Beijing by Bike

Our final full day in Beijing dawned bright and sunny - no smog or haze to protect Kate's delicate skin - but after dragging our weary bodies out of bed and applying several layers of sunscreen it was time to explore the city.

Our overly energetic guide David had a full day planned for us but apparently couldn't deal with late nights and early mornings so after we gave him a quick wake-up call 15minutes after we were due to have started we were off to face China's capital city like a local. This started with a costly ride of 1yuan on the bus (with not an english letter in sight so highly difficult for most travellers to work out) followed by bike rides down narrow alleys around the Hutong District where 30 to 40 Chinese families can live together in a community traditionally built around a courtyard sharing only one toliet.

After noticing our lack of enthusiaism about his history lesson on Chinese doorways, our guide decided to change tack - and take us to an exercise park. Monkey bars alongside balance beams and cross trainers, as well as table tennis and Tai Chi - not to mention people playing hackysack with featherered weights. We were entranced and could have spent hours 'exercising'. However, before long we were back on our bikes and negotiating Beijing traffic on 8-lane roads, sharing the bike lanes with rikshaws, buses and the odd parked car or two.

We managed not to lose anyone and made it to the local pet market. David explained its very normal for Beijing locals to frequent the pet market for anything they needed from cats and dogs to turtles, squirrels, woodpeckers, piglets, scorpions, crickets and a strange breed of evil squirrel cross monkey complete with claws, fangs and the menacing glare of a rat. Feeling a mix of fear of this alien creature and sadness for the small cages and intense heat the animals lived in we decided to cool down in the shade with ice cream to energise the next ride in the bright sunlight.

We continued on to the food market where Megan spent her spare yuan and boosted the local economy by buying red-bean paste rolls and basically anything that was strange enough to pass the "oh my god we're in Beijing" test. Next we took in a birdseye view of Beijing from the top of the Bell Tower and learnt its history from a tour girl eager to practise her English. After a lot of nodding and smiling we rode on to our final stop on the bike tour: lunch. There is no way to describe how endless the turns of left and right in no apparent direction felt to blind followers, but somehow we were delievered to the home of a local family who had spent the morning at the same market we had visited buying fresh food for us and the rest of the day preparing a meal that resembled an everyday normal lunch for Chinese families. The plates just kept on coming, everything fresh, healthy and irresitible no matter how full we were feeling.

From there we left the bikes behind and waddled up the street to the bus stop. 1yuan later we were standing at the back entrance to the Forbidden City. We spent David on his way and decided to visit the gardens to the South of the famous walled city. We walked to the top of the hill and were amazed at the size of the red roofed Imperial Palace, while Kate experienced her first (and hopefully last) green bean icecream which had the added bonus of a foot-like texture.

Once on the inside of the Palace walls, we wandered around the maze of courtyards and gardens, fighting the massive crowds and dodging parasols and umbrellas. We gave up on the audio-guides being content to simply admire the 14th century buildings and architechture in the scorching summer evening's heat. The buildings got bigger and more ornate the closer we got to the South entrance/exit point, until, after pushing our way out through the massive crowds we were faced with the stark wide-open space of Tianemin square. We soaked up the atmosphere and availed ourseves of the excellently priced 1 yuan iceblocks as we took in Mao's mauseleum and the rest of the square.

Our sightseeing complete for the day, we decided to walk back to the hostel (on the condition that we could do it slowly). We had a sense of the general direction (as well as a map the size of a business card) and money for a taxi in case things went pear-shaped. The lure of a McDonald's billboard and the prospect of an interesting street proved to hard to resist and without hesitation we headed off our predetermined route towards the unknown. The rewards for our bravery made Beijing positively the best city ever!

Ok so first it was the pedestrian shopping street that made us happy to have found the central hub of the people of Beijing. Just as we began to say how different China town is to actual China (this street apart from the Chinese signs could have been located in any city of the world) we spotted large archways and stone dragons. Again turning away from the direction we were meant to be headed we ventured into the thick crowd and found what we believe to be the night markets. Street venders were selling skewers of all types of meat, toffee-coated fruits and fried insects. Round balls of dough covered in sugar could be bought by the bowl and milk to wash it down came in tapped coconuts. Around the corner souvenirs enough to satisfy the thousands of tourists that pass through everyday. Never did we belive that in only 2 and a half days we would see so many angles of the expansive city of Beijing.

We rushed back to the hostel on a high (not just from sugar but pure adrenalin) and prepared ourselves for our last dinner with the tucan troupe. We bundled ourselves into 4 cabs armed only with a piece of paper with the name of the street and restaurant. We headed across town and somehow found ourselves in another place entirely,with toast still on the floor from the morning's breakfast and a hotplate in front of us on which we were expected to cook ourselves dinner. Some of the choices were 'interesting', to say the least - however for novelty value it was fantastic. The novelty value of the toilets however was another matter entirely....

We ended the night in a rooftop bar soaking up the atmosphere of a balmy Beijing night, having come a long long way from the beginning of the tour in St Petersburg and reminisicing on our travels. At the hostel we still couldn't be separated and so it was a long night before finally giving up our time together purely because of early trips to the airport.

Conquering "The Wall"

Wake-up calls at 5:30am. Bus departing at 6am. First milk tea of the day 6:01am (followed not so long after by caffeine). Its a fairly routine way to start the morning when heading out to walk the daunting 10km stretch of the Great Wall of China from Jinshintushun to the scenic Simanti. We had been warned that it wasn't the run of the mill scenic strip truckloads of tourists visit each day, but a hilly traverse for the truely determined. We gave our converse and sketchers a motivational pep-talk, promised them love and affection and with bag loads of water and food started on our way.

The cloudy day brought mixed blessings. While the photos wouldnt be quite as spectacular, the mist and fog/smog would provide protection against the sun's rays, even as the humidity meant that we had already worked up a sweat in the first 5 minutes. An early indication of the day ahead was provided by the first steep bank of stairs that needed to be conquered before reaching the Wall itself, along with the swarm of vendors who attached themselves to the group wanting us to buy their 'icy water, coke,beer and tea'.

