I still suck at it. Something else I also suck at is a Chinese game where you kick a disc, a bit like a badminton shuttlecock but with feathers, from one person to the next, arching it in the air. It must be the years of stereotyped sport coaching and my schools netball-only policy, but my reflex was to catch the damn thing, which is not in the rules. Something I was marginally better at, was waving a 10m ribbon attached to a stick around in the sunshine. Not as easy as you might think, so I was pretty chuffed I only mummified myself in it a few times. I should start a comic or something; "Adventures of Stupid While Girl".

The actual Temple itself was glorious, huge and very shiny. I must be reaching the 50+ marker of the number of pagodas I've visited, but this one did stand apart as something special. There was also a helpful exhibition detailing the historic worship rituals of the Emperor which contextualized it into being more than another beautiful pagoda.

After the Temple of Heaven and lunch, we took a taxi down to Tiananmen Square. I studied China and the '89 pro-democracy demonstrations a bit when I was 16. Being a bit of a geek, it felt exciting to visit a place that I had some detailed background knowledge on. This is something that has been lacking from my travel thus far. My history education has been narrowly British & WWII orientated (5 years of Hitler - re-visit that, won't you, Cameron?) & I have felt the absence of any knowledge of Asian history and even of the Vietnam War. I was in Vietnam long enough to fill in some of the gaps, but the beasty war book I did buy was Vietnamese published and hilariously biased and so this might require a bit of library time to level out. The only bits of Chinese history I know about are Maoism, Tiananmen and the Japanese occupation of Manchuria. Maybe this ignorance was a factor in my lack of desire to come to China and my unending surprise when I got here!

Tiananmen Square itself is vast! And the iconic Gate of Heavenly Peace with Mao's unflattering portrait (he was the least attractive of all the big-time communist leaders, don't you think?) is only one tiny end of it. Perhaps this is because of its size, but even though it's very busy, it didn't feel bustling or crowded. Wherever you look there's big open space, which for me at least, drew attention to the uniformed guards & militaristic undertone. It's a poignant place, and an honour to be there for all it represents and the questions that event still demands of China today. To get to the Forbidden City you go under Mao's portrait and through the gate. This enclosed space is teeming with people, to the extent that it was sometimes hard to move. I found my bag unzipped here - a failed attempt by a pickpocket, who rejected my old-looking phone and stole my supply of loo-roll. I was very grateful for the money belt and camera around the neck arrangement, but disproportionately upset about the good quality toilet paper - such things are precious in Asia! We didn't actually go into the Forbidden City - there are some kinds of tourism I abhor more than I am curious about, and audio-guides and cattle-herding are one of them. That evening, around dusk, we climbed to the top of the hill in Jingshn park and looked out over this glorious, vast city. Birds flew around in the fading sunlight, and this same sunlight reflected off the many lakes. Postcard-Picture-Perfect. The Summer Palace will easily require a full day of your visit, and it is worth these precious hours. Again, like most things in China, it is huge! It is also beautiful and absolutely spoils the visitor for pagodas and temples and royal buildings. The highlight of this day involved more climbing, this time to the top of the Temple of Incense. Of all the pagodas I have seen in the last 3 months, this is the one alone that made me stand back in reverence and see the magnitude and importance of this religion.

I spent Halloween in Beijing, and because it is a very quiet, if not non-existent affair here, my celebrations (I was with Americans and so we had to celebrate!) took a on slightly unconventional twist. We decided that it would be appropriate to celebrate by eating scorpions at the night market! I sampled, nervously, scorpion (the little, not the big kind, and minus the stinger) which were still alive until plunged into boiling fat, snake and seahorse. All of my experiments ended well, snake being my favorite and seahorse being a very crunchy, salty experience. I was also offered the chance to eat a tarantula and donkey-penis. I graciously declined.

