Chow chow on the Choo choo: Part the One

Let's take a break from the Railroad MP3 series, and turn our attention on food on the wheels. Get ready for part the one of....Chow Chow on the Choo choo.







1. Malaysia
I don't think there are lunch car on the train service running between Singapore and KL, or KL to Butterworth. Which is possibly the case, since the time taken for both trip isn't that long. Anyone who worry about getting hungry along the way can easily pack some food for the trip. When I took these trips, it was on the overnight train, so sleep was a higher priority than food.


When it was announced in 2010 that the Tanjong Pagar station will cease to operate from July 2011, the news got the food stall at the station. Suddenly, the nasi bryani stalls got onto the Singaporean gourmet map.


Local magazines did write-ups on the KTM lines both on the East and West coasts. One tidbit seller on the East coast line got a chance to tell about how he paddle his ware from station to station, and having to stay overnight away from home before making his trip back home. And how his wife hated his mode of operation.


Then there is also that famous roti and coffee shop within Kluang station on the west coast line. With some interviewed who mentioned that they would make trip up North just for food from this stall.

Interest in the Tanjong Pagar station and the KTM lines have cooled down somewhat. It may heat up again near July 2011.


But after that, the station will cease to be a train station, but another national monument.






2. Thailand
On one trip from Hatyai to Bangkok, I was shown a handwritten menu of dinner offered on the train, which I can enjoyed right at my seat. The fact that the local don't seem to be interested suggest that it might not be a good offer. But I was hungry then, and I was interested to find out how the food was like. If the dinner come in disposable packaging printed with the Thai Railway logoes, I would be interested to collect them. I placed my order and the Thai auntie move down the train for more order.

As the sun set outside the window, the auntie came back with my order on a square wooden tray. This tray serves as the table top once secure to the window sill, and skillfully balance on a wooden plank that serve as the table leg. Once I am done, she simply gave a sharp kick on this 'leg' and disassemble the whole table. The food was good, but once I am in Bangkok and check out the price, I could see their profit margin was quite high.

Out of curiosity, when the auntie came to collect her plates, I followed her back to (what I thought) was her lunch car or kitchen. However, I looked like she and an Thai guy were operating out of what looks like a cargo carriage. The raw material for their operation were right there in the carriage. A stove was connected to a gas cylinder and that's how they did their cooking.

Very enterprising.
































3. Laos
The border stations of Nong Khai (Thai side) and Thanaleng (Laos side, and current the only Laos Railway station) are 3.5km apart. I am not sure what its speed was when I took the train, but let say it's a respective 50km/h. The distance could be covered under 5 minutes. Now, say it takes 1 minute for a pot of water to boil, 2 more minutes for the instant noodle to cook in that pot, and round it to a total of 4 minute for that egg on top to be half-cooked.

So, what's your questions? Do they have a lunch car on the Laos train? Is that your question?


.....Seriously?


















4. Cambodia
The trip from Phnom Penh to Battambong (currently the only remaining service of the Royal Cambodia Railway) was done on caariages that you could see the rail from the between the remaining floorboard, and the blue Khmer sky from the rusted-through metal roof.

I started early in the morning at about 7am. I expected delay but was hoping to be in Battambong at about 10pm. 10pm passed and there was no sign of Battambong. Earlier, the conductor had approached me to ask if I would like to alight at the next larger town, where I can take one of the last buses of the day to Battambong. He was not sure when we will arrived at Battambong, but was sure the buses will reach before the train. There was no electric lights on the train, and it was almost emptied of passengers. The seats around me was empty and I could just laid down. As the train makes it way across the field, you could just looked up at the sky, and with no 'light pollution', the stars spread out on the dark sky.

Earlier in the day, food vendor had board the train at the busier stations. Their fare include rice, of course, some other stuff wrap in banana (I guess) leaves. One hawker came with a whole cooked chicken, its crown standing proudly, on a tray. I guess she would tear out some parts of the chicken according to customer's wishes. The chicken would come with sauces and condiments wrapped in plastic bags.

I didn't buy from any of them, fearing a stomachache. I have came on the trip with some drinks, bread, buns, biscuit and canned food I have bought the night before at the kiosk in the petrol station near the hotel. There's no shop in the Phnom Penh station. I offered some of the biscuit to the kid seating across me. He seems to like the rust on the window sill better, picking them of the window and putting in his month. His parents rejected my offer of biscuit, too. Some of the other passengers did offered the hawker food to me. I tried the sticky rice wrapped in banana leaves. It's not bad, and most important, there was no stomach problem after that.


