photos through dirty windows

[Warning: this is very long. Click photos to enlarge.]
Здравствуйте, товарищи! I am here in Russia. Door-to-door, my trip was 58 hours long. For once I kept a trip log, and took pictures along the way, so I'm turning that into a blog post.

At 1pm eastern time I left Princeton and took trains to the Philadelphia airport. The flight to London was late taking off, and was uneventful but for the requisite squawking baby in front of me and old, overweight, belching gentleman beside me. I slept some and we landed late, giving me a layover in Heathrow of less than one hour. Let me just say right here that I have never had a good experience in the LHR airport. Last time I flew internationally through there, my incoming flight was late, I barely made it onto the second one, and my bags didn't make it. Well...That happened again. I sped through the airport, switched terminals and made it to the gate as it was closing, praying my bags made it. I asked as I was boarding and they hadn't made it yet. The next flight was even less notable. I slept more, and had a window seat.
Goodbye, London:

Hello, Moscow:
[not a fair comparison]

We landed in Moscow on time. After getting through customs and not seeing my suitcase at the baggage claim, I found an airport worker and explained the situation. Soon there was a crowd of people who flew from the East Coast through LHR whose bags didn't make it. Hm. They had information on my bag and I was sent to another person. There I answered questions and filled out forms, and the bag was flown here and we picked it up this afternoon, a few hours after I got here on the train.

I found the man from GoToRussia.com holding the sign with my name emblazoned across it, and set off for the train station. He pretty quickly started asking me questions:
- You're English?
- I'm from America but I flew through London.
- Where in America?
- Oklahoma
- Ucklakhoama?
- ...it's near Texas...
He had slipped into the informal "you" from the beginning. We're weaving through traffic, arbitrarily using and not using blinkers. I am surprised to merge onto a 4-land highway with lane markings (which later disappeared for a while, then reappeared, only disturbing traffic patterns a little, but my peace of mind a little more), but then I reason that this is a European capital after all, so shouldn't be surprising. I don't remember the whole conversation, but here are snippets:
- Have you been to Russia before?
- Yeah, I flew through Moscow ten years ago.
- So you would have been pretty little then!...How old are you?
- twenty.
- Are you married?
- Me?! no.
Unfortunately he has no ring on his finger. I sort of wonder why he asked me that. Later he verifies that I need to go the the Kazansky station, and asked when the train was leaving. Not for about two and a half hours.
- You have a lot of time. Do you want me to show you Moscow first?
He has the same smile as when he asked if I was married. I mumbled something about straight to the station.
- Or would it be better to go straight to the station?
- Yes, I think it would be better to go straight to the station, thank you.
He found out that I speak Russian because I lived in Central Asia for eleven years: "So you're basically a Russian!" Well, I wouldn't say that, I answered...

At some point we pass speed limit signs for 100 km/hr. We are easily at 130, flitting around and in front of slower cars. Yikes. He asks what I think of his car, a blue European one. I said I liked it, and he starts talking about it. I understand none of this except when he ends with, "...which is pretty weak, but better than Russian cars."
- Oh...what kind of car is this?
- French.
He asks if I drive in the States (yes), and if I have a car (I did). What kind? A Toyota. I omit the part about it being a 13-year-old, rusty has-been. Especially after he says that Toyotas are good cars. I mean, I guess mine still gets good gas mileage...

We eventually make it to the station. It is good to be back in the former Soviet Union. Somewhere new, out of Oklahoma and the US. There are lots of billboards along the road, some with English writing. An Avon ad with Reese Witherspoon. I wonder if they know who she is. "Reese" in Russian means rice. I had forgotten they paint the bottom yard of tree trunks white to protect the bark from bugs, and now it looks weird and ugly. Russians look the same. I don't feel out of place, but smile to think of how much I must stand out with my blue backpack, OU shirt and multicolored converse shoes. Oh well.

The station:
Here I buy some food and water for the road, struggling to use a new currency. I wander around, buy and eat a popsicle and samsa:
Finally the board shows which track my train is on and I wander down to car six an hour and a half early. They eventually let us on.
The station from outside:
My train:
After switching twice, I make it to a satisfactory compartment with only one other woman in it. One of the moves was to escape sharing a compartment for 36 hours with just one other man, who had already asked me if I was married. Why do I keep getting that question. Here is a typical compartment:We finally get moving around 8. By the way, I must recommend, readers, that you never travel without a watch. This was my first time to travel since taking the watch off last year, and it was bad. On the flights I didn't know what time it was, how late my flight was, or how much time I had in the airport. It was incredibly disconcerting to travel for two nights and a day without a watch in a country where you are not familiar with the sun's patterns. There seems to be a lot of daylight in Russia, especially up north. I went to sleep before dark the first night, probably around 10, and slept until sometime the next afternoon, probably around 2, never waking up for more than 5-10 minutes, usually when the train stopped. I spent the rest of the day reading, writing and thinking.

Towards evening I was back to dozing when uniformed men barged in demanding documents. I handed them over and was subjected to several minutes' loud questioning. Days of traveling and a mere two minutes' wakefulness made the stupid American act very easy, as I struggled to understand them or know how to answer. Apparently I should have had a copy of my letter of invitation. For some reason they gave up without me giving them one, and never came back.

I slept a little more around midnight, but then was awake the rest of the night until the train pulled in at 6:30 am. Cursed jetlag. More reading, writing, watching the dark countryside slide by. It must have gotten light around 4 or 5 am. In the space of 36 hours I ate one granola bar, drank 1.5L of water, and took many pictures through dirty windows.

Russian sunset, second night:

Russian sunrise, not too many hours later:
countryside, not too different from what I left in OK:
Saw this while we were stopped. On the wall it says "RAP STIFLER":
First view of mountains (!!) through a nasty window:
My dad and Emily and Dina met me at the station. It is good to be with the family again. The kids have all grown a lot, but are still the same. Isaac is cheerful and quiet, and warmed up to me quickly. The apartment is very soviet, but I like it. The city is smaller than Almaty, and less modern, but I like it too. I've been around it a little, but will see more soon. Our pastor and his wife came over for breakfast and to meet me. I pulled out my rusty Russian and tried to join conversation. they are great. And all day there was a stream of neighbor girls through our house, introducing themselves to me and playing with my sisters. I guess I'm somewhat of a novelty, being 8-10 years older than them and from America. I'm trying not to disappoint.

One last shot. This is on the side of a building on Lenin Street. Yes, every city in the former Soviet Union still has a Lenin street. Classic.