Izhevsk
Journey to...
Izhevsk Train Station
November 29, 2003
Immediately upon arriving at the train station in Moscow, I was disappointed to
find out I missed the train. Putting my trust in a Muscovite was the only alternative
to finding a hotel room for the night, so I placed my trust, and unfortunately a
large amount of money in the hands of a random stranger, who claimed he could get
me on the train.
As he demanded to see my passport, I questioned how he could get me on the train,
maybe (my naivety told me) because I was a foreigner and had a passport. I know
it was naïve of me, but I had little interest in finding a hotel for the night and
wanted to get on that train, only one leaves a day and I was determined to get on
today's.
His plan apparently worked because we skipped the entire line and he got me a ticket:
first class round trip to Izhevsk (Ижевск) and back! We had not yet made the train
so we ran into the underpass leading to the platforms; this tunnel placed me in
a surreal movie set-like experience. The lights lit the walls and a semi-circle
on the puddle-filled concrete floor. As we ran from one shadow through the lighted
floor on to the next, my ears rang with the echo of water dripping into the damp
floor.
We found my platform, ran up and found my cabin. Here we argued over his tip, until
he laughed, ripped money out of my hand and took off. The train’s whistle blew and
my body jerked back as we departed. I found in my hand a one-way second class ticket:
a generous donation to one of Moscow’s finest.
Although my Russian is alright, the comfort of an English speaker is always welcome,
none of whom I could find on this train. I’m on my way, I want to call home, but
there is obviously no phone on the train so I settled into my cabin, which I share
with an older couple.
The train car is odd, in the hall area there is a carpet with a dark design on a
red base, which I didn’t notice at first; as I entered the train a white runner
covered it, but after settling in everyone took their shoes off and are walking
on the carpet in their slippers; I didn’t think to bring slippers so I’m in my socks.
I’ve spent most of my time staring out the window and wishing for… comfort I guess.
I feel like I’m on an island, all the rooms are closed; at the end of the hall is
a giant samovar, something you would find in a souvenir shop and no one is wandering
the train car.
I feel like we have left civilization; on the outskirts of Moscow more and more
houses are made of vans and cars. My thoughts fade into a slow song on the radio;
it seems to freeze the world around me, each second longer than the last, one minute
hours from the next. I guess this is what I’m here for, an experience… and a story,
hopefully a positive one.
November 30, 2003
I woke up early this morning when the train came to a screeching and rough stop
in Kazan, through which the Volga River winds. Kazan is about ¾ of the way to Izhevsk,
and is the capital of Tartarstan. Later in the day, the older couple in my cabin
told me it is a historically Muslim region due to the Golden Horde’s dominance.
In addition, both Lev Tolstoy and Vladimir Lenin studied here, but before long,
I had fallen back asleep.
* * *
Ludmila, one of my roommates has been very kind to me, last night she was convinced
I needed to eat although I said I wasn’t hungry (which I said more out of fear than
truth… I’ve heard they love caviar and cold smoked fish in Russia). She made me
borsch out of a bag, basically noodles and seasoning; it was neither good nor bad,
I did need something to eat.
Thus far today, I have done little more than stare out the window… the world I see
is very different from Moscow; many small wooden houses, a lot of snow, very few
streets, a few cars and a surprising, although still not large number of people.
The houses vary greatly, some colorful with ornate wood designs and fancy gates,
while others are simply walls with a sheet metal roof.
I keep telling myself that this is reality, Moscow isn’t and the United States definitely
is not normal on a world-wide scale. On one hand I want to turn and run home, on
the other live this life; I’m not sure I want to be here. I feel like if I left
now I would be nothing but a quitter. On another side I feel if I hate this why
not leave, life’s too short to be unhappy. I guess the winning motivation is this:
I need to know and what gets me is that I don’t know what I need to know... I’m
moving forward on nothing but blind faith.
This journey on the train alone has made me doubt everything about my life; its
easiness, my direction, everything. I’ve been on this train just over 12 hours,
and I am already questioning my life, I guess that’s a gift Russia has already given
me.
Ludmila gives me hope; she is very kind and is treating me like her son, teaching
me about Izhevsk and the republic it is the capital of, Udmurtia. As is my tendency,
I have blindly moved to a city I know nothing about and only hours before arriving
do I even bother to ask about it. Thankfully I have a willing teacher.
Ludmila has mentioned a couple times how “very brave” I am to move here in the middle
of the winter, the average January temperature is -23º Celsius. As if that weren’t
enough, she makes the city sound quite dull, since its inception as a center for
ironworks it has grown as industry changes demand creating the modern town based
upon machinery, cars, steel, and guns. The AK-47 was invented in Izhevsk and its
founder, Kalashnikov is still a resident.
The Republic of Udmurtia is named after the Udmurt people; quite noticeable due
to their red hair I’m told. While the people still thrive, their culture is dying
since many of them see their language of the Finno-Ugric group as useless and many
feel Russian culture is superior to their own.
As my journey progressed the landscape changed little. Just before arrival, the
rolling hills grew slightly, the coniferous trees’ numbers rose and the nothingness
only dissipated at the border of Izhevsk itself. Most people in this unforgiving
climate live in the cities and much of this region’s economy is based on industry.
Ludmila just told me we’ll be arriving in the next few minutes; I can see the station…
I hope the Russian family I’m living with is nice.