Generally good response, encouraging, providing advice, pointing out mistakes.

one likes the opening paragraph. Loves the street scene in Burger King. Pointing out great line: “The first impression… ” Nice line: ” international pleasantry protocols …” and ” the soft percussion of the wheel… ”

One finds it beautiful : ” The bedding was well appointed… by sleeping through the night.”

Another finds : interesting contrast : ” intimidating effect … became imposingly soothing.” Good image : the train was rolling ahead, … Soft percussion of the wheel and the track.”

One finds good expression : ” … enough English …delightful misunderstanding.”

ADVICE

Putting me in the story early, such as using ” I “. Use more dialogue. With my experience. ” On my journey covering 10,000 miles,” instead of ” A journey covering …”

Using the website for writing

The train St Petersburg

Now, at my age and turned single, incapable of finding the 2nd spring, but I still dare to romancing. Under my friend’s taunting, I rolled. It was Siberia, of all places.Now, at my age and turned single, incapable of finding the 2nd spring, but I still dare to romancing. Under my friend’s taunting, I rolled. It was Siberia, of all places.

Romancing Siberia

There is an undercurrent within me for a number of years. I heard about “north sea” during my childhood. It was an unforgiving place, as the story told, in what is now the heart of Siberia. For hundreds of years, The land inundated with stories of the Russian people. The Russian empire expanded to engulf the entire Siberia all the way to the waterfront facing the Pacific ocean, north of China.

Different from traveling to western Europe, the travel brochure strongly recommended a series of health measures, needles, medicated potion and a prohibitively expensive travel medical insurance. To the Visa issuing officer, what more a determined visitor you would welcome to your country. It’s a self directed tour with no guides accompany. The train trips, intermittent stop, hotels & some local tours, and some meals are arranged.

The excitement started even before the trip. The plane landed smoothly in Helsinki international airport. We filed down the stair from the plane to the tarmac of a immensely flat and wide barren land. It looked not like the airports that I accustomed to. I could see planes far away with very little activities. It’s a pleasant place, air refreshing, the sky was blue until I heard the howling at me from the ground personnel at a distance and signaling me to follow the line. Of course! this is the tarmac inside an international airport, no unauthorized personnel or loitering allowed. There was still a second leg of the trip to St Petersburg, Russia.

A mythical land or only on the screen, at least, where only people on special mission would dare. I finally landed in St Petersburg. Amidst the earnest crowd, waiting their loved ones, there was one holding a plate high with my name on it. A very civilian-esque preamble, unlike James Bond rendezvous with his CIA counter part.

Seated comfortably, and securely, in the back seat of the car going to the hotel. Having settled in the car, I found myself unsettling by the what I found out with the car. While the car was reasonably clean inside, there was a big crack on the passenger side of the windshield. The falling down of communism unleashed the explosive energy of the hard working Russian people, perhaps, some more explosively than the others. And I noticed several more cars with look-alike cracked windshield even though the traffic was not crowded. There was no need for the cars to elbow each other. St. Petersburg has its grandeur and dignity. The wide boulevards were uncluttered and lined with massive blocks of building each sculpted in artistic reliefs. Peter the great, does leave his legacy other than his sojourn in Netherland and Poland. This was the real thing, not staged by Hollywood, only real ones by the young artists on the roadside, playing Beatles and even Elvis Presley.. Maybe the Russian people, at least the young ones, finally admitted how much they missed. People, young and old, men and women, looked beautiful and dressed just like us in the west. From the hotel I strolled around the neighborhood and inadvertently into the vast open space in front of the Winter Palace, where it’s significance from inside to the outside laid in its full glory. Ironies always find its place in this kind of iconic spots – symbolizing unchallenged authority challenged. No place is better than here, for an emperor, benign or with iron fist, to showcase its power and command submission of the poor mass. And ironically, this is the kind of spot fit for the mass to voice their discontent. And here in front of the Winter Palace, the mass rose against the imperial ruler leading to the ultimate Russian Revolution. And the rest is history still playing out.

Everyday life will become history years later or even the next day when appears in print. I slowly walked back to the busy district savoring the sight and sound of this tiny speck of this immense country when suddenly the sky cracked open with its very own sight and sound plus pouring. I thought Russia only snow, as we all know about Napoleon and Hitler’s disenchantment with their Moscow excursion. Walking turned into half running, I founded this place, somehow strategically located for this occasion…a Burger King. What can I say? The world just can’t escape from the US. I didn’t come to Russia just to go to a Burger King. But I found myself landed in a bomb shelter and people gratefully ordering hamburger ignoring carpet pouring going on outside. Reluctantly, I placed my order by pointing to the home burger. Somehow I could still squeeze into a tight spot to consume the hamburger in dignity with no one paying any attention to me.