Day three, which I think was a Monday (but could have been any day really), I climbed the Great Wall of China! I signed up for the 'hiking' trail, being warned by the kind lady at the desk that it was a lot harder than the other alternative. True to ridiculous form I signed up and paid my yuan and the next morning at 8am, found myself scrunched up on a mini-minibus on the way to Jinshanling. All of my hours of trekking and increasingly beasty calf muscles finally came good and I walked it, literally, struggling on only a few uber-steep bits. It was easier than I expected AND I didn't fall over once! What a victory! Even more so if we overlook that this 'hike' was essentially a million stone steps, not exactly what you'd all 'rough terrain'. In the words of that hapless president "it really is a great wall" and it snakes through some breathtaking, mountainous scenery. We stopped about half way along, on a sunny flat spot and had a picnic. I cracked open a beer (Cheers, Tammo!), and sat, on The Great Wall of China. What a feeling. This day was fantastic, and not only because of this mighty check on the 'to-do before I die' list, it was my ONE day of autumn! I've had a glorious, sweaty, extended summer, Beijing city was turning pretty cold, I was traveling further north, ending up in Siberia of all places, and I was starting to feel confused because I'd essentially jump from +30 to -something; from summer, straight into winter. My equilibrium was set right again by 'Great Wall Day' because I got to see hundreds of red orange, golden etc leaves on and falling from the trees, and I could even step on a few and feel that satisfying "crunch" underfoot. Autumn was made all the better this year by it’s brevity and I really relished my one day of it – especially because it was cold and sunny (my favorite weather) and not a drop of British-rain to be seen!

My last day in Beijing I spent running around trying to do everything I hadn’t had time to do yet. This failed epically, but I did dally on down to the silk market where I bartered as though my life depended on it, Vietnamese style, and still paid over the odds for a beautiful silk kimono. I was also accosted by a million marketers jumping out at me from behind pillars of “same same” Prada to offer me more pirated wares. I did buy a purse. It’s a bad fake, but it’s still really nice and I need a good purse (I think – I can’t really remember what I own in my other life). I also bought the most fantastic presents in the history of all travel presents for a few choice friends who might come close to appreciating it. They’re not fake, but about as genuinely “Chinese” as you can get!

I took the overnight train that evening to Ha’erbin. I’d been wanting to visit this city for a while, and a little research informed me that I’d have to get to Russia this way because I no longer had that Mongolian Visa. Annoying and yet, fortuitous. The train was fine, but I was harassed by a smelly drunk for a long time, who kept shouting at me in Chinese. No one would help me and no one spoke any English. I see this event as the turning point for when my traveling got a whole lot harder!

Ha’erbin is a really interesting, bohemian-esq and heavily Russian-influenced city. Because of my dual interest in both China and Russia, I found my stop here to be really fascinating and most enjoyable. It was great because it felt so European, and yet also, so Chinese and the incongruous mix of architectural and cultural influences gives the city an edge and intrigue that really fits together nicely. I spent a whole day in below-freezing cold, trying to organize my itinerary for getting to Russia. It was complicated by the date my visa expired and the coincidence of train timetables and the date on which this would mean I crossed the border. This is super boring and very logistical, so I shall summarize my day of broken communication into – I couldn’t go to Vladivostok (boo) or straight to Irkutsk because I would overstay my visa – by 4 hours, and so my one option, unless I wanted to sell a kidney to pay for the flight to Irkutsk, would be to get a train to Khabaravosk, which is big city #2 on the Train-Siberian route, and famously Russia’s coldest city of over 500,000 people. This is what was eventually booked and paid for (through my chilly red nose).

While I was in Ha’erbin I did manage to get to see the Siberian Tigers – which are magnificent. They are also huge – one paw, I think, is the size of my face! The busses and taxi combination to get to the reserve was complicated and it was cold and no on spoke any English, so I decided to get a taxi (which cost me an extravagant 3GBP). The taxi driver didn’t quite understand the guidebook, and so I sat in the front seat of a Ha’erbin taxi, growling like a tiger making clawing motions with my hands. He understood and roared back, so I roared back at him. We then drove off singing to the Elton John track on the radio (circle of life – appropriate, huh?), me in nasal English, he in something that’s not quite a language, I’m sure. When I got to the reserve I had to be driven around the different areas of the park in a minibus with cages over the windows. That was a bit of a disappointment, as I wanted to walk around, but this way I didn’t have to stare through cages (only the ones on the windows) and got a lot closer to these gorgeous animals, who came, quite unconcernedly, right up to the bus. There were also a few snow tigers, leopards cheetahs and lions, both African and white, at the reserve, and my favorite: black panthers! My black panther jumped up on a branch right in front of where I was standing on a raised, caged platform, and stared right through me with big, round amber eyes. Another ‘species’ that I previously didn’t know existed are called ‘Ligers’. I initially took this for a spelling error, but in actuality, when a male lion mates with a female tiger (or the other way around, I’m not sure) a baby liger is born. This funny looking animal looks much like a lion, with less of a mane and many faded stripes. It’s awfully funny, and cute – but cute in a ‘could eat me alive’ kind of way, which makes me less inclined to laugh at it.