By the time the train arrived, it was 2am the next morning.





















5. Vietnam
The Unification Train runs from Ho Chi Ming city in the South to Hanoi in the north. When I took it, the sleeper car ticket come with free meal. When lunch time comes, the food trolley was pushed down the carriage, the 'waitress' did a count of passengers in the room (4 beds to a room) and served the food and a very generous serving of white steamed rice.

I shared most of my journey with three Australians, who came on at a station near the seaside after HCM city. They sounded like they have been surfing the last few days. When they came on I was on the lower bed. One of the Australian guy was with his Vietnamese 'girlfriend' (probably one he had hooked up at the seaside.) Before the girlfriend bid them goodbye, she informed the Australian that she had made arrangement with the conductor for me to give up my bed and moved to the upper bed, so that one of the lady matey in their group would take over. Well, whatever arrangement they had made, I was not informed.

Once the 'girlfriend' left and the train pulled out of the station, the Ozzies started talking about that 'girlfriend'. It was obvious they don't have high opinion of her. To them, she was thinking she had found a meal ticket, or maybe a way out of Vietnam to Australia. But she was just a local guide who help with translation and smooth thinks for them, like bumping an Asian guy like me off his paid bed.

When bedtime came around, they indicated, politely, that I should moved up. I could almost see the surprise in the eyes when I spoke in English that I was not aware of such arrangement. They probably thought I didn't understand any of their conversation. I was pretty angry about being bumped around and I refused to move. They finally gave up.

The next day, lunch was served with that generous offer of rice. The Ozzies took a look at what was offered, clearly looked like what was offered was not to their liking, and promptly offered their portion to me. I should have rejected from the episode last night, but I just could bear to waste what was perfectly good food to me.

I regret to inform you that I accepted.

June, 2010: Day 2 - Moscow, Russia

The previous evening, Gothic gal at the hostel reception had promised to help with my train ticket booking. I would have wanted to check out the train schedule and availability myself, if she could give me the English language website address. She told me that the English version doesn't provide as much info as the Russian version. So, this morning, after deciding on my next moves (and possible alternatives), I approached her with the dates I want to leave for, and return from, St. Petersburg. I also give her the possible date that I may travel on to Helsinki in Finland. She checked out the web for availability of seats, gave some suggestions on carriage class and departure time. Once I have decided, she put my choices down on a piece of paper in Russian. And I was off to Kievskiy station.

Buying the train ticket is easier than getting a metro one. I just confirmed with a English-speaker (I guessed by the bag he was carrying, it had embroidered on it, in English, some International scientific conference) that I was at the right counter. Once it's my turn on the queue, I just handed in the piece of paper and passport. The ticket seller then quote me the price. I handed in the cash and got my onward and return tickets. Later, back in the hostel, I noticed there was some typo for my name on the tickets. I hoped it would not cause any problem.