We were out of breathe before even starting but managed to advance towards half-way after 2 hours of stopping at every turn, slope and tower for yet another photo. We ticked off 15 towers and were content to stop for lunch in one of the most amazing locations in the world. It was at this time that the awe inspiring wall and flawless scenary were left for dead by the sight of 3 very sweaty Irish guys. Like the scene of a car crash we just couldn't tear our eyes away from the absolute soaked-through shirts and fantastic sweat patches on trouseurs of the guys in our group. The cameras came out and we vowed promises to tag them on the world-wide community known as facebook.

Inspired by the fact that we only had 15 towers to go, as well as by the efforts of Teri, a 60 year old vegan hippy in our group who was still going strong, we rallied ourselves to finish the steady climb to the end. Traversing the rocky surfaces and steep descents took our minds off the final few kilometres. We were equally entertained by the vendors who were concerned that they might have to cart the bodies of 3 irishmen down the hill and the construction workers taking their afternoon siesta in the shade of one of the wonders of the world.

4 hours from the beginning of the walk we were given a choice. Climb another 10 towers to the peak of the hill or catch the flying fox back down. The first vote came back to climb to the top (not either of us I assure you). The more sane of the group decided we had finished the 10km trek past the 30 towers we had set out to defeat and we instead had a great time on the flying fox down to the river that ran at the bottom of the valley to catch a boat back to the bus. All in all it was an amazing feat for us to have accomplished after 2months of travelling in motor vechicles and eating dessert ice cream and snacks 3 times a day so we got a medal each to commemerate the occasion.

Both of us were ready to collapse, however on the way back into the city our guide mentioned 2 words that made us perk up: the silk markets. The prospect of doing some serious bargining was enough to bring a glint back to our eyes, as we matched our wits with our new best friends trying to sell us a range of genuinely fake goods. We walked out of the chaos laden down with bags of clothes, trashy Wii games such as Redneck Jamboree, chopsticks, alarm clocks and other crap we just couldnt do without.

Unable to avoid the desperate need for a shower we headed back to the hostel to freshen up for a traditional chinese dinner that consisted of more dishes than people. Our eyes were bigger than our stomach and among some of the more familiar dishes we decided to order cuttlefish (success), pork and eggplant (interesting) and a whole chicken including head (no one was brave enough to try the head).

Our guide then lead us past seemingly hundreds of locals in small groups playing with their feathered hackysacks and badminton by the canal and numerous bars to find the one he thought was just right. At the time it was - outdoors, beautiful view, great atmosphere but enough that we could still talk freely - but it soon started to drizzle and we were lead indoors to listen to the "live music". Unfortunately it was not at all to our taste and we hastingly moved on to a rooftop venue with the wonderful background noise of no music at all. After one too many beers and long island ice teas we all went back to the hostel for a final nightcap at the bar and a chance to rest our weary feet and try to pep talk them into helping us to ride bikes around the city in the morning.

No more trains!

We woke up to our last morning on the train, in a brand new country and with a complete change of scenery. Overnight the desert had been replaced by mountains, and as we passed through the Chinese mountain-side tunnels catching glimpses of The Great Wall we had time to reflect on the long journey we had made, and just how far we had come. Eventually the train rolled into the grey smoggy metropolis of Beijing mid-afternoon,and it was time for the final stage of our adventure to begin.

After tiny Ulaan Baatar and the wide open spaces of Mongolia, the crush of people pushing around us trying to get out of the rail station was somewhat overwhelming, and when we emerged into the bright daylight it was to a big big city, and a far cry from the sedate Scandinavian cities we started in two months ago. Buses, bicycles, and cars competed for space with people and the neon signs were both familar and completely foriegn - the universal symbol for McDonalds juxtaposed against chinese characters against the grey sky and a humidity that was thick enough to eat. After our new tour guide briefly introduced himself and the city it was all we could do to walk the 100 metres to the hostel where it was time to shower and get ready for our first experience of China.

We met in the lobby feeling clean and cool - but were assaulted by the heat as soon as we stepped outside. We immediately regretted the sun screen we had applied as it became a sticky residue coating our arms. Motivated by the serious lack of time we would have to unlock the secrets of such a formidable place (just 2 and a bit days) and the ache in our stomachs crying out for a taste of peking duck (after talking about it for 29 hours on a hot train eating 2minute noodles) we made our way through the throb of people in the park to a restaurant that was promised to live up to expectations.

We were ever so grateful to our guide for his no nonsense approach to ordering our banquet. A stream of gibber talk uncomprehensible to our tired english trained ears passed between himself and a few waiters around us and immediately cold beers were delivered followed very quickly by a seemingly endless array of dishes. We engulfed the meal as fast as our chopsticks would allow for pausing only briefly to stare in wonder as the duck was wheeled out on a silver platter and carved before our very eyes. After a short demonstration on how to dip the duck into soya sauce and roll it with cucumber and sprouts on soft lavish bread our plates were licked clean and washed the food washed down with fresh watermelon.

We could have sat in the restaurant happily satisfied and content not to move for an eternity but our guide would have nothing of it. He cracked his whip and had us moving faster than we had ever done so as a group before. We rushed through the streets till we hit stalls selling Beijing paraphenalia and before we could glance towards the new shopping opportunites appearing out of the darkness we were shunted along to a theatre. The legendary kungfu monk show was about to begin and we had the best seats in the house. Honestly we were front row and centre and glued to the edge of our seats for the entire performance, except when we were forced to sit back only because the performers were walking amonst us.

The story line boasted morals of discipline, determination and strength succeeding over fear and temptation to lead to enlightenment. The medium was young children doing head flips, strong men breaking steel and concrete slabs over their heads. Chains were flailed at lightning speeds and one monk bounced over his chain as easily as a girl with a skipping rope. Of course the plot thickened with billowing smoke, bubbles, ribbons from the heavens and a couple in love but quickly the monks were straight back into sword fighting, knocking on their wooden blocs and summoning strength from the elements through tai chi. It was the most powerful production to watch and the unbelievable performances by every little boy and man sent waves of emotion through the crowd.