That afternoon I went to the Japanese Germ Warfare Museum, known as unit ‘731’ (google it). It’s on the site of an old prison/research complex, and is where the occupying Japanese during WWII carried out a multitude of ‘germ warfare experiments’ i.e. biological attacks, on Chinese and Korean POWs. Such experiments included plague dissemination; infecting and recording the effects of syphilis; making naked POWs stand outside in the cold (in the winter it hits about -40) to time frostbite reactions; vivisection and the list continues. There’s a very eerie and empty feeling about this place, which is part reconstructed now because the Japanese bombed it (with bombs tested on their own inmates) on their departure to destroy the ‘evidence’. This was partially ineffective and it remains so little known about because the records, which were handed over to the US in exchange for immunity from war crimes prosecution, were covered up. That hollow feeling always shivers through me when I leave places like this. Not to trivialize what I had just experienced, but I’ve never been happier to see a KFC and sit, chicken burger in hand, and be in a normal social environment.

My train to Khabarovsk left the evening of the next day. With time to kill, I walked around all the less touristy parts of the city and along the bank of the river. There was a really great buzz on the streets and walking in the sunshine through all this made me really happy. I happened across a local market, and after the usual trinkets, home wares and unusual food, I came to what must have been the ‘pet market’. I first spotted two beautiful golden Labrador puppies sat on a cage looking timid. They were gorgeous and I cooed over and petted them for as long as I could before their fierce looking owner/retailer shooed me away. Further down the street though, there were, quite literally, hundreds of puppies for sale, some which couldn’t have been more than 2 weeks old, and others quite clearly terrified by the whole ordeal. This made me sad – I don’t think much of Chinese animal welfare. Around the corner, hundreds of goldfish were for sale either in jars or small transparent bags. I care less for goldfish, but it still wasn’t a pretty sight.

Ha’erbin is the first (and only) Chinese city that I’ve been able to orientate myself in. This surprised and pleased me. Along with its fascinating Russian/Jewish/Chinese mix of history, equally intriguing architecture and attitude, what I really loved about Ha’erbin, was sitting in toasty cafes drinking hot chocolate. This was the first time I’d had to spend any real time in below freezing temperatures. These invaluable few days spent adjusting saw me get it wrong quite a lot, with either too many or too few layers, but I think I’ve got it now. I’ve also got the least attractive, but most comfortable and warmest winter wardrobe I’ve ever owned. Lugging the heavy winter layers around Vietnam and China had finally started to pay off; I am here now, and Russia is cold!

Censorship and Cities; Mandarin and Mountains

I am sick. And I’m sleepy. And I miss my family and friends and England and western food and the dog that I haven’t even met yet. And I’m having a sulk. Worse still, I’m feeling all sick and sulky from a nasty, seedy, potentially dodgy hotel room somewhere in Beijing and I don’t even know where in Beijing because I arrived 2 nights ago and am yet to leave the hotel. Woe is me!! I do however have a (prehistoric) computer in my room and so I thought it was the perfect time to rewrite my blog entry for the Nth time and actually get around to posting it. All of this should be better explained…

Run-down from running around

October is quickly running away from me! Whilst this marks the time when I should be moving on from China to the big trans-Siberian adventure, this also means that I’ve been on the road for nearly 3 months now. Everyone that I spoke to before I left, and many with whom I have spoken since being away, have all talked about the importance of ‘down-time’ when travelling. Honestly, I’ve been pretty bad at this. I always have reputable intentions, but then I get all excited and burn out. This has happened quite a few times, and not just in the last 3 months. Two days ago I flew from Chengdu to Beijing (yes – I know that backpackers aren’t meant to fly places, but I’m sick and also running out of days!) and on arrival finally gave into to the subtle-as-sirens warning signs my body had been giving me for a few days, and checked into a hotel for some quiet and some proper sleep.

