Novosibirsk is another famous Siberian city, and it was the second one on our route. Now, this is going to sound ridiculous (and it is), but while it is the same distance from Tyumen (see “The Bloom of Tyumen” post) as Tyumen is from Moscow, there is no direct air connection between Tyumen and Novosibirsk. Well, sure you can get onto an airplane and fly to Moscow (in the opposite direction of what you need) and from there hop on a flight to Novosibirsk.

So we took a train instead. Railroad system in Russia is waaaaay more developed than in the US, so actually the schedules for longer transfers are normally built around night, so that you don’t have to spend a day staring in the window while your ass is getting numb from sitting and your nose - from the smoke (although smokers are required to smoke “outside” of the compartments area, the “biohazard” territory is still in the same car, even though separated by a door). The only exclusions are 24-hr and longer trips. Then you’re kinda screwed. But hey, that’s part of the adventure, right?

Whatever. Doesn’t matter. We were condemned to the train for only 14 hours which nicely fell between night and lunch time. We slept most of the time. When I woke up, it was downpouring and the rest of the trainy trip looked more like a Flying Dutchman journey. I am not aware of the passtime details of the crew members on the Flying Dutchman, but all I did was read, snack, nap, stare at all this water outside, then repeat.

When we arrived to Novosibirsk main railroad station, it was - you guessed it - raining. Balancing between falling into deep puddles and despair, I pushed the depressing mood away by crazily waving my arms in the air in the best traditions of Cambridge Central Square bums. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the particulars of privately operated urban transportation in Russia, this is how you hail a car. FYI, any driver (in any car) can become your one-time cabby, that is if you agree on the price which is negotiated in brief 5 seconds after the car has reacted to your gestures.

Clearly, my bodily movements did the trick and we soon found ourselves … stuck in the traffic that the driver himself described as “the worst I have ever seen”. Don’t they all say it though?

There were indeed small lakes we were driving through, and I have to admit that it is probably somewhat hazardous to be a corteous driver underwater. I was mostly impressed by so many varieties of horn tunes in one place at one time!
Traffic lights, signs, were of no use at all. Cars, buses and trucks were all trying to just sneak in going in different directions at once. One word: salmon.

Novosibirsk is a big city. The main street has 3-4 lanes in one direction, so it’s total of 6 lanes! It’s pretty clean, cleaner than Moscow. There is a subway, too.

We visited a small town on the outskirts of Novosibirsk, called Ob’ (by the name of the river). Although on paper it has a status of a “town”, Ob’s feel is more of a village. At least the part the we visited. Wooden one or two story houses, some brick, often very old, fenced more for property signage than for protection. No pavement, roads are hard-packed dirt, soil, balding patches of grass, gravel. Broken cars abandoned by a fence are a typical sight in villages and small towns. For the lack of a better announcement place, same fences or light poles are used. Here goes your craigslist.

While it comes as no surprise that people in rural areas cycle more, on a general scale, I am not quite sure I have noticed a cyclocross-style dismount in a village before. Or, maybe, I wasn’t really seeing it before, and iit’s the cyclocross knowledge that’s opening my eyes now. The questions is - does SHE know???

The family whose house we invaded is stunningly large, compared to the space they all share. They own a two-story house, but the second floor is under renovation, so the two brothers share one room, their sister sleeps in one bed with mom, and the dad was kicked out closer to the sauna (which is an extension of the house). Oh, and don’t forget the grandma! And two cats.

Water piping has never been finished in the house, so the actual toilet is a wooden cabin in the back of the garden, that you have to empty periodically. Likewise, while there is water coming out of the fosset, it drips into a bucket underneath the sink.
Typically an old type village house like that would have a decent basement storage space which can be best described as pantry. It used to be largerly grandmas responsibility to make preserves, canning, some went as creative as making their own liquors ranging from homemade vodka (called “samogon”) to desert wines to berry wines to bitters.

In this family the women cook. We watch traditional “pirozhki” (fried dow pies stuffed with various fillings: boiled eggs and scallions, cabbage, potato and mushroom) being made, while their garden potato is getting ready on the stove. All the greens and vegetables come from the garden matronaged by grandma.

We are invited to the table. It is amazing how much food is served and we are wondering if they have thrown this together in our honor. No, turns out this is a pretty damn normal lunch for them. When you get into thinking about it though, here comes the explanation: everyone in the family does jobs that are very physical, and when they are not working, there is plenty of work to do around the house and in the garden; so the food is just what appetite requests.

There was a funny moment. My American friends, being full from all the wonderful food at the dinner, politely declined an offer of tea. They thought to play it wise, because as they quickly learned on this trip, in Russian culture “would you like some tea?” will always translate into “here’s your tea, and here are the biscuits, and here are the leftovers of the cake my friend made the other day, and here are some candies, etc,etc”.
Little did they know, though, that Russians do not give up faced by a refusal. They’ll have more options to offer. Oh, don’t want tea? Coffee then? No coffee? Juice maybe? No juice? A little desert wine? It can continue forever until, exhausted, you say “yes” to something and just then watch the satisfactorily happy smirk on your host’s face while they are serving you that means “I knew you wanted something, and lucky you I have it!!”

There is something about this family, about how they live, that makes me very peaceful and very happy. They don’t have much on the material side. They have to work harder than a work horse to make the living, but you step into their house and you feel the happiness.
They live very simply and that’s when you realize that you do not need a lot, in fact, you don’t need most of what the majority of peole have or desire to own. Seriously, you gonna love me more if I wear a trendy shirt? Or are you really not going to be friends with me anymore if I don’t ever have a car? Or live in a fancy place?

Those people, by living simply, have so much above and beyond of what your typical “metropolitan” ambitious career builders do. I know that I am being a little bit extreme here, and it’s not everyone, but, you know, I’d much rather prefer a world inhabited by the people who live simply.

Next stop - Barnaul!