The buzz in the group on the walk back through the park, dogging walkers, dancers, buskers and tai chi meditators was all over every aspect of the show. The music, the choreography, the historical significant, the determination; the brillance of it all had us all falling in love with Beijing after seeing almost nothing of the city at all. After dispersing through the wacky and wonderful selection of products in the supermarket (instant hot milk, dried kiwi fruit and endless choice of jelly cups) we met again in the hostel bar to continue to wonder about the possibility of being as empowered as the monks (we didn't try any stunts of our own however as the subtitles clearly informed us the the guys were professionals). We gave up the talking only to rest for the biggest event of the tour so far that would take place early in the morning. 6am departure straight to The Great Wall of China!

Moscow II

As the pictures so far may suggest, we don't normally put a whole lot of effort into our appearance when we are on holidays. This morning however, we dressed semi-respectably, did our hair and even packed our 'going-out' shoes into our daybag. We had plans for a grand Moscow experience in the evening and wanted to look the part. Note here, as it will come up again later, we didn't particularly want to carry our day bag and so checked it in to luggage storage first thing in the day.

We had a whole day worth of Moscow to see first though, and we started off at the other side of the Red Square at the entry to the Kremlin. Moscow does many things differently to other cities of the world, even to St Petersburg. They like to charge alot of money for item such as clothes and yet are very reasonable with prices in restuarants. They like to spend the evenings drinking in the streets as opposed to a friend's place or bar or club and they like to erect large, huge statues and memorials absolutely everywhere. We ask Galina why it is so and her proud face lights up, her shoulders stand upright and then with a shrug of her shoulders she tries to look casual in saying "Becasue it's Moscow". The Kremlin is one such unique oddity that could only exist in Moscow. This is no simple Paraliament House. Surrounded by the old city walls with 5 watch-towers supporting the 5-pointed Red Star the Kremlin is a series of bulidings with mulitple purposes including residences, the State Palace, Secret Gardens, lots of police guarding everything, flags that when raised mean different things and an entire courtyard dedicated to churches, 2 of which are Cathedrals.

Unfortunately there was nowhere to buy coffee, but we bravely soldiered on in the heat as we finished with the Kremlin and walked over to the golden spires in the distance, that after 4 weeks of Europe we could knowledgeably identify as an 'important' Church. It turned out to be so - a Chuch of Russian Orthodox extraction destroyed during the Soviet period and recently rebuilt. Luckily, we were both wearing modest clothing (completely by accident) and were allowed in to view the inside.

It was then onto lunch where the phrase "because its Moscow" took on frustrating overtones as we waited two hours for food that wasn't what we ordered and then for the bill that again didn't mirror what we had ordered. Again our trusty leader Galina was worth her weight in gold being the only one amongst us who could spek Russian and sort out the mess. From here we were very eager to get out again into the city and explore some more.

We trekked in the heat to the Sculpture Park - Park Skulptur, a collection of Soviet Statues put to pasture when they were ripped from their pedestals in the post-1991 wave of Soviet feeling as recommended by Lonely Planet. We arrived to view these moody discredited icons of Stalin, Lenins and Brezhnevs at the most untimely time. We had only an hour till 6pm. D-time for our checked in luggage, namely our going-out shoes!

We jumped onto the metro, battling peak-hour crowds, and even ran to where the luggage check point was. Or should have been. We checked the map and we were standing at the exact point that we had circled to remind us where we had left our belongings outside the entrance to the Kremlin. Mysteriously the room had disappeared. Time check, it was 6:10pm. Defeated we gave up and decided to walk around for half an hour and drown our sorrows with ice cream. It was then completely by accident we found that the luggage room had not relocated, the Kremlin had two back to back entrances that were reflected to look identical and we were simply standing on the wrong side. Yay! We had shoes. Now for the event we were all waiting for...

The Russian Ballet!!! At the Bolshoi Theatre no less (although technically we were in the building next to the Bolshoi because of pesky renovations). However there was everything two Ballet conniseurs could ask for: dancing, leaping, twirling, pointed toes, muscular men and flexible ladies. Because we had bought tickets without actually knowing which performance we were seeing (the whole cyrillic alphabet thing again) and expecting a more traditional swan lake type show, we were pleasantly surprised and riveted by a storyline based on the exciting French revolution. And yes, we later learned that the show was called 'The flames of Paris'.

Pumped up by the ballet, we headed into town for dinner stopping briefly at souvenir stalls allowing for Megan to purchase a soviet hat for photos outside the Red Square. Along the way we passed and the now-familiar bands playing in the subway, while Russian police looked on impassively and beer-drinking crowds formed around the different bands. It was a saturday night in Moscow and more people seemed to be out on the streets than in any of the bars and restaurants. We were hurried through our post-ballet meal by restaurant staff who wanted to close up and head out themselves so we skillfully jumped from line to line on the metro and then bravely, a combination of both neccesity and peer pressure, packed a taxi with 6 people and went for a roller-coaster ride down the hectic streets to our hotel. We felt high and mighty as we finished the night with our group in the hotel bar sharing drinks, chips and, most importantly, chocolate.

Happy days in Moscow

We woke disorienated and confused - where were we? why were we rocking from side to side? Suddenly the piped music was turned on and Ra-ra-rasputin was reverberating around the carriage. It all became clear, we were on a train, and we had made it to Moscow! And no, there was not an off-switch to be found.

Next minute we were scrambling for our bags and racing into the tiny narrow corridor to be the first off the train. What now? To be perfectly honest it was really early in the morning so we just transferred to our hotel, left our luggage trustfully in reception and were introduced to a new system of trams, buses and trains. We were tired but our courageous leader would not let us lag behind. She was over the moon to be introducing us to her beloved home.

After tiny Scandinavia and meticulously-planned St Petersburg the sheer scale of Moscow was overwhelming - a city of 13 million people sprawled haphazardly as far as the eye could see. After catching a tram to the station we were introduced to the Moscow Metro system - nine different lines crisscrossing the city and trains packed with people coming every on to two minutes. The pack of people pushing onto the train proved too much, and it was panic-stations for a minute as we realised that Megan had been left behind on the platform - luckily however she managed to catch up with us two stations later, otherwise Kate would have earnt the tag "worst friend ever" for losing Megan in the underground warrens of the metro.