I love hostels, really I do. They’re friendly places where no-one else cares that you’re making do and look like hell and on they whole, they’re very homey places. You can’t, however, always be guaranteed a good nights rest when you’re all dormed-up. Let me give you an example. This was way back now in Guilin the second time, the night before I took off for Kunming. I had the top bunk (fine, no problem), under the air-con (less fine, but still, no real problem) but my bunk was next to the loudest snorer this planet has ever sustained. Usually I’m pretty tolerant of this kind of stuff, being a “heavy breather” and chatty sleeper myself (every man’s dream, I know) but this guy was beyond all measure of snoring comprehension. So much so that I was actually forced (from something within the depths of my soul) to hit him, across his (sizable) belly, with my pillow. This did nothing, and so I resigned, pushed the earplugs (which worked FINE when I was sat next to a BOAT ENGINE) in further, rolled over huffily in protest (he was asleep so a really great protest) and kept to my grumpy self. THEN, not satisfied with his own bed he stretched his feet over and rested them on my bed, near to my head, across quite a wide gap between the beds. Intolerant. Indignant. Inconsolable with rage. Unladylike. All of the above. I hit him again, this time without the pillow, but with my wash-bag. This time he woke up and I yelled at him in a hushed, repressed whisper in case any of the other poor souls in our dorm actually had managed to sleep though the thunder symphony. He didn’t speak English. Brilliant. He farted, reluctantly swung his feet back onto his own bed and slept silently, for a whole 30 seconds. On the upside, I did sleep for nearly the entire train journey to Kunming the next day. (and before you think I’m really evil, the wash bag wasn’t that full). So dorms, whilst they can be great, can also bring out my tired murderous side and so I decided that seeing how I was sick, I needed a hotel room, with a TV and a western bathroom.

I was too busy pretending I wasn’t sick and doing stuff in Chengdu to research and book a Beijing hotel so I arrived at the airport and thanked my lucky stars when I saw a “hotel reservations” desk in front of a pretty legitimate looking taxi rank. I dragged my backpack (yeah, it didn’t last long) over to the desk and explained that I wanted a “business hotel” with a TV and nice, western bathroom. She made a reservation for me and even wrote out the address in Chinese to give to the taxi driver (who I couldn’t help but eye, suspiciously). Now, when I said “business hotel” what I had in mind was one of those semi-cheap, characterless hotels you find in every city, with Jack Vettriano paintings adorning the walls of the worn-down rooms and the art doesn’t matter because jet-lagged business men will check in for two nights at most and sleep as much as they can before catching the next flight to the next negotiation. I MAY have been misunderstood. MY hotel is pretty seedy really. It’s not particularly ‘nice’, but I don’t mind because it’s also not particularly ‘expensive’. But, I DO object to the items on offer for sale in my mini-bar: coke, beer, sprite… condoms, lubricant, etc… I am desperately trying to convince myself that this is a proactive approach by the famously socially concerned government to prevent the spread of HIV, but I’m not very convincing. My reaction resembled that of a certain welfare officer’s when she came back from the meeting about welfare items available on request (for the shameless few). For sale? IN MY ROOM? Eiw. I don’t care (that much) because all I currently care for is sleep and watching the one English ‘Propaganda Channel’ on the TV and trying hard to avert my eyes from said mini bar. “Business hotel” is NOT a phrase I shall be using ever again. And I was so excited for 2 nights of relative luxury.

So I’m here (somewhere) in Beijing and intend on getting back on the tourist horse tomorrow. It has been a super busy 2 weeks though, and there’s a lot to update you on.

Censorship

I have actually had this blog entry written, and frequently amended it for at least the last 5 days now. I was part way through typing it up last week, when the proxy I’ve been using to get around the censorship of google (this is a google blog) crashed on me – only me – and hasn’t worked since. I spent an awfully frustrating hour watching everyone else’s computers, but mine work. This was even the case when I changed computers, and the next morning. So I gave up deciding I would type it into an email and get someone to post it onto the site for me.

