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We settled into our compartments on the Trans Siberian Express and soon found that there was little difference between this train and our last one. We had a 400 kilometer trip to the Mongolian – Russian border so we sat back and took in the view.
Our arrival at the border was accompanied with the banging of compartment doors and a lot of shouting. We were told to stay in the compartment and not move outside until our passports had been inspected. There were a number of Mongolian passengers in our carriage and they scurried from one compartment to the next with large bundles. They would enter a compartment with a bundle and exit empty handed, something which appeared a little odd.
A fellow passenger and a seasoned traveler on the Trans Siberian said that the bundles contained contraband that Mongolian’s smuggled over the border and sold in Russia. He said that this was a common occurrence and that usually they just paid bribes to the border police.
A Mongolian man tried to enter our compartment with his bundle but I turned him away as I couldn’t take risk of getting caught with contraband. The man just shrugged and moved on.
Soon gruff looking Russian border police entered the carriage checking passports. They entered our compartment and in a curt manner demanded passports. Whilst one checked passports another gave the compartment a casual search. Our passports were stamped and without so much as a “welcome to Russia,” or a smile they were on there way. Even though this was now Russia and not the Soviet Union of old there was still a little apprehension about crossing the border into Russia.
The rail gauge changed again in Russia so the bogies on the train had to be changed. The train sidled up to a bare platform and everyone had to get off the train. When we asked how long it would be we were answered with a shrug of the shoulders.
The platform was barren except for one lone shop and several drunks, a sight which we were to become accustomed to. We found a local market at the back of the station and wandered there to take a look. The pathways were muddy and everything was unkempt, even the local dogs. The people in the market paid little heed to us as no doubt they saw tourists from the train wander through and take photos.
Nothing happened for four hours and we just sat around the platform with the other passengers…….waiting.
Finally we heard the tooting of the train whistle and the clanking of carriages as they shunted towards the platform. Gratefully we boarded the train for 900 kilometer journey to Irkutsk a city of 590,000 people located 5,000 kilometers from Moscow.
We alighted from the train in the late afternoon and our guide was there to meet us to take us to a local hotel in the heart of the city. By Russian standards the check in went smoothly as it only took a little over an hour.
Our hotel rooms were clean but Spartan with few of the trappings we were used to in western hotels. As a group we later went for a walk around the city to take in some of the sites such as the Russian Orthodox Kazansky Church where we watched an evening service. Later we stopped by the Angara River and people watched for a while. Whilst there we watched a group of high school children as they carried out a daily ritual whereby they march in ranks to place wreaths on a memorial to those who served in the Second World War.
Later in the evening we had a wonderful meal in a boisterous restaurant where the main aim appeared to be to drink as much as you can rather than eat as much as you can. By the time we left later in the night many of the patrons were passed out on or under the tables.
We had an early start the next day as we would be travelling by bus to Listvyanka which is some 70 kilometers from Irkutsk.
We returned from our Winter Olympic trip on Sunday and we are now back at work and school. It was a fantastic experience attending two Olympic events and participating in the buzz and excitement of the Winter Games atmosphere.
From our viewpoint everything ran smoothly. The bus service to the venues ran well and the security checkpoints moved forward at a fair pace and the venues were fantastic and user friendly. The only downside I could find would be for the infirm or wheelchair bound as it was a long hike to both venues and it would test those who had a disability.
I have watched some Olympic events on TV and I must say that the commentary is a little over the top and very parochial towards the Canadian competitors. That is understandable as it is Canada’s Games but to an outsider watching it is a little too much to handle sometimes.
We attended another event at the 2010 Vancouver Olympics on Saturday this time the Two Man Bobsleigh Qualifications at the Whistler Sliding Centre and once again it was a big trek.
We left our hotel at Harrison Hot Springs just before eleven am for a 90 minute drive to the bus pick up point. The traffic was heavy but manageable. This was a different pick up point to the one we took on Thursday to watch the half-pipe and the thing that was surprising was that there wasn’t one sign to help with direction…strange for an Olympic event.
Once we arrived there were lots of volunteers on hand to guide us to the bus which was from Los Angeles. I can only imagine how much it has cost to gather all of these busses from across Canada and the USA.
The trip to Whistler took almost two hours and the scenery was simply stunning. High snow-capped mountains, blue lakes and green pines bordered both sides of the road. Traffic is restricted to Whistler for the duration of the games so the road was relatively clear.
