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Novy Urengoy, Russian Federation

You won’t believe where I am! Staying for free at the Siberian oil and gas giant Gazprom’s Hotel Yamburg. I enquired everywhere in Novy Urengoy after I’d arrived at 16:00 local time on the long 40 hour train ride from Perm, but I received the same answer everywhere: Yamburg is a ‘closed town’ and I’m not allowed to go there (Yamburg is on the Ob Gulf north of the Arctic Circle). The woman in charge of the Novy Urengoy train station ticket office was helpful in a stern way. She rang a friend of hers who spoke English as we stood outside while she had a smoke. I spoke to this stranger who translated what she’d been saying to me about getting permission from Gazprom to go to Yamburg. She scribbled a bunch of instructions on my note book and arranged with a taxi driver to take me to Gazprom office so I could ask for this permission document. Little did I know it would not be possible. On the way there I tried to ask taxi driver if there were hotels to stay in up in Yamburg. He thought I meant something else and drove me to the hotel called Hotel Yamburg. I laughed and got him to take me to Gazprom office as originally arranged, which was just nearby. There in the plush foyer the security guys didnt understand my purpose. And indeed they were perplexed at why I wanted to to go to Yamburg. And it was they who decided to take me across to Hotel Yamburg reception, which was just a walk to the building behind Gazprom office where I’d been with the taxi driver first. It was there that I met Nicolai and Aleksander (Sasha). So having failed to get permission from Gazprom office (Gazprom is Russia’s biggest oil and gas company with partial state ownership) and by chance ending up at the reception of Gazprom’s luxury Hotel Yamburg (4 Star – where Putin stays when here on state business) I found myself in the very good care of the Hotel Yamburg staff. They spoke English and were happy to do some research for me and their Gazprom Head of Security confirmed to them that I would not be able to go to Yamburg – it’s for Gazprom workers only with the correct papers. They were very apologetic and seemed interested in my purpose. It all seemed very strange & I was laughing with them as they tried to fathom why I would want to be a tourist in this industrialised landscape. I enquired about cheap hotels in town, as 7000 roubles to stay in Hotel Yamburg was too much for me, which they agreed. Then Natalia (Natasha) the lovely General Manager (GM) came out and said I was the very first tourist they have EVER seen in their hotel! They were all so pleased to see a tourist instead of their normal clientele (eg. big Gazprom bosses from Moscow, President Putin, and consortium investors from other countries) and so I said well that deserves a photo! While I was organising for someone to use my camera Natasha grabbed hers and there were a number of shots taken of me with thier happy staff. The reception boys, big friendly Aleksander and short serious (and friendly) Nicolai, said that the GM needed to see my documents, my last train ticket & my immigration registration to check that all was in order and if so they wanted to offer me a room for the night at a reduced rate since they were so pleased to have an actual tourist in their hotel. I had not registered with immigration yet in Russia as I hadn’t stayed more than seven days in the one place, so there was some talking on phone by them checking on processes I imagined. Then they told me I could stay for free in honour of being the first ever tourist at their hotel but we had to go straight away with my passport to immigration before they shut in 15 minutes. So Aleksander took me in his car (playing AC/DC on stereo) to immigration and this was sorted quickly – tomorrow they’ll give me my rego Aleksander said. And seeing as Novy Urengoy is also a restricted town I can only stay three days. It’s all to do with the Gazprom’s oil & gas development in the region. Back at hotel I got to my plush room & couldn’t believe how things turn out. Tomorrow I might try to fly to Salekhard (capital of this Western Siberian autonomous District – Yamal-Nenets) & go by cargo ship down the Ob River to the Gulf. Or even up river by cargo ship. And now they just called my room: the GM Natasha wants me to do a filmed interview for them tomorrow morning! More bends in my river to come!

