This afternoon, I bumped into the first Chinese-speaking passenger on this train – Mr Wang. He is a former professor from Shandong University of China. ‘Ah, my mother’s from Shandong, too,’ I told him.
‘Then we are half lao-xiang (literally ‘old townfolks’, an endearing way to refer to someone from the same town/orgin)!’ he said kindly.
Mr Wang now works as a trader in Krasnoyarsk. I was so pleased to hear that he speaks fluent Russian. I asked him if he could act as an interpreter for me and Andre. Mr Wang gladly agreed!
And he was a brilliant interpreter. Through his mature linguistic skills, I was able to learn about Andre – his past and present. I learned that he’d started out as a buoyant adventurer, someone who wanted to take a chance to fulfill himself.
Andre looked deeply into the eyes of our scholarly interpreter, and said: ‘Choosing to work on the rail was a gamble at first. It was taking a risk – it could be a dream come true, or the beginning of a miserable working life. But I didn’t want to run away from taking the risks just because I might fail. Life is about taking risks. As a young person, I wanted to see where it takes me…’
‘In those early years, it was so much fun working on the train. There are things I still very much take pleasure in. I enjoy meeting people of different backgrounds from all corners of the world. They enjoy being on the world’s longest rail journey and I enjoy the things they share with me about their origins and their cultures. It’s utterly fascinating.’
Andre brought over a boiling borch (beetroot-and-mushroom cream soup) for Mr Wang. He was thankful that Mr Wang’s skills had enabled us to get to know each other. Mr Wang had majored in Russian language in a Chinese university. I was sure that he was the only person on the entire train who could possibly translate and interpret between a Chinese and a Russian speaker.
Andre continued in his Russian, albeit in a less optimistic tone of voice: ‘Over the years, I have also come across some unpleasant passengers who made my working life difficult. A number of times I had to deal with some of their provocative behaviour towards other passengers…Those trouble makers! A few times the restaurant wagon was damaged by this kind of passengers. At other times, there were really bad fights between passengers.’
‘You know, sometimes it got so bad that I was told I should keep this thing here on the train,’ Andre said, taking a frightening-looking electric shocker out of a room right behind the restaurant to show us. ‘I have to carry this thing all the time, just in case of an attack or robbery. You never know what kind of passengers we have on the train. This shocker can go to his spine and kill him if he attacks.’
‘It puzzled me to understand what caused all those conflicts between people. Some of the problems arose from the variety of languages spoken on the train. You imagine how many different languages there are – Russian, Mongolian, Korean, Chinese, English, French, German…’
‘Some of the conflicts were a result of cultural differences between people, I guess. People may interpret things in different ways and misunderstanding is common among passengers who have to share a living space for all that time…When the conflicts occur, my role then is to help resolve them.’
Bottles of beer were piling up. Attracted by the sight of a Russian-Chinese gathering, a Russian man came and sat down at our table. He introduced himself as a soldier from Krasnoyarsk. I took the chance to ask him about Georgia and his views on Russia’s actions. Through Mr Wang, he said: ‘Russia is right to be there.’
But when asked to justify it, the soldier acted as if he didn’t understand the interpreting. Mr Wang looked embarrassed with the silence, but didn’t want to intervene in this sensitive topic. He asked the soldier how he finds living in Krasnoyarsk.
‘Life is very tough in Siberia. I am a professional soldier, but my income - 10,000 roubles (£222) per month - isn’t sufficient to afford a good living for my family. I feel very guilty that I can’t provide my children with a good life that they deserve.’
The soldier-father asked about education opportunities in Britain. ‘I’d really like to send my daughter to study in England. That will give her a good start in her future prospects.’
I asked Mr Wang if he feels the same about living in Siberia and whether he has long-term plans to work here. ‘It’s not easy out here, to be away from home in this tough place. I am returning to work in China this year.’
Andre felt the same. He reflected the deep bitterness of vast number of Russia’s people: ‘My grandparents had a good living standard and a good pension. We don’t anymore. Things are getting worse, especially in the past decade, and life has become just cruel for the working-class. Cruel!’
I asked Andre if he often feels homesick working on the train. Through Mr Wang, he said: ‘That kind of emotions are not for me. I’m used to this kind of life, away from home, and always on the move.’
He paused, probably feeling the need to explain: ‘The thing is, I live with only my twenty-year-old daughter in our tiny flat in Moscow. She is a grown-up now and has her own life. She doesn’t need me. Not anymore. She doesn’t miss me when I am away on the train. And I don’t really feel the need to call her. She looks after herself, you know.’
‘Do you have a picture of hers?’ Mr Wang asked.
‘No, no, I never carry any pictures with me. I’ve never thought of doing so,’ Andre answered, slightly discomfited. Then he shrugged his shoulders: ‘I don’t even have many belongings with me on my job, you see. What’s the need to? People keep pictures on their mobile phones. I don’t have this habit. I have no need to… On the train, I devote my thoughts to the job, because I cannot be elsewhere.’
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