Korea: Farewell Metropolis - Hello Beach

We reached Busan in two and a half hours using the excellent KTX service. It felt really fast, the train raced through the countryside at 300km/h. There was just enough time to catch glimpses of the innumerable small cemeteries which litter the hillsides. Occasionally the train would whizz past huge complexes of new apartments, often overshadowing older traditional wooden buildings or small farms. You have to wonder how the farmer feels about this progress.

In Busan we jumped on the metro and headed out to our hostel at Gwangalli Beach, a few miles east of the city. Our hostel, Indy House (so named after Indiana Jones, of whom the patron is a huge fan), is one of the cleanest hostels I have ever seen. We were able to get a double room with AC for just £3 a night more than bunk beds would have cost us. It makes a nice change not to feel crammed into a hostel.

The Gwangalli Beach area is very nice, a mixture of golden sand, modern high rises (which resemble offices rather than hotels), and coffee shops - which seem to be the latest craze. We have walked along the seafront several times and cannot help but notice the empty bars, whilst the coffee shops churn out latte after cappuccino. Which probably explains why everyone stays out so late, and then gets up so late.

Despite the proliferation of coffee houses and restaurants, there doesn't seem to be a great deal of entertainment on offer. We found one small fairground-like stall, managing to pop 12 balloons with our 15 darts. I guess the Koreans are not huge darts fans, given the reaction we received after our best Martin Adams impressions. The nearby fairground, MyWorld was completely closed.

We had an interesting wander around Raw Fish Town. Although in truth it should have been called "live" fish town, all the specimens were in tanks. We treated it more like an aquarium , gaping at all the different species soon to end up on the dinner plate. On our walk back we saw several old folk wading through rocky shallows collecting shellfish. A beautiful fish, shaped a little like a small shark with golden and black stripes, swam dangerously close to an old man's homemade rod, but turned away at the last minute, narrowly avoiding adding his name to the menu.

We took a taxi out to a Buddhist temple, Haedong Yonggungsa, which is located about 10km from Busan on a stretch of coastline. The tranquility of the location only disturbed by the rhythmic incantations of a monk into a loud hailer. This temple has had an interesting history, the original being burnt down in the 1590's when the Japanese invaded Korea, and didn't get rebuilt until 1930! However it has obviously found a use today, as numerous people gathered their prayer mats and began their rituals, ignoring the many cameras pointed their way.

All around the temple you can see signs much like a swastika, which denotes a religious site, and you are constantly climbing up uneven rock steps to see the golden Buddha or the Goddess of Mercy. It's a really stunning, peaceful place and somewhat rare, as apparently most Buddhist Temples are located up mountainsides.

However the sound of crashing waves only adds to the mystique of the place, and in fact such noise is common here - every metro or train station we have passed through has had a water feature, usually with a spinning waterwheel, a duck spouting water from his beak or some other oddity. Perhaps that why the Koreans generally seem so calm and relaxed. Really we've only experienced a very minor level of anti-social behaviour. Queues. We all know that us Brits love our queues, but quite a few people have squeezed into the tiniest gap just to push in, which can be very frustrating.

We have made contact with Mr Shin,the port agent here in Busan. He has advised us that our ship, the Hanjin Miami is running a day late, so we leave on the 29th September. We have to meet him outside his office in the city centre tomorrow morning, and he'll take us to the ship from there.

Until then we are relaxing, enjoying the fresh sea air and the excellent food Busan has to offer.

Korea: Donghae to Seoul

The coastline, at first just a hazy speck, slowly rose and found definition in the shape of mountains. High rise buildings grew on the horizon, an oil refinery took form. At first it appeared as if the Eastern Dream would just sail straight up onto the beach, finally the port appeared.

We navigated our way between numerous container ships, bobbing up and down on the waves, awaiting their turn to dock and be loaded with goods destined for the West. Our ship, after entering the port, made a surprising but well-timed 3 point turn to dock in between two large vessels at the Donghae international passenger terminal.

Donning our backpacks we nervously made our way down a swaying, creaking gangplank. After clearing customs and saying farewell to our 24 hour travelling companions Gemma and I walked in the direction of the train station. It was a gloriously warm day, we strolled past row upon row of chili plants in small gardens and allotments and it felt somewhat appropriate. After enduring fairly dull diets for two weeks in Russia, Korea promised to be a little more spicy!