Novy Urengoy, Russian Federation

Пермь (Perm) 22:17 (local time which is +2hrs from Moscow), 25 June Western Siberians Valyera, Vera and grandson Ruslan were my kupe companions. Thin chested and moustachioed Valyera patiently held the bottom bunk bed up for a while a second time while I extracted my necessary things from my stowed backpack. After getting a tall glass tumbler with the accompanying РЖД (Russian Iron Roads) ensignia metal glass holder from the young provodnitsa (she was like many young 20 year old uni students doing this thankless job for some money in the summer break) I had a warm cup of green tea from my stocks. Vera kindly gave me a doughy plain bread disc for my tea and it was time for bed. My right shoulder was quite sore and giving me pain. Sleeping was hard as the bunks were too short and lying on my back gave no relief to the shoulder, caused by weeks and weeks of loaded daypack carrying. Тюмен&#11 00; (Tyumen) 09:35-10:35 local (+2hrs from Moscow), 26 June After spending an entertaining morning with my kupe companions Valyera, Vera and grandson Ruslan, Aleks a geodesic cartographer also heading to Surgut to undertake surveys for railway maintenance purposes had overheard our stilted conversations from the corridor. He spoke good English and offered to help. At Tyumen Aleks and I had a walk into the brand new Tyumen railway station terminal. Flash alright. I noticed again the security people at the entrances like at all stations I’d been to so far. Metal detectors stood in place and people walked through setting them off beeping. No one said anything. As Aleks explained the government under Putin had ordered municipalities to install security systems at all terminals, due to resent past terrorism acts in Russia. The equipment was duly purchased but no enforcement took place. On the way back to the train Aleks shared with me that he and us wife were having trouble getting pregnant. So he had ordered that they both start a strict exercise regime waving at his own slightly overweight physique. Tоболь&#1 089;к (Tobolsk) 14:00 local, 26 June A 15 minute stop enough to alight and stretch legs. I think this is where I bought the price of whole dried fish that looked very interesting, as much as to make the young girl selling to me feel less offended when I asked to take a photo of her very interesting table of different fish species all dried slowly in special ovens. Демья&#10 85;ка (Demyanka) 18:24 local, 26 June A brief pause in a music making to stretch the legs on the platform. Сургу&#10 90; (Surgut) 23:40 local – departed after 67 minutes in station Said good bye to Valyera, Vera and Ruslan. As I was too busy playing music with Peter I didn’t get to see Aleks before he got off. Когал&#10 99;м (Kagalm) 03:30 local, 27 June Still light outside. Taiga thinning out. Парка (Parka) 07:30 local, 27 June I wondered if this was where the word ‘parka’ jackets came from? Пурпе (Purpe) 08:55 local, 27 June We’re early in and a guy wanting to get off had to wake the little thing of a provodnitsa to let him off the train. Already hot outside in the bright bright light. My first horse fly with big iridescent green eyes landed on me – taste of things to come. We left at the prescribed time of 09:41. The place wasn’t exactly deserted, with railway workers measuring tracks and people milling about the platform. But the medium rise apartment blocks, despite their new appearance had the feel of emptiness all around. The signs of industry were prevalent though. Cranes and workshops. I figured it was all supporting the oil and gas industry. Across the workshops roofs and thought the criss cross of aerial telegraph and power cables there were the gleaming gold onion domes of an orthodox church. Пуроб&#10 89;к 10:55 local, 27 June Peter, the petroleum geologist /engineer who wanted to be an archeologist, alights. We’d had some good chats and he knew a lot about languages and Russian history. And he was amazed to be finding an Auatralian on board a train heading north in Western Siberia! Сывда&#10 88;ма (Sivdarma) 11:50 local, 27 June After this small siding a couple of guys from some kind of police force walked through the train. They told me something I couldn’t understand. Eventually I understood them to be telling me not to leave my stuff in full view on the beds on the kupe with the door open. I was in the corridor looking out a window when they came and has left my kupe’s door open. But my carriage was empty now anyway. Корот&#10 95;аево (Karotchaeva) 13:30, 27 June ************e left on this train. I feel I’m heading into nowhere. No one seems too concerned and the provodnitsa doesn’t do much work anymore. After a turn on the long platform I couldn’t get back into my wagon because she was elsewhere. The young male provodnitsa on Carriage 14 was in attendance at his wagon door so I was able to get on there and walk back through. The different smells of carriage 14 were stark. More perfumed – one of the provodnitsas was prettying herself up.

Khanymey, Russia

While coursing passed endless taiga-tundra, Peter told me that during soviet era many churches were converted to mechanical workshops. So when he was born there was no church in his town – instead there was a great auto workshop. It wasn’t until later years that he was able to get baptised.