The ban from Facebook I don’t mind so much, and the ban from google sites is a bit annoying, but the censorship controls really stood out to me and in a quite a frustrating way, as I began to read more of the Chinese press and watch the media. On the whole I do think that western media has a negatively biased view of China in it’s news reporting, and I have thought this speculatively for a while now. Travelling further north into the bigger cities, I can understand the frustrations that western journalists much feel trying to extract information about China and Chinese politics. The pervading attitude that I have encountered, tends to be one of “us and them”. I frequently read or hear the phrase “China’s relations with the US/Italy/Rest of the World”. This is a political nation that is very aware that it’s ostracized. I’m nowhere near qualified to be able to develop a reasoned opinion on this, but the more time I spend in ‘modern’ China, the cities, the more suffocated and controlled I feel the media is. Positive propaganda has a daily drip drip drip effect here, and in one sense, that scares me. In another sense, it also fascinates me and to watch it happening and to be in the middle of it is such an interesting experience, but one that is happening quickly and will probably not be fully processed until I get back to the UK. Being here does challenge a lot of my previously held and accepted ideas though.

Cities

“Complex” is the word I consistently used to describe what I saw and experienced in Vietnam. My word for China is “Epic”.

There is nothing about this fabulous country that is on a small or moderate scale. I took a bus from Kunming to Lijiang a while back, and for the entire 8/9 hours I stared out of my window completely enamoured and in awe of how vast and beautiful the landscape was. (see below for more ‘china is pretty’ gushing). The cities also are epic and huge, and after the quiet of the countryside, really rather imposing actually. The buildings, the crowds, the traffic; everything is completely overwhelming, and if not overwhelming, very, very big.

Mandarin

The Chinese character for "landscape" is comprised of the characters for "mountain" and "river" respectively. Cool, huh? The characters for "mountain" and "river" each have their own stories, both of how the symbol has developed from the ancient into the current symbol, but also how the symbol represented it's meaning in the beginning. When I was in Yangshuo, I was joined for breakfast one morning by an elderly Chinese art teacher who had some time on his hands, and was given a spontaneous 45 minute lesson in the history of two particular characters, for "sun" and "moon". I've heard a few of these histories now, and each time I excited by just how rich, ancient and loaded this language is. I love it, and I love being completely surrounded by it, both audibly and visually. I was always pretty rubbish at learning languages, so this has come as something as a surprise for me. But it's a really wonderful thing to communicate with someone with whom you cannot converse, but have to rely on wide smiles, the good-old lonely planet guide and ridiculous demonstrative miming. I'm also pretty bad at drama, and so miming is of limited utility really, so I remain very grateful that those who are able, are frequently so delighted and willing to teach me a little bit of Chinese. I've been here nearly 2 weeks (I think) and aside from the ability to barter (which I cannot get a handle on because I can't pronounce the numbers) I think I might have picked up as much Mandarin in the last two weeks as I did Vietnamese in two months. I'm having fun - but I'm pretty bad.

Mountains: Tiger Leaping Gorge-ous

Interestingly, the Chinese character for landscape wouldn't make much sense in Britain, or many other parts of the World. Here, however, it couldn't fit more perfectly, and I couldn't experience it more vividly than I have here this past fortnight during my time in Yunnan province, to the west of my previous location.

You might recall from previous entries, mention of my somewhat optimistic/naive level of confidence in my ability to take on new things. Like with driving the motorbike in Hanoi, and various other things I am surprisingly not already perfect at on my first try, trekking Tiger Leaping Gorge (no actual tigers - just 'of legend') this week was definitely one of these occasions when I stood there, out of breath and bewildered, and questioned why on earth I thought I'd "just be able to do this". (Incidentally, as the weather starts to turn and I am realizing that I am acclimatized to 28C heat - minimum - I am asking the same questions about why the hell I ever thought "sure, I'll go to Siberia in THE MIDDLE OF WINTER") Having come close to death on two occasions; one from sheer exhaustion and the other from falling boulders (eh hem - sorry dad!) I am happy, delighted in fact, and extremely proud to sit here and say that I trekked it and it was spectacular!