Donghae train station was just a 15 minute walk away, and given that we had not planned anything at all at this point we reached it with surprising ease. At the counter the woman spoke very good English, so we booked our tickets to Seoul and sat down to wait for an hour, relieved to have removed our backpacks. On hearing our accents one elderly gentleman, also waiting for the train, came to speak with us. He was amazed to discover how we had reached his sleepy hometown. What he didn't know was that just a 15 minute walk away a merry band of Europeans were navigating the towns bus network.

We treated ourselves to an ice cream, whilst completely unaware of the exchange rates (they were fairly priced in hindsight), but it was so warm and humid we would have paid quadruple! The wait for the train didn't take long, and soon we found ourselves on our train, sat in large seats with plenty of legroom. It seems like all the signs in Korea are written in both the local and Latin script, more often than not with English translations which means its generally very easy to find out where you to go.

The only slight downer to our spirits came when we realised that our train would take five and a half hours to reach a station on the outskirts of Seoul. We came across a tourist map with an advert for the express bus to the centre of Seoul - three hours. Still, the train ride was fascinating. Every time an attendant entered a carriage, they would bow in respect to the passengers, something for London Transport to think about surely?

We arrived at our station in the darkness, without a plan. Fortunately it was equipped with excellent WiFi, so we looked up some hostels online , caught a metro across town, and arrived at one site in time to book the last two beds. Of course having moved back two time zones our body clocks were now well and truly ruined and there was no hope of immediate sleep.

In fact, there was little hope of any sleep during the night too. A mosquito took a fancy to my collarbone, a cold breeze blew in through a window with no glass, and the stranger in the bunk above me tossed and turned all night long. At least I didn't hear the kids come home at 5am, drunk and falling over bags and each other before launching into a dawn chorus of snores. Unfortunately Gemma did.

The following morning we checked out and made our way to the other side of the Hongdae district (Hongik University), finding a different hostel with friendly staff and guests. It was a little humid, and there was only 1 bathroom, but otherwise it was an improvement. In fact the only negatives are the humidity of the rooms and the noise. The hostel is located in a really vibrant part of town, the streets are busy, full of shops and bars which stay open until the last patron leaves, which seems to be about 7am judging by our two young American room-mates.

There are some really cheap, exciting dining options in Hongdae, the street-food in particular is something to behold. Deep fried fish, meat and vegetables in various batters, all covered in a spicy sauce. A good sized plate, enough to fill up on at dinner costs 2500 Won (under £2). My particular favourite was a battered crabstick, served on a stick like a corndog. There are also a range of Western foodchains here, like Taco Bells or TGI Friday, and some upper end restaurants too, there is something for every budget or tastebud.

After a day of chores, catching up on washing, a hot shower, blogging and the like, we decided to be a little more active the following day, so we booked up to see the De-Militarized Zone and have a peek across at North Korea.

We were picked up at 7am and driven to a meeting point across town. We just had time to dive into a Dunkin Donuts for a surprisingly expensive coffee before boarding the bus. Our tour group was driven to Imjingak, about an hour from Seoul, where we saw the unification bridge and got up close to a ROK army watch post.

We then crossed a bridge, having to show our passports as we entered the civilian control zone, and went to the third infiltration tunnel. This tunnel, apparently built by the North Koreans, was capable of moving an entire division of soldiers into ROK territory in just one hour, from where they would be within 55km of the capital. The South has discovered four such tunnels, but who knows how many may actually exist.

After covering my thick skull with a hard hat (thank god they were provided) we walked down a surprisingly steep entrance. It took several minutes to go down, but as it's wide and high it lulls you into a false sense of security. Passing a natural spring you enter the tunnel proper, and it's at this point that anyone bigger than Dopey, Sneezy or Grumpy begins to stoop. At 6"2 I found myself staring at my feet for most of the walk, smacking my head on the uneven rock roof at least 30 times (and listening to Gemma giggling behind me).

Despite the stooping, the trickling water and the occasional bit of scaffolding the tunnel didn't feel too claustrophobic. Until the queues started to form, but at least that meant we were close to our goal. And by goal I mean concrete wall, because of course the South couldn't just leave the tunnel open for the Great and Glorious Leader to wander through when he pleased. So your reward after all the effort is to stare at one concrete wall with a very small, hole in it, through which you can see a second concrete wall. After three seconds you are herded back, to begin the far less exciting prospect of a very long, slow creep back uphill.

