Phillip Norton In hot water, but making tracks into Mongolia
Grimsby man, BBC Look North reporter and former Grimsby Telegraph journalist Phillip Norton, has hung up his microphone for a while and taken a career break to travel the world. He’s keeping a journal of his travels and the people he meets, and is now sharing them with the Telegraph. Here, in the fifth part of a series, Phil’s adventure on the Trans-Siberian train continues...
ASIDE from sleeping, I was completely cut-off from the outside world by now.
As we head towards the 1,000km marker post, mobile phone signals are something of a rarity, and my new USB data modem stopped working as soon as we left Moscow.
Without my music and having to preserve the battery in my netbook, I read my Trans-Siberian handbook for a while, planning the next few weeks, and decided to explore the train.
I found it really comfortable, although I was told it was a very old train, and that the newer replacements are much better.
The only thing that was a bit grim was the bathroom – but even then, I've been in much worse.
I tried to get water out of the tap twice in there though, and without success. It had two big cogs above it, which I presumed were for hot and cold, but try as I might, I couldn't get any water out of the tap.
It worked, and I know it worked as someone had splashed water everywhere, almost to tease me, but I gave up for now.
Each carriage in second class had about nine cabins in it, all aligned to one side with a corridor along the other.
At the end of the carriage was a samovar, a coal-fired water boiler which had an endless supply of water, and was also responsible for the intense heat which seemed to build inside the train.
Every now and then, somebody walked past with a bowl of steaming noodles or soup, and from somewhere there was a supply of tea in a glass cup with a handle. I decided to head down the train, and over the slightly daunting joints between the carriages, where the track whizzed by in the big gaps below you at 40 to 50mph.
The restaurant car was only two carriages away, but it seemed quite pricey and from what I saw, the food didn't look that good. I decided to stick with the noodles from the samovar for now, and picked up some supplies from the station traders as we stopped along the way.
I searched through my book for answers about how to get water out of the taps in the bathroom – and there it was.
Apparently, you have to use a little lever right underneath it. I ventured to the bathroom to give it a go, and out the water came!
I was quite relieved – I was in need of a wash by now, so I freshened up. Then I went to the carriage attendant and asked for some tea – its 10 Roubles for a teabag and glass, so about 20p.
More importantly, it came with a spoon, so I could now stop slurping my noodles straight out of a snack pot container I'd fashioned into a reusable bowl.
Back in my bunk, Andrey and his family were preparing to get off.
He told me how he wants to go to Thailand next year, and I showed him some of my photos from my visit.
He had a battle on, as his daughter wants to go on holiday on her own. He asked me what age children in England are allowed to go on holiday on their own, and disappointingly for Nastya, I told him it was about 18.
She rolled her eyes and laughed – she was pinning her hopes on me taking her side … I told her you're never too old for a holiday with your parents!
Andrey gave me some Egyptian jam and a teabag as a gift from his family, and took some photographs of me with them.
It was lovely to meet them, and I wished them every success in the future before they headed to their cars and nearby flat.
I bought a drink from the station shop and got back onboard. Two older Russian men were now in my cabin, and although they mustered a "hello", they didn't really say much else.
Thankfully I bumped into Igor, the businessman I met previously, who was heading for a cigarette, and we spent the night chatting. We got off at one station and walked the entire length of the train, getting some much needed fresh air, and watched as the locomotive was swapped over at the front for the next leg of the journey.
It was a cold night, our breath drifting into the stillness. Police dogs and guards were patrolling the tracks and checking the trains, while a maintenance man did what any maintenance man does at every station I've seen so far – walk along whacking every axle with a long-handled hammer and listening to the noise it makes. It sounds strangely like a xylophone.
Back on the move – with all axles intact – and after another hour of talking in the corridor, Igor and I are politely told to shut up by another passenger, so we went to bed.
Next week: Phil makes it half-way to Mongolia.
ASIDE from sleeping, I was completely cut-off from the outside world by now.
As we head towards the 1,000km marker post, mobile phone signals are something of a rarity, and my new USB data modem stopped working as soon as we left Moscow.
Without my music and having to preserve the battery in my netbook, I read my Trans-Siberian handbook for a while, planning the next few weeks, and decided to explore the train.
I found it really comfortable, although I was told it was a very old train, and that the newer replacements are much better.
The only thing that was a bit grim was the bathroom – but even then, I've been in much worse.
I tried to get water out of the tap twice in there though, and without success. It had two big cogs above it, which I presumed were for hot and cold, but try as I might, I couldn't get any water out of the tap.
It worked, and I know it worked as someone had splashed water everywhere, almost to tease me, but I gave up for now.
Each carriage in second class had about nine cabins in it, all aligned to one side with a corridor along the other.
At the end of the carriage was a samovar, a coal-fired water boiler which had an endless supply of water, and was also responsible for the intense heat which seemed to build inside the train.
Every now and then, somebody walked past with a bowl of steaming noodles or soup, and from somewhere there was a supply of tea in a glass cup with a handle. I decided to head down the train, and over the slightly daunting joints between the carriages, where the track whizzed by in the big gaps below you at 40 to 50mph.
The restaurant car was only two carriages away, but it seemed quite pricey and from what I saw, the food didn't look that good. I decided to stick with the noodles from the samovar for now, and picked up some supplies from the station traders as we stopped along the way.
I searched through my book for answers about how to get water out of the taps in the bathroom – and there it was.
Apparently, you have to use a little lever right underneath it. I ventured to the bathroom to give it a go, and out the water came!
I was quite relieved – I was in need of a wash by now, so I freshened up. Then I went to the carriage attendant and asked for some tea – its 10 Roubles for a teabag and glass, so about 20p.
More importantly, it came with a spoon, so I could now stop slurping my noodles straight out of a snack pot container I'd fashioned into a reusable bowl.
Back in my bunk, Andrey and his family were preparing to get off.
He told me how he wants to go to Thailand next year, and I showed him some of my photos from my visit.
He had a battle on, as his daughter wants to go on holiday on her own. He asked me what age children in England are allowed to go on holiday on their own, and disappointingly for Nastya, I told him it was about 18.
She rolled her eyes and laughed – she was pinning her hopes on me taking her side … I told her you're never too old for a holiday with your parents!
Andrey gave me some Egyptian jam and a teabag as a gift from his family, and took some photographs of me with them.
It was lovely to meet them, and I wished them every success in the future before they headed to their cars and nearby flat.
I bought a drink from the station shop and got back onboard. Two older Russian men were now in my cabin, and although they mustered a "hello", they didn't really say much else.
Thankfully I bumped into Igor, the businessman I met previously, who was heading for a cigarette, and we spent the night chatting. We got off at one station and walked the entire length of the train, getting some much needed fresh air, and watched as the locomotive was swapped over at the front for the next leg of the journey.
It was a cold night, our breath drifting into the stillness. Police dogs and guards were patrolling the tracks and checking the trains, while a maintenance man did what any maintenance man does at every station I've seen so far – walk along whacking every axle with a long-handled hammer and listening to the noise it makes. It sounds strangely like a xylophone.
Back on the move – with all axles intact – and after another hour of talking in the corridor, Igor and I are politely told to shut up by another passenger, so we went to bed.
Next week: Phil makes it half-way to Mongolia.
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