Feb 20 2012 Siberian: a journey of tundra and vodka

Around the world was divided. My expedition mates were about to drive across Russia, across Siberia under the threat of an impending winter. I would do the same trip aboard the "Moscow-Vladivostok train", known here as the Siberian.

The idea was to tell the parallel path, by the Russian roads and from season to season. Yes, I had it much easier, but should record the path and file, a rail full of suspicion, with the inquisitive eyes of those responsible for the train, distrust of civilian passengers and apprehension of the cameras of the soldiers who traveled to the ends of the world's largest nation.

Alojé me in my compartment with the Russian orondas, regretting that joke of statistics in a country full of slender women. The train seemed more impressive than others, had no trace of the splendid era of the czars and was not particularly comfortable, from the window but could see how moved around the landscape of the first forests to snow on the steppes.

Or 9.000 kilometers from Moscow to Vladivostok, and that is a distance that only supports dismissed.

I lay in Europe and I got up in Asia, once the Urals. Back in Asian lands I decided to take out the camera. Had a responsibility to share my journey as Jose Luis and Alfonso driving on ice roads. At each station I witnessed moving scenes. Russian families when cut in half are doomed to part with excessive. Or 9.000 kilometers from Moscow to Vladivostok, and that is a distance that only supports dismissed. Russia is categorically by size, its cold and there are many wandering hearts longing for a home across the world, at home.

I do not speak Russian and nobody there knew English. I did not see any other foreigners and certainly no one else was recorded with a video camera. I became immediately train the foreign agent. I went from one extreme to another, hiding every time I met men in uniform. It was forbidden to burn inside the Siberian, or so they said, or so, at least, I understood the fuss seeing as officials pointed the camera with the discordant gesture.

I decided to walk to the last car. Was different from other. It was painted in green, unlike the rest of the train that has the colors of Russian flag- and all passengers had oriental features. His gaze was not warmer than the other travelers and I was invited several times to return to my compartment. I learned later that this was a special car. The men crouched serious and half would travel to North Korea, Once the three were stopped in Vladivostok.

But, was determined to do my job and insisted again and again to steal some shots. I slipped in the cafeteria, I found a rather austere, with food austere, forward by an austere landscape. I tried recording some compartments inside, gestured a lot and I forced a smile many times to try to win the confidence of passengers. Little by little I was approaching people, communicating with some ex-combatants in Chechnya, I recounted their successes with grim drawings of war, the blood of his country, who always finds an open wound.

Little by little I was approaching people, communicating with some ex-combatants in Chechnya, I recounted their successes with grim drawings of war, the blood of his country

Then I focused on the landscape. The road had become hopelessly tundra and snow. From time to time appeared wooden villages, that smoked a home fire in Siberia doomed to oblivion. He saw dachas, these huts made from the same weakness that his History. Russia is a country so large that their leaders did not have the time or memory to remember the villages of Siberia. I felt they were doomed to helplessness places winter and chronic amnesia of the Russians.

During my second day trip I made a mistake by over-confidence. I knocked on the door of a compartment and pointed my camera. When that door opened I found eight Russian military looking directly at the target. Ups… One of them shouted something in Russian pointing the camera, then told me to pass and sit. I went and sat without protest. I put the camera as I said I do not know why and must have Grace who did not understand them not a word for a few minutes one of them pulled out a bottle of vodka. The said and then I pointed out to me. I drank half a glass of a drink. It was enough to excuse my boldness with the camera. I cheered for further drinking and I defended myself with gestures appealing to the Spanish standard of never drink alone. I do not remember how many bottles removed, I have not quite clear what happened during the following hours. I do know that just throwing all the hand to the shoulder of teammate, singing old Russian songs in the cafeteria of the train. I tried to sneak away to avoid punishment without measure of vodka, but every time I tried seemed a soldier holding me back with a stupid smile and I returned to the cafeteria with a rolling ethyl.

When I finally reached my bunk, Russia and the two big women snoring and night had turned off the image of endless tundra.

I woke up groggy on my last day of travel. The rattle of the train contrasted with the bustle of the markets that were improvised at each station. Near the city of Krasnoyarsk, stopped two giants face to face. The Trans-Siberian and had stopped their march at the same time. The result was a bustle of people, Apparel flying from the windows, hot food, refreshments, shelters, rush and sharp bargaining, there was no time for delay in figures.

After, our train started with a roar and lined the road to Irkutsk. I stopped here, but most continued passage way to Vladivostok. It was three days from Moscow, almost 5.000 miles in a train that seems to be a society in itself. Now I was on the shores of Lake Baikal, with a considerable hangover, waiting for my friends would take issue still several days to arrive in Russia because of distance and memory are always too far.