St. Petersburg

2010/09/10, I was in St. Petersburg, Russia.

My Russian trip began with a series of frustration of language barrier.

After a long air trip, including the long passage of waiting in New York airport and flustered transferring in Moscow airport (The domestic terminal is ridiculously far from international terminal and the shuttle bus schedule is completely a joke.), I arrived YH with an exhausted body. Any word I saw was Russian, which caused huge hardness in everything. However, fortunately, the staffs of YH were extremely friendly.

During the days I stayed, the sky was cloudy, sometimes it rained. I didn’t visit all famous places. I just wandered in the old city, on the streets surrounded by ancient buildings. I walked across some arch bridges above canals, stood still in the square center, then sat and nodded on stair aside the square. I visited some gorgeous Orthodox churches, took some pictures as a ordinary tourist, and last, I took subway back to hostel, with dampened jacket, maybe also with a sandwich, bought from the kiosk outside the metro station. I used funny gestures for this mission, but still didn’t make the vendors laugh.

I had no idea I was walking inside a world heritage, until I was back to Taiwan, surfed the website.

09/13/2010

The sky was still gloomy, and I still had no certain plan. I was looking for post office to deliver postcards to my friends. But I was lost in the city immediately.

I saw two people with arm-bands in front of Moscow train station (It’s a terminal station named after the destination). One was a blond hair young male and the other was a brown hair female. Both wore a jacket with words “Do You Need Help?” I guessed they were volunteers of some organization.

I walked to the girl to inquire where the post office was. The young boy seemed to be helping other somewhere. I cannot speak Russian, so English was the only language I could use now. The girl was not very tall and felt little shy when I asked her. She replied me: “sorry for my poor English” with a blush.

I wanted to say “please don’t say sorry, it’s just a language and my English is poor, too”. But I didn’t.

She made some phone calls, and leafed through her books simultaneously. I wasn’t sure she did this for me until she showed me the location on the book, and guided me the way, with few words but lots of body language and friendly smiles. I cast a glance at her open bag at her foot. It looked some reference books for helping visitors.

Then we had a short talk. I appreciated her kindly help. However I still wasn’t sure was it a charge service. So I inquired her about this. I thought even if it really was, it’s quite fair to pay. The girl replied me an unbelievable number, with her bashful smile.

I was confused. I asked her again to confirm: “You mean you help me and then I have to pay you such a lot of cash?” “Are you sure?” The girl was nodding but her face was little puzzled as well. And then I said “It’s ridiculous!” “It’s just a small favor and is never supposed cost so much”. I was very angry, and left nothing for her. I didn’t look at her afterward but I knew she seemed upset.

The way she guided me was wrong. I found the post office on my own. A kindly female clerk led me through some rooms in the 3rd story maze-like ancient building to a small room, look like a store to deliver mails. The “post office” I found was only to receive mails.

After I sent my cards to friends in Taiwan, China, and Japan, my anger had ebbed gradually and then I started to wonder…..I didn’t think they really intended to earn money from me….

I walked back to the vicinity of station. After a short hesitation, I decided to ask her again. I didn’t want to leave this city with such a bad feeling.

The other young male was standing there now. He greeted me with a friendly smile. His English was good, and I explained the puzzles in my mind. The girl replied me in big astonishment. “No! How possible!” The young man added “That’s our salary per day!” We all laughed. I said “I am so sorry!” “I apologize for my misunderstanding!” She grinned and said sorry again because she didn’t catch on my words.

No, I was so rude. I felt shame on myself. I misunderstood the people who helped me, I almost shouted to them. How foolish I was? I looked like an arrogant foreigner yelling in English she didn’t understand to blame her and this country for the greed because of my wrong awareness due to my language frustration. Maybe I am the person with ridiculous bias without any consciousness. I had many lessons to learn.

However, on the other hand, I was happy I walked back to figure out the truth. I gave myself a chance to save the bad impression, to save my poor mind.

My Kazakh friend Hali

2010/10/01

I had no plan about tour in Almaty at all. The only reason I’m here is to apply my Uzbeki and Kyrgyz visas. I reserved 5 workings days for it. Out of my expectation, I got both on a day, through an annoying, inefficient, chaotic, and suspicious corrupt procedure.