After this brief scare it was time to emerge into the bright daylight of tourist central - the Red Square and begin to do what we do best by taking lots of photos. After offloading all our bags and cameras on our tourleader, we were fasttracked through our first queue of the day, for Lenin's mausoleum. We were given a stern warning and led trhough metal dectectors before walking along the walls of the Kremlin. Along the way we passed more guards, and were vetted again at the entrance.

The unspoken rules of seeing Lenin seemed to be, do not walk out of line, do not speak, do not look at the wall (only at the displayed corpse), do not pause or walk at too slow a pace, do not run or overtake people walking at a slow pace, do not smile at any of the guards who stand in every corner enforcing these imaginary rules with furiously furrowed eyebrows and squinty eyes and do not think that once you have passed through the mausoleum you can walk off the path. Disobeying any of these rules, or the extensive list of rules that are plastered over the entrance will result in... I don't really know but we weren't willing to find out. We walked past the graves of Russia's procession of Communist Party Leaders and then emerged free at the other end to visit the grand and ever colourful St Basils Cathedral.

Inside the Cathedral were 9 separate churches. This gave the opportunity for more walls that could be painted excessively and not one but 9 impressive altars. They were very small however and the windy corridors confusing to navigate. We were happy to head back out and into the sunshine to gaze once again on the famous Red Square.

The thing about today was that we were matching. In St Petersburg we had innocently stumbled into the clothing enterprise equivalent to Jay Jays and found a range of t-shirts sporting the phrase "Happy Days" , so frequently coined by our Topdeck tour leader that we couldn't resist the purchase. To make these souvenir shirts even more exciting we needed to find a place worthy enough to take photos on our first day of styling these fashionable items. The red square it was - here is one shot that will be remembered by us both for as long as we think of Moscow.

By this stage food - and more importantly coffee - was becoming a priority. However, it was back down into the Metro for a tour of the stations. A strange thing to do in a city, you might be thinking, to spend an hour or so just travelling underground to different platforms. Then again, most metro systems don't have chandeliers, marble and granite walls, mosaic pictures of the revolution or vaulted ceilings. CityRail take note: you can expect a letter of suggestions when we get back home...

Finally it was time for a lunch /coffee break before heading up to Victory Hill and the WWII memorial, where Megan climbed a tank (or 3) and we discovered that we both needed more caffine. By this stage it was almost time for the evening's entertainment so we said goodbye to our tourmates and went off to satisfy our immature urges and pay a visit to the Moscow circus!

We were in heaven. Before even buying our tickets - a calculated event involving stalking others to find the office, loittering casually outside to check seats were available, discreetly whispering about what coloured monopoly money notes we would need to produce and finally, pointing at a picture and producing cash whilst holding up two fingers and courageously suggesting 'dva' as a Russian word for 2 - we were jumping up and down excitedly because of the sheer number of toddlers and young children. This was clearly going to be a show we would enjoy.

Outside were clown statues that we subelty elbowed Russians away from so we could get our own photos. Inside animals lined the circular big top posing for photos. Gorillas, orangutans, leopards and poodles and bears! We dodged the popcorn sellers and found our seats just in time. These show was a merry 2 hours of fun. Tightrope walkers, body contournists, ribbon climbers, clowns, horse riding, cats and ferrets and an amazing finale of jokers with springboards and on stilts. We left feeling very giddy and full of energy.

Heading back to our hotel we passed numerous signs of Moscows night life just starting up. Bands set up anywhere the acoustics sound good for anyone to rock up we some beers and enjoy good music. A Soviet Exhibition Park with an enormous ferriswheel court our attention, but like all things Moscow the distance we needed to walk was far greater than expected and we were so tired upon our arrival at the gates that we realised the walk to the actual ride would take away all the fun of getting there. We went back to the hotel that night feeling like we had barely scraped the surface of such a fascinatly huge city.

Ode to Lenin

After just 5 days in St Petersburg we were Russian pros. We have compiled a list of dos and don'ts when travelling in this strange land.

Don't:

Wear appropriate travel footwear. It is totally inappropriate to walk comfortably

Do:

Pose foolishly and for a very long time on/with every statue, tree, flower, bush, palace, fountian and other objects you find

Don't

Smile in photos. Men, you want to look tough (It helps if you cross your arms). Women, you want to pout,and look seductively down the lens as if this is your one and only chance to get on the cover of Cosmo.

Do

push to the head of the queue. The long line is a suggestion only, and you're far too important to have to wait. When ordering your tickets/ food feel free to take as long as humanly possible.

Don't

leave home without your entourage. This could be either your mother or your boyfriend - it doesn't really matter as long as they can carry your handbag and take a good picture of you.

Do

Supersize every building and conviently not tell ntourists the scale of the map to which they are walking. Far more fun if they decide the mile-long blocks are easily walked and get there half dead.

Don't

Accept notes of 500 or 1000 roubles. Just because they are legal tender dispersed from all atms doesn't mean they need to be accepted at any counter. No change at all is needed - coins? Never keep them in stock!

Bascially armed with our expert travel knowledge we navigated the metro system further than we had ever done so before - and we did so without any upopened drinks because we didn't need to be fined and forced to sign our name to a cryillic message we didn't understand for something so trivial. We reached the monument to the Heroic Defenders of Leningrad, which was Kate's tourist request of the day. We thought it might prove hard to find but of course the buildings are all supersized so the monument had to be as well. This just wasn't another ordinary roundabout, Mulitply the usual size by at least 10 and add a pylon of 4 stories high to the middle of it. Very impressive right?

Sometimes, when ordering off cryllic menus, you can get a pleasant surprise. After the monument we headed for the nearest cafe for our coffee fix. Although we could understand the word for 'Coffee: Latte', we had a choice of three. We picked randomly and managed to score the one with whipped cream. This was the start of a new holiday rule: it totally doesn;t count as calories if we didnt mean to order it.

From here it was a simple matter of catching a minibus to Tsarkaye Selo, the palace of Catherine II. Or it would have been simple had we not bailed off the bus at the wrong stop in a moment of panic ("hang on, everyone one else is getting off, should we get off? alright we're getting off"), meaning we had to catch a public bus to our final destination. This also wasn't as straight-forward as it seemed. We got on the bus ok but had no idea where we were meant to get off. Eventually we worked up the courage to try to communicate with gestures to the ticket lady. The show of concern on her face and speed per arm waving to loud speaking ratio increased so rapidly we decided we had missed the palace and quickly stopped the bus to walk back again. So much hassle just to see gardens that reminded Megan of the queens of hearts from Alice in Wonderland.

