The Long Journey Home: Five Memorable Faces

‘We don’t meet people by accident. They are meant to cross our path for a reason.’ – Unknown.

Memorable Faces

When travelling, it is a given that you’ll generally meet a plethora of people. They’ll come from many different walks of life, be doing different things and going to different places. In some instances, you form a bond with a person that you meet and become friends. More often than not, you tend to pass through these people’s lives just as they pass through yours. It’s quick, polite and there is no fuss. You will become to them what they are to you – a blurred face swimming among a pool of others. Soon, they may be almost entirely forgotten.

Just a few of the faces you see will make it onto the ‘memorable’ list. A collection of people that you remember in years to come for one reason or another and think or talk about when you reminisce about your trip.

Fellow Trans-Siberian Passengers

During our time on the Trans-Siberian, it has been no different. We have met many people, but most we have already forgotten. At the very least, we struggle to recall them properly. Perhaps we simple have terrible memories? Either way, only a handful of people we’ve met are going to be remembered beyond our trip.

Here are five of our most memorable encounters. These are the ones we are likely to recall in years to come for various reasons and talk about together when we remember our trip.

The Tour Guide

We met you as we boarded our first train in Beijing. You were a Russian guide with a group of Australian tourists, but we never caught your name. We called you Brendon, like the tour guide from Coach Trip.

Near the end of the journey, as our train approached Ulaan Baatar, one of your group asked you what you thought of President Putin.

‘He is perfect for our country right now,’ you replied.

Both P and I glanced at each other and instantly wanted to ask ‘why’. We waited for the Australian to ask that very question, but he never did. Instead, he turned back to the window without another comment, leaving us to forever wonder – why do you think Putin is perfect for Russia?

The Drunk

You approached us while we were enjoying a quiet beer in the dining carriage. We never found out your name, but we ended up calling you Splits.

You plonked yourself down in the seat next to me, clutching a large can of 15% beer, obviously already a little worse for wear. You seemed harmless enough though. We communicated with a lot gesticulation and you used limited, broken English. I told you I liked your rings and nail varnish and you hugged me and smiled warmly. When music started playing, you danced in your chair. Shortly afterwards, you proceeded to impress us by performing the splits in the aisle.

Both of us were a bit surprised when you started ordering food for us. Salmon on rye bread which I politely declined but P felt obliged to eat. Shortly afterwards, bowls of steaming stew arrived, with hunks of potato, tomato and beef. I ate around the beef, as you urged us with hand gestures to eat faster, more. You paid for it all on your credit card. Naively, we left thinking how kind you’d been. Drunk and hilarious but ultimately friendly and very generous.

An hour later you knocked on our cabin door and demanded three thousand rubles from us to pay for the food. I gave it to you so that you would leave and then went to the dining carriage and spoke to the waitress who had served us. She managed to tell me that the food we had eaten only cost around eight hundred rubles. We managed to get two thousand rubles back from you in the end, after much back and forth and angry muttering from you in Russian.

Although there were many hours to go until we reached Moscow, we never saw you after that. It was as if you vanished without a trace – leaving me one thousand rubles lighter!

The Soldiers

There were two of you. Both young and arrogant. We never found out your names and we didn’t want to either.

We first came across you in Yekaterinburg, while we were stretching our legs and buying more beer and cigarettes for the journey. You asked us if we spoke Russian and when we said that we didn’t, one of you made a comment in Russian and you both burst out laughing. Ignoring you, we paid for our purchases and followed on slowly as you strode back towards the station. From then on, if we saw you, you’d make quick comments in broken English before reverting to your native tongue and obviously joking about us to our faces in Russian. We ignored you.

The night before we reached Moscow, we were once again off the train, stretching our legs on the platform and smoking a cigarette. You approached us as we stood beside our carriage. Once again you asked us if we spoke English. When we said no, you told us you were both in the army before reverting to Russian to make your jokes about us, laughing again, slapping each other on the back with pleasure at your obvious hilarity.

Your smiles suddenly faded when a member of the Russian Kickboxing Team approached, scowling under his hood at you. He was obviously displeased at what he had heard. His tone was quick and sharp as he spoke to you. You scarpered without another word. He gave us a little nod and we thanked him for sending you away.

You didn’t come near us again or make any more comments to our faces. Turns out you were a pair of cowards, but we kind of guessed that anyway.

The Musician

We met you on the train from St Petersburg to Minsk. You said your name was Mia. Aged only nine or ten, you were tall and slightly built, with short blond hair. You spoke excellent English and you were travelling with your grandmother and father. Only the previous evening, you’d played in a competition concert in front of three thousand people. And you won!

We asked you what instrument you played and you proudly informed us that it was the accordion. After showing off your instrument, you proceeded to play three tunes. You were really good, very talented. We clapped when you finished each song and smiled whilst you played. Your grandmother and father were both obviously extremely proud of you.

You had lots of presents that you’d bought in St Petersburg for your family and teachers. We watched while you laid them out on the seat to designate them to each person. Stickers and a toy truck for your brother. Tea in a tin embossed with an image of a colourful church for your mother. Chocolates, a passport cover. All were assigned to various family members before being put back into the bag and stowed safely under the seat until you reached home.

One day you might be a famous accordion player and we can say that we met you on a train on our way from St Petersburg to Minsk. But even if you’re never famous, you’ve got a talent. Hold onto it, nurture it and don’t give it all up when you’re older and it no longer seems ‘cool’. Trust me, I gave up playing musical instruments for that reason and I regret it.

The Cyclist

We met your bike before we met you. It seemed to fill half of our cabin and took us a little by surprise when we walked in. You came quickly to claim it and explained that you were leaving Minsk to start a new job in Poland. You called your bike your friend. I smiled.

You showed us some of the neat gadgets that our brand-spanking new, very modern train had to offer. A sink hidden under the table, the bed that folded down fully made, the plugs by the window to charge our phones. There was a shower on board and I almost instantly went to find it, having longed to wash myself all that hot, sweaty day in Minsk. It was one of the best showers I’ve ever had.

Although we never caught your name, we found out a lot about your life. You’d been to Italy and you had a wife who was a micro-biologist. You were from a small town in Belarus but moved to Minsk for better job opportunities and more money. We told you our names and we told you about our trip. In Warsaw we disembarked, wishing you well in your new job before we took our leave. You hoped we would enjoy the rest of our trip. We smiled and waved goodbye to you and then you were just one more memorable face to add the collection that had been growing as our journey progressed.

Read more about our Long Journey Home by heading to the archives.

Images added and content amended in February 2019. The header image is courtesy of Patrick Finnegan.