Once we arrived at Whistler we were offered several methods of getting to the Sliding Centre and we chose a walk and gondola ride. We walked to the centre of Whistler and the place was humming. It is still operating as a ski centre for the duration of the games and there were skiers everywhere and they mingled with Olympic revelers and visitors from around the world. Music blared, the café’s and restaurants were overflowing and big TV screens screened the latest Olympic events.
We hopped on a gondola and rode to the Sliding Centre where the crowds weren’t as big as our previous Olympic visit a few days before so we didn’t have to spend too much time in line for security. Once through we made our way to the grandstand which gave us a view of the last bend before the finish line.
There were 27 teams for the two man bobsleigh and they would make two runs on the Saturday night and two on Sunday. The track is 1400 meters in length and is the same track where the Georgian luge rider lost his life the day before the Olympics started. On this track the bobsleigh reaches speeds in excess of 140kph.
The problem with the bobsleigh is that you can only see 100 meters or so of track and the bobsleigh moves so fast that it is but a blur. You hear the bobsleigh coming, it flashes into view and then whoosh it’s gone. You then have to watch on the big screen to get the timings and results.
It was becoming a little boring after 21 competitors without incident and then the Italian team tipped over on a bend and the crowd perked up. A couple of runs later the UK team did the same thing and the brakeman fell out of the back and slid more than 100 meters on his back. A huge cheer went up from the crowd when he got up and waved to them.
To top that off the second Australian team crashed early on the run and slid almost the entire course upside down. It was excruciating watching it and many in the crowd turned away as the big screen showed the battering the riders were taking. Once again a huge cheer went up from the crowd when both emerged from the bobsleigh unscathed.
Even with all this new excitement the cold was starting to win and we decided to head for home a third of the way into the second qualifying run to beat the cold and the departing crowd.
I could not say that I particularly enjoyed watching bobsleigh as a sport because you see so little it is over in a flash. It is a little like motor racing where the excitement lay in the crashes.
But it was the Olympics and the atmosphere was great as was the venue so it was an experience well worth it.
Today we took the long trek to Cyprus Mountain the site for the Vancouver Olympics, Women’s Half Pipe event.
It was quite a trip. First a 90 minute car ride to the transport hub at Simon Fraser University in the suburbs of Vancouver. You can only catch Olympic buses to the events at the Vancouver games and busses had been bought in from all over Canada and the USA to transport spectators to Olympic venues.
After being dropped off by the bus we had a hike and a half to the security checkpoint. Here we faced a bit of a bottleneck but it wasn’t too bad and once through security we had another long hike to the stands and then a climb up a mountain of stairs to our seats in the huge temporary stand.
My first impression of the half pipe was that it looks so much smaller on TV. The pipe is around 140 meters in length and it is steep. It certainly takes a lot of grit, guts and determination to launch yourself down these slopes at breakneck pace and then perform your bag of tricks.
There were 30 competitors at the start of the event and the top six went straight to the final. Positions seven to eighteen went through to the semi final, which was held two hours after the initial qualifying. During the practice session between events a French competitor had a very bad spill and was carried out of the pipe on a stretcher.
The first six women from the semi final progressed to the final. The pressure was on and there were spills galore. Each competitor had two runs to post the required score.
Finally there were 12 competitors left to take part in the final. Australia had two women through whilst the USA had four. Torah Bright the Australian had the top score in qualifying so she went last on the first run. Torah started her run off well but struck trouble at the midway point and bombed out badly to finish last on the first run.
The crowd was really into the event now. The lights added a new dimension to the half pipe and each competitor was cheered on by the large crowd.
In the second run Torah went first as the last placed qualifier. The pressure was on her to put in a good performance, and did she what! She scored 45.00 points which placed the pressure back onto the other competitors who now had to chase her for gold and many crashed in that pursuit.
Finally it came down to the last competitor, an American she had a score of 42.4 and she would have to score more than 45.00 points to win the gold. She couldn’t do it.
Gold to Australia! The crowd did go wild as everyone acknowledged that it was a brave performance worthy of a gold medal.
It was a great event with lots of great snowboarding, intermingled with fantastic crashes and wild tricks. The weather, crowd and venue was fantastic. And who could ask for a better result?
Here you are the first 1800 words of my book, Tommy Tippett (I still haven't got a decent title). Almost finished the edit and it will then be ready for the next stage.
Any comments, advice or direction would be appreciated.
Tommy Tippett is a little bastard! This wasn’t Tommie’s opinion but those of some of the boys at his school and up until a few days ago Tommy didn’t even know what a bastard was. If he had to hazard a guess at the words meaning he would have to say it meant a small boy with curly hair. That made sense because that is exactly what Tommy was.