The remaining days were full of upset. I lived in a typical old-fashion Russian hotel full of moisture and oldness. Only few lodgers lived here, at nightfall, the silent hallway under the dim lamp is somewhat creepy. As well as Russian style, the rooms are like cells, and here is a gloomy jail. I can’t speak Russian, stayed in a place nobody talk with is depressed.

I got in an outdoor restaurant in a Commercial strip and pointed to the picture above to indicate what I wanted. Suddenly, the chef, or maybe also the boss asked me:

“ni-shi-zhong-guo-ren-ma你是中國人嗎? (Are you Chinese?)”

I was surprised and did not react immediately until he asked me again. I answered him: I am a Taiwanese.

He is Hali, a Kazakh from Xinjiang, China seven years ago. He lived with his wife and brothers, sisters-in-law who all are Kazakhs from Kyrgyzstan.

Then I go to his restaurant everyday. He is also a stranger here, even he has learned Russian, and married here. His wife took their children to visit his hometown, a small village near Kazakhstan-China border lately, I can perceive his loneliness. He isn’t the boss, but just an employee, the burden is heavier especially after the other partner quitted.

The day before I left Almay, I visited him again. It’s Friday and he had many customers. He was busy until evening. After he finished all, it’s time to close. I didn’t come yesterday. He told me he stood outside to look for me for a while. I was dealing with my visas so didn’t come. “How about visiting my house?” he invites me every time but I always declined him. “OK” I replied this time, because tomorrow I would leave for Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan.

We took the tram to pass about 4 or 5 stops and got off. It’s not suburb yet, but far enough away downtown. We walked across a bridge and along the bank. Many one-story houses gathered in this region. As soon as I got in, Hali’s brother and sister greeted me with genuine friendly smiles. They are sincere people. We sat at the round table. They gave me the space facing the gate, which usually means the main site for guest, and handed me a num (a kind of bread) and a bowl of warm noodles.

Although they are no longer nomads, the nomadic friendliness still remained, kind of purely and simply care to another traveler, who no matter lost in grasslands or alone in an unfamiliar city.

We watched the TV together, and talked via Hali, he translated our Chinese and Kazakh. We didn’t catch too much but still got some laughs. They are really nice people. We all are aliens here. They came here for work, I traveled here for…traveling. I was traveling lonely.

I finished my supper. Hali asked me if stay tonight? I answered sorry, I have to go back to pack my luggage. I really appreciate his host.

We left the house, it’s very dark. Walked along the bank of river and reached the road. Hali called a taxi for me. He inquired the price in Russian for me. Then we shook hands and said goodbye. I seated myself inside the car and close the door. The car drove me left. The driver is quiet, so as this foreign Almaty. The light of limp cast inside, light and shadow streak was rolling on my face. My brain was vacant. I stayed here over 8 days, but Almaty was still a distant city to me or perhaps I was distant as usually. I think I won’t come to this city again, and won’t see Hali either.

We didn’t have much deep talk actually. Sometimes we just stay still. I think I will miss the time we sat inside the outdoor restaurant under sunshine shedding through canopy, and looked at the continuous flow of pedestrians in the strip outside.

Railway to Almaty

en route, Siberia Railway

2010/09/20

In Moscow YH, I met a Dutch couple, Wouter and Chloe, who had the same destination as mine. We were going to Almaty-Kazakhstan by train. It’s a long way. We would spend 3 full days in the train.

The train would depart at night. I had my last day in Moscow relaxing, after an emergency that I found I bought the wrong date ticket and rushed to station for changing. I was very nervous because my Russian visa would expire if I couldn’t catch my train.

We left YH at evening and took subway to the station with our packs which made us very conspicuous. We waited our train with beer. Since arriving Russia, I had drunk a lot of alcohol, especially the strong Vodka. The time was up. We separated, got in our cars.

