Trans-Siberian Bonus: Boat Ride to Japan

By jstec | December 8, 2011 at 12:04 pm | One comment | FSU, Russia

 

TransSib Bonus

15-09-08

I returned to my hotel, packed my bags and set off for my ship; I was a bit nervous about boarding and passing the Russian customs agents– memories of hour-long inspections whilst crossing into Kaliningrad or leaving Estonia seeped into my mind.  I finally made it to the boat; while waiting to board I was happy to see “the foreigner” behind me and I made sure to ask if we were in the correct queue.  He told me that he was a Dutchman on a world tour, had nerdily purchased his boat ticket back in Holland, and had lived for some time in the U.S.- I proudly divulged my 6-8 word Dutch vocabulary and told him of my love of the Netherlands, especially Delft and the cheese market in Gouda.  I also told Huub about my past koshmarny experiences with Russian officials in the past and was quite anxious as it finally came time for me to drag my bags up to “Passport Control”.  Amazingly, the woman was as happy as a child in a candy shop and was happy to see an “inostranyets”, and only asked me a few jovial questions pertaining to the States and whether or not I enjoyed my stay in Russia.  Huub and I boarded, and also ended up sharing a cabin together, one quarantined for the “dirty foreigner”.  Next a man whom I noticed earlier was a Spaniard, Alfredo, entered our cabin. Short, skinny, lanky and with long floppy dark hair and facial piercings, he told us that he was making a documentary “Spain to Japan: ZERO EUROS”.  The objective of the documentary was to observe him leaving his home in Spain with no money (and never allowed to access a bank machine), and through busking, waiting tables and help from on-line friends make his way across Eurasia.  I was started to get excited about the interesting company in the dirty foreigner cabin when the door opened… and Zoro appeared!  I was shocked.  It turned out, of course, not to be Zorro, but Joseph, a traveling Swiss carpenter clad in full traditional Swiss carpenter’s regalia.  He wore a black, broad-rimmed hat, thick black trousers, a white shirt and black vest.  His only “luggage” was his tools, and an extra shirt and pair of trousers all wrapped up in a Swiss carpenter’s guild cloth. He told us that in the tradition of his native land, one must leave home to work in another city after finishing training. Most neophytes go to another city in Germany or Switzerland, but Joseph decided to go work in Krasnoyarsk, Russia.  I instantly decided that it was the greatest dirty foreigner cabin of all time.  He reminded me of Amish kids I used to see at Green Day concerts back in Ohio.

We eventually went up for dinner and were sequestered at the foreigner table with the German/Italian couple and an assorted mix of Euro travelers.  We enjoyed our first meal together and afterwards Huub and I went on to the top deck and enjoyed the amazing nighttime views of the Vladivostok Harbor; I cursed myself for not having lived a life thus far on the high seas.  The next two days were thoroughly enjoyable, reading on deck and swapping stories of the TransSib with the other foreigners.  The biggest downside was the myriad of Russian car salesmen sunbathing in their underpants who kept asking me to take their photograph.  The final night was indeed the highlight.  Huub and I went down to the bar and I had my last “you are an evil American… but I like you anyway so let’s drink vodka” experience with a new Russian friend.  Before I could show him that I could drink more than he, he already passed out at the table.  Eventually, Huub and a Finn went swimming, and the half-drunken night swim in the middle of the Sea of Japan was unforgettable.  The Spaniard continued filming, the Finnish couple explained that they had sold all their worldly goods and were travelling until the money ran out. After a good dip I snuck off to witness a talented Russian dance troupe which was heading for a tour of Japan.  As ever, the contrast between the car salesman passing out with the table was a palpable contrast to the beauty and flawless execution of the dancers.

The next morning was the last meal at the foreigner table; I will never forget the look on Huub’s face when a car salesman walked past a waitress serving soup, ploughed her over, spilled the soup all over the place; the coarse merchant never even broke stride or turned around to see what had happened and certainly did not apologize.  At the end of the meal the Finns and the German/Italian couple were rejoicing that they were about to re-enter “civilization”.

The entire experience with the Japanese customs officials (wearing Austin Powers helmets) was also amazing, and the contrast between the civility and friendliness of the Japanese compared to the memories of the brutish and humiliating behavior of many European and American agents which I had dealt with in the past was as extreme as that of the dancers and salesmen.  When they inspected our cabin they were smiling and very hospitable, and almost apologized for entering our abode, as opposed to the usual Euro-American attitude of officials who are incensed that you had the gall to travel and cross borders.  Next we waited in line to get our passport stamps, and I was quite happy that it would be final Russian “stress queue” with people ridiculously yelling, “Kto posledny?!?  Kto posledny?” (Who is last? Who is last in line?!?!”)  When I finally got to the front of the line the friendly official asked me where I was going and I told them I was hoping to meet a girl “somewhere in Osaka”.  He kindly requested that the next time I enter Japan to please have the full address of a hotel or hostel.  He then wished me a pleasant stay in Japan and entered my data into an ultra-modern laptop.  Soon a stamp was printed of a micro-printer and I had a 90 day visa for Japan.  I was amazed.

I walked with a Russian car salesman and we dragged our luggage to the train station. The immediate culture shock was baffling. When we got to the train station, the man I was walking with met one of his friends. The three of us waited to buy train tickets to Tokyo or Osaka and the entire process was orderly, efficient and cheerful.  When the first number was politely called, a man walked up and was greet politely.  The three of us looked at each other, arched our eyebrows, and shrugged our shoulders as if to say, “Well, that was easy enough.”

What has never been easy, needless to say, is figuring out Russia or Russians.  Before I began my trip across this country, I still– unfortunately–  had a bad taste in my mouth from my days in Moscow, and loathed having to transverse her nine time zones.  By the time I had crossed the Urals I was already back to being smitten by the language and intrigued by the constant and striking high and low points of life in The Motherland.  Overall, the trip was one of the most exciting travel experiences of my life (even if slightly milder than expected), and I was shocked that at no point whatsoever was I completely bored of riding on a train for days on end.  The most telling result of my journey, however, is that I actually finished writing most of this report back in Russia, as my Trans-Siberian experience seduced me into signing on for another stint back in the largest country in the world.  I had dreamed of riding the train from Moscow to Vladivostok for years, and the trip delivered, while the trip to Japan only further  enhanced the experience.