Train Stories

Trains, how much I miss them. Especially long routed ones, with a brass boiler and berths, crossing vast Russian ghostly spaces. It is often said the world became smaller due to air travelling; airlines connected distant corners of the world and placed them all within reach. Undeniably, planes have facilitated travelling with speed and comfort yet hardly have brought distant places together. A collective term “world” still remains an abstraction, used to describe a great number of realities, sharing common space and coexisting in time though still remote from one another. Every time, arriving to a destination only a few hours away from a starting point, it is so awkward for the mind to accustom to the suddenly changed reality. Air travelling feels like moving through a set of diverse rooms, with no corridors and staircases and where doors connect and isolate at the same time. Trains provide the missing corridor and erase borders, binding together travellers and spaces.

Twenty-nine hours – this is how long it takes to arrive from Astrakhan to Moscow by train; by plane – it’s two and a half. How unfortunate it is to sacrifice those twenty-nine hours for two and a half in order to “save time”! Time does not exist in trains. There is nowhere to rush. It’s time for books, long conversations, staring at the slowly changing landscape and consuming an impressive amount of food supplies. Yes, trains must be a nightmare for introverts and diet freaks. Although, there is an escape – upper berth, where one can just stare at the sky through a dusty window right above the head.

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After sunset, the view is swallowed by darkness, rarely interrupted by other trains heading from the opposite direction. More jokes, more food sharing, more stories. Someone would be completely drunk by then – Russian distances also encourage the national sport. The upper light in the wagon goes off, but conversations still continue in whispers. Someone is preparing to leave – to dive into that tick darkness outside the window at a tiny station in the middle of nowhere.

Night at trains is surreal and annoying at once. Falling asleep to a lullaby of monotonous “choog-choog, choog-choog”, you are very likely to be soon woken up by newly arrived passengers, loud snoring of a neighbour, drunk as skunk, or by thunder of an oncoming train. Slumber, tinkle of a teaspoon in a glass, crush of luggage, whispers, choog-choog, the dusty smell of the pillow, rhythmic swaying of the wagon… Moving forward at full speed while being asleep to wake up in another town – that’s train for you.

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Morning greets with another station, gleaming by the window, new faces and queues to lavatory. The atmosphere is no longer careless and fun – it’s the arrival day. All plans and urgent matters jump back to mind, discussions turn to practical issues. “Why are going to Moscow? For how long? Transit?! – Luckyyy!”. Remains of food are finished in rush, bags all packed, mattresses – rolled and placed on upper berths, dust particles shine in the sunlight. Half an hour is left until arrival and facial expressions become concentrated, impatient, longing. Soon all of them, who once were so close, will disappear from your life as randomly as they walked in. The giant megalopolis will absorb them together with their secrets, leaving no trace – it feeds on people. Final goodbyes, gnashing of breaks and, a few moments after, then-friends and now-strangers roll away as quickly, as peas scattered on the floor – each one to a different direction.

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Alone in the snow

It was a gloomy winter day, the train was crawling through endless fields powdered with snow – same view for hours. “Next stop is for two minutes only. Stay inside please!”, warns the conductor. We stop in the middle of nowhere (literally), the station consists of a one-story building with one window and a kiosk nearby. “I will only buy cigarettes! I’ll be quick, will be back in no time!”, one of the passengers, a man in his 30s, quickly ventures out of the wagon, wearing bed slippers and light jacket. Two minutes pass as a finger click, the doors are closed and the train is gaining speed. There he is, our careless fellow, trying to catch up with the train, running on the snow with snow-white bed slippers, shaking his hands, screaming something. “Let’s stop the train! Please pull the break, pull the break!!!”. “Are you insane? She wants to stop the train! We’ll end up in such a trouble! What time we arrive then?!”. You fuss about strangers left in the middle of nowhere in the middle of Russian winter only when you’re 24. Others, older and more experienced in life, do not have time to waste and Moscow does not wait.

Bearded late night visitor

Late night train, 30th December 2009. Right after checking in and saying hello, me and three other passengers (a middle-aged woman and a young couple) prepare our berths in a cosy modern compartment. Lights go off and someone mumbles something about locking the door before falling asleep – something that everyone knows. Sleep refuses to come and I decide to spend some time in the corridor. Memories of Malta and of waves, crushing on the shore in Sliema Surfside, are still so vivid. I wholeheartedly hate to return to the frozen desert and want to weep. After a walk from one wagon to another, I return to the compartment and try to fall asleep. Ten minutes later, the door opens and one of my fellow travellers walks in, locking the door behind. I realize someone is sitting on my berth and is going to lay down. “Oh, please, I am not in mood for jokes!”, I whisper, not seeing a thing in pitch darkness. Not saying a word, the interrupter of my dreams starts climbing on the upper berth. In a few moments that same someone gets down again and climbs on the upper berth on the other side. “Man, who are you?!”, I hear next. Someone switches on the lights and we see a bearded man on the upper berth with our male fellow traveler. All becomes clear: the stranger simply entered a wrong compartment and, since drunk (New Year celebrations had started), he could not remember what berth was his. He apologizes and leaves quickly. The accident amuses us all.