So Tommy went to the one person he could always rely on to give him good advice and the meaning of things………his grandfather.
“Granddad what’s a bastard?” Tommy posed this question to his grandfather who was sitting back on the long lounge chair reading the racing pages of the newspaper.
Granddad lay the paper down on his lap and looked over the top of his glasses. “Isn’t it one of those birds, you know the ones that look like vultures and live in Africa? Granddad looked at Tommy hopefully to see whether this answer would suffice.
Tommy thought about this for a while. He knew that granddad was a notorious practical joker and tended to tell as many untruths as truths so Tommy always had to think long and hard before he accepted any answer from granddad. He didn’t really think the boys at school would be calling him after a bird that lived in Africa.
Tommy gave his grandfather a smile. “No it’s not granddad.”
“Oh, maybe your right. Let me think on that for a moment.” Granddad started to massage his chin deep in thought. “Perhaps it means you’re a little boy who hasn’t got a father.” Granddad looked at Tommy with a set of bushy, raised eyebrows that relayed their owner’s sincerity.
“Really?”
“Absolutely! Would your granddad lie to you?” Granddad gave Tommy a sad and forlorn look of hurt.
“Yes.”
“Well sometimes my stories get a little mixed up but not this time. No go on off you go and do something and leave your granddad alone he’s trying to find a few winners at Randwick tomorrow.” Granddad picked his paper up from his lap, gave it a vigourous shake and went back to reading the form guide.
Tommy wandered off deep in thought. Armed with the knowledge of what bastard meant Tommy wasn’t sure if the boys in the playground were being nice or nasty. So what, he didn’t have a father, it wasn’t such a big deal to Tommy.
Tommy was about to give this problem some more serious thought when he caught a a flash of movement toward the back of the house. “Ace,” he called. Not sharply or authoritvely just his normal tone. “Come here boy,” and around the corner trotted a huge German Shepherd dog his tail wagging furiously. The dog trotted up to Tommy and pranced and dipped around him excitedly.
“That’a boy Acey.” Tommy could never resist wrapping his arms around the dog whenever he was near. People used to call Ace a bear or a lion he was so big.
He was black and gold. The black was like dark licorice and the gold looked like the sun when it disappears over the horizon after a long, hot summer’s day. The dog’s paws were oversized, more like the hoof of a horse than a dog’s paw.
Tommy knew because of Ace’s size most people were scared of him but they didn’t know what he was like. Mum called him a big pussycat, whilst Tommie’s granddad called him a big buffoon though Tommy didn’t think he looked at all like a monkey but that was just granddad coming out with another of his curious sayings or observations.
Tommy let go of Ace and the dog sat and looked expectantly at Tommy. Even sitting Ace was as tall as Tommy so they looked each other squarely in the eye.
“Ace do you know that I am a little bastard?” The dog slobbered and looked at the boy adoringly. “Well I am. It means I haven’t got a dad, but I don’t care.” He gave the dog a hug and sat back to think some more.
What bothered him about the comment was not the bastard part; no what bothered him was being called little. He wasn’t that small at all he was about the right size he though for a six year old boy.
Tommy thought that there wasn’t really all that much special about him at all except for his mop of curly, golden hair. A ragged mop that lay tangled and twisted across his head. No amount of combing or hair oil could keep this hairy rabble of curls in place. As soon as a comb was applied to Tommie’s hair one of two things normally happened, either the teeth of comb broke or the combed hair would flatten for an instant before springing back to life and doing what it wanted to do.
He did remember his mother saying that she liked his eyes. She said that Tommie’s eyes were as bright blue as the outback sky on the sunniest of days and when she looked into her son’s eyes she could see fun and laughter and just a smidgen of mischief and adventure. She said the brightness in his eyes that could be spotted on even the darkest of nights.
“Like a cat?” Tommy asked his mother.
“Well something like that,” she answered.
His mother said that it wasn’t the sort of brightness that shone in the dark like spotlights. It was she said more about the brightness of a good soul filled with imagination and the joy of life.
Tommy looked at his dog. “Ace I remember mum telling me that I had a dad once, but he went away. I can’t remember where he went though.” A perplexed look had come over Tommie’s face as he tried to think where his father had gone. Ace, sensing that something was making Tommy feel uneasy plonked a huge, hairy paw on his lap in dog sympathy.
Tommy tried and tried to formulate a memory of his father, but nothing would come. He knew he would have to try even harder if he was to remember and to do this he would have to lie down and close his eyes as this always helped him think.