We then made our way to the Dora observatory, 20 minutes late after four of our group got lost. I still haven't worked out how it's possible to get lost in a single tunnel, but my suggestion that perhaps they had defected didn't go down too well with our tour guide.

The observatory was fascinating, but not so much for the view. Although a clear day, there was a haze on the horizon. We were able to see a famous North Korean propaganda village, complete with the worlds tallest flagpole and heaviest flag. What I found most interesting was the ROK soldiers insistence that all photographers stand behind a yellow line, making decent photo's of the North virtually impossible. And infringers were rewarded by having their memory card deleted. All of which seemed faintly ridiculous, given that we were at the Observatory. What were they afraid we'd see?

The last stop on the tour was at the Dorasan train station, located in the middle of nowheresville and sold to us gullible tourists as a symbol of hope and reconciliation. To Pyongyang read the destination board, but no-one was walking to the platform. The tour guide was at pains to emphasise that Korea is one country divided but would be reconciled. But i 'm not so sure I can see the Northern Dynasty agreeing to step aside to allow free democratic elections. And even if they did I can't see why they'd need to stop at Dorasan.

The drive back to Seoul was pleasant (until we hit the traffic jams). It was nice to chat to a few more mature people on the tour (hostels, whilst usually playing host to friendly people, naturally attract a younger crowd). An Austrailian artist, a Texan living in Japan and Larry and Buddy from California, who have given us their details and told us to look them up when we arrive next month. They live just north of San Francisco, wine country, so it is an offer we will struggle to refuse!

The following day we took a tube across town and, armed with the hostels copy of Lonely Planet, tried to find the huge palace. The guidebook told us to get off at a stop that was actually quite a long way from the palace, but by pure chance we happened across a shrine instead. We paid 1000 Won (about 57p) for a guided tour around the shrine, Jongmyo.

The shrine (and apparently the accompanying ceremony) is listed with UNESCO as a world heritage site. Built to house the spirit tablets of the Joseon dynasty, the spirits of these Kings and Queens are supposed to reside here, although we only saw a jet-black squirrel and a couple of ducks. But the shrines were at least pleasant on the eye, and the ear as the area is surrounded by dense woodland and a park where the most strenuous activities were a bit of tai-chi and a number of pensioners playing a curious chess-like game.

Tomorrow we are leaving Seoul, heading south to Busan for two nights before we catch the ship to California, so this will probably be the last blog update for a few weeks now. But I'm sure there will be lots to catch up on once we're back online. Until then farewell!

To the end of Russia and beyond!

We had to get up in time to catch the 7.57 train out of Irkutsk, but our bodies still felt like they were on Moscow time. Packing didn't take long, we dived on a tram and once again found ourselves at the station more than an hour early. It was still dark but the time seemed to pass quickly enough. Soon we were in our cabin, our home for the next three nights.

We decided to stay awake because just an hour after leaving Irkutsk, having climbed through the same hills that a day before we driven over, we were treated to stunning views of Lake Baikal. As the train descended the lake came into view, initially through gaps in the rocks, soon stretching into wide panoramas. Eventually the tracks ran within yards of the shoreline.

I can confidently say this has to be the best part of the route, not only did the lake glimmer in the Morning sunlight, but the track was also fascinating. Twisting and turning, climbing and falling. It made for a thoroughly enjoyable morning. Simon Calder, the travel writer, suggests that it is possible to run from one station to the lake, shredding clothes as one goes, before returning (at a fast pace) uphill just in time for the trains departure. I can't confirm this, because the lack of sleep caused me to nod off. Will I ever have another chance to streak in Siberia?

All the beds on our train were full. Opposite me a lady called Lina kept fussing over the folds in the tablecloth. I kept untidying it when she left the room, I call it enrichment, and I like to think that she has had a more satisfying journey because of it. Opposite Gamma sat an unidentified Russia male. He wasn't terribly forthcoming, preferring to watch several hours of Spartacus, a program that seemed to be on repeat on the cabins tv. He left the bunk once in the first 24 hours, to stock up on hot water for his dried noodles and buy a snickers, the program was that good!

