This article was first published in the December issues of ‘Oremus’ (the magazine of Westminster Cathedral) and the ‘Westminster Record’ (the Westminster diocesan newspaper), however since a) I wrote it, and b) I wrote it for free, I have no hesitation in also publishing it here…

Paul Theroux, in his book ‘The Old Patagonian Express’ wrote “Ever since childhood, when I lived within earshot of the Boston and Maine, I have seldom heard a train go by and not wished I was on it”. Here at Our Lady of the Rosary Church in Staines, with the rail station opposite, and frequent trains to Reading and Windsor a constant rumble, I feel the same. The sound of a train horn during the Liturgy of the Word, the passing of a steam excursion during Thursday Exposition, or the clatter of an approaching freight train breaking the silence at the Altar of Repose – these sounds punctuate parish life, and transport my imagination to faraway places, and lately to Vladivostok.

The journey from Vladivostok to Staines actually began in Tokyo. An Aeroflot flight via Moscow deposited us at Narita airport for nine days of exploring most of the southern part of Japan, before taking a fast hydrofoil (a kind of fast bumpy speedboat with a refreshment trolley) to Busan, in South Korea.

Arrival corresponded with mounting tension between the United States and North Korea, and as I lay in my hotel bed in Seoul over the following nights, I couldn’t help but wonder what a North Korea missile would sound like. A day trip to the border with North Korea didn’t help matters, and so it was with some relief we continued, via a short flight, to Beijing.

Beijing was a curious place, with a large and rather clumsy metro system, some gigantic shopping centres, and various old parts absolutely rammed with tourists. The highlight was Sunday Mass at the ‘South Cathedral’, where the French/English Mass attracted a massive crowd. Finally, after a visit to the Great Wall by rail (with, it seemed, most of the population of Beijing), I set out on my own on a night flight eastwards to Vladivostok.

Vladivostok is in the Russian Far East. It is located on the Sea of Japan, with North Korea to the south and China to the west. However the population, culture, and climate are all decidedly Russian. The city is best described as the ‘Kings Lynn of the Pacific’, as to be quite honest, there’s not much in the way of shopping or leisure opportunities. Instead, the centre bustles with sailors from the Pacific Fleet, plus a few lost-looking tourists off the ferry from Japan. There’s free Wi-Fi in the Sea Terminal, plus some rather hard cakes in the café overlooking the railway tracks. It was with some relief therefore that I boarded train ‘OO7’, which would be my home for three days as it headed west to Irkutsk.

Train ‘007’ was exactly the kind of train you’d expect to find James Bond on. However I ended up sharing my 4-berth ‘Coupe’ compartment with assorted grandmothers, a young Russian woman who mysteriously produced chicken legs on Day 2, and some Russian men – every night it was someone different. Train 007 only does part of the Trans-Siberian route, and is not exactly Russian Railways flagship. However it was clean, comfortable, and punctual. On each of each of the three nights I ate in the buffet car, and had breakfast there in the morning. During the day, I read books on my kindle, drank tea from the samovar (there is free hot water in each coach – just bring a mug and tea bags), and watched the changing scenery while listening to the sound of the train. Every now and then, one of the buffet staff would appear with cold drinks, fresh pastries, or chicken legs.

Each day the train stopped two or three times  for 15 – 30 minutes, and the entire trainload got out to smoke, chat, or buy skeletal fish from old ladies. It was a great chance to stretch your legs and to take a good look at the other passengers.

Facilities on the train were basic but comfortable. The loos were done out in steel – though not of the stainless variety. They were kept clean and well-stocked by the provodnitsa (carriage attendant), a woman you would not like to cross. She would also mop your compartment each morning, whether you were in bed or not, and lock the loo doors if she thought you might be planning to go. There was no wifi on board – so the scarcity of electrical sockets was academic, but there was air-con and heating (the latter coal-fired, which is curious since the entire route is electrified).

The scenery was not as boring as I expected. There were plenty of endless silver birch forests, but also wooded and balding hillsides, wide river valleys, and finally the amazing sight of Lake Baikal, where I enjoyed a one night break – and a much-needed shower.

The next stage of the journey, from Irkutsk to Moscow, also took three nights, and was pretty much the same kind of thing – tea from the samovar, things that go bump in the night, Russian grandmothers with endless bags of food, and this time, as the carriages originated in Ulan Bator, a trainload of Mongolians.

As we headed west, we passed through the city of Yekaterinburg. This is where the Tzar and his family were killed in the Russian Revolution. It is also famous for the ‘U2 affair’, when an American spy plane was shot down. This is tactfully portrayed in one of the murals in the station’s waiting room.

After Yekaterinburg, we crossed the Ural Mountains and thus passed from Asia into Europe. This is marked by a stone obelisk next to the line. I was very excited to cross the Urals, but in reality they make Hyde Park look like the Himalayas, as they are just a series of low hills. When I was at school, it was said that if you looked east from the school’s rather exposed playing fields the first high ground you’d encounter would be the Urals. Apparently, in the Urals they say that if you look west, the first bit of high ground you encounter are the playing fields of Uppingham School…

The journey then continued through the attractive city of Perm, over the River Volga, and after a locomotive change at Vladimir, we arrived in Moscow, a city which felt like a welcoming and comfortable home after so many days on the road. Of course the journey back to Staines was not yet complete. Still to come would be ‘third class’, in an open dormitory carriage on the night train to Kiev, and then via Slovakia, Poland, and Germany back to the Hook of Holland, from where a combination of night ferry, boat train, and London Underground would bring me to Waterloo for the final leg of the journey to the greatest place of all, the beautiful town of Staines.