Tommy stood up and moved into the lounge room to see if granddad was still lying on the old, battered lounge. He was gone, though the outline of his body was still imprinted on the threadbare, burgundy fabric.
Tommy plopped himself down on the lounge, laid back and closed his eyes to facilitate thoughts and memory. Ace laid on the carpet beside the lounge, positioned in such a way that he could rest his big head on his paws but still see Tommy.
It took a little while for Tommy to get into the right thinking position on the lounge which was still warm from granddad’s body. Random thoughts fluttered through Tommie’s mind as he closed his eyes. A thought about a coveted slingshot that he wanted and then another thought about what they were going to have for dinner.
He decided that it was very comfortable lying here on the big lounge. It was a piece of furniture that he had always liked because it was sturdy and secure and allowed him a prime vantage point to watch his favorite television shows.
But probably the best thing that he liked about the lounge was top secret. It was a secret that he had only shared with Ace, the one person, or dog he could trust with such information.
Just by chance Tommy had discovered that if you pull off the lounge seats and poke your hand down the back of the lounge you sometimes find money. Sometimes you find things that were better left undiscovered.
Tommy actually felt a little guilty about this treasure trove and on a particular day when he found a handful of shinny coins behind the lounge he was almost tempted to tell his Mother about his good fortune but at the last moment he decided not to. His mother had more than enough to worry about and surely didn’t want to know about a money producing lounge chair.
Tommy thought long and hard about this money and pondered on where it came from.
Perhaps, he thought it was the place where the tooth fairy stashed all of its cash. It made sense to Tommy, tooth fairies were pretty small and they wouldn’t want to fly around carrying loads of heavy coins so they would hide it somewhere.
Of course this presented Tommy with a morality problem.
What would happen to him if he was caught stealing tooth fairy money? Would he never again receive money from the tooth fairy or would something worse happen. Perhaps a tooth fairy had magical powers that could turn Tommy into a bug or perhaps a girl.
He was so worried about this possible outcome that he nearly put all the money back. At the last moment he decided not to as he figured out that tooth fairies are incredibly smart and would surely find a better hiding place than behind an old lounge. This all made complete sense to Tommy.
So if tooth fairies were not responsible for leaving the money, who was?
So after a lot of thought and regular consultations with Ace he decided that the money came from farts. Tommy had once heard a grown up say, “he was so scared that he shit bricks.”
So if a grownup can shit bricks surely they can fart coins?
Actually he had seen his granddad sitting on the lounge and from time to time he would raise his backside a little on one side and let out a fart. Now sometimes the fart was over in an instant with no more than a tweeting sound that was hard to hear.
Tommy thought that that little fart was probably granddad creating a small coin like a thrupence or a sixpence. But sometimes granddad lifted his backside and let out a long, loud thunderous fart that sounded like a roll of thunder. This would be the time that granddad was farting out a bigger coin like a shilling or a two shilling piece.
Unfortunately granddad didn’t sit on the lounge very often and was very careful about his farting because if Tommie’s Mum caught him she would growl at him and say things like, “Dad that’s disgusting, or “you dirty old man, not in front of Tommy.”
But Tommy didn’t mind at all, as now he realized that granddad’s farting lead to coins being deposited behind the lounge.
Tommy often wondered if it was only his granddad that could fart coins, or if all adults could do it. Tommy would have liked to ask his mother but he didn’t dare because his mother had very strict rules about farting protocols.
She stated that you shouldn’t fart at all and if you had to you should leave the room, the house and if possible the very street in which they lived. Of course, ladies didn’t fart. According to Tommie’s mum it was only men and small boys who farted though Tommy was sure that he had heard girls at school farting but couldn’t be sure.
We have left the cold and snow of Ontario far behind us as we flew back to British Columbia early on Monday morning. There was a large crowd at Toronto airport and we were thankful that we had stayed at the airport the night before our flight.
My concerns about my bag being overweight were proved correct when the lady at the check in counter said that the bag was 10lbs overweight and would cost a baggage excess of $52. I knew exactly where that extra weight had come from as Tammie had loaded my bag down with four bottles of good wine.
So it was an easy decision for me to hand the bottles over to the check in lady who was happy to receive them and who then immediately declared that my bag was underweight. Funny that.
Our flight to Vancouver was packed with supporters of the Canadian Winter Olympic team. Many passengers were wearing Team Canada hockey shirts and Go Canada shirts and jackets and were off to the games.