They were gorgeous however and gave us plenty more opportunites to practice and increase our repertoire of poses. And when we were done we found fantastic sovenir markets. A few more baboushka dolls latter and a very soviet hat we were on our way home again.

By the time we made it back into St Petersburg we had just enough time to grab a quick Italian meal before it was time to pick up our luggage and meet the rest of the tour for our overnight train to Moscow. This would be our first experience of the Russian railway, and the first leg of our trans-Mongolian journey - and it didn't disapoint. Not only did Megan make an enemy out of the female carriage guard by losing her ticket within minutes of getting on the train, but the taps didn't work in the bathroom, and the quarters (four to a room) were cramped. However we got a free pair of slippers and a free meal, and we were just so excited to be on a Russian train (and on our way to Moscow) that we enjoyed every minute of it.

Museums, monsters and malformaties.

Welcome to the Hermitage, one of the world's greatest art museums, with over 3 million exhibitions housed in a wing of the Tsar's former Winter Palace. If you like, you could choose to line up for up to 3 hours for a ticket. Alternatively, you could follow your Russian tour guide as she brazenly pushes her way right to the front of the queue with 12 people in tow.

Needless to say, we chose the latter. And even though we were almost stampeded by the mob as the great doors swung open at 10.30, we managed to squeeze in and ruthlessly grab almost the first available tickets, so we were in the Hermitage by 11.am!

We walked around the grand palace interiors and were considerably impressed by the marble staircases and colour-coordinated rooms. We ummed and arred over the French impresionist paintings and tried to sound intelligent as we discussed artworks by Monet, Van Gough, Picasso, Matisse and notable others and how our homes would be decorated to incorporate selected works.

After mentally-redecorating our home, it was time to find the exit. This turned out to be no easy feat, however finally we managed to escape and we rewarded ourselves with icecream and a lunch of traditional Russian pies.

We headed off to our next museum of the day - but forget art, we were off to the Kunstkammer, or the 'Cabinet of Curious' as our guidebook so eloquently put it. One of the world's first ethnographic museums it was opened by Peter the First. The first thing we noticed was the queue around the block just to buy tickets. On any other day we would have dejectedly joined the end or probably given up completely, but we now had new confidence to line up like a Russian- so not to line up at all. we subtley made our way to the front of the queue and after small chit-chat with some Russian girls managed to buy dva tickets just 5 minutes later.

After exploring the 1st floor, where we wandered through wax models of indigenous people of the world, we hit jackpot on the second floor where we discovered the room of malformalties and monsters. For those of you who are as curious as we were, this consisted of a collection of embalmed children and fetuses with severe deformities. We spent almost an hour entranced by such displays as the "double-faced monster with brain hernia" and "child's skeleton with two heads and three arms". We were told off for taking photos but we really couldn't help ourselves. Absolutely fascinating!

We had just one more place to find in St Petersburg, if it was possible to find. The canal where Rasputin was shot and pushed into the ice. After getting prematurely excited that we had found the correct bridge and taking numerous photos we found out that the actual location was a further 150m downstream. That was ok for us (yay - always happy to take more photos) and all we needed to do now was experience dessert pancakes at Tepemok. Check.

We had just one more must-do St Petersburg experience, which was to see the rising of the brigdes at 1am. Like the Spit Bridge in Sydney, the bridges on the Neva River open every night to let the large ships through. Unlike the Spit Bridge however, this was a far more beautiful and momentous occasion. The bridges rose, the crowd cheered and the fire-twirlers and buskers played through the night. We walked back the short distance to our hotel completely exhausted and completely satisfied.

Churches, churches everywhere....

On our third morning in St Petersburg it was time to move our luggage to the accomodation where we would be meeting up with the tour. The distance - which seemed managable when viewed on a map - turned out to be longer than we expected, especially with the amount of luggage we were carrying (or in Megan's case, dragging). After a quality session of arm-toning we made it to the hotel, only to buzz on the wrong door and have a wonderfully confused conversation with the doorman on the otherside. Eventually he took pity on us and let us into the hotel's complex, or it is certain we would still be standing out on the street today.

Relieved of our luggage, we decided to go all out and have breakfast at Cafe Singer, an upmarket cafe located on Nevesky Pr. and with prime views of the Kazan Cathedral.

For the princely sum of 300 roubles each we splurged and got both a coffee and a danish.

With food in our bellies we were energised enough to continue to walk once again. We pulled out our scrap of white paper to check what sights were on the list for today. Museums are closed on Mondays and we only had a few hours left before we were due to meet our tour group so a relaxing day of churches was the go. We headed for the most famous church in St Petersburg first. It has a ridiculously long name and usually when refered to tourists such as ourselves abbreviate it weirdly and differently each time. Were we headed to the Church of Spilled Blood, Christ our bloody Saviour? the Spilled Blood Church. We took beautiful photos and walked around the exhibition for a long enough time that befits the church and eventually knew it was called the Church of Christ our Saviour on the Spilled Blood. So called because it was built on the site where Tsar Alexander II was assassinated.

We ticked off several other sights (and saw other famous sights that we didnt realise were famous until later that evening) and trekked across the city following the trail of statues and palaces. Finally we ended up at St Isaac's Cathedral, one of the largest domed buildings in the world, and visible all over St Petersburg. We climbed to the top, where we were faced with a horde of other tourists hogging all the best photo spots. We started off all sugar and spice, and all things nice, but after waiting for one Russian pose too many (and two girls in particular who just stood there chatting with their backs to the view) we employed the use of a few elbows and managed to get right to the front.

We decided that shopping would get us through the remainder of the day. We didn't buy anything but found a shop dedicated to Russian sportwear featuring the Olympic Mascot (Chiberouska maybe?) as a really cute cuddly toy and a heavily advertised chocolate museum which we were almost suffocated in by the sheer number of bodies in a tiny, badly ventilated room. We were well exhausted by the time we made it back to the hotel to check into our room and meet our travelling companions for the next 22days.