– When he sat on my bed I though it was Raisa!

– When he sat on mine I thought it was Sergey!

thought it was my dear boy, so I did not notice anything wrong!

I thought it was my dear girl, I hugged her and was about to kiss her … then I felt the beard!

Have to admit, It was my fault – I should have locked the door behind me.

The couple leaves the train in the morning. “I bet, she’s his mistress, not wife”, my only remaining fellow traveller is in mood to gossip. “He is cheating on his wife, I smell these things”. I shrug shoulders. Well, trains must be paradise for swingers.

2013 in Pictures

The photos selected for this post capture moments of daily life, important events on the island of Malta and just curious accidents. I thank all my followers for supporting the blog, for their interest, and hope not to disappoint them in the future. Wishing you all Happy New Year!

JANUARY
Hidden Danger

On Janury 22nd the field outside of Chemistry Building (University of Malta) was no longer the same – a bulldozer arrived on the field full of green grass and poppies. It mercilessly passed over the flowers, dipping its bucket into the soil. In a matter of hours the blossom was gone from the field. Almost a year later there are offices for the university staff instead of flowers and weeds. Functional necessity won over beauty.

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FEBRUARY
Faces of the Street

Via Cavana in Trieste is a paradise for street photographers. Mysterios portraits on the old building’s wall watch over passers-by as if they were guards of the street.

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MARCH
Red for the Labour

On the 10th March Malta’s Opposition Labour Party won a general election for the first time in 15 years. Party’s supporters organized an improvised march, celebrating the victory. The scale of these celebrating activities was vast, exotic and unprecedented for a foreigner. A girl waving the Labour Party flag from the top of her parent’s car is just an example of the total mass euphoria on that day.

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APRIL
Three Men for St. Publius

On April 14th St. Publius feast was celebrated in the town of Floriana. The feast opens the long-going season of feasts which brings galore of fireworks and street celebrations to Malta in summer. The photo tells nothing about the feast itself but shows three man, separated from one another yet still connected in some invisible manner – a symbolic picture in my opinion.

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MAY
March against Monsanto

March against Monsanto held on May 25 in Valletta gathered a crowd of protesters against food monopolization in general and MONSANTO corporation in particular. The youngest protesters were among the most active ones.

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JUNE
Silence of the Doves

L-Imnarja Feast in Buskett garden on the June 29 celebrated two very important Saints in Maltese religious lore. It is one of the oldest feasts on the islands. Buskett garden was turned into a tradition fair with fruits and vegetables from local farmers, yummy food and folk music. The caged animals, however, did not seem to enjoy the celebration.

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JULY
Malta Jazz Festival

Malta Jazz Festival is an annual event and a treat for all true music admirers. Still under the impression of Chano Dominquez’ performance last year, I was not equally delighted by Michel Camilo’s Trio. The photo features Lincoln Giones (bass) from Michel Camilo Trio.

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AUGUST
Meeting with Big Friday and His Friends

August was an unforgettable month because I met Big Friday, a wonderful horse from Gozo. This glorious and tender animal wins races and cherishes friendship of those who care for him.

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New Face of Aeroflot

Another discovery in the month of August was Aeroflot (its new image, to be precise), the Russian company at the stage of re-inventing itself and improving its service.

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SEPTEMBER
Old Astrakhan

In September I paid a visit to my home town, Astrakhan. The city, a unique oriental character of which was sacrificed for modernization, is sinking into alcoholism and drug addiction. This photo signifies hope for the place to resurrect in its former glory.

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OCTOBER
Sails for Two

On October 30th both, locals and visitors, witnessed a spectacular show of the 34th Rolex Middle Sea Race. One by one boats were leaving the Grand Harbour, opening their sails of all colours to the wind, in order to return in a few days.

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DECEMBER
Bethlehem in Gozo 

Christmas is taken very seriously on the island of Gozo. Bethlehem Village takes visitors two millennia back to the town where Christ was born. The festive atmosphere was infused with warmth of mulled wine, children’s laugh and enthusiasm.