There was a buzz around Vancouver airport and many Canadians were glued to big screen TV’s around the airport as Canadian television interviewed Canada’s first gold medal winner. As an Australian watching the Canadian Olympic broadcast the constant Go Canada and blatant parochialism is a little hard to handle. But when I think it through it is no different than the jingoistic Australian coverage.
After a two hour stopover in Vancouver we boarded a flight to Kelowna, a bare 34 minutes away. We had no sooner taken off when we landed.
We were no sooner home before we were in the car again, this time heading off through the snow and mist covered Rocky Mountains for Harrison Hot Springs our Olympic base for the next six days.
The resort has a number of thermal hot springs which look inviting and the lake where the resort is located looked beautiful even on a rainy day.
Our first Olympic event is on Thursday so Wednesday day will be a ‘chill’ day around the resort.
The bus dropped the group at a hotel in central Ulaanbaatar. The room’s décor was a throwback to the early eighties, though it was clean and comfortable like the rest of the hotel.
The room had an old television standing in the corner so I switched it on to see type of shows they had on Mongolian TV. The first few channels had what appeared to be local soap opera’s, another had Mongolia’s national sport wrestling. I watched intrigued for a while as two huge men wrestled in traditional costumes while cheered on by a large outdoor crowd.
I changed the channel again and I stopped and stared at the TV amazed as there on a TV screen in a hotel room in Mongolia was a rugby league football game from Brisbane, Australia, my hometown. I couldn’t believe it. The game was only a day old and was being shown on the Australian Broadcasting Commissions overseas satellite service. It was a little surreal sitting there in a hotel room in Ulaanbaatar watching my favourite team play.
The group had free time which allowed me to go and explore the city by myself. I walked into the city centre and just wandered around. There were not any true high rise buildings and only a few modern buildings. Most of the buildings appeared to be from the Soviet era, bland blockhouses in a state of disrepair.
A large ceremonial square dominates central Ulaanbaatar with a monument to the national hero Sukhbaatar. The spot was chosen because that was where Sukhbaatar's horse had peed (a good omen) on July 8, 1921 during a gathering of the Red Army. At the other end of the square are government buildings and Sukhbaatar’s granite mausoleum. It reminded me of Red Square, Moscow.
There were few shops that catered to tourists and in these you were able to pick up a variety of Mongolian art and wares at very cheap prices. It appeared that the busiest places were the internet café’s that dotted the city. Inside the café you would see a veritable united nations of travelers pounding away at the ancient computer keyboards keeping in touch with far-away homes.
In all my travels around the world I have only felt unsafe twice and one of those places was in Ulaanbaatar, where I was stalked by a group of you men on the way back to the hotel.
It was late in the afternoon but still light when five young men started to shadow me down the road. There were only a few people about and I had to pass some areas of vacant lots and ramshackle buildings on my way back to the hotel. The five never deviated from the same route as I, sometimes one or two would move ahead whilst the others dropped in behind me.
I was starting to get a little worried.
I was fast approaching the vacant lot area and wondering what I should do when I saw a local taxi approaching down the street. Without hesitation I leapt onto the road in front of the cab which screeched to a stop. I jumped into the back seat and motioned the driver to go. As I drove down the road I looked at the five young men who grinned at me as one drew his finger across his throat, a motion that left me in little doubt about their intent.
When I arrived back at my hotel I reported the incident and a few days later I read in the local paper that a number of westerners had been assaulted and robbed in the area where I had been pursued. I was lucky!
The next day the group reunited and we did a tour of the sites of Ulannbaatar. First stop was the Gandan Monastery which houses a thirty meter high statue of Migjid Janraisig. It is a working monastery and we were able to enter the inner sanctum and watch the monks carry out their chants and rituals.
We next stopped off at the Winter Palace of the Bodg Khan, the last monarch of Mongolia. The palace is now a museum which was in a poor state of repair at the time of our visit. Most of the exhibits in the museum are the personal possessions of the Khan and his wife. The last stop on the day tour was at the lookout at Zaisan. This gives the observer a panoramic view of Ulaanbaatar, but the most interesting part is the mosaic that commemorates the cooperation between the Mongolian people and soviet Russia.
The day was finished off by a hearty Mongolian feast and then a traditional Mongolian concert which presented a group of throat singers which was a very strange experience and we were all amazed that a human could make such a weird noise.
We had an early start the next day and Nemo came to our hotel and escorted us all to the railway station to board the Trans Siberian for the next leg of our journey and after a lot of heartfelt farewells we boarded the train and set off westward.
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