Moskova

31st October 2009, Russia

Morning sunrise brings me well and truly into Russia on this 18 and a half hour train journey. There is a piece in the Bible, I don't remember where, that says

'I lift my eyes to the hills and from there comes my help'

God help whoever wrote that if they come here. It is flat. Flatter than flat. Stretching for hundreds, thousands of kilometers, are the flat plains that run across Europe and Russia. Flatter than a pancake, flatter than the Vale of York, flatter than Norfolk.

It is winter here. There is a heavy frost and the forests and forests of silver birch trees have lost all their leaves. The early morning sun glows golden on their white trunks.

I notice a pattern emerging in me. Anticipation of the new place, excitement. Arrive in the new place and feel totally disorientated, clumsy, confused, useless (Joy, you called me at my peak of disorientation yesterday), then kick self up backside and figure out what I'm doing.

Russia - different culture, different language, different everything. I call Katharine, my Russian expert in Wales.

'Noone smiles here' I whine
'No, they don't. And people might shout at you for no reason. Just ignore them'
'Oh, right.' I consider this a moment. 'And they don't queue, so I've started just pushing to the front too.'
'You're learing fast!'

There's a map of the world outside the flat where I am staying. The 18 and a half hour train from Warsaw to Moscow coveres only a fraction of the next journey to Mongolia.

'I feel like a tiny ant,' I tell her, 'with a little backpack, striding out across the enormous world.'
'Remember that ants are very strong and can carry very heavy loads'

Thank you Katharine. There are reassuring words from a friend when I need them.