IRKUTSK-ALMATY

The journey from Irkutsk to Almaty was a 79-hour epic.

For starters we were in separate compartments, having booked rather late – however this merely served to enlarge our social circle, as I shared my compartment with three young Russians, while Magda had a shifting population; this included two friendly Russian ladies, one of whom was acompanied by her granddaughter. Four-year old Miliana was star of the show, becoming friends with the entire carriage and always popping in and out of the various compartments, carrying her books and other entertainments.


I struggled to communicate in Russian, but Slava in my compartment spoke quite good English, which let me off the hook… He was travelling with his wife Julia and sister Veronica to see various grandparents, since although they were Russian (Julia additionally of part German descent) their parents had grown up in Kazakhstan, and moved to Irkutsk as adults.

Leaving Irkutsk after midnight, we awoke to find ourselves rattling through the Siberian birch forests with occasional villages of wooden huts with potato patches. From time to time we passed through larger cities with their quota of industry.

On the second morning we drew up in Novosibirsk, where our carriage was disconnected and left in a siding for 6 hours, to be connected to a train bound for Almaty while our original train headed on to Moscow. We went ‘ashore’ to see the city. The little settlement which grew up around the railway bridge over the Ob in the 1890’s was named Novo-Nikolaevsk in honour of tsar Nicholas II and is now Siberia’s largest city. Its name was changed in 1925.

The centre is quite small and we walked round… We visited the Alexander Nevsky cathedral where a service was in process, with a five-voice choir which sang beautifully, aided by the wonderful accoustics; when we entered they were singing responses but afterwards performed what appeared to be an anthem.

There is a tiny chapel to St Nicholas in the middle of the main street, built in 1915 to mark the geographical centre of Russia. It looks a bit lost among the traffic. In Lenin square there is an opera house larger than Moscow’s Bolshoi, but it was closed. Before it stands a statue of Lenin, flanked by various representatives of soviet realist sculpture.

We visited the cathedral of the Ascension – I think the largest church interior we have seen so far – then wandered back to the station, stopping for a cup of kvas in the sunshine on the way. This mildly alcholic drink is made (often home-made) by fermenting black bread with sugar, and has a slightly grainy flavour – sweet, but with an acid tang. It is sold in the streets from tank-carts and also used for cooking.

Customs formalities to enter Kazakhstan occurred, predictably, in the middle of the night, and by dawn we were running south up the Ob valley to Semey, where Julia’s grandmother visited the train, bringing fresh milk and raspberries from her dacha. Then we started to climb up to the steppe, which rises to over 1,000 metres. Almaty at 850 is only a little lower. At every stop the platform was alive with a multiracial, multi-coloured, ‘multi-culti’ throng of vendors, selling everything from local beer to home-smoked fish, through Coca cola, and a variety of bread and pastries.



That evening provided a magical moment when we stopped for twenty minutes at sunset to wait for a northbound train to pass. As the sky turned from orange to purple over the distant blue line of Lake Balkhash, the warm silence was filled with the chirping of cicadas. Miliana was asleep.

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El viaje desde Irkutsk a Almaty era una odisea de 79 horas.

Para empezar, estabamos en distintos compartimientos, ya que reservamos tarde – sin embargo este hecho aumento nuestro circulo socia: yo compartia con tres jovenes Rusos, mientras a la Magda le toco una poblacion cambiante, entre otros dos senoras mayores. Una andaba con su nieta de 4 anos, Miliana, quien era la estrella del vagon…

Trate de hablar en ruso, pero Slava, el joven de mi compartimiento, hablaba ingles – que alivio… El viajaba con su hermana Veronica y su esposa Julia para visitar a varios abuelos – aunque los chicos eran rusos, sus padres habian nacido en Kazakhstan.

Dejamos Irkutsk despues de medianoche, y despertamos entre los bosques siberianos, salpicados de pueblitos con casas de madera y plantaciones de papas. Habian unas pocas ciudades mayores industriales.

La segunda manana llegamos a Novosibirsk, donde desconectaron nuestro vagon y lo dejaron 6 horas esperando el tren para Almaty. Con Magda salimos a conocer la ciudad. El pueblito que se formo alrededor del puente ferrovial sobre el rio Ob en el decada de los 1890 recibio el nombre de Novo-Nikolaevsk, en honor al tsar Nicholas II, y es ahora la ciudad mas grande de Siberia. Cambio de nombre en 1925.

El centro es chico y lo recorrimos a pie… Fuimos a la catedral Alexander Nevsky donde se celebraba una misa, acompanada por un coro a 5 voces. Con la maravillosa acustica, sonaba hermosisimo.

En el centro de la calle principal esta la pequena capilla de San Nicolas, construido en 1915 para marcar el centro geografico de Rusia. Se ve un poco perdida entre los autos. En la Plaza Lenin existe una opera mas grande que el Bolshoi de Moscu… La plaza contiene su estatua de Lenin, con otros representantes del realismo sovietico.

Visitamos la catedral de la Ascension – creo que es el interior de iglesia mas grande que hemos visto hasta ahora – luego volvimos a la estacion. Paramos en el camino para tomar una copa de kvas. Es una bebida con bajo grado alcholico que se prepara (a menudo en casa) fermentando pan negro con azucar; tiene sabor a grano, dulce pero con un toque acido. Se vende en la calle, en carretas con estanque; tambien se ocupa en la cocina.

Pasamos por la frontera a Kazakhstan en la madrugada – por supuesto! Al amanecer subiamos hacia el sur por el valle del Ob hasta Semey. Aqui llego la abuela de Julia, llevando leche y frambuesas frescas de su dacha. Luego empezamos a subir a la estepa, la cual llega a mas de 1.000 metros. Almaty esta a 850. En cada parada la estacion se llenaba de vendedores – una masa multiracial, multi-colora, ‘multi-culti’, que vendia todo desde la cerveza hasta el pescado ahumado, pasando por Coca cola y una variedad de panes y empanadas.

En la tarde se produjo un momento magico cuando paramos por 20 minutos, esperando que pasara un tren desde el sur. El color del cielo se transformaba de naranjo en morado, sobre la linea azul del lago Balkhash, mientras el silencio tibio se llenaba del canto de los grillos. Miliana dormia.