Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
We reached Bucharest a month later only to find that the Russian visa had not
arrived. For Nat and I, this came as an executioner's stay. We spent the week before
the visa was finally tracked down wandering around the city, hand in hand. After
this extra time, in a strange way, we felt more prepared for the separation than we
would have otherwise been.
———
Two days later, I was standing on a station platform and shivering with my hands
under my armpits and my chin tucked well into the zipped-up collar of my po-
lar fleece. The roiling grey sky had descended during the trip from warm, sunny
Romania and was now skimming the tops of the featureless, eleven-storey con-
crete towers that served as homes for Moscow's millions. A piercing cold wind
was howling through the station, bringing with it an angling, icy sleet that defeated
the design of the broad roof stretched over the platform leaving me with nowhere
dry to stand. Milling around was a bustling crowd dressed in bleak colours that
matched the weather. Above each platform were signs giving meaningful informa-
tion to everyone but me. Beside the few inconsequential words that I remembered
from my brief study of Russian at university, the only thing I could understand was
the big clock mounted high above the entrance to the station. It was 11.30 a.m.
I'd been in Moscow for three hours and spent most of that time confused, cold
and just a little terrified. I managed to change some money at a rate that I was sure
had suckered me right in. I couldn't understand what the man was saying - I'd
simply handed over my American dollars and hoped for some change. Finally, I
managed to cross town on the underground system and get to the station where I
was supposed to meet Tim. His train was late. Unable to ask what was happening,
I could only stand and wait, feeling very much alone.
Finally, at midday, a shrieking train ground to a shuddering halt at platform five.
I hurried along, eyeing the doors to each of the carriages until I reached the very
end. There, standing behind a huge pile of boxes and bags, was a figure I recog-
nised in an instant. Tim!
Eight hours later, we were on a rattling train that was hauling us south through
the night, towards the Caucusus Mountains. Tim was describing our destination:
Mount Elbrus, at over five and a half thousand metres, is the highest peak in
Europe. We had been planning to climb it as a way of kicking off the journey. Next
to Tim sat Stas, an expert mountaineer from Petrozavodsk. He had agreed to be our
guide on the mountain, yet he spoke no English. I turned back to Tim, who was still
gushing with an unbroken stream of enthusiasm. We had barely spoken since Tim
