10th November: Return to Yaroslavl

Sure enough, at 5.30am we were woken by the Ukrainian border guards asking to see our documents. This time, not being in my underwear and with all of us in the same situation with our migration cards, it was considerably less stressful, and the Ukrainian checks seemed much less strict on the way out (they were probably happy to get rid of us). The second check on the Russian side was a different matter, and they weren't at all happy that we didn't have migration cards, even though it was the Russian authorities who had failed to give them back to us in the first place. At one stage, when the conductor was complaining about being made late, we even heard one of the guards say “Well, that’s their problem.” Whose problem, exactly?! Eventually we were given new migration cards and, under intense nagging, filled them in as quickly as we could.

That night I had the most vivid dreams I've had in a long time, waking myself up once with screaming and once with laughter, something I've never experienced before. It could have been down to exhaustion, or the extreme heat caused by the broken air conditioning, or maybe just being in Russia and the Ukraine had finally sent me crazy. Either way, I managed to lie in the next morning until gone 10.30, when we all scrounged together some breakfast and chatted for a while before the others napped again and I passed the time reading my book.

Even though our entertainment was limited to the occasional arrival of peddlers selling bizarre paraphernalia such as manicure sets, stationary and smoked fish, the day went by surprisingly quickly and only very near the end, when the cabin had become unbearably hot, did it begin to feel like the twenty-three hour journey it was. Emerging into the fresh air in Moscow was incredible. Now we just had to find transport back to Yaroslavl.

When we got to the Yaroslavskii train station, the only trains remaining cost 750r, which convinced Ben and Alexia, who had already been considering staying the night in Moscow, that they would find a hostel and go back to Yaroslavl the following evening instead. Sean and I took the offer of a nearby minibus driver to be taken right to our doors for 500r (£10) each, which seemed like a pretty good deal.

An hour later, stuck in horrendous Moscow traffic, it didn't seem like such a good deal after all and we were beginning to doubt our decision to go back to Yaroslavl that night after all. Nonetheless, as soon as we were out of the area the journey was quick and comfortable. We even stopped in a bar halfway for tea, snacