Siberia, as Frederick Kempe observed in his eponymous 1992 book, has always been more a warning than a place.

Of all the locations in the world to be stranded, few places can match the desolation and hopelessness conjured by Russia's enormous eastern reaches. European maps from Marco Polo's day -- which list Russia-proper as a "Region of Darkness" -- reveal an apocalyptic bent to the earliest Western perceptions of Siberia. "Gog and Magog," reads the Siberian portion of a 14th century Catalan map, "The Great Prince of these shall come forth with a great multitude in the day of the Antichrist."

Though the biblical nomenclature never stuck, Siberia's reputation hasn't improved much in the last 600 or so years. To this day, Siberia is seen as little more than a blank space populated by exiles and Cossacks and criminals -- a cold stretch of trackless forests, man-eating tigers and frozen tundra.

Mark, James and I were fully aware of this reputation when we found ourselves stranded on the Siberian frontier. Trying to stay calm, we went to the Naushki Station office for information on the next train.

The station officer was a kindly faced man with gray hair and a Soviet-style green cap. Unfortunately, he didn't understand a single word we were saying, even after 10 minutes of pantomime. James tried French, Spanish, German, Mandarin and Cantonese on him -- all to no avail. Half-heartedly (and unsuccessfully), I threw out a few phrases of Korean. The station officer grinned and spoke to us in very loud, slow Russian, repeating the same phrase again and again. The three of us stood befuddled.

"He's trying to say that your train left at 3:15," came a voice from behind us. Turning around, I saw a college-aged Mongolian girl walking up behind us. She couldn't have been an inch over 4-foot-10, and she chomped her gum with an energetic confidence. "I'm Monika," she said. "You all are trying to speak English, right?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact," I said. "We were beginning to think nobody from this town would be able to help us."

"Oh, I don't live here," she said, rolling her eyes. "I just come here sometimes to make money. It's my job to be a person who does things for people. You know what I mean."

Mark, James and I raised our eyebrows at each other.

"I take things to places for people," she said, impatient with our cluelessness. "I forget it in English. You know: I take Chinese things from Mongolia to sell in Russia."

"Oh, right," Mark said. "You're a businessperson. A trader."

Monika chomped on her gum. "No, not exactly. Close, but not exactly."

"You're kind of like a courier," I offered. "You're a supplier."

Monika brightened suddenly. "Smuggler!" she said. "I'm a smuggler. That's my job." Monika grinned proudly at her verbal precision.

Mark, James and I raised our eyebrows again. Obviously, Monika had no use for euphemistic English.

"We need to catch up with our train," Mark said. "Are there any other trains this afternoon?"

"Not until tomorrow."

Mark sighed. "Well, I guess we'll have to wait here, then."

"What, are you stupid? Nobody stays here. This is no-place. You can just hire a car to catch up with the train. No problem."

"A car?" I said. "You mean there's a highway out here?"

"Of course there's a highway. Where do you think you are, anyway -- the North Pole? You can be at Ulan Ude in a couple hours."

"Is that soon enough to catch our train?"

"Sure, if you drive fast." Monika abruptly turned and started to walk out of the station office.

"Wait," I called after her. "We need you to help us hire a car!"

Monika turned and rolled her eyes. "That's what I'm doing, stupid. The taxis are this way." She paused and looked at us for a moment, kneading her gum between her incisors. "Unless you were really serious about staying the night in Naushki."

All at once, the three of us lurched out after Monika.

Recent Stories