After losing one set of Germans (sniff, sniff) a few days back, I accidentally found myself hooked-up with another, equally wonderful pair, to make this trek with. Germany is being good to me this trip, and me and my two trekking buddies - because there's no way I would take THIS by myself - set off for the trek, after an overnight stay in the mountain village of Qiaotou. For the first four hours that we walked, it rained, which meant that the first four hours of walking were super-slippy and the path frequently consisted of 4" deep "silver mud. Nice. It was horribly steep, and every time we finished a nasty bit of up-hill trudging, I kept thinking "well, it just can't get harder than THAT". But it did. About 8 times. Then, when we thought we really had done the hard bit, we came across a massive sign advertising snacks to give us energy for the 28 bends up ahead. The 28 bends are the most notorious part of the trek, and no, we hadn't done the hard bit. Our sunken and somewhat dejected but determined hearts were lifted when we saw the "snacks" on offer for sale. There was the standard honey and ginger tea, bananas, snickers bars and, erm, marijuana and magic mushrooms! I kid you not. Surely that's the last thing you want to put into your system before you climb across the face of a cliff. I don't know, it might have helped dull the pain in my thighs and slow the pace of my heart, which was about to explode.

I enjoy trekking, although I'm, quite evidently, not much of a natural hiker. But the reason I keep on doing this, regardless of the level of stamina it will actually require, is that the scenery when you make it to the top is just outstanding, and pure exhilaration buzzes through your spine and your tired limbs. I am incredibly lucky to have seen a lot of really beautiful parts of the world the last few months. Each time something new makes me gasp I get excited and think that's more beautiful, no, THAT'S more beautiful! And each time I am wrong because they're just different types of beautiful that are equally and incomparably spectacular and exciting. There is, however, nowhere that I have been, or nothing that I have seen this is on such an enormously imposing scale and has given me quite the thrill as this gorge. It is stunning, and everything you could want from hiking in China. Not only is there a roaring, gushing ochre river at the centre, fed by a million waterfalls, but the mountains run up to 4000m, are richly green in places, exposed, dramatic rock-face in others, and at the peaks are snow covered and glorious! It's amazing, and under-rated.

After the first four hours of up-hill mud slushing, the path evened our quite a bit and the sun also started to clear away the clouds. The next part of the trek was easier, and allowed more time to absorb the surroundings and atmosphere. My favourite moment occurred just after we passed the half-way marker, indicated by a decorated rock, congratulating us. A little further ahead, we crossed a bridge which joined two sides of a mountain, separated by a giant waterfall. I stood on the bridge, camera in hand and was distracted from being all Ansel Adams-esq by a big rush of cold wind that blew through me, also spraying me with the cold, fresh mist from the waterfall. It felt amazing.

I appreciate that I've spent too many words inadequately gushing about the glories of nature, and I also recognise that this is best left to the poets, so I'll move on. The trek can be done in a single day (apparently!) but is usually completed in two or three. We spent the night after day one at a gorge-ous (haha) Naxi guest-house, which had a roof-top terrace with one hell of a view, a hot shower and a damn good apple pie. There was a great buzz about the guest-house that night. Everyone was as cold and tired as each other (apart from the lazy woman who hired a donkey to carry her!), as excited about what they had seen and as grateful for the warm water and hot food. We met a great Dutch couple, who, both in their 70's, had completed the same part of the trek that day 90 minutes faster than us. Oh the shame!

The next day we woke up, freezing cold and discovered that we actually had electric blankets that we hadn't noticed the night before, in the haste to climb under the covers and get some body-heat circulating. Opps - that would have been really nice. We had banana pancakes and coffee, sitting on the roof terrace - in a cloud. The remainder of the walk was downhill mainly, and took us through three waterfalls! These I managed wonderfully, the previous day I had maneuvered across narrow rock ledges, but when it came to the firm red clay path heading down to the next village, you guessed it, I slid down said hill on my backside twice. Sometimes I really do think I'm too stupid to live. I think it happened this time because I was being all secretly cocky about how maybe I had learned, finally, how to walk properly. Nope! Clearly not!

And the mountain came tumbling down... 

No, this isn't some cliched biblical metaphor. Actual crumbling mountains. Read on:

When we reached the next village, triumphant (and muddy) a fleet of minivans were waiting to drive us back to the start village from where we could connect to onwards transport. There was a slight problem however, we learned from an American also waiting for the next bus back to Qiaotou. With all the rain in the previous two days (of which we caught the tail end) the road was officially closed because of a landslide. We waited for a while, saw a few digger-trucks filled with mud and rocks pass us, and were informed that the road had been “mainly cleared” but that one section remained impassable by car and that we could be taken that far. Okay, sounds fine. At least it sounds better than making the two-day trek back again.