We ate in the restaurant car, our first sight was the chef having a smoke in the kitchen. Further on, the car was a slightly comical attempt at recreating the glamour of the Orient Express. I have never travelled on the old Venice-Simplon, but I have never heard of it having a Karaoke machine inside! The waitresses amused themselves by ignoring the customers, preferring to sing (I use the term loosely) like a deranged walrus. It was the perfect backdrop to a simple Russian beefsteak with fried potatoes (smothered in dill, of course). Gemma ordered from the vegetarian menu, A tomato and cucumber salad. All I'll say is that it's a good job she likes tomato and cucumber, because she didn't get anything else!

We returned to the cabin and fell asleep to the sounds of gladiators fighting (and making love), and by the time we woke up the landscape had completely changed. We were just above Mongolia, but the rolling hills, trees and grasses remind me more of a wild west movie. I could just as easily imagine a weathered old gold prospector or an outlaw riding down towards the train as I could an indigenous tribesman.

That is, until you see the people. In fact only about 30% of the people living here are indigenous. The rest are of Russian stock, and almost to a man covered from head to toe in tracksuit or similarly shiny synthetic material. The 80's craze for shell suits has just reached Siberia. Everywhere you go you will find an Adidas store, and the prices are even higher than back in England. Branded sportswear is definitely en vouge. In fact my adidas hoodie is probably the reason I keep being asked directions by Russians.

After my daily wash (not easy, the sink is the size of my fist and the water but a drip) I was surprised to discover Gemma engaged in a conversation with Lina in Russian. "We've been here for 2 weeks" I thought " and she hasn't once told me that she could speak Russian!" Gemma glanced up at me as I stood, open jawed, I the doorway. From the look on her face it was evident that she didn't understand a word!

Lina was talking quickly and excitedly with many hand gestures. The guy in the bunk above leant over the side of his bed and chipped in a few words. Realising that we didn't understand, Lina unpacked her camera. Photographs of a dog, then a tiger, followed by a chimpanzee. At this point the two Russians began talking to each other and as Lina pointed at the chimpanzee the guy said the word 'family'. We really didn't know what to make of that, but from the following hand gestures we were given to understand that Lina's relative would take food from her hand while scratching his arse! There's always one in every family eh!

Besides swapping amusing family anecdotes, the days passed in much the same way as all the previous days on board. In truth we both became a little restless, tired of eating dried food, eager for fresh air and the chance to stretch our legs. It was with great relief when we eventually arrived in Vladivostok. Neither of us had slept well,the carriage attendant having woken us up at 3am because they had not checked our tickets correctly. By 7am we were making our way out of the station, climbing one of Vladivostok's many hills. We were both feeling quite rough, still getting over colds that we had picked up en route.

When we eventually found the hotel Equator, they wouldn't let us check in so we left our bags and wandered back in to town with four hours to kill. Desperately tired, hungry and unwell, we discovered a little cafe called Studio Coffee. We both ordered a latte and as we sipped our drinks we watched enviously as another customer received his fried egg breakfast. The menu was in Cyrillic script so we reached for Gemma's picture book and pointed at the eggs. The waitress nodded in accordance and took our order to the kitchen. She returned with two plates of eggs, bacon, beans, tomatoes and toast. I was so happy that I nearly cried, a bleak morning had been transformed.

During the day we wandered through the streets of the city. It is quite a European city in many ways, not entirely Russian. There are winding, hilly streets, pedestrianised areas and small boutique shops. When we returned to the hotel, via a walk along a deserted beach front, we both had a well deserved sleep. The hotel itself was ugly, mouldy and generally run down, so I won't dwell on it.

In town that afternoon we found an old Soviet submarine, mounted beside the harbour, with a museum onboard. We climbed inside, and although we couldn't read the displays (containing medals, photographs, uniforms and weapons), some parts of the submarine had been left intact, including the captains bedroom, the periscope and the torpedo tubes.

The following day, after a very dubious breakfast in the hotel, we returned to the harbour and prepared for our voyage to Korea. We checked in at the given time but we told we had to wait another 2 hours before boarding, so we sat outside the terminal in the sun.

Here we met a ragtag band of fellow travellers. First Pierre and Clement, two young Frenchmen who are missing their homelands cheese supply. Then Curran, an Irishman travelling alone, and Eric, a German making his way to Japan to study. None of us could quite work out the curious boarding procedure, but we all eventually met up on deck and enjoyed the wonderful views of the huge bay in which Vladivostok is situated as the ferry made its way out of the port.

