Life in Siberia

As I’m sitting here looking out the window watching the world pass by on the Trans-Siberian, I can’t help but notice how far back in time these last few days have taken me. Between all the trains passing us going the opposite direction, we go by (or fly by) small villages with houses in dark brownish colors which are actually the original wooden color of the houses, thou they’re partly rotted away. Every now and then thou, there’ll be a bright green or turquoise (which seem to be the hip color in Siberia) house in the middle of them all, breaking up the somewhat sad scenery. It’s like a hint of fresh air. The houses contain maximum two rooms, if not only a one­ room, and I doubt the windows (which there seem to be a lot of) are all closable. Amongst the stray mixed-bred dogs, wrecked cars and a lady tucked into several layers of clothing and a scarf wrapped around her head, you can actually spot a family life where the backyard is the centre of attention.  The gardens are neat and very well attended to, as it probably is where they get both their food and drinks from. You can see fields of potatoes, cabbage and carrots, and by the food we’ve bought of these sweet old ladies at the different stations, we all agree that they’re wonderful cooks. Cabbage dumplings and fresh bread is heavenly to all of us being stuck at a train with a restaurant where they don’t speak a word of English and where utensils and ovens tend to break down all so often – except when the party of French ppl are about to eat.

Russian seems so far away, and ppl keep asking how long it’ll take to get there. Truth is it’ll take longer to get to Greece from Norway than to Russia by plane. Russia is very close in distance, but at the same time very far away. It’s quite a different life these ppl live compared to us. We all get out at every station to get some fresh air (which is a luxury after three days on a train), and the scenery I meet almost makes me feel ill sometimes. To think that these ppl hang around the station all day with their food and beverages waiting for the trains to arrive so they can earn some money to be able to make food to sell the following day makes me feel filthy rich. They sell their food amazingly cheap and still I hear ppl bargaining with them over dumplings which are 50 rubles (10 kr), only wanting to pay 40 rubles (8 kr). To us it’s random money lying around in our pockets, lucky if they ever get used. But to these women it’s a matter of being able to buy and grow the ingredients needed to make the food that insures their income. Usually our stops are around 15 minutes, but when the train is running late we stop only for a few minutes which don’t leave us with enough time to fill our lungs with fresh air or buy some food. The disappointment is written all over the old ladies’ faces, as they probably see half a days’ income pass by.

Right now the trees are still green, going on red and yellow, surrounding the tiny houses as if their protecting them from the rest of the world. They all look like puppet houses you see on children shows, made out of clay – a bit deformed as they should be – only here they’re real and still halfway-collapsed. It seems you’re lucky if you still have a complete wall which at least will give you some protection when the cold, expected winter hits Siberia. This is home; a battle to survive relying on ppl buying your goods of a train which you’ll never afford to get on, best of luck.

Welcome to Siberia.