Up early for a short seven hour journey today. The train was at platform 1, the only one not signposted but a kind guard led us through some doors. We had booked two berths in 3rd class where 54 people share a carriage and as we got on in the early darkness it seemed very crowded. An old guy was sitting on one of our ground floor bunks and a young girl explained in whispers and sign language that he had a bad back so we swapped and I went up top and Al took the one below opposite him. We both tried to sleep but with snoring, people on the phone and constant phone alerts it was difficult.
Eventually when noise levels grew further we had green tea and chocco pie (Russian Tunnocks tea cake/wagon wheel hybrid) for breakfast and read.
The views coming into Ulan Ude were some of the best we’ve seen as the train snaked through green pine and yellow birch peppered hills over wide meandering rivers.
The hotel was only 5 minutes walk from the station and we soon found the block, but in Russia a whole block of flats could be number 32 Lenin St. I’m not sure whether I’ve mentioned this in previous posts but finding a hostel can be a tricky business. Last night I had read reviews of the hotel and one reviewer said it was hard to find and round the back of the block so once we got to number 32 we went round the back and looked blankly at five different stairwell entrance doors. No signs anywhere and there was no stairwell number in any of the hotel details I had. At £3 a minute I didn’t have enough credit to call them and with no wifi I couldn’t add credit, so Al waited with the bags while I walked the whole way round the block but I could only see flats and a music school. In the distance was another hotel so we thought we could ask there. We passed a pastry shop and with nothing to lose I went in to ask. A fierce looking middle aged lady looked me up and down without moving from her slumped position over the counter and my heart sank. I tried to pronounce hello and then asked “Hotel Shumak?” She pointed out the window only moving her arm. I artistically mimed a door and asked “number?” She stood up and kept pointing and rambling on in Russian. I walked to the shop door and held it asking “door number? Door number?” She smiled and she shouted something to the back of the shop, something like “Katya, an educated and handsome young Englishman is asking where the hotel down the road is, can you also explain it to him in Russian?” Katya comes from the back of the shop and points and explains and they both keep miming a sign and indicating that its just down the road. By now we are all laughing (with me, not at) and the first lady walks out the shop with me and keeps pointing. A very old lady in her Sunday best passes and stops and we get handed over like a relay baton and we crawl at a snails pace for 50 metres until she stops and points round the corner. We round the corner grumbling about signage and see a big Cyrillic sign for the hotel. Oops.
Into reception and hostel owner, owners wife, son who appears drunk, sons friend, sons friends girlfriend and a young Russian girl all come out to greet us, say hello, speak to us in Russian and shake hands. Owner explains the room is not ready and we’re ushered into a small side room and given very strong coffee and using google translate, told it’ll be ready in 30 mins. We ungratefully pour the coffee down the sink else no sleep for us tonight and decide to go back to the pastry shop for food.
The ladies smile as we enter and we point to the doughnuts. “What flavour?” I suspect they ask and we smile and shrug and point again. They give us doughnuts and the first lady shouts “chai?”at us. A chair is fetched from the back and we are seated in the shop front to eat our doughnuts and drink our tea. We have been in Russia for 25 days and have only encountered two genuinely grumpy people. There is definitely a stoney face here but if you learn a few worlds of Russian and smile the stoney face evaporates and the people are caring and helpful, the same as everywhere.
Back to the hotel and Alison walked up next doors steps which lead nowhere, not even to a door. I was sympathetically in hysterics as was the hotel owners wife.
We head into Ulan Ude the capital of Buryatia but like most places on a late Sunday afternoon its quiet and there are few people about. We wander past the opera house and round the pedestrian shopping area and see delapidated wooden houses and brand new flats and two packs of feral dogs.