Overnight the city was washed clean with welcoming sunshine. The first call of the day was the Winter Palace up close and inside. It was now a museum with treasures fit for the emperor displayed in its full glory. It doesn’t host the Mona Lisa, instead it was baby Jesus (also from Da Vinci) in the safety embrace of Madonna. You don’t have to be a Christian to appreciate it’s artistic and historical significance. It’s hard to imagine just over a hundred years, the glittering decor adoring the sumptuous choicest for the pallet were simply forbidden for the ordinary. Almost overnight, while champagne were lavishly flowing, cannonballs were flying nearby, history turned its page. Bloodshed in its ugliest form followed the once most fortunate few.

Now, we were among the fortunate few, welcomed into the Church of Blood. Overcrowded, despite standing room only inside we were still able to wriggle through into the sacred place of the Russian people. Glittering, not from chandeliers but candles and oil lamps, showered all over the place. People were wholeheartedly engaged in their secret communion with their almighty without the secretive commissar overlooking their shoulders. This was their moment of truth, guiltily, remorsefully or otherwise, hoping to turn a new page. It’s hard to understand people, trampled under the merciless authority figure, was now able to fine comfort soothing their centuries old miseries. They even honor Emperor Alexander ll along with the almighty together. The church is to commemorate the emperor who was assassinated at this very spot.

St. Petersburg concluded with a overnight train trip to Moscow and many more segments to follow. I joined the group late and paid single supplement as required. I found myself assigned a sleep compartment all to myself and away from other members of the group. However I resent the single supplement, stepping into the room made me felt like a somebody. Of course It was nothing like that legendary Orient Express nor that of James Bond with tantalizing Love from Russia. The room featured 2 comfortable beds one on side sides overflowing with smooth red velvet. So inviting that you didn’t want to sit down but trusting your entire body to it. Lying down, looking up and around, I found myself soaked in the soothing light and engulfed under a pampering color scheme. Is that what people called royal treatment or it’s only the living quarter of the royal servant. But I forgot about the agonizing single supplement. Whatever the treatment it was, I resisted to sleep fearing missing that royal treatment. Sleep I did.

And woke up to a glorious morning in Moscow with yet another full day schedule. Moscow is different from St. Petersburg. The city is much more crowded with busy people apparently hardworking like us from the decadent capitalist purgatory. First call of the day was to visit the world renown museum deep underground. We followed the tour guide like a school of sardines in the formation according to our innate selfish genes. It was endlessly downstairs crowded with hardworking Moscow people who value time more. I followed the group closely, or as closely as I could, sneak passing, side stepping without overstepping locals taking 3 steps in 2 and upstairs too. All in all we found ourselves out on the streets with the sun overhead not moving a bit. Then I understood and I was not alone missing the treasure. Worse, I actually remembered that outside of corner of my eye, I sensed there were reliefs or some sort, only that everybody was following dutifully and unquestionably. You can’t win every time, frustration, yes, being not loser alone was the only consolation. There was another attraction to look forward to, at least.

Moscow was the Mecca of the world’s proletarians and the communist world evolved into the 21st century. And it all comes down to the shrine right here, the Kremlin and the Red Square in front of it. It’s a massive cluster of red brick buildings intimidatingly walled in red. Once upon a time not too ago, more than half the world was under its command. It was the nerve centre, outside the free world, of a world of its own free from the exploit of materialism and oppression of capitalists. And the parade in front of the Red Square delivered the confidence and security. Under the media’s crafty photographing (western media included), the spectacles delivered awe and wow effects echoed around the world, where battalion of troops in formation goose-stepped through the Red Square. Artilaries, Rockets and ICBM were proudly paraded through the Square. As the champion and sole defender of proletarians’ paradise, Kremlin did bring comfort to their comrades from the far corners of the world. Well into the 21st century now, It brings more than that. In the middle of it, I found the Red Square is more people friendly, perhaps lamentable to some. It’s not as immense as it seemed in the newscast all these years, it’s simply a wide boulevard in front of the Kremlin. It’s now more people oriented that there was a huge department store across the boulevard from the kremlin with stock that rival New York, London, Paris and Tokyo. What’s more was that in the middle of the wide boulevard was a make-shift spectator stand of a public event, or some sort, being dismantled. Pipes, iron bars, beams and wirings strewn all over the place. Shoppers coming out of the store, carrying their loots, gingerly walked around the heaps of materials with or without grumbling. Harmony and tolerancy in full display..

