Stripping back and fierce eyebrows...
I am writing this on a faux leather armchair in a hostel lobby in Kazan. It was either that or the zebra print beanbag and once you get into those things…well, we all know the difficulty that can be had in trying to get back out of them.
This armchair, that beanbag, the stone washed jeans and white leather jackets, the showiness of wealth in Moscow, the food, the smoking, the drinking, the way women are expected to behave, the way men are expected to behave in return, the music, the TV, the lingerie, the lack of any environmental concern….I could go on but these things, and much more, are why Russia so far reminds me mostly of the 1980's. They still have frosted lipstick here and fag burns on the edge of toilet seats.
My journey across Russia (and back in time) now leads me to Kazan, capital of Tartastan. I rode the sleeper train to get here and it was wonderful; sharing a four berth with a young family, their 3 year old girl sitting next to be chattering away (though I couldn't understand) while she shared my food and we looked out at the forests, the full grey sky. When it was time for bed I unrolled the mattress and sunk into a sleep cradled by the rhythmic shunting of wheels against rails. That train ride offered the first peace I've had in seven days.
Seven days, because that is when I arrived in Moscow. That is when I effectively left myself behind in London. I find I become very different when I'm on the road because my experience is that travel strips you right back. Especially when travelling in a place where you cannot communicate the basics - I have attempted 4 times to buy milk (so far have gotten: cream, carbonated milk, soured cream and yogurt) still with no success - let alone articulate yourself. When you are travelling alone to boot; it can be easy to feel you are fading away completely. Here in Russia I am silent, and observant and to a certain extent far less aware of myself – while of course being excruciating self-conscious of my ignorance in so many things – and these are all great things for writing even if they can be uncomfortable.
This 'stripping back' is beneficial to writing because, for me, it quietens everything down, leads to a closer access to what is actually happening both around me and in the fictional world of Thirst. Travelling makes me that bit more innocent, certainly more vulnerable; it makes it essential for me to be alert, watchful. All of the noise that I have at home in London is quietened because all I have is myself, barely any words and that disappearing feeling that I hope will help me inhabit Dave and Alena's experiences more truthfully.
Travelling gives you nothing if not humility, and since I believe too much ego can be the enemy of good writing I can only embrace this 'disappearing feeling'. Thankfully it is only my ego that is being stripped back, because in modern Russia, as in 1980's Britain, I am pleased to report that there is no such thing as too much make-up and I am making use of my license for three coats of mascara and painting myself some fierce eyebrows.
Next: Omsk, Tomsk and other pleasing words.
