So, just how well do I get around?

Rather superbly if all told, thanks to Tomsk’s quite fantastic intercity transport network. Now, this title may have been slightly misleading, but as you're here, you may as well read on. A few months ago I wrote about my escapades on the Russian motorway. Since then, my experiences on the roads have mainly been confined to central Tomsk. Of course, there have been a couple of trips further afield. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the return journey from Altai, where the coach driver chose to reverse back down the high-speed carriageway to the service station, having left two rather irate passengers stranded there. However, this sort of utter nonsense has become an almost daily occurrence, along with these other transport-related experiences:

Car

As in most cities, the car in Tomsk is the most common mode of transport. The settling snow and ice has not deterred drivers from racing round corners and basically putting theirs and other’s lives in jeopardy. Accidents are common; it would seem that many drivers have not yet worked out that having winter tyres on your car does not suddenly make you immune to crashing. In fact, crashes are, as expected, more frequent than when the tarmac was devoid of snow and ice, not helped by drivers accelerating to beat traffic lights and by participating in what would seem to be drag races on every dual carriageway. Wheel spins are common, skidding is frequent, and I have even witnessed the odd handbrake turn. However, as well as remote control locking, Russians can also start the engine with their key, so that the car can warm up. I suppose you could be forgiven for driving like a pillock when your car makes you feel like a secret agent, even if it does look like this.

A classic, Russian Volga

Marshrutka

The marshrutkas are arguably my favourite mode of public transport, ever. These are effectively buses ("маршрутка" meaning ‘little route’ in Russian), but smaller, nippier and far, far cooler. For the driver, who spends most of his time behind the wheel, the marshrutka is like a second home, adorned with ornaments, photographs, flags and often a clock that never seems to work. Comfy seats, curtains and a fantastic heating system make the marshrutka arguably the most comfortable mode of public transport in existence. You pay at the end of your journey, a fixed fee of around 27 pence, which I willingly and excitedly fork out, such is the quality of service the marshrutka provides. Like most Russians, not once have I so much as considered trying to avoid paying the fare, or as they say here: “ехать зайцем”, which literally translates as “to travel like a hare”. The only minor drawback is the six or seven gas canisters precariously perched on the roof rack, making the marshrutka not only a superb way to get around, but also a driving bomb, liable to explode at any moment…

Taxi

The Tomsk taxi is a mysterious beast for a few reasons. Firstly, it would appear that a taxi is occupied when the taxi light is on. Not off. On. This means that unoccupied taxis are unlit. Therefore, at night you cannot determine what is a taxi and what is just a car. This, quite simply, has baffled me more than anything else here. Lash me with boiling hot leaves all you like, but could someone please explain to me in what universe this makes any sense at all?! Fortunately, it would also appear that every car in town works as a taxi. There are registered taxis, but you get a different sort of thrill from clambering into an unknown, unregistered car. In a way, it’s almost like Russian roulette; most of the time you’ll find yourself riding along with a jovial Boris, or excitable Ivan, but sooner or later I’ll encounter a deranged Vladislav and the game will really be afoot.

Walking

Walking has of course been my most common mode of transport. Well, I say walking, but really mean a combination of sliding and shuffling with the odd stride thrown in, when you find yourself on an ice-free stretch of pavement.  The other major problem is that fur hats and hoods, though cosy and delightful, have also thrown me into a new dimension, where the brilliance of peripheral vision no longer exists. I have twice caused a tram to stop after absent-mindedly walking onto the tracks and was almost taken out by a gritting lorry a few days ago. In my defence, I was on the pavement (yes, they grit the pavements here too!), but that didn’t stop the driver from giving me hefty spray. Fear not though, I have upended myself twice. The first was a classic “black ice moment”, while the second occurred when I had the arrogance to run for a marshrutka. More irritated by my stupidity than anything else, I put my head down and ran on, catching the eye of absolutely nobody until a good three blocks from the scene.

Skates/ Skis

Believe it or not, I have seen the odd person skiing on the street. They have quite rightly deemed it the most practical way of running errands or picking up a few bits and pieces. Most Russians have their own pair of skates and as early as October I saw one or two rather optimistic gents wandering around with skis or a snowboard in tow. The most marvellous thing, however, is that children’s buggies have been replaced with sledges. It is of course the perfect and practical solution to the snow, but the sight of a little bundle of fur being sledged around town always makes me smile. Needless to say, I shall be hunting the shops for a Maz-sized sledge in the next few weeks…

Went skiing in jeans, felt like a bit of a wally.