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Happy New Year!

Astrakhan, where East meets West and both get confused

Astrakhan is a province city in the south-western outskirts of Russia, located a few miles away from the Russian-Kazakstanian frontier. Oriental presence was always strong here: the capitals of Khazaria and the Golden Horde established in the area, made it particularly important for merchandise. Burnt by Tamerlan to the ground in 1395, the capital of Astrakhan Khanate was rebuilt 12km upstream from the modern-day city. Fertile soils of the Volga delta, rich in sturgeon and exotic plants, were of interest to Ottomans. In 1556 Ivan the Terrible joined Astrakhan Khanate to Russia, but the spirit of Astrakhan was shaping under the influence of many merchants from Armenia, Persia and India, settled in the town. To a certain extent, Astrakhan had some impact on the history of the 20th century: father of Vladimir Lenin, the Russian revolutionist, was born and grew up here.

It is truly a land of contrasts: fertile soils neighbour steppes and sand dunes, Caspian seals can be found not far from Astrakhan camels; Orthodox, Muslim, Catholic and Buddhist religions are all present here, giving the place a multinational and variegated character. Slavs mixed well with Mongolian tribes and the integration resulted in a variety of face types, high cheek bones, eyes of all colours and shapes.

What is written above is true, but do not be mistaken imagining an exotic paradise, perfect for tourists. The reality is not as bright-coloured as the info in a tourist flyer. The city, slowly but surely, is sinking into alcoholism and drug addiction. Doom and frustration on people’s faces, their clenched fists would convince even deliberate positive thinkers that existence effects conscience and not the contrary.

The historical city centre is packed with old architecture: 18th and 19th century houses of merchants are falling apart without a touch of restoration.

Old merchant house (late 18th - early 19th century)
Old merchant house (late 18th – early 19th century)
Post arrived (inside the old merchant's house)
Post arrived (inside the old merchant’s house)
Backyards in the old city
Backyards in the old city
Backyards in the old city
Backyards in the old city
Often melancholy is the only hobby
Often melancholy is the only hobby

Astrakhan Kremlin built in mid-16th century is under UNESCO protection, and one of few well-maintained historical objects.

St. Nocolai Church within Astrakhan Kremlin
St. Nocolai Church within Astrakhan Kremlin
Children playing next to the Cathedral and the Bell Tower
Children playing next to the Cathedral and the Bell Tower

Oriental feel is especially strong at open markets …

Bolshye Isady open market - traditional residence of Muslim merchants
Bolshye Isady open market – traditional residence of Muslim merchants
Southern sun made Astrakhan rich in fruits and vegetables
Southern sun made Astrakhan rich in fruits and vegetables

… and in the traditions of different ethnicities.

Tatar man playing harmonica
Tatar man playing harmonica
Muslim girls playing basketball
Muslim girl playing basketball
Russian and Dagestanian boys posing together
Russian and Dagestanian boys posing together

Life is life, with all its attributes: children do not look forward to the new school year, …

First year school boy is hiding behind a balloon
First year school boy is hiding behind a balloon

… or rather play outside instead of listening to teacher’s explanations.

Children playing in the school yard
Children playing in the school yard
Children playing in the school yard
Children playing in the school yard

Not easy to get back to lessons and homework after summer fun by the river.

Summer fun by the river in one of suburbs
Summer fun by the river in one of suburbs

Here, as everywhere else, people fall in love and get married.

Newly married couple waving to passers-by from a wedding limousine
Newly married couple waving to passers-by from a wedding limousine
Wedding photo session on Lover's bridge
Wedding photo session on Lover’s bridge
Awkward wedding photo session: the bride surrounded with friends holding a gun and a champagne bottle
Awkward wedding photo session: the bride surrounded with friends holding a gun and a champagne bottle

As in any other Russian city, there is a memorial to Anonymous Soldiers.

Memorial to Anonymous Soldiers
Memorial to Anonymous Soldiers

… and fun mixes with fatalism.

Celebrating Day of Pensioner despite low pensions and lack of healthcare
Celebrating Day of Pensioner despite low pensions and lack of healthcare
Roof maintenance Russian way
Roof maintenance Russian way

I think, I know where the famous Russian fatalism comes from. When life is so unstable or stably hopeless, hardly it is worth to cling to.

Even a week spent here might be quite depressive. In such moments I take my Maltese residence permit out of a file and look at it as at a bridge to a fairy better world. Or, perhaps, same world, just with little more hope in it.

Read more: http://raisatarasova.wordpress.com/2012/07/10/born-in-ussr/