So much for the appetizer before the main course, beginning with a late afternoon train journey to the east. In fact, Siberia, according to various historical accounts, has no defined border. Jengkis Khan,s westward expansion went straight into Kiev, defeating all kinds of coalition forces across Siberia when Moscow was not even appeared on his map. As a late comer joining the group, I was assigned to a different car totally away from my group. Holding the train ticket, I found there were numbers and familiar alphabets but making no sense and worse when strewn together with many what appeared to be the mirror images of letters. I forced myself to be calmed while my brain raced against the clock. Other passengers and well wishers walked passed me, some more hurry than the other, boarding their cars. Some even walked with strollers with children in tow talking to relatives and friends. All seemed like a memorable occasion to be had. I wanted to make it the same to me too. I approached the ladies at the bottom of stairs of the car, showing my ticket. They would say something I didn’t understand accompanied with finger pointing forward or backward depending on who you asked. There were some more helpful than the others and I safely boarded the right car and landed in my assigned sleeping compartment. I still didn’t know, to this day, how I get into the right spot.

It must be a train designated for trans-Siberia, the compartment is more proletarian-esque. Thinking of those of the war movies and Dr. Zhivago, the compartment was reasonably fit for human consumption. There were 2 bunk beds, one on each side of the room and one on top of the other with some precious head room for an accommodating person. The window was centrally located at the back with a much welcome small table jutting out from under the windowsill. There were even curtains on the window with ever changing scenery ( in coming days) in panoramic colour just outside. I settled and feeling for the light switches when a man came in the compartment. A stoky man, not too tall with a friendly face smiling and tucking his luggage along. Shortly after he dropped his luggage, smilingly he reached out his hand to greet me . Not to be outdone by a Russian, we exchanged pleasantry following the protocol to the letters. So much were at stack, grace and national pride. He spoke enough English that enhance our communication with delightful misunderstanding. Did he ever play Russian in Hollywood, certainly not a spy or a Soviet general, he worked for the state railway service (not secret service) travelling on business ( and on budget, I bet). I hoped he didn’t inadvertently leak any state secret. More acquainted, he even offered me a can of beer which I appreciated but declined, not for any reason. I just don’t consume alcohol straight. Soon enough, the train started to roll and Siberia would begin to unfold. It would be a long, very long scroll to unroll in unison with the soft percussion of wheels and tracks, cacophony of bells and whistles literally. So much physics involved in bringing the bells here, no props. The bell rings radiating sound waves when the train approaching the crossing and compresses the sound waves giving out high pitch. When the train passes the crossing leaving the bell farther and farther behind making the sound waves longer and longer resulting a much mellow tone. Moscow is a big city with bells and whistles. The soft percussion of the wheels and tracks turned the car into a slumber with its unique lullabye. Not exactly an environment for a sweet dream, I would expect a good night sleep nevertheless. Dosed in and out of my slumber, god knows for how long, when out of nowhere, all of a sudden, in total darkness, a cold liquid splashed squarely on me, head on. I jerked up instinctively, feeling for the the night switch. It was quiet on all front. my roommate was in deep slumber. All I noticed was on his side of the table a can of beer toppled toward my side squarely on me. What the F… , I thought cold war was over for quite sometime now. Is it that decades after decades of defence and offence effort so ingrained that the Russian beer takes on its own. How else can anyone explain to me even a Russian beer can tell someone from the west than a Russian. No further show of cold or hot reception for the rest of the night, they did serve hot tea in the morning. The service ladies, hardworking , no doubt, delivered the tea to the compartment with no incident. The tea was served in a porcelain cup in a metallic holder embossed with noticeable pattern delivered by a lady who remained impartial if not indifferent. The cup of hot tea, with or without smile, was a much welcome refreshment after an all night drought. A plash of liquid overhead, even beer, is not my choice of hydration.

Chugging through Siberia in the daytime definitely proved the world flat. The scenery was so different from Moscow where city blocks, streets, traffics at crossing, raced passed you backward faster and faster. And now complete wilderness extended far beyond your eye can see. There were ponds or simply very large pool of water lined the way with occasional uninviting blocks of building, large or small. Further away and before the horizon were forest of spruce or some sort. They were in a somewhat planned layout without a gigantic clipper dangling in mid-air in hot pursuit of James Bond in his Aston Martin escaping.

Still there are other attractions to make up — Kremlin.

Priceless painting from the Renaisance, including a real one from Da Vinci and other less know but

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Going through the streets of St. Petersburg ….