Noyabr’sk, Russia

I wouldn’t have thought the Western Siberian taiga as it gradually emerged from the weakening hold of the taller beech and conifer forests of the south would all be sitting on huge white massive sands. The A horizon is very shallow of accumulated organic matter and where rail road disturbances reveal the profile there is some leaching of the brown humus down into the bleached white sands. I’ve been told by my new friend and guitar playing companion Peter that only a few metres down now the permafrost exists. These massive sands are the product of a retreating ice sheet that left a massive sea in its ‘wake’ covering this northern expanse of Siberia. This sea (or lake?) was around 30-40 metres deep and the fine glacial moraines and tills were reworked on the seabed into the massive sands we see underlying the Siberian taiga and tundra today.

Overnight while the sun barely set just before midnight (producing a beautiful long rich pastel red sunset) and rose fully a few hours later I could see the pines were now dominant and the birch was almost gone. But then something would change and the trees would grow in size over a localised patch. And birch would come into its own again. This was like a giant ecotone moving from the taiga to the tundra. With a few hundred kilometres to the Arctic Circle still the taiga holds on.

The whole landscape though was now different. No longer a dense forest with a thick cacophony of understory growth, the taiga now had a varying mosaic of colour and texture and substance. A mosaic of colours from the dark greens of the conifers to the dull pastel limes of the mossy carpet floors. A mosaic of textures from the rough-edged outlines of the conifers to the smooth curves of the lakes and the padded flats around them. And a mosaic of substance from the peaty bogs of the depressions to the bleached silicated sandy grit of the island rises.

From the confines of a long train now empty since the regional oil and gas service centre of Surgut late the night before (kind Valera and Vera alighted here with their six year old grandson) I admired the light brown orange of the flaky trunks of the pencil straight pines and the brilliant white trunks of the beeches with their horizontal scar-like black lines.

Lakes opened up and were surrounded by the lowest of ground hugging plants too small to be distinguished from the train window. The bright flashes of white in the landscape always turned out to be places where the soils had been exposed by vegetation removal. In some wooded groves the understory was dominated by low bushes and shrubs reminiscent of the understory of some Western Australian Eucalypt woodlands. But only the understory and only in form. Maybe these included the cranberries known to populate these parts.

The lakes and drainage lines showed evidence of accumulated organic silts and clays. Being situated on massive white sands this I suppose was what allowed the lakes to hold water – a bit like the ‘coffee rock’ sealing the fragile lakes on Fraser Island, Queensland, Australia.

The lakes continued to become more frequent and abundant. Occasional birch groves would appear. But I wondered if these were aided north by the rail road corridor effect? Fire too was evident. I’d heard about Siberian forest fires in recent years. And seeing the burnt patches, one of which we passed right beside the tracks having just been burnt, I wondered how fire resilient this taiga ecotone ecosystem was. I could however, see tremendous regrowth. And the understory of the taiga was full of pine seedlings vying for an edge amongst mosses, micro ferns, grasses and other as yet identified plants. But when razed to the ground I wondered how long the mosses and other moisture-sensitive ground covers would take to return.

I also wondered about the effects of uncontrolled vehicle traffic after I saw evidence of 4WD tracks having left large continuous depressions over the mossy ground.

In the flat sandy expanses there were marshes and on a small scale there existed a mosaic of micro-habitats: low mosses and sedges surrounding tiny micro-relief islands raised only inches above the surrounds and populated by just one or two dwarfed pines.

Surrounding the lakes and marshes and in low depressions I noticed the cotton bud heads of a plant I recognised as similar to the one I’d seen in East Greenland beside the Hurry Fjord at Constable Pynt. Their fluffy white heads having made the most of this brief summer already being as they were in full ‘fluff’ seeding mode.

All this summer growth by the annuals was in response to the long winters. And I tried to imagine the metres of snow and how long before it would melt away leaving a cold moist organic layer on which the mosses and other plants could switch back on and grow in the new found light.

But winter seemed miles away as the long days brought ambient temperatures up close to 30 degrees Celsius.

A road had been following the rail way for several hundred kilometres. Sometimes under construction it was variably on either side of the track and only the occasional car did I spy from the train’s window using it. Regularly in the distance I would see communication towers and large high voltage power lines would cross the railway line occasionally as well.