The second night, the train stopped at a station for a long time. It’s midnight. I guessed here was the border. We stopped for some official procedures. I was lying on my low berth. An officer in uniform came in and checked our IDs. I handed him my passport. Obviously it’s not common here. He checked it for more seconds and then asked some questions. Finally he asked me took off my glass to see my purple color. Then he gave me a friendly smile. “Welcome to Kazakhstan” He said.

After a while, the attendant handed back my passport with a stamp on the visa. The train started again. It whistled in the night. The steel wheels clattered the rail. I watched outside the window. Obscure scene started to move backward slowly.

This was my first time to cross the border, overland.

******

In fact, the passage in train was not so interesting. However, I didn’t expect too much in advance. My Chinese train-traveling experience had made me realized that it depends on luck to meet something interesting just like anywhere else during journey. Train traveling isn’t interesting itself.

The third morning, I was lazy in my mattress. The rising sun shone light in our compartment. I looked outside the window. The shining half-orb was just above the horizon of the field. We were running on an unknown boundless wild.

I went to Wouter’s car which was next 3 cars to mine. We talked for a while. Chloe said this was her first train traveling. Wouter told me it’s no boring. He enjoyed watching the landscape changing gradually.

I had a nap and awoke up at dusk. The light was gentle. I watched outside again, and the sun was falling. It’s sunset. My brain was empty. I was thinking of nothing and bathed in the warm sunshine silently. We were still running on this field, the field in Asia, the field that Mongolian horse had ever galloped across to conquer Russian, and then to sweep Europe.

The night fell. The wild was swallowed up by dark. Our train was the only dim moving light in this darkness, like luminous mystical creature, migrating in the silent night.

*****

The train stopped at a small station. I stepped down to the platform for a rest. I walked backward for Wouter and Chloe. I saw a crowd of venders surrounding them with hubbub. They flocked to them not only for trade but also for fun and curiosity. A Slavic-like man was translating for them and it’s the cause of this hubbub. They both got a window to communicate. He was their new friend in their carriage, a Slavic with Kazakhstan nationality. (Only little bit more than 50% of the population of Kazakhstan is Kazakh people.) He invited us to have beers that night.

Near midnight, I walked through the aisle, cross the gaps between carriages to their compartment. The train stopped in a small station, they went to buy some beers and snacks. “We almost lost the train! It starts earlier!” They gasped out with excitement.

We closed the door. The obscure compartment was illuminated by the dim light over our heads. 2 Kazakhs joined us, too. We cheers and drank, and started to talk about traveling inevitably, because of their curiosity about us. I was little drunk and started to address the story I read, which was about the Roman history took down by the ancient Roman historian Polybius.

When the great Roman general Scipio ordered to inflame all Carthaginian vessels and ships harbored in the port, and moreover the city would be destroyed completely by him, he gazed the burning harbor and city, the enormous fire was devastating the Carthage, and the night sky seemed also burned….He shed tears for his enemy, not only because of the empire’s catastrophe, but also because he suddenly realized that his country, Roma, would extinct one day, as the burning, dying and disappearing Carthage Empire, which had ever been such a great country, owned so powerful navy, occupied so large territory. If so great Empire like Carthage would die someday, how Roma could escape from this inevitable fate? I believe his sadness came from the awareness of some kind of essence of life in this universe. That is death. Everything will die, no matter how strong it had ever been.

How deeply moved I was by Polybius’ description? And yes, because of the feeling caused by the great people with so profound thought and sensitive mind who existed there, I want to visit the land they ever stood on. Of course, I knew this was too romantic and deviated from reality. I have to adjust my expectation later. But, we always need something romantic to ignite our passions, doesn’t it?

“Sorry, I’m little drunk. I occupy too much time of you” I said.

“No, it’s a…..you told a very nice story…Thank you…” they responded. They said they were impressed.

It’s very late. We said goodnight and dismissed. I walked through the cars in darkness, passed the gap with smell of rusty rig and fuel, to back my car, my compartment. Every traveler fell asleep. It’s very quiet, except the rhythmic clatter of wheel rolling on rail. My roommates had fallen asleep. We didn’t talk, because of language. I lay down on my bed, with less sleepiness. This was the last night in the train. Tomorrow morning, the train would arrive to its terminal, our destination, Almaty, Kazakhstan.