We enjoyed our first Russian buffet dinner (even if we weren't entirely sure what we were eating) and joined the rest of the group for a brief walking tour in the rain of all the sites we had already seen (this is how we discovered that you just don't say no to a Russian tour guide). Finally we were allowed to go back our hotel room, and enjoy the luxury of beds that didn't squeak, space to unpack our luggage and -best of all- our very own ensuite shower.

Pose like a Russian

To our absolute delight our morning started once again with a free all you can eat buffet of traditional Russian cuisine - pancakes with jam. We started out much earlier than the previous morning armed with a destination in mind and scribbled instructions on how to get there, courtesy of the receptionist who is obviously trained in English for the exact purpose of directing the cliental to the Environs of Petersburg, if they stick to the script.

We walked confidently to the metro, handed over our roubles and made it all the way to the bus changeover before our morning coffee. We followed the locals as they modelled for us how to pay the driver for the luxury of a minibus as opposed to the hot smelly regular bus service (like Chinese whispers you pass the money to the person beside you and hope they pass it on) and arrived at the gardens after a brief nap on the way. So far so good.

We walked through the gates and up the driveway of Peterhof Palace, passing huge fountains and tree-lined pathways. 'Pretty impressive' we thought. Then we saw the queue at the side of the palace, and realised we hadn't even made it into the grounds yet. We made a mutual decision not to go into the actual palace, and this decision was justified by the sheer expanse of the gardens itself, which has often been compared to Versailles in France. 

As we joined the throngs of tourists armed with cameras we very quickly noticed the strange behaviour of the locals. The more we became frustrated with the length of time it took them to point aim and shoot a photo with modern digital cameras the more delighted the person posing for the photo became. They really threw themselves into ensuring the photo would be a keeper, extending their bodies to look slimmer and shapely, pouting with outstanding confidence and aiming to show the world what true model potential they had. 

Well what can we say? When in Russia right? We didn't have the heels (our connies and sketchers didn’t even come close to being appropriate Russian footwear) or tight mini dresses the local tourists were sporting but we did have the camera and each other to take the photo and we could match these girls pose for pose. Well, maybe we didn't have the natural flair, or maybe it just takes more practice, but the next 3 hours we spent exploring the picturesque gardens were very entertaining.

Almost as impressive as the gold-plated fountains and lush gardens was the local girls' ability to walk all day through the gardens in heels. And make it look easy. After a close encounter with the local wildlife (a fast-moving squirrel) we caught the mini-bus back to the city. Our eyes now accustomed to local fashion, we now thought nothing of the expensive and six-inch stilettos sported by almost every Russian woman between the ages of 13 - 35, which they wore as a part of their  'everyday casual' summer style.

We walked Nevsky Prospekt, inside the Kazan Cathedral and then to the famous Dom Knigi bookstore. As large as it was we didn't manage to find a dessert cookbook but that loss was cancelled out by the wondrous discovery of a free, clean toilet right in the middle of the city. We even had time for some shopping before the stores closed at 10pm and Megan joined the Russian shoe club with a great new pair of heels. Of course that meant stopping and discarding the worn sketchers and strutting past the Bank Bridge with two gold winged griffins then all along the shortest route possible directly back to the hostel.

Does that word say coffee?

We awoke on our first morning in St Petersburg with the smell of pancakes wafting through the air. Our hostel, although strangely bereft of showers, had an abundance of pancakes for their guests. They didn’t have to ask us twice, as we sat down at the kitchen table to eat enough to prepare us for the big day we had planned.

With our money belts on, and holding tightly onto our handbags, we stepped out of the hostel into the great unknown. Only to find that the busy streets of yesterday had turned into a sleepy Saturday morning. Feeling immediately safer we went in search of our first stop. Coffee.

The streets were devoid of any such chains as Starbucks or Gloria Jeans but we found the next best thing. We utilised our Russian alphabet translation to decode the cryptic Cyrillic to mean Coffee House. There we checked our maps, coordinated our watches and began the journey through the streets to the St Peter and St Paul Fortress.

After a long walk we arrived at what we presumed to be our destination, only to be stopped in our tracks by the sounds of gunfire, and what sounded like a cannon. Intrigued we walked around the fortress closer to the action where we discovered men in costume reenacting a Russian battle. That’s what we think was happening anyway. Either way it was much more interesting than the usual changing of the guards.

After the final displayed of Russian coloured fireworks (of course they won this battle) we continued on to line up for tickets to St Petersburg's first Cathedral. Our first experience of the queuing culture of the Russian people. Clearly it doesn't matter how many people appear to be waiting, if there is any personal space between the person currently purchasing tickets and the person directly behind them then of course it means its your turn next, A few elbows needed to be thrown to assert some authority but eventually we came away with 'dva' tickets to the 5 attractions the fortress had to offer.

We started off in the Cathedral, where all the royal Tsars and Tsarinas after Peter the Great had been interred. After being suitably impressed by the high ceilings, ornate gold trim, artifacts and artwork we moved onto the fortress's second main attraction: the prison. It was here that we discovered for the first time that the explanations in Russian museums are invariably in Russian, and that English translations are very few on the ground.

We also learnt that the prison was far more luxurious than any other we had previously visited. With one person in each cell that would usually be split into at least 2 cells, and soundproof walls to prevent communication between prisoners we found it was really a much better place to stay than our current hostel. No noisy neighbours, sounds of the street, or sleeping on a hard plank of wood with your belongings on top of you due to lack of space. The perfect location for an afternoon nanna nap.

After attempting to find the other three attractions of the fortress listed on our tickets (we eventually found one - we think) we walked along the canal on Vasilyevsky Island and back over the bridge in search of a Cossack dancing show, with a few scribbles in Megan's notebook as a guide. After being momentarily distracted by open-air performances of Russian rap and Russian country and western music (a new experience for both of us) and hindered by the lack of street signs in any language we managed to find the palace where the 'Feel yourself Russian' show was being held. That's right, the Nikolasky Palace.