As we approached Корот&#10 95;аево, the last stop before Novy Urengoy I saw more fire scars alongside the rail corridor. And every so often we’d cross a small dark closely stream. Nothing as big as last night’s crossing of the massive Ob River with its two massive bridges.

The idea of trying to getting Yamburg the oil and gas field operation in the Ob Gulf coast to the north is enticing. Intelligence from Katya helping me research it via text back in Moscow tells me it might be off limits as a company town for employees only. I’ll see what I can do. She has offered further advice saying that I might take a marshrutka (small informal public bus) out there an then ask a local car to take me out to the Ob Beach (?). She says its about four hours drive by the road up there. She reports good weather ahead too for the zone. It’s a good feeling to have a trusted research support back at Moscow base!

After Корот&#10 95;аево the tundra took over. On the far horizons though to the east and west all I could see was the dwindling taiga.

Surgutsky District, Russian Federation

My traveller’s diarrhoea continued but I had a long breakfast at Hotel Ural not just because it was included in my room but because I needed to rest and to not be too far from toilet. I was taking homeopathic arsenicum. And I was taking the long trip north tonight (25 June) on the train. It seemed I was surrounded by conference attendees, the huge Hotel Ural complex being such a venue. I never found out what the conference was about. I spent some time after breakfast making the most of the hotel’s free wi-fi before heading off for a walk around town. But first with my energy levels low I decided I needed a hearty borsch. I bought three postcards from a lady in a street stall and headed into a local bar – the Kama micro brewery – to eat and write. I found the place deserted. It seemed though that it would be happening place when filled. Though I didn’t care much for the multiple tv screens blaring English video dance clips. Not wanting to search further I just stayed and sampled the local brew. Probably not the best for a mild case of diarrhoea but I was wishing it away and was confident it was self limiting. The borsch was delicious as a starter. When the main I’d thought that I’d ordered of bbq fish cooked on skews over coals turned out to be pork chunks cooked the same way I decided to let it go and just deal – I needed the energy. I’d already eaten most of the roast potatoes on the side before I even realised it was pork. Still feeling queasy and low on energy I headed out into the bright light of the mid-afternoon Perm. Happy couples were everywhere walking. Down on the Kama things were relaxed – see ‘Kama River’ entry. I picked up some supplies from a supermarket for the long train trip ahead and headed back to the lobby of the Hotel Ural to collect my pack and mini guitar and book a taxi to the train station for an hour prior to departure. I got some more cash out in case the end of the line in Novy Urengoy proved truly the end of the line. And while I sat in the lobby taking advantage once more of the free wk-fi a whole gaggle of ladies exited what I assumed was the conference to gather right beside me on the semi-circular couch and listen to one of the ladies talk enthusiastically about a new potato peeler cum multi function tool all in one device! Quite humorous! On board the train the very young provodnitsa showed me to my ‘kupe’. Western Siberians Valyera (53), Vera (58) and grandson Ruslan (6) were t my kupe companions. I’m in the top bunk. This is an older edition of these sleeper services probably because we’re going to a lower demographic. I’m in kupe instead of platz as there were no beds left in these platz dorm carriages. My lovely companions Vera and Valyera, are a retired couple from Surgut accompanying their grandson home who’s 6 yrs old. We spoke a little with my stilted Russian and the Russian dictionary app I had on my phone. Vera then said with that spark of life glinting in her eyes, “Chai and bye!”, and we readied for bed. I will try to get to Yamburg! I said to myself. Wish me luck! As I fell asleep. Next morning (26 June) from breakfast onward we spoke a lot. When I explained to them (in the context of answering their questions about my family) that my grandfather had died just weeks before his 100th birthday, they both compared my grandfather’s life span to their cultural context, saying to themselves that he was alive when the October 1917 Revolution happened! I could see that they’d lived some tough lives through the soviet era. Both were retired and seemed happy with their lives. I had a mid morning sleep to catch up on a lack of sleep last night. The pain on my right shoulder kept me awake. And at one point in the dark night – we’d gone south for a bit to Yekatarinaburg so the White Nights was not so pronounced – I sat upright on the top bunk listening to Valyera snoring and grinding his teeth on cyclic turns. After a lunch from the dining carriage was somehow delivered to me – not sure if it was Vera, Valyera’s or mine that came with the ticket but they insisted I eat it – I pulled out the tiny guitar and after eventually getting it into tune as much as possible I sang a few songs. A fellow called Peter came up and