I wonder how it feels to have a globular cluster on your arm

Moscow was cold.  It was also the October Revolution anniversary, so everything was shut, and there were lots of soldiers with guns slung about their shoulders.  As I couldn't get to the Kremlin, I decided to try something different, a Russian bath house.  I paid my money and was shown into a large lounge, which had banquette seating in bays around it.  Each seat had a coat hanger and most had a very aged Russian lady in various states of undress.  Usually I am too shy to take my clothes off in front of strangers, but at last I had found somewhere where I didn't look too bad in comparison and was able to whip everything off, don the strange, felt, Smurf hat and join a queue.  I wasn't entirely sure what I was queuing for, until the door opened and it turned out to be a very large sauna, with two floors of slatted, pine seating.  Women jostled for spaces, some lying down, some sitting in Buddha poses (it was hard to know where to look safely, I spent a lot of time admiring the ceiling).  The door slammed closed and a blonde woman of military demeanour, standing almost to attention, one had behind her back, started ladling water into a very large oven.  She got into a groove with this, and pint after pint was going onto the hot coal.  The heat hit me like a wall.  The women started languidly beating themselves with birch sprigs, sweat rolling down their bodies.  I had to move half way down the stairs when I thought my skin might actually start to blister.  The military lady put the ladle down.  I was relieved, until I saw her pick up a bigger one, and start rhythmically topping up the oven again.  She then picked up a towel and started to 'helicopter' it around her head, shifting the suffocating cloud of heat towards me.  Just before I thought I might faint, I headed out of the door, I thought I heard a mild tut-tutting behind me, but the ambulance people would have let out more of the heat.  The cold tub looked very inviting, and I eased myself in, and enjoyed bobbing around a bit.  After a shower, and marvelling at the women covering themselves in mud, or foaming suds, I tried the sauna again, but it really isn't my thing.  Give me that Siberian snow any day of the week.

While sitting in a café in Moscow, I gazed out of the window and wondered why the view wasn't moving.  Then I remembered I wasn't on a train.

The hotel was wonderful, with great food, and the shops were full of fun things, like astronaut gear, intricate chess sets and Faberge eggs.  Sadly the Cosmonaut museum was closed, so one day I will have to go back, but I might give the sauna a miss.

I did manage to see the outside of the Kremlin and St Basil's Cathedral and the Tomb of the Unknown Warrior the next day.  I also dived into a subway station to admire the architecture and visited an art gallery.  My favourite exhibit was a naked, plump lady lying on her front, a bronze sculpture.  I burst out laughing to see one of her buttocks had been patted so often, it had a wonderful shine to it.  She was a sight for sore eyes.

I left Moscow on the Paris Express.  Happily my Irish friends from the Trans-Siberian were in the next carriage again.  The Paris Express sounded so luxurious, but was pale in comparison to its Russian counterpart.  I also had to spend the first night sharing the cabin with an elderly German gentleman, which felt very uncomfortable.

I was surprised to realise that the journey from Moscow to Paris is half as far as the Moscow to Beijing leg.  We were going faster, but it was still a three day journey.  I enjoyed the views, mainly farms with meandering animals and occasional people - one vignette was of a mother looking down at a toddler, both bundled up in thick anoraks, and the toddler obviously having a tantrum and refusing to move.  You can go anywhere in the world, but people are people wherever you are.

Paris was even colder and a bit wet, and it was also their Remembrance weekend, so again lots of things were closed.  I did get to see the Eiffel Tower (which never seemed to get any closer as I kept walking towards it).  I enjoyed the Louvre, although the Mona Lisa was much smaller than I expected and not as exciting to see in real life as Klimt's 'The Kiss' was in Vienna.

I finally boarded the Eurostar to London, and was met by my neighbour and driven home. 

A comment many people made about the trip was how brave I was to do it.  I never felt threatened and found all the strangers I met to be helpful and generally friendly.  It was just a train after all.

One final memory I will recount is lying on my train bunk, somewhere in Siberia, looking up out of the window at night.  I could see Orion, and as I was thinking about his globular cluster (I did an online astronomy course once) when I saw golden sparks flying in an arc.  They were coming off the wheels and points, and looked magnificent.

It had been the journey of a lifetime, and I really understand now what it means to watch the world go by.