With the tickets settled, it's time for some sight-seeing. The Kremlin sounds like a good start. I finally got to taking a picture of the metro, albeit only the route map.
I stopped at the Lenina Library station. If I have turned left here, the Kremlin would be visible after a short distance.
But I turned right, which took me on a roundabout route. But I was able to find this interesting-looking metro station on my way. It also become apparent during the walk that the Kremlin isn't that far from the hostel.
Leave your lugguage at the gate of the Kremlin. There are storage facilities near the ticket counter. It's safe and free. The granny at the ticket counter insisted I gave her the exact change for the ticket. The security check went smoothly without much hassle.
Once past the gate, you soon realised the Kremlin compound is a multi-purpose complex. Housed within its red walls, under the watch of its towers, are:
Onion-domed churches from when the Tzars ruled the vast nation. This is where they worshipped, asked for devine blessing before they sent their troops to far corners of their nation to quash some unrest, and, for some, serves as their final resting place.
The tzars are no more, so the Kremlin now served as the seat of power of the federation. The federal buildings flying the Russian red-white-and-blue.
Surprisingly, there are no barricade seperating the touristy part from the government buildings. A large square seperates these two parts, with a fleet of jet-black Mercs standing by in an island in that square.
All that was needed were a few policemen standing guard at the edges of this square. Anytime some tourists tries to walk into out-of-bound area, they just point and with a wave of their palms signal the tourists to back off. If that don't work, all that was needed was a sharp blow into their whistle.
There was even a modern structure housing a ministerial department.
And how can we be sure this is a FORMER socialist republic if not for a sourvenir shop.
Once out of the Kremlin, I followed the parameter walls until I found what looks like a memorial to fallen soldiers of the motherland. You can judge by the bright sky that it was a pretty hot day. I pity the army guys who were on sentry duty. Their offier actually have to march out to them once in a while, seemingly to ask if they are ok. One little boy went running towards the burning flame, before the officer hurriedly usher him off, with a understanding smile.
As the crowd grows in size, I was sure the St. Basil cathedral is nearby. That's the name of that famous multi-color onion-domed church that is synonymous to Russia.
Very soon, I am right at the gate leading to the famous Red Square, the cathedral framed by the arches of the gate.
I took my time approaching the cathedral. Partly to savor the moment, partly because I fear being disappointed. That after crossing rivers and continents to come this far, the St. Basil cathedral would be another tourist trap.
So, thanks to the Red Square, I got to take a leisurely stroll towards the St. Basil, as I observed the various posses the tourists adopted for their pictures.
The building next to the St. Basil was under renovation. Probably because of its proximity with the St. Basil, the scaffolding looks like it was custom-made.
The St. Basil isn't as tall as the one in my imagination. But it was not a disappointment, for it was a beautiful structure.
The St. Basil does not have a large hall that where masses can be held. What it has are small rooms under its many towers, each with some holy relics, where one can just step back and look.
Some rooms are dimly-lit by candles(or electric lamp shaped like candles), while other allows the sunlight in.
I am sure photography is not allowed in the St. Basil, but the rule doesn't seems to be strictly enforced...if at all. Now that I am out of the St. Basil, and don't have to keep typing it, it's time to tell you that its official name is "The Cathedral of the Protecting Veil of the Mother of God upon the Moat".
Leaving the St. Basil, the Kremlin and Lenin mausoleum is on my left. On my right is the famous GUM. It is a large shopping mall, like her Chinese counterpart, the Friendship Store. Back in the bad old communist days, it was famous for well-stocked shops where no ordinary citizens can actually patronize.
These days, it is no different from any other such shopping mall in any other parts of the world. But at least most of the restaurant had English sign. I went for one that operate like a cafeteria, where you slide a tray along a long counter, and pick the food you want from the counter. The price are clearly displayed, and the food are grouped: you start along the counter with dessert, soup, main dishes, salad, pasta/rice, bread, drink and end with the cashiers. I did my tray-sliding and ended up with these:
After dinner, I headed to the park by the Red Square to rest my tired ass. There was a couple, a black guy and a Russia woman, on one of the bench. No one was bothering them, which put those fear of getting mugged by skinheads at rest.

There's a monument in the park, showing the atlas of the northern hemisphere. Right above the equator (see the number '1'), is Singapore, which read like CHNTaIIVP in cryllic. And Kuala Lumpur right above read like KVaXa-XVMIIVP.
I had wanted to wait for sunset and take a few pics of the St. Basil under moonlight, but past 8pm, there was no sign that the sun will set soon. So I head back to the hostel for a good sleep. At 10pm, the room was bright as day.
Tomorrow will be a long day.

June, 2010: Behind the Iron Curtain - Moscow, Russia

Growing up in the thawing end of the cold war, Russia is the final frontier. The final frontier is not somewhere deep in the South American rainforest, nor is it somehere in Africa. Russia, to me then, was one place which was impossible to travel to. Then, along came Gorbachev.

Even so, coming to Moscow need a bit of self-convincing. Not least because of news of attack on foreigners in broad daylight by Russian skinheads.

But stepping out of Yaroslavsky station, that was least of my worries. Finding a money changer was the first priority for I have just 20 ruble on me. If you have expected a grand entrance into the station after six days on the train, it was not to be. You simply alight to an almost empty platform, no farewell from the China Railway crew, no porters eager for your business. You simply slip out from a sidegate at the end of the platform, there was no need to get into the main station building, nor was there anyone to check your tickets.