listened in the corridor. He spoke good English and so began long jams and information exchanges with him in our kupe. I felt slightly awkward at the start sitting in a small space as I felt a bit uncomfortable that Valyera an Vera weren’t into it as Peter was singing many of his original songs in English. But while their grandson played raucously in the corridor with his new little friends – children of other parents recently boarded – it seemed that at least Vera was enjoying Peter’s songs. I was glad to be able to play some of my songs and cover renditions on a proper guitar. And when it was my turn I used my phone’s tuner app to tune the guitar. I realised then that it was this that had been making me uncomfortable before – the guitar was out of tune. I thought Peter looked a bit netvous to start with but he was obviously happy to have an audience too. And he was quite happy to practice his English as well. At times he’d translate my lyrics for Valyera and Vera. And they’d smile. Vera was a kind woman. And Valyera looked worn with age and smoking despite he being 5 years Vera’s junior. Somewhere into the evening after Tobolsk and before Surgut the vegetation changed slowly from tall dense stands of pines and beeches to shorter and patchy stands amidst mossy flats and low rises. Amazing fresh and apparently clean lakes appeared, glass-like and surrounded by low meadow-like vegetation. After a station break Peter offered me a couple national ‘Baltic’ brand beers and we continued into the late afternoon and evening. His songs were fantastic. They just got better and better. He reminded me a lot of my Guatemalan friend Carlos in Perth. Especially Peter’s song about the memory of the rough unshaven cheek of his deceased father who he sadly lost when he was just six years old. This life context also reminded me of Carlos. I asked Peter why he’d written such a personal song in English and not Russian. He said that it was a private part of him and he felt that it was best kept in English so that not everyone in Russia would find out about it. When Peter found out I was with WWF he was a little alarmed. He’d just been telling me all about his company Novatek, who are the largest independent natural gas producer in Russia. They utilise the fracking services of other companies for the enhancement of their oil and gas production. These fracking processes, which are undertaken deep down at 4km below the northern Siberian landscapes are not causing anything like what was seen in North America vis a vis the Gasland documentary, Peter insisted. They pump in water from the plentiful freshwater lakes and mixed with it a natural biodegradable guar gum from guar beans grown in the US, India, Pakistan etc. These days guar gum used in the food industry is made synthetically – and if you eat highly processed food then there is a high chance that you have eaten it as well. He was adamant that his company and others in these northern extremes of Western Siberia were doing no harm to the surrounding natural environs. We approached Surgut crossing a massive tributary of the Ob River and saw little towns and veggie patches. Oil head platforms started springing up. Peter was at pains to point out their enviromental credentials, emphasising that the environment was still very clean: “See,” finger pointing at the river beside where the oil wells were, “there is no damage.” As we approached Surgut Vera asked us to stop playing guitar so they could pack up prior to alighting. So Peter and I adjourned to his empty kupe. He bought some more beer at Surgut station while I some takeaway pizza and after we left the station we played until another English speaking oil company worker, who I’d talked to on the platform (he’d lived and studied mechanical engineering in NZ and was there during the last earthquake) came and told us to keep it down. I didn’t sleep much at all with the sore right shoulder and the midnight twilight and sunset colours being so tantalising over the taiga. I woke early at 07:00 local time (27 June) to continue to watch the taiga in all it’s variability roll past the window on a now almost empty train (see Taiga Sands).

Tyumen, Russia

Perm, Russian Federation

As the LP points out Perm has a feel of a design city. The small amount of public art and city motifs that I’ve seen attest to this. Even the ex-Soviet monstrosity of a building that now houses the Hotel Ural has been re-designed looking for an aesthetic, which I don’t think it attains. I stayed in a cheap room and had to laugh to myself yesterday after I arrived from the train to ask for a room. I took the lift to floor 5 and walked down one of the longest hotel floor corridors I’ve ever seen. At the end of this corridor the schmick new decor ceased and the original old soviet building emerged like a morph from beneath. Old carpets, rickety old parquetry flooring and drab colours on walls. The room was clean and spacious nonetheless. My favourite public art piece is the big ‘P’ (in cyrillic of course, which is ‘П’) writ large in 3D and with four faces. It’s made entirely of treated pine logs bolted together in a chaotic tumble. But the overall result is a study in crisp aesthetic over disorder internal – things may be at odds but order is seen. And that order is in Perm.