Even after leaving the port and the bay, the waves hardly made an impact on the boat. The sea was as calm as a millpond. After a brief sleep in our cabin (futon style beds in a four person room) and watching the glorious sunset, we found our fellow travellers and decided to go to the boats nightclub. A bizarre evenings entertainment was laid on for us, awful dancing, dodgy singing followed by a Korean DJ in a bow tie playing (excessively loud) techno style music - to which a number of middle aged Koreans began raving. It was too surreal for us so we returned to our futons hastily.

Tomorrow we reach Korea, and we are both very excited by the prospect. Onboard there are little tasters of what it will be like, such as the dried roasted soft squid in the Supermarket (like a fishy jerky, not nice at all) and the kitsch designs of the soft drinks in the fridge. Earlier I nodded my head towards a Korean staff member. They bowed to me in reply. It seems like it will be a friendly society and somewhere we'll both enjoy.

Irkutsk: The Cold Bit

We are in Irkutsk and it is freezing - literally! During our four nights on the train we have travelled over 5000km and crossed five time zones! The seasons have changed in front of our eyes on what seems like a daily basis. We left Moscow at the end of summer, it was warm and the trees were green. As our journey continued the trees turned to every colour of autumn, beautiful shades of yellow, orange and red. On day 5 of our train ride, as we arrived in Siberia, it started to snow and the temperature had fallen to just 1 degree Celsius!

Our timing couldn't have been better as we arrived on the 350th anniversary of the founding of the city and celebrations were underway. The central square was a hubbub of activity as people flocked to buy helium balloons and plastic tat that filled the stalls and the smell of smoked sausage lingered in the air. There was even an old army canteen vehicle serving up steaming plates of stew ladled from huge vats.On stage budding actors performed the history of Irkutsk. I don't think it was meant to be a comedy, but the farcical fight scenes and garish costumes certainly made it seem that way - then confirmed by a horse relieving itself in front of a thousand or so people - only nobody was laughing. Maybe it was the cold!

In the evening there was a concert in the central square. I think the Russian Eurovision entry was performing - a bit cheesy - but again people watched happily, some even dancing and singing along. The grand finale was a firework display. We made our way to the river, where we were told that we could watch it, only to find that it was all happening in the central square! We saw some of the display as it soared above the trees and houses but it was mostly a series of loud bangs that echoed off the buildings around us as we made our way back to the hostel (which was just off the central square.) Oh yes, and we had our first vodka - although we couldn't persuade anyone to join us. Perhaps this was because it was gone midnight, but the five hour time difference between here and Moscow had put us slightly out of sync!

For our second day in Irkutsk we had planned to go to Lake Baikal but we woke up late and neither of us fancied it. We were both tired and cold so we hung around in the hostel. Unfortunately, this was before we realised that there was no heating (nobody has it until it is turned on by the government in October, when everyone gets it, whether you want it or not, ah communism!) and no hot water due to repair works! Despite the temperature, when the electricity also went off we gave up and ventured outside only to find it was warmer than the hostel! We felt a bit glum so we decided to go to the London Pub for some home comforts. However, as the power was out everywhere, we were quite harshly told "NO FOOD!" as two plates were carried out of the kitchen in front of us. Now I know how Mary and Joseph felt, only at least I'm not heavily pregnant! (Although if I was, I don't think Darren would accept the immaculate conception as an excuse!)

On our final day we were a little more adventurous! We made our way by rickety old tram to the long distance bus station where one minibus was waiting, half full of locals. We loitered near it for a while, guide book in hand, unsure what to do. When I plucked up enough courage to use a little of the Russian that I had memorised everyone was very helpful. Lots of gesturing and pointing led us to the ticket office where we were told that the next bus was in 3 hours. We returned to the minibus as the driver was shutting the door. Fortunately he accepted our 200 Rouble bung and we climbed on board.

The 64km took about an hour and a quarter to drive, the road navigating hills, forests and rivers. The village of Listvyanka is stretched along 4km of coastline, rarely more than two houses deep except for the occasional valleys through which the rivers run. After taking some photos we wandered through a small market selling staggeringly overpriced souvenirs. A dinky stone statue, barely an inch an a half high, cost over £60!

We looked for somewhere to eat but the cafes were either closed or still being built so we continued our walk along the beach. Lake Baikal is very beautiful, the air clear and fresh, and with stunning vistas across the water to snow covered mountains on the far side.