Oh holy hell! I haven’t ever been more scared, or I think, closer to death and a 300ft plunge into a powerful river than on that 40 minute drive. When I heard “landslide” I imagined a section, perhaps even quite a large section of the road being blocked by fallen mud and rubble. This happened when we were in Sapa, and took about 4 hours to clear. No. The entire road, and I mean the entire road, and the sections of the road that apparently hadn’t even been built yet, had the top layer of fallen cliff along the edges where it had been ‘cleared’. In some places this looked fairly landslidey – in others we passed fallen boulders the size of a truck at most, a small child at least, strewn across what was left of the road. In other parts the falling rocks had knocked the barrier between the road and the fall and then, as if I wasn’t scared enough (and I really was scared) I looked behind the van as we drove through to see more boulders, 5ft wide at least, actually still falling down the cliff face! Now, there are quite a few people I promised that I would be safe (or at least alive) to – thus far this is the one real occasion when this has been seriously called into question. It was not a fun 30 minutes.

You might be wondering, given the description that I have just given of the part of the road that was open, how the closed section of the road could possibly be worse? Well, that part of the road had actually caved in and was in the river. Yep. We climbed across to the other side and stared down in frank disbelief.

I caught a pretty uncomfortable local bus filled with Chinese men smoking away back to Lijiang, which is a town between the gorge and Kunming. Lijiang is a pretty town, with a gorgeous park in the centre and surrounded in all directions by towering mountains. A big part of the town has been preserved either as original or restored Naxi old town, and is a maze, and actual maze of cobbled streets and small wooden and brick shops. It’s much like how I imagine Hogsmede would look and feel and it’s pretty fun to wander around. Because it’s such a maze however, I gave up any hope of being able to successfully navigate early, on day one. I have no inner compass, or if I do it’s stored next to a box of spare magnets, and Lijiang is not a town that I could do anything but get lost in. The “Naxi” are ancestrally a Tibetan tribe and now a minority that live across Yunnan province. I like the Naxi for the “baba” (delicious sweet or salty bread), the strong matriarchal traditions and yak yoghurt! I ate a lot of yak meat, drank a lot of yak milk and yoghurt and found it pretty darn tasty, if a bit on the ‘gamey’ side. The Naxi use the yak like the Indians use the buffalo, and so I also have a yak leather handbag (that I am a little bit in love with) and received a Tibetan massage, with an instrument made from yak bone.

Now, should you ever be offered a Tibetan back massage I want you to run, quickly and in the opposite direction from the offeror, okay? I AM BRUISED!! My back is covered, actually covered, in violent looking bruises from where my Tibetan masseuse ‘scrape away the tension and the pain’. I am a fan of massage, a big fan, and have enjoyed experiencing different types and traditions as I have travelled across Asia, and usually at less than 6USD a pop. I was trying to be all open minded and trust different traditions for what they could teach me, so I didn’t object or run, as I should have, out of the room and down the street, but instead lay there for 40 minutes with a screwed up face. Lesson learned. And now, you also have been warned!

The weather is getting much colder now, will be getting colder still and it feels as though everything is changing. I’m going to spend about a week in Beijing, and then depending on if I have time or not, go to a city called Haerbin which used to be Russian controlled and has a lot of residual influence. It’s also the only place in China where I can see Siberian Tigers! (which I want to do). The highlight of the last 2 weeks, I have definitely left for closing and it is this: I HELD A PANDA!!!!! I travelled to Sichuan (at the expense of my time in Xi’an) for this sole purpose and it was wonderful! I went to the Chengdu Panda research reserve and caught breakfast time as the cutest, clumsiest and squashiest animals I’ve ever seen stuffed bamboo into their mouths and lumbered around the enclosure. I was offered the chance to hold a 1 year old, which I jumped at. My panda was about 2ft high, really cuddly, really, really heavy and sat contentedly on my lap has I fed him honey-dipped bamboo and stared into his huge brown eyes. People, I’ve found another reason to move to China, and this is far more tempting than life on a Yangshuo farm…