Six days by Trans-Siberian Express

Press, Volume CXV, Issue 33775, 22 February 1975, Page 12

Six days by Trans-Siberian Express

The moon was still shining over Peking railwa ystation when I arrived to catch the 7.40 a.m. Moscow train, and the usual teaming thousands were pouring in and out, their suitcases handily slung at each end of shoulderpoles. Porters being almost non-existent, this is a very useful device.

It was New Year’s Day and no foreigners were visible. They were, presumably, all still in bed, sleeping off the effects of New Year parties, which tend to be rather frenetic in Peking.

It was still half an hour before the train left, but one has to be early in China to cope with the inevitable process of checking travel documents and passing the scrutiny of the Public Security Bureau men who patrol every railway station and airport. Curiously enough, though, the process of saying goodbye to . Peking proved less wearisome than the check involved in going to the seaside for a summer weekend.

China probably says "good riddance” to anyone with enough bad taste to go to the Soviet Union — headquarters of New Tsardom, revisionism, power hegemonism and social-im-perialism (or so the Chinese press says). Then there was the train, crouched at the platform in the early dawn light, long, rhrobbing and powerful: the most legendary train in the world .today. Beside each carriage, fur-hatted and wearing ftnr-collared overcoats of astonsjing elegance (showing the flag

abroad?) stood the Chinese train conductors who would be our guides and watchdogs all the way to Moscow.

In view of the present deplorable state of SinoSoviet relations, it seems almost unvelievable that the train still runs. But there are, in fact, two trains a week from Peking: The Chinese train — the one I caught — which goes through Mongolia, and the Russian train, which detours to Harbin before linking up with the main Trans-Siberian route. Health check The Russian train takes longer, but has the advantage of only one border crossing, whereas I had to, cope with the Mongolians as well as the Chinese and Russian border guards. Crossing Mongolia, even though one sets foot on Mongolian soil only at Ulan Bator station, requires a visa and health check. It also creates some difficulties in the way of food. Because of difficulties in changing money along the way, it is recommended that travellers buy meal coupons for the journey before they leave Peking. The catch is that although the Chinese and the Russians will accept the coupons, the Mongolians will not, and are generally belived to accept no currency other than Mongolian money (which travellers cannot obtain). Buying food Most travellers therefore set off moderately well stocked up with food and drink. I know people who have taken enough food for the six-day journey which seems terribly unadven-

turous. Half the fun of travelling is experimenting with unfamiliar dishes, however frightful they may turn out to be. Other voyagers, more enterprising, leap off at every station, and buy from little old ladies such delights as hot potatoes with chives, local sausage, yoghurt, and a fearsome drink made from fermented bread. All this, of course, is when the train is in Russia: Chinese and Mongolians don’t go in for private enterprise. Alas, when I passed through, all the' little old ladies had vanished. Perhaps the temperatures of minus 40 deg Celsuis had driven them inside. The only platform vendor I saw was a woman selling ice-cream in the« snow a few stations outside Moscow. Bearing all the warnings about Mongolia in mind, I -did take some supplies — cheese. biscuits, tinned meat, 'h-couple of kilos of fruit, and'’SQme coffee. I was glad of the, fruit and coffee. The rest was largely wasted. If the Trans-Siberian journey is one of the longest in the world, it is also the cheapest. For six days on the train I paid about SAustsB, with a few dollars extra foi meals. And this was first class, in the “soft" berths. The “hard” berths must be almost a give-away. Two berths I was rather concerned that 1 might have to share a compartment all the way to Moscow, but I needn’t have worried. When we left Peking, there were eight people on the entire train, three of them foreigners. During the next six days, a number of people joined and left the train, but many carriages remained empty throughout. At one time I was the

only passenger in my carriage, except for the two Chinese train conductors, who kept vigil 24 hours a day. Both spoke Russian, and one had a surprisingly military air for a train conductor. My compartment was small, but cosy enough, with two berths and an armchair. Each two firstclass compartments share a connecting “bathroom” — actually a tiny cubicle with a washbasin, but better than nothing. I soon learned to keep the plug in the basin all night to stop

the taps freezing and to spill as little water on the floor as possible because of air coming up through the outlet pipe, spilled water freezes. The train decor lived up to reputation. The walls were covered in faded blue silk with a bamboo pattern, glass on the interior doors was etched with flower patterns, and the lamps and light fittings were of highly polished brass. The decor suggested, as it should do, intrigue, espionage, and 'amorous adventures — all alas, noticeably absent. 11l comfort My travelling companions for the first 36 hours were two amiable Queen’s Messengers, carrying the “bag” for the Embassy in Ulan Bator, where Britain mantain- one of its most isolated diplomatic outposts. Being a Q.M. always seems to me one of the world’s oddest jobs: a nonstop full-time round the world travel circuit carrying locked oags whose contents remain forever unknown. My two friends

travelled with every known comfort, including a small gas stove: and they kindly provided beer and sandwiches in the Mongolian wilderness.

They remembered the days during the Cultural Revolution when the train was full of young Red Guards, travelling backwards nad forwards without paying. Many of these young people were later sent by the authorities on another long train journey, to the desolate north-east-ern provinces, where they are usefully employed on the oilfields and in other areas of national development.

When we left Peking the weather was, as usual, dry and clear, the earth parched and brown under an icy sky. Snow is rare in Peking, and I usually regret this, though after Siberia I feel I could dispense with the sight of snow and ice for evermore. The main bonus of the first day is the sight of the Great Wall, seen as it should be seen, crumbling and deserted, straggling up and down the lunar slopes of the mountains. It is infinitely more moving than the restored section seen on authorised day trips from Peking.

Before dark, we were in Inner Mongolia, the autonomous province administered by China. It seemed very little different from Northern China, though the Queen’s Messengers pointed out some fortified villages which used to-be the fiefs of the local warlords before Liberation, and cave houses built into the sides of hills. I was rather anxious to see the Gobi Desert, which starts on the Chinese side of the border. Anyone who has lived through a Peking dust storm already has an irffimate acquaintance with the Gobi dust, so I was

looking forward to viewing’ at first hand the source of one of Peking’s major irritants. Alas, we failed to reach the Gobi before dark, and the next morning we were through to the other side. The Mongolian border is crossed at Ehr-lien, and here the train is lifted bodily and placed on new bogies so that travellers may go right through to Moscow without changing. I did not see this marvellous process, as the young Chinese Customs officer — an exiled educated youth dying to practise his English — invited me to view two films being shown at the station. Both were, naturally, instructive, but it was better than sitting in the train for hours, so I sat on a hard chair in the midst of the Ehr-lien locals and watched a film about May Day in Peking. Warm quilt t It was odd, at the Mongolian border, to see many faces I knew in the crowds thronging the Peking parks. After the Chinese formalities were over, the train crossed the border, stopped, and the whole thing began again with the Mongolians. Visa check, health check, incomprehensible questions to which, on principle, I invariably replied “No.” However, compared with the Russians, whom I was to encounter later, the Chinese and Mongolians were polite and indeed quite helpful. Still, it was ali a bit tedious, and it was nearly one o’clock in the morning before I thankfully fell into my “soft” berth, and drew up the warm quilt, one of China’s great gifts to the sleeping world.

MARGARET JONES, of the “Sydney Morning Herald,” writes the first of two articles on a Journey last month by the TransSiberian Express from Peking to Moscow.