From Smiley Fritz to Santiago...: The smuggle-train to Moscow!

With what seemed a ridiculous supply of two-minute noodles, porridge and packet soup, one final lukewarm shower, and my last glimpse at a motionless toilet seat, we were back on the train, bound for Moscow – a 5 day, 6000km journey that would take us through seemingly endless Russian wilderness, follow the southern banks of the beautiful Lake Baikal, and expose us to quaint, small villages and towns obviously left behind in Russia’s natural resource boom, and the strong post-Soviet economy.

Our third train of the journey, which we were to spend the majority of our adventures on… was crap. I will admit it did have character, boasting fetching 1970’s decor and lighting, quirky Mongolian Provinitsa wearing stunning thermal socks with heels, some of the smallest beds known to mankind, and a dining cart serving an array of overpriced, underwhelming meals – all prepared in a kitchen with no refrigeration, and a cook who seemed so keen on her bottle of Vodka that one night some of the group ordered meals, only to hear the cook fall over in the kitchen 40 minutes later, then stumble toward their table yelling “Nyet!” while gesturing ‘No Deal’ with her tuck shop arms. Classy.

Officially the train was a ‘soft sleeper’, providing relative comfort with only four passengers to a compartment, two bathrooms to the carriage, and a never ending supply of boiling water thanks to the 100 year old urn (no doubt salvaged from the wreck of the Titanic). The cabins were small but reasonably comfortable, with plenty of luggage space (perfect to smuggle things over the border… which I will get to), and a small table perfect for a few games of ‘May I?’ which I quickly taught the others in the group, but not quite large enough for Jungle Speed, which I taught some barely-English speaking Russians… and have since realised I probably should have waited until they had sobered up from their 3 bottles of Vodka! Unfortunately the windows in the train don’t open, and the Russians don’t believe in any ventilation or allowing a draught, so it was shorts and t-shirt all the way to Moscow – however at least I now feel like I have had some form of summer holiday!

Lake Baikal

Boarding the train it was clear we had some challenges ahead of us, as we found the aisle, cabins and any available space overflowing with absolute junk. Hundreds of pairs of ugly, unflattering pale denim jeans, rip-off handbags, wallets, bags, cigarettes and perfume, blankets, board games, bathroom scales and who knows what else were piled on the floor, bunks, shelves and in doorways. Splitting our group of seven into two cabins, I was lucky enough to end up in the group of three sharing a cabin with Olga (our name for her) the peroxide blonde (with drastic regrowth), technologically challenged, rude, loud and obnoxious apparent ringleader of the smuggling operation. Stepping into our cabin we were greeted with piles of junk, strewn across all available luggage space, Olga’s bed, Amy’s bed and the entire floor. Realising drastic action was needed if we were going to enjoy our journey, we took matters into our own hands, stacking Olga’s bed with all her low-quality crap until the mattress was only a distant memory, and with our decision to reclaim our space, we started the Trans Mongolian Train War.

For the next couple of hours, Olga busied herself rummaging, rearranging, re-stacking and recounting her junk, all the while taking business calls on her mobile phone (which must have had a broken microphone… she really had to yell into it!) and managing a whole team of smugglers who continually dropped into our cabin, making themselves at home in our already cramped space. A couple of hours into the journey, and with only a few hours until our border crossing into Russia (and just as we were ready to go to sleep), Olga obviously decided the necessary preparations were in place, and with yet more yelling into the mobile phone, while sitting on Rob’s legs as he tried to get to sleep, she started her incredibly well practiced smuggle routine. Sitting on any surface/foreigners legs available, Olga started the mammoth process of unwrapping, de-tagging, unfolding, re-folding, scrunching, smoothing out, re-folding again and then repacking her massive pile of goods, all the while talking at full decibel level on her smuggle-worthy iPhone 6, and managing a production-line of workers collecting filled bags from our cabin, and distributing them along the train to the hundreds of smugglers all swapping wares.

The floor of the cabin (which Rob had been keeping tidy by forcefully throwing Olga’s junk at her, yelling and cursing in very colourful language) was now littered with rip-off brand tags, safety pins, packaging tape, plastic packaging and price tags, as Olga filled at least 30 bags with a mixture of de-tagged products (in an attempt to make them ‘used’, and therefore not need to declare them at the border), then covering the brand new contents of each bag with a layer of her own ghastly clothes, underwear, and an occasional toothbrush or comb to keep up the act. As each bag was filled, and it’s camouflage complete, a smuggler would then come to the door of the cabin, yell a bit in animated Mongolian/Russian, and take the bag off to another cabin, spreading the smuggled goods across the train. With all her bags now filled, Olga began the amazing process of turning our cabin almost upside down in an attempt to hide what was left. Lifting her mattress off the bed, she lined the base of the bed with countless pairs of jeans and tops, covering them with huge folded canvas sheeting (what this was for I have no idea!), before replacing the mattress, covering the mattress with more clothing, and then covering her whole smuggle-sandwich set up with the train sheets – now obviously bulging at the sides. Handbags, bathroom scales and perfume were stuffed inside each other and distributed amongst our luggage (because it didn’t look suspicious that all four of us had the exact same, ugly handbag…), and with the goods now ‘gone’, Olga cleaned the floor of the cabin, sat on our legs yet again, and laid down on her bed, starting her act as an innocent Mongolian traveler.

Reaching the border crossing just minutes after her routine was complete, Russian Customs officials boarded the train, and started a search of the cabins – which I had no doubt would expose Olga’s masses of smuggled goods, and promptly get her kicked off the train, allowing us a decent night sleep. Boy was I wrong! Greeting our mate Olga as if she was a good friend, the stern-looking officers entered our overflowing cabin, completing a brief check of our luggage (including the plastic bag containing hundreds of tags, labels and empty packages!), and leaving without further fuss. Seemingly unaware of the bulging mattress, the fact I am a 2m tall guy with a black fake Guess handbag, and the number of bags in the cabin outnumbering the occupants 4 to 1, the officers left with a friendly farewell to obviously frequent passenger Olga, and moved out of sight. Within minutes, while still at the customs station, Olga began the mammoth task of undoing her hours of hard work, as the train became a hive of activity with hundreds of smugglers all ‘un-smuggling’ their goods, ready for their early morning arrival at the first station over the border.

Sunset from my window

Overall, the border crossing into Russia was an absolute joke. For a country which makes people jump through hoops, cough up massive amounts of cash, and then screws you around just to get a visa, the train border crossing was not what I was expecting! Unfortunately, much like a number of countries I have visit on my travels, it would appear that for the right bribe, or by knowing the right people, anything can be made possible – and the people who are responsible for enforcing the law are often some of the most corrupt. Fortunately Olga and her fellow smugglers left the train in the early hours of the morning, leaving the three of us with very limited sleep, yet a very interesting insight into trade and customs around the world.

Abbey Road

The rest of our journey was reasonably uneventful, as I sat for hours watching the Russian countryside pass us by, playing countless games of cards and Welder, and consuming a lifetime of two-minute noodles and instant porridge. Arriving in Moscow, we were greeted by Marina, our local guide, and spent our first day wandering the jam-packed streets of the Russian capital, getting into the local food and terrible local drink (non-alcoholic carbonated breadcrumb liquid?), before spending the evening introducing a selection of nationalities in the hostel common room to the hilarity of Borat – in hindsight possibly not the best choice of movie to watch in Russia. With skin caked in sweat from my snow-surrounded summer holiday, and my body slowly adjusting back to the luxury of a full sized single bed, my first day in Moscow was over and it was time for a good night sleep.