Read on Twitter
One time I was on the Trans-Siberian train going from Moscow to Vladivostok 5,752 miles away. Onboard were Russian cops & soldiers. In my cabin was a black beret sniper returning from Chechnya, the next cabin was full of cops. For 2 nights, I drank and arm-wrestled with the cops.
First of all, these cops cheated at arm wrestling and stood up so they won every match. Second, Russians flick their throat when they& #39;re telling you it& #39;s time to drink. So everyday the cops came by my cabin and flicked their throats to get me to come over and keep drinking.
By the 2nd night, I was pretty fked up from drinking. Every night it was AT LEAST 1 bottle of vodka EACH. I& #39;m can& #39;t walk through the train bc I& #39;m always trashed. The cops love me, I& #39;m the avatar of the USA they get to fight every night. By the 3rd day, I had enough.
When the cops came by and flicked their throat, I told them no. I need a night off. I can& #39;t do it again that night. They act confused, but leave. 30 minutes later another one comes over and flicks his throat. No man, I& #39;m done tonight. He huffs off. I start talking to the sniper.
His name was Fyodr. We started talking about his training, how brutal their tactics were, how they& #39;re trained to kill comrades rather than save them if they get injured on the battlefield. Long, intense conversations. Then another cop comes back and flicks his throat.
This time Fyodr gets up and goes to the door of the cabin and tells this cop to fuck off in Russian and the cop looked like a tail between his legs walking back to his cabin, they never bothered us again for the rest of the 6 day train trip.
Oh, PS, this was January in the middle of Siberia, so it was -40 degrees outside and the train was like a spaceship, no open windows, no leaving the vessel without proper suit of protection. One asshole opened the window in the bathroom to smoke and it immediately froze open.
I woke up the 4th day to find Fyodr was gone, and I had a new cabin mate. A huge man sat in Fyodr& #39;s bunk. He looked like a shaved circus bear; a man in his late 50s with an MMA training shirt covering his sumo wrestler body, white hair ice blue eyes to match Siberia.
He doesn& #39;t speak English, nor I Russian, so we don& #39;t talk. In the early evening, the train pulls into a city station somewhere deep in Siberia, my memories are hazy for reasons that will reveal themselves later. Babushkas rush the train to sell their wares, cabin mate disappears.
He comes back barrel hugging a dozen bottles of alcohol and newspaper-wrapped foods. Unfortunately, his favorite drink is Raspberry Schnapps, so that& #39;s mostly what he got. With every glass he poured for himself, he poured one for me. He wouldnt drink another until I finished mine
And this mfker wanted to DRINK, getting frustrated at my slow pace. We were drinking this schnapps by the mug-full, in gulps. He drank his entire mug like a shot. He was tolerant, but slightly annoyed it took me 3 sips to finish mine so he could pour the next round.
Wanting to slow this down, I remember I have a bottle of Johnny Walker Black in my backpack. It& #39;s a good bribe in case you get in trouble, and if you don& #39;t, you can crack it open and enjoy it. Since it was the end of my trip, I offer to pour the next round with scotch.
This blue eyed human bowling ball looked at it like he& #39;d never seen scotch before, but he gestured to get pouring. So I fill our mugs with scotch, clink, "davai", he downs the mug of whisky like a shot. I& #39;m sipping it little by little, like you& #39;re supposed to drink scotch.
He HATES it. He complains about my speed, gestures at my mug when I sip, tipping the bottom up, telling me to suck down that mug of scotch like a man, but dammit, scotch didn& #39;t spend 15yrs in a burnt barrel in a dank Scottish basement to be gulped back without a thought.
I take my time until I get to the last quarter of the mug. I figure I& #39;ve made my point, I& #39;ve sufficiently tasted and enjoyed the whisky, time to move on. I downed the rest to the delight of the bear man, who then broke out the babushka-bought newspaper-wrapped appetizers...
He bought 3 things.
1. Pickled herring. It smells like a rotten dick.
2. Horse penis sausage. It& #39;s a sausage made from horse penis, actually a dick.
3. Bread.
That& #39;s all we had, so that was dinner.
1. Pickled herring. It smells like a rotten dick.
2. Horse penis sausage. It& #39;s a sausage made from horse penis, actually a dick.
3. Bread.
That& #39;s all we had, so that was dinner.
I didnt have much of an appetite until we had finished our 4th bottle of vodka. By then I was plowing into the pickled herring and horse penis sandwiched between bread wasnt the worst when you& #39;re out of your mind drunk. I don& #39;t remember anything else from that night after that.
I woke up to find a half eaten smelly herring carcass, bread crumbs, and 8 empty bottles of booze on our cabin table; 4 schnapps, 4 vodka. Half of my whisky bottle remained.
Naturally, as anyone would after waking up to such a scene, I needed to puke immediately.
Naturally, as anyone would after waking up to such a scene, I needed to puke immediately.
As I walk to the cabin bathroom, the train pulls into another station. As it does, the train attendant comes down the cars locking the bathroom doors so nobody can hide inside them at the station. She locks the door to the bathroom right in front of me. So I count the seconds.
It was 27 minutes. That how long it took the train to move again. It took 35 minutes for the cabin crew to return and unlock the bathroom door. Of course, what awaited me was a bathroom with 1in of frost on every surface due to the frozen-open window. So anyway I get on my knees.
And when you look down a train toilet in Siberia, you& #39;re just looking at frozen tracks rushing by below. Somewhere out in Siberia there& #39;s a long purple streak of schnapps puke right in the center of the tracks. Anyway, I come back to my cabin and, again, big man is just gone.
To be completed later when I feel like it, the next part is the finale - the mysterious Chinese businessman.
This is the room at the end of the passenger cars where everyone would go to smoke. It was unheated, obviously, and people would doodle in the frost while shivering and shuffling back and forth with their lit cigarette in their fingers. I& #39;d just hang out and talk to passengers.
Although the Trans-Siberian has a dining car, nobody uses it, preferring instead to use the gas-boiler on every car to make hot tea and water for Chinese instant ramen packets combined with packaged goods bought from the babushkas. After 5 days of ramen & herring, I got curious.
The old Soviet designed dining car is indeed pretty and we& #39;ll kept, so I mistakenly got my hopes up a bit and treated myself to a $25 steak.
What I got was a thin piece of beefish leather covered in peppercorn and oil. Now I know why everyone sticks to the $0.05 ramen and tea.
What I got was a thin piece of beefish leather covered in peppercorn and oil. Now I know why everyone sticks to the $0.05 ramen and tea.
