All aboard the Tsar’s Gold luxury train from Mongolia to Moscow
Take in the stark scenery the Trans-Siberian Railway has to offer in luxury that would impress the most pampered VIP, writes Tim Pile
It’s the middle of the night and I’m prodded awake by a rowdy Russian on the bunk below, who insists we share his bottle of vodka. After refusing half a dozen times, I sleepily toast Mother Russia, his health, my health and the beauty of Lake Baikal. Soon he passes out, snoring like a steam train, leaving me wide awake until morning.
That was in 1999. Few people go on a once-in-a-lifetime trip twice but I’m back on the Trans-Siberian Railway. This time, though, things are rather different. My single compartment is fit for Russian royalty or, as the passenger logbook puts it, “You are travelling in an ambience in which Soviet VIPs would have felt at home – but with the comforts of the 21st century.”
“Trans-Siberian” refers not to the name of a train but to a railway line that snakes across Russia from Vladivostok to Moscow, a distance of 9,258km. My route, starting in Mongolia, cuts a hefty slice off the journey to Moscow and offers a snapshot of the world’s least densely populated country into the bargain.
Ulan Bator isn’t Hong Kong, but it wants to be. The capital of Mongolia is enjoying a resources boom that has translated into gleaming towers and a roll call of stylish stores, fancy restaurants and fashionable nightclubs. Giant screens beam Bloomberg at bow-legged nomads whose ungainly waddle is at odds with the dignified poise they show on horseback.
Sukhbaatar Square is a large, traffic-free oasis surrounded by an increasingly congested city. Performance cars rev at stop lights and advertising hoardings hog commercial frontages. “Winter Time is Pepsi Time,” wins the prize for shrewdest marketing ploy – Ulan Bator is the world’s coldest capital.
In the centre of the plaza, a bronze likeness of Mongolian independence hero Damdin Sukhbaatar extends his arm expansively at all the glass and concrete as if to say, “I remember when all this used to be fields.” Nearby is a statue of that ruthless conqueror Chinggis (Genghis) Khan – a man and now a brand whose name adorns more places and products than a modern-day multinational. I landed at Khan Airport and have a room at the Khan Hotel, from where it’s a short walk to the Khan Irish Pub, which serves Khan Beer and Khan Vodka. I change dollars into tugriks at a branch of the Khan Bank but skip the eponymous restaurant, nightclub and chocolate bars.