Feeling decidedly grubby in clothes we had been wearing all day, we wandered up the pebbled drive and into the foyer. Patiently we waited outside a door to be invited in to buy tickets. After keeping us standing there very confused as to what was going on for a considerable amount of time we were rushed up the grand stairs with no time to stop for a photo and hurried to the door where the show was about to begin. Apparently we were very close to late.

The show itself delighted us with both the brilliance and tackiness of it all. Amazing strength and flexibility were seen as the men forced their bodies to perform stunts only seen in circus shows, and the females battered their handkerchiefs and swirled there shawls in unprecedented displays of shameless flirtation. After surviving the intermission, when the whole audience descended like a plague of locusts onto a row of tables where the light refreshments were held, it was back inside for some more Cossack dancing. The costumes were incredible, and after taking photos, we left vowing to spend our trans-Mongolian train trip learning the complex dance moves.

 We headed off in the direction of our hostel, but we still had one last stop to make - the supermarket. We had been told that the cheese Cheetos were a blast from the past not to be missed and that Russia has a certain affiliation with cheap vodka. We stocked up on some pineapple juice, savory ring shaped snaky-type food and the best looking carton of mini chupa-chups, along with the aforementioned cheap vodka.

Now it was back to our hostel for a relaxing night in and a long long wait for a shower.

Border Security: Russia

With bribe money safely stored in Kate's secret jacket pocket (1000 roubles and $US 50 just in case) we got up at 5am in order to catch the 6am bus from Tallinn to St Petersburg. Anxiety levels were skyrocketing. We almost smiled when we reached the coach station and found the right platform with a good 10minutes spare. We saved the first sigh of relief however for when our tickets were accepted, our bags safely stored beneath the coach and the driver closed the doors indicating we were on our way. 

The next 4 hours passed quickly as Malackai entertained us with many humorous episodes of 30 Rock. We kept our minds occupied with laughter and our bellies full of snacks to prevent thinking too much about the much dreaded border crossing. Would we be left behind? Separated? Detained for a jar of vegemite that wasn't declared? It was much easier to just focus on Alec Baldwin's bad jokes.

There was a brief moment of hope and relief as we passed through the Estonian departure point in 20 minutes, after a quick passport check. Could it really be that easy? Two minutes later we got our answer as we pulled into the Russian side of border control, where we were made to exit the coach, retrieve our luggage and watch as Russian soldiers swarmed over the coach, checking the engine, both the bottom and top of the coach and all the luggage compartments. We stood nervously in line, remembering all the warnings we had been given - about looking clean and presentable, about not having food, about not getting fake stamps in our passports and most importantly to not expose our camera to daylight at any point on the border.

After doing our best to look like the least of all possible threats to Russian National Security our passports were stamped with a bright orange seal and we were shunted through the line, without even a sidewards glance at any of our possessions. We celebrated the occasion with really bad coffee and were back on the bus in just over an hour. Much more cheerful and talkative this time - we were in Russia!

The mood was one of excitement and anticipation, until the bus started making stops. Where were we meant to get off? What was the bus driver saying? Neither of us knew and so we did the next best thing. We stayed on the bus till the end of the line. Totally armed with clear instructions as to the address of the hostel we were fairly confident that all of our European Travelling experiences combined would be adequate training for what was yet to come.

We stepped off the bus and onto Russian soil. Seeing an Information board in the distance, we headed towards this comforting international symbol for help. We stared at the board, and stared a little more. After checking with each other that yes, the board was in Cyrillic; and no, we couldn't understand it; we quietly started to panic. After some more staring we decided to head in the direction of the 'M' sign, which we assumed was the metro.

10 minutes later after setting off from the Information Board we arrived.... back at the point where the bus had dropped us off (We knew this because the bus was still there). Now at this point we probably should have caught a taxi, however neither of us was ready to admit defeat and so we set off walking. This time in hopefully what was the right direction. 

After a considerable distance we arrived at the station, only be faced with our next Russian obstacle: the metro ticket office. We knew exactly where to get the tickets and that we wanted two. We handed over enough money to cover whatever the cost and we pointed to the name of the station we wanted on our map. That’s when the mumble gumble that is the Russian language began to fly, accompanied by large hand gestures and angry eyes. Turns out we needed to present our luggage, as it was an extra cost. We felt great after receiving our tokens for the turnstile.

The exhilaration quickly faded as we presented ourselves at the extra-large turnstile with our plastic tokens. Did we swipe it? Hand it to the lady at the desk? We stood there looking lost, as the lady in the turnstile booth started to get worked up, speaking louder and slower - as if this would help us understand. Finally, thanks to a demonstration by a random stranger, we discovered that we had to insert the token in the top of the turnstile. Phew.

We counted the stops to the correct station and after negotiating escalators that would rival those as Heathrow airport (apparently the metro stations are the deepest in the world) we navigated ourselves past MacDonald’s, across the road through the bustling crowd of babushkas, flower markets and fruit stands (all looking like fronts for the Russian mafia eying off the vulnerable foreigners), and straight to the left till we spotted our hostel. Bring on the hot showers, laundry machine and restful bunks... we thought.

After carrying our luggage up two flights of stairs and mistakenly trying to let ourselves into someone else's apartment we staggered through the doors of the Crazy Duck hostel, where little sympathy was given and we were ordered to take off our shoes and present our passports. The girl at reception had limited English, however we did manage to learn that the washing machine was broken, and no, she didn't have any maps of the city. But did we really hear correctly that there was only one shower? We asked again, thinking maybe something had been lost in translation, but no. There was only one shower to share between the 30 or so hostellers.

After failing to find any happiness in our tiny hostel room, which was made for 4 but somehow had been rearranged for a 5th person to stay just one more night we decided to lock up our belongings and head back to the streets. Maybe we could buy a map in a bookstore the receptionist had suggested. We held tightly onto our bags and stuck really close together heading for what we could only hope was the main road.

Success! We spent as long as we possibly could on the streets of St Petersburg. We found so many large buildings and ornate churches (all labeled in Cyrillic of course) that we needed to find someway to distinguish one from another. We eventually found the Information Centre and the free maps, as well as a large bookstore on the largest and most central street Nevesky Prospect where we searched in vain for a St Petersburg Lonely Planet, but only managed to find the editions for Afghanistan and Algeria. However, we did manage to arm ourselves with a dubiously translated guide to the city.