Stepping out, the area is known as the Three Stations area, because there is three train stations close to each other. Moscow is the hub of the Federation, and the railway running out of these stations is each like a spoke radiating out in one direction. It's good that the train arrived on a bright Monday afternoon. Although there was some bums hanging around the station and some empty vodka bottles near them, the area wasn't as menacing as imagined. I have been warned against taking pictures of train or metro stations, lest I got mistaken for a terrorist. So, I headed out in search of a bank without taking any pics.

Finding a bank isn't that difficult. In fact, there were money changers, with LED signboard advertising their rates, every few steps of the way. I choose a bank to get my US$ changed. While I was approaching the cashier, the buckle on my backpack finally gave way to the weigh. A piece of the buckle snapped and flew across the room and hit the wall with a loud ping. If the security was nervous, he may have run up to me to ask what I was up to. Luckily that was not the case.

Compared to getting cash in ruble, getting a metro ticket was much more difficult. The metro station was right next to the train stations. The famed Moscow metro was all it was said to be: escalator that goes deep into the ground and the platform is all marble and art-decor. Too bad there was police around and I decided not to take any pictures.

The metro may be grand but it wasn't user-friendly to a foreigner. There was no signs in English. I approached the ticket counters with the one sentence I know: "Park Kultury" (Cultural Park, the station closest to the hostel I have booked), sounding as Russian as I could manage. She promptly shot back some question in Russian which I have no answer to (hell, I don't even know what the question was.) She wave me away and proceed on to the next customer in line. Time to change tactic. I just walk around the counter, hoping I would attract the attention of police, who would ask me what I am doing, and I will try to ask about ticket to Park Kultury. No luck, no police bothered to ask. Time for plan C, look out for anyone who looks capable of speaking English. My question of "do you speak English? Ga-va-rit pa-An-glis?" met either with a shake of head or "a little". It was not a good tactic. Finally, deciding that I would not be stuck on a metro ticket counter after travelling all this way to Russia, I pick a English-speaking guy and asked "Park Kultury, one, how much." He gave me the fare. I fished out enough bills from my pocket, pick a friendly-looking cashier, push the bill to her, stick out my index finger, and waited. It worked. Finally, after almost half an hour at the counters, I finally got my ticket. With the correct change some more.

Once past the ticket gates, everything else was easy. At Park Kultury station, with the help of a young man who paused his MP3 to point me in the right direction, I was on my way to the hostel. Very soon I was at the lane leading to the hostel. A Russian granny looked at me looking at the street sign said something like "....pa-Russky....?". I think she meant "it's in Russian, do you understand?"

I was met at the hostel counter by a young Russian woman with a Gothic dress-sense, and more important, English-speaking. Once I have a quick shower, I was out to explore the area, before the sun sets.

I didn't have any place in mind, just wanted to get my orientation, look out for more money changers to compare rates and to find food. It looks like the hostel was near one of the busier part of the city.

At the first busy intersection, I was greeted by a rock-solid building. Not nearly as tall as the Empire State, but the same solid architecture from a previous era. I didn't know then, but this is the Ministry of Defense building. Near its foot was a MacDonald's which was at one end of the touristy Arbat Street.
Turning left, I soon came to a bridge which spans the Mockba River. At the end of the bridge was a facade with roman chariots, a reminder of Russia's previous claim to have inherited the Holy Roman Empire. Empire or not, it is clear that we are in Europe now.
At the other end of the bridge, there were crowds gathering at the small river-side park, or along the bank.
There is also the Kievskiy station. This is no surprise, as there are supposed to be no less than 10 train stations in the city of Moscow.
Finding food wasn't that difficult. There were shopping malls around. I settle for a MacDonald's. The top M is for Metro while the bottom M is for Mickey D's.
After dinner I followed the Mockba (but not to Gorky Park, ...well, not just yet.) As I walk along, I seems to be walking away from the busier area. It was past 8pm, but being summer, it was till bright. There were no skinheads, and no one really bother me or bother about me.
There was a road accident as a motorbike laid on the 8-lane road. But unlike in Wuhan, there was no kaypo curious onlookers.
A little church with golden onion domes. But by the next day, I would have seen many more on a grander scale.
A sandwich shop by the metro. If you guess it is a "Subway", you are right.
By the time I headed back to the hostel, it was almost 9pm (20:57hr on the LED clock).
I picked up some bottled water, tidbits and headed back for a good night sleep.