At the other end of the village we found the local museum, paid our entry fee and went inside. Of the exhibits, there was a small aquarium containing examples of fish from the lake such as perch, pike, sturgeon and carp as well as two rather curious looking seals who simply swam backwards and forwards in their small enclosure, with very little stimulus.

Upstairs, there were displays about diving and a gory room full of bleached specimens in formaldehyde filled jars. l can't say much more about either as there were no English descriptions. I can understand the argument for learning the language spoken in places that you visit, and our Russian is coming on quite nicely for beginners, but realistically it would have taken years of studying to be able to read these signs!

We flagged down a minibus from the side of the road which took us back to Irkutsk. The ride was not as smooth as our journey out, and the smell of diesel made Darren feel a bit queasy. (But a burger and chips from 'Chick n Pizza' soon perked him up!)

Back at the hostel, there was still no hot water. After spending 4 nights on the train, and then 3 nights here with just one (very quick) cold rinse in the shower, I decided to have a bath - using all the pots and pans in the kitchen to boil up some water!

The Trans-Siberian Express: Part One

Our last day in Moscow was a bit empty, we knew we had a long train ride ahead of us, and I was feeling a bit dicey to say the least. We had planned to do a few things but never really got around to them, and the feeling of not being rushed for a day was a relief.

We had some lunch at a My-My restaurant, a kind of Russian fast-food, canteen style affair, decorated like a cow. Feeling a little adventurous (and having recovered from my earlier woes) we had borsch, pastry filled with cabbage, Russian salad, a beef patty and an omelet with some kind of pork schnitzel inside. It was pretty good, Russian food gets a bad press but this was perfectly edible.

After some further hours spent littering around the hostel, packing and repackaging, trying to guess what we'd need at the top of our bags, we decided to catch a taxi to the Station. It was a little embarrassing when Gemma walked past the taxi and began filling the boot of a random Russian's car with her bag, but we did eventually get to Yaroslavsky station.

Being such a miserable, damp evening we jumped straight on the train when it was called. We found our cabin easily enough, it was already occupied by two passengers, a young mother called Olga and her son Stasic. We hid our bags into every crevice we could find, made our beds and sat down (it was 11.55pm by this point). I attempted a little phrase book Russian - nothing fancy just "what's your name?" and "where are you going to?" and then discovered that those were the only two useful phrases in the book. Every other question required a more detailed answer than I would have understood.

The first night passed peacefully enough. After settling into our bunks Olga opened her laptop and put on a movie for everyone. Seeing our bemused faces she turned the screen so we could see better. But it wasn't the sight so much as the sound that caused our mirth. Honestly, you've really not seen Winnie the Pooh unless you've watched the Spanish one (Buenos Dias Eeyore) with severe Russian accent narrating over the top. Fortunately the gentle rocking motion sent me to sleep pretty quickly, not waking until midday.

Sometime after I got up we stopped at a station. Observing from a window I watched as a few old women, all haggard and brittle looking, descended upon the stairwells where a mixture of confident Russians and a few confused tourists (easy to spot - the Russians aren't peering at everything through a viewfinder) climbed down onto the platform. And then the bargaining began. I understood very little, but having been through a few stops now I can confidently say that nobody has bought anything that is not either very tacky or (pardon my French) utter shit - In some cases both, I'm thinking of Olga's new whicker lampshade.

Our guidebook is a little out of date. We brought Bryn Thomas' Trans-Siberian Handbook, which came highly recommended - but was published in 2007. For example he recommends not getting out your laptop as it will make you conspicuous. On the contrary, we are the only non-Russians in our carriage, and are the only one's without a laptop (ok, so we have a touchpad, but that's a different beast). All the charging points (located in the hallway rather than rooms) are constantly in use.

We ventured down to the trains restaurant car on more than one occasion. It was a relief to find some English translations, albeit rather rustic. I opted for the "mixed meat soup", a brave gamble if ever there was one. Actually the Solyanka was perfectly edible, even though it was never going to win any Michelin stars. We also ordered a side plate of potatoes which arrived buried under a field of dill. It seems that you cannot have potatoes (no matter whether fried or boiled) without them arriving smothered in dill, and I haven't the foggiest idea why!