Best part of the day - Topemok. This 'restaurant' of Russian Cuisine served us fantastic soup and pancakes. Totally allowed when in St Petersburg. The best part was the pictures on the menu board. These allowed for us to choose from a selection of 6 different items and with simple pointing and indicating that 1 was enough we fed ourselves the most delicious of all meals. We circled this museum of culinary genius on our new map and headed back to the hostel.

So the beds squeak. Alot. The least of our problems as we dozed off once again to the sounds of mosquitoes. We didn't care. We had made it to Russia and survived. Tomorrow we would become pros.

NB: Please note that the lack of photos from early in the day was due to high levels of stress and anxiety over showing anything of value on the streets. It may also have been caused by tiredness from dragging huge weights through previously undiscovered areas.  

Looking for beavers

The morning was ideal. We ate the snacks we had allocated for breakfast down by the bog swamps and cleansed ourselves with a quick dip in the bog water. Nothing we could have ever dreamed of doing. Much better than the imagination would have allowed for.

Imagine being picked up from a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, driven to a river bed in the middle of nowhere, given a canoe, 2 paddles and a map then a point downstream and a wave. Imagine sitting in a canoe, on a river, with a map that means nothing to you surrounded by wilderness at its most wild, a dog to keep you safe, and the person your whole life in that instant is relying on walking away from you with a great big smile and carefree wave. Yikes!

We started our day in a canoe. The only thing we understood was that if we continued to paddle downstream we would eventually find the bridge that we would recognise, meaning our farmhouse would be on the right. The map showed a wiggly blue line appearing to indicate water and the landmarks we would pass were a farmhouse, a run-down school, a bridge and a walking trail that we should stop to walk. 2 hours later we found that bridge. It was the most fantastic feeling we had ever had.

After pulling over the boat, unloading our stuff and preparing ourselves to walk the trail, an overexcited dog resembling part German Sheppard part husky attacked Megan. It was at this point that we realised that the words 'no' and 'sit' are not the same in Estonian. It was pushed down over and over again and hit repeatedly over the head with an oversized drink bottle but in the end it was easier to just bail and jump back into the canoe. 

Approximately 4 hours after we had started, 20minutes of which was spent negotiating the rapids backwards, we found the farmhouse. This meant we could pull over and stop. We unloaded once again, wished that we could shower, instead wiped down with wet-ones and then found our host. Did we want to go on a beaver safari tonight? Of course we did!

As we waited for dusk (i.e. 9pm) we got chatting to a friendly Estonian, who turned out to be one of the people we had seen furiously using chainsaws the day before. The group of them were staying at the farmhouse in order to do the entrance exam for a carpentry course at the local 'cultural college'. After gaining some tips on what Estonian chocolate we should eat, we said our farewells as we prepared for the safari.

All the signs were good. The beaver safari had so far had a 100% success rate during the summer so far, and our companions were two biologists from the Netherlands, who were carrying some heavy-duty binoculars. We jumped back into the canoe, and took the guide up on his kind suggestion that we let him do most of the paddling. For three hours we traversed the river, keeping our ears pricked for beaver-like sounds and looking keenly into the built-up burrows on the side of the riverbank. Unfortunately it wasn't to be, and no beavers were seen. The most exciting animals turned out to be the Scottish cows seen in a paddock on the riverbank.

The next day we got up early to catch the first bus back to civilisation, but not before being subjected to Jaanus' unique taste in music which ranged from Enya to Metallica. It was sad to say goodbye to all our mosquito room-mates, but our next adventure awaited us - Russia!

Bogging from Sooma

Today we were excited to be hitting the road again. Soomaa National Park had caught our attention courtesy of hostelbookers.com and so after sleeping in and a late checkout at 12pm we were homeless with two and a half hours to spare before the coach left. We spent our time doing what our Topdeck tour had trained us so well to do. We shopped for snacks and other essentials like hair-ties, nail polish and purple sunglasses with bows.



Before we knew it, the time had arrived to jump onto the bus to Riisa. Megan passed the time on the hour-long journey by alternately painting her nails green and pink. We were picked up at the bus-stop by our host Jaanus and his friend. Alarm bells should have rung when they looked at our luggage and laughed, but we were too busy admiring Megan's nails to notice.

We were out of the van, past a group of guys transforming tree trunks into furnitutre and halfway across a rickety wodden bridge (or 2 ropes with wooden planks to cross the river) before we realised that we were in the absolute middle of nowhere. The room we shared buzzed with the mid-afternoon life of mosquitoes excited by the smell of fresh blood. Our host took one last look and laugh at our excessive luggage and tried to express something about payment later before giving up on English and leaving us to it. We had no idea what to do.

We ventured back down the stairs, and down into the backyard where we found the bathroom. Or should we say the 'outhouse' with the rather short long-drop (We later asked Jannus where the shower was and he replied "In the river"). We walked back over the bridge and past the people busy with their chainsaws, hammers and wood until we got onto the relative calm of the 'bog walk'. It was raining, but at that stage the weather was the least of our concerns. And rain outside certainly beat mosquitoes inside.

We found a 'boardwalk' trail through the seemingly endless trees and found the single sentence of English following the paragraphs of Estonian information explaining that the boardwalk would take us through swamp forest and into the peat bog. We were sold, and bravely made our way deeper into the trees. This is when we decided maybe the idea of staying here for 2 nights wasn't at all bad. If fact. We loved Soomaa!

The bog was such a surreal experience. Looking at the ground from the boardwalk we couldn't figure out what was so special about it at all. It looked different from anything we had ever seen yet was just algae on grass right? Well one great big leap off the boardwalk taught us otherwise. Its much like what you would expect quicksand to feel like. You unexpectedly sink really really quickly. Luckily for us the bog we were walking on was fairly shallow. We learnt a few information posts later that the bog in some parts of the area we were hiking through ranged from 4m to 7m deep.

We made our way back to the farmhouse where we doused ourselves in tropical strength aeroguard before bed. We needed to get our some sleep before the action-packed day in Sooma National Park that awaited us tomorrow.