Perm, Russian Federation

The Russian rail network, in fact the public transport network as a whole, is something to behold. It seems the imperatives of socialism towards ensuring basic needs for all has meant that the public transport system, while at times a little ‘tied up with wire’, caters well for all able-bodied persons, almost door to door. Now it’s not like I haven’t experienced public transport systems that cover all needs before. In Latin America where I’ve spent a great deal of time, it was always only just a matter of standing on the road and you could pick from a number of passing options. The difference in Russia is that the forms are varied and in relation to the train network, the single biggest national terrestrial transport system in the world in terms of geographic coverage – I dare say China may lead in terms of volume of passengers moved – they appear to be well scheduled and always on time. The LP reports that an incentive commission paid to train managers and drivers for being on time means that they are so. In terms of their varied forms I’ve seen metro lines emerge from long long escalators (70m down) to link directly with tram lines or monorail lines or electric trolley buses or normal combustion engine buses (official) and the informal marshrutkas. Then there would be water-buses (in SPb) and chauffeured pedal powered passenger bikes as well. Last night wandering about Perm I took the rickety old tram that came in on a special tram turning circle right in front of Perm II station. At 12 roubles a ride anywhere it seems inexpensive. All short distance transport seems quite cheap and straight forward, whether it’s 25 roubles to ride anywhere in the metro system of SPb or Moscow or half that for of the regional city buses, trams and electric buses to ride any distance on the line in question. Another notable difference to Australia is the prevalence of public transport staff throughout the system. Whether it be the metro guards and attendants scattered throughout the laberintine tunnel systems of the SPb and Moscow metros to the ever present conductors on all short distance buses, trams and metros to the hardest working provodnitsas on the long-distance dormitory trains. I’ve stared down many a bottom-of-escalator guard siting in their lonely glass covered cabin as you spend the better part of three minutes descending the long incline in the company of many. I say ‘lonely’ because despite being surrounded by an endless parade of ever changing people they don’t interact with anyone. I suppose they’re there for security in the advent that the escalators break down and mass panic sets in. As a I recall a friend in Perth saying once, “a good city public transport system is one where you never need to consult timetables, you just rock up and wait for the next one, which ideally shouldn’t be more than a few minutes away”. Well this is the Russia I’ve experienced so far for sure. In the SPb and Moscow metros I don’t think I ever waited more than 45 seconds for a train heading in my direction. And usually it was less than 20 seconds. And I changed lines a number of times over a number of days. Anyway, maybe these are the musings of a man told to head west but chose east instead.

Perm, Russian Federation

Like the Volga in NN, the banks of the Kama River here in Perm are also hemmed in by concrete embankments. Slightly less in width than the Volga at NN and appearing less turbid a sullen sky hangs over its surface. Some kind of inland gull dips in for food and I see the little fish occasionally jumping. Over the traffic noise above me in the city I can over hear three people on water’s edge laughing uproariously over matters unknown. The main story teller is laughing so much that he can’t continue the with his humorous tale. And soon all three are slapping thighs and rolling around. From my vantage point above the concrete slopes I can see up river to smoke stacks and a riverside industrial site. Seemingly not far from these stacks are burgeoning high rise estates. To the north over the river are smaller private riverside plots with quaint cottages on them. And in the distance I see a rise and all the way up to it is green with the characteristic canopy outline of broad and pointy tree tops: pines, firs and beeches. Behind me in the park land four young women are racing their ponies and horses at full gallop down the centre of the park. They look so intense as they speed past, horse hair and girl manes flowing and tossing in the wind and motion behind them. And just now a single fighter jet roars overhead heading southwest. Soon it’s beyond earshot and I again hear families talking, while I play my game of picking out words and phrases from their conversations that I fail to understand.

Perm, Russian Federation

I’ve only just started to notice but it’s been happening all the the time: people biting on sunflower seeds, cracking them open, spitting out the husks, black on the outside and white on the inside and eating the seed. All around the little groups of people, in parks or on rivers’ edges, drinking or chatting, you will find accumulated at their feet the growing organic detritus of this the national habit. The pigeons come in and clean up the rest.