Back in our carriage Olga was eating her dried noodles, cooked in hot water from the Samovar (a scary looking contraption that simply delivers hot water). Very few Russians seemed to eat in the restaurant carriage, preferring to bed down in their cabins and tuck in to dried noodles, Lays crisps and biscuits. Certainly the food on the train was no more expensive than Moscow, so it's a little surprising. Maybe they know something we don't - is it time to double check our immodium supplies!

Later in the evening we began to climb, presumably in the Urals (ooh matron). The scenery, at least during daylight hours, has changed very little. Sometimes the forests are situated in hills, more usually on huge great plains. Whilst very beautiful to hike in, the lack of variation soon becomes monotonous. A small event like passing through a ramshackle town draws me to the window as if something amazing is about to happen. It hasn't yet, which is probably why I've managed to read the first book of War & Peace already.

During our second night on the train we twist and turn. Our heads by the windows, when the train turns left it feels like our necks are crumpling, our faces buried in the pillows. When we turn right it feels like someone is pulling our feet. I begin to understand how a poor accordion must feel, and fall asleep dreaming of forming the Accordion Liberation Army.

Stasic had a rough night, which in a four bed cabin meant we all had a rough night. Several times he woke up screaming, the noise was something to behold. Olga tried her best to comfort him, but it hardly stops him, and she already looks older than when we first met her just 30 hours ago. My dream of forming the Accordion Liberation Army swiftly develops into one in which I'm dangling a small boy out of a train window.

By midday on the 3rd day the cabin reeks of mushroom crisps, dried noodles and an unidentifiable pate. The sun shines brightly, warming the cabin and exacerbating the smells, human and food, so I pack away my notebook and go to apply a liberal helping of deodorant.

The rest of the train ride passed in much the same way as before. The scenery varied only very little, with the exception of 50km of rolling hills covered in trees which would not be out of place in a brochure for the fall in New England. Everyone I've discussed this with since has agreed, we all expected a few more sights along the way. I've looked forward to this for so long, either I've built this up too much in my head, or else there really is a lack of stunning vistas and points of interest.

In the cabin, the little one's lack of sleeping prevented us from getting much rest, his nighttime cries really hampering our attempts to readjust to the five time zones we've passed through since Moscow.And of course the cabin smell began to get me down. Four unshowered humans obviously didn't help matters, but food was the real cause. I'll grant that our freeze dried meals (vegetable korma, chili con carne) probably smelt very alien to Olga. But her purchases from the station vendors really did stink. The pine cones (from which she extracted the pine nuts manually) weren't too bad, the cheese puffs (which Stasic trod into the carpet) were pretty rough, but the piece de resistance was the smoked fish. Of course, polite, kind Olga offered some to us, but I felt that on this occasions Anglo-Russian relations should be put aside for my own wellbeing. Honestly the smell was atrocious, I pulled my bedsheets over my head, stuck a four day old sock in my nose and considered snorting some ammonia bite cream then fell asleep.

And so, at 2.57am Moscow time (which it felt like), 7.57am local time, we pulled into Irkutsk, Siberia.

Berlin to Moscow: A Rude Awakening

The final few hours in Berlin were spent shuffling through a supermarket, stocking up on supplies for the upcoming train ride. Although far from the longest stint on tracks, this was our first Plus 24 hour journey, so we needed to get enough stocks to last us.

I have to admit, taking in a foreign supermarket is one of my guilty pleasures. I just find it endlessly fascinating seeing what oddities are in stock (and of course looking out for rudely named products, come on, we've all had a giggle at Bimbo bread in Spain?) The most curious item I found was a fruit or vegetable which was shaped, and coloured exactly like a starfish. I've not noticed these in Tesco - any ideas?

We headed back to the station to leave our backpackss in the lockers, then ventured to the Pergamon Museum. I was particularly keen to see the altar of Zeus, but we felt that for backpackers 10 Euro's each was a bit steep, so we didn't go in. Next time I go to one of London's excellent free museums I will remember to make a donation.

We ventured back to the station again, and pottered about. With over 2 hours to spare when we arrived, it came as something of a shock to find ourselves in the opposite end of the station, without our luggage, 15 minutes before the train was due. We sprinted about the Haupbanhoff, carrying our homes on our backs like snails on speed and as we were asking an attendant if we we're on the right platform our train pulled in!

Gemma will pick up the journey on the Moskva Express:

I am sat in what can only be described as a cupboard with a window. It is a cloudy day and the trees lining our route are whizzing by in a green blur. This is an old, rickety train which is making writing quite difficult as I bounce around on the end of the bottom bunk. There is not quite enough room to put my feet up or sit normally so I am shuffling and repositioning myself to try to compensate for the trains movements.

On entering the carriage we found three rock hard seats, a small table and cupboard. The table turned out to be a sink (the water was brown at first) and the cupboard was a bathroom cabinet, only it contained a decanter and some crystal glasses - a sign of the former luxury this train once was. Everything here rattles to the rhythm of the train.

Our female train guard arrived, she reminded me of a stern matron that you might see in Carry On movies, and we were shooed out of the room. She transformed the seats into two bunk beds, lucky us - this cupboard was designed for three!

We went to bed quite early, only to be woken at 2.30pm by a knock at the door. We were not sure what was happening so politely said "no thank you". The closed door was meet with more vigorous knocking as serious men in uniform boarded our train. We had arrived in Belarus and our path crossed passport control who checked, double checked, and triple checked our passports with a magnifying glass. We said nothing, just sat there like naughty school children. Our passports were taken and not returned until an hour and a half later when matron closed our door. We both dozed off quickly, but not for long.

The train came to a sudden halt, and the loud bang told me that we had hit something larger than us! I clung to the roll bar that stopped me falling out of the top bunk as Darren precariously lifted the blind to see a floodlit construction site. As our train was jacked into the air we worked out that the wheels were being changed (I hadn't even noticed the flat tyre!) The whole operation took about an hour, during which time I really needed a pee! However, the shunting of the train meant that I didn't dare climb down the step ladder. (Yes, step ladder! Just like the ones you get in B&Q only well used and broken. It required two people to operate it as the safety catch was hanging off - yet another thing to swing and clatter to the melody of the train.)

Dozing off, then waking up as I was thrown against the roll bar or the wall was scary, but I must have fallen asleep because I woke at 10am, desperate for that same pee and suffering from my first real bout of motion sickness.

Back to Darren:

We got off the train at Moscow Belaruskaya station, and headed for the Metro, managing to find our local station without too much difficulty, but then the problems began. Our tourist map, and indeed the hostels address were written in Latin script. Whilst the major roads usually have their name in Cyrillic and Latin script, the side roads don't. The road our hostel is on definitely didn't. Fortunately we found a friendly local who, rather than just direct us, actually took us to our hostel and gave us a bit of a local history too!

We were very tired, but even moreso hungry, so we ventured out into the darkness of Moscow, agreeing to eat at the first place we found. Which turned out to be a Starbucks. Although, that's not a massive surprise, in 48 hours in Moscow we've found all manner of Western shops: Levi's; Timberland; Diesel.

In Gorky park we spotted 4 Subway stands - and we didn't even walk half of the park. There is a real lust for Americana here that is quite surprising, and a little sad. It seems like the US chains are shooting fish in a barrel. Fortunately I haven't spotted a McDonalds on Red Square, or a Burger King in the Kremlin - but I bet some corporate bigwig somewhere has dreamt of it.

We've been wandering around and navigating the metro for a few days now, have been to some of the major sites, and really enjoyed it so far. It's a little intimidating, arriving in Moscow at first, but after a few days you get to grips with it, finding your way about with relative ease. And a surprising number of people know a bit of English and are actually willing to help. Behind their steely facades I think Muscovites are more friendly than the impression they give off.

The Kremlin was interesting, although it was a bit disappointing to find some parts closed for rennovation when we went. The cathedrals inside are stunning, we visited one which contained the tombs of 50 tsars, although as with much of Moscow there were no signs in English. Russia really isn't geared up for independent tourists.

We spent a couple of hours in the Tretyakov gallery - the only artist we recognised was Kandinsky - but there were some amazing pieces by Russian artists with unpronouncable (and unwritable) names . As with the Kremlin, there really wasn't much to go on for information, so we just had to take it in visually! We did enjoy the sculpture park next door, it had everything from a giant Pinocchio to busts of Lenin & Stalin.

We're scheduled to leave Moscow at 23:55 on Saturday, and we have three whole nights on the train to plan for, so I think we've got an epic supermarket trip in the offing. So, farewell until we reach Irkutsk, by which time we'll be a bloody long way from home!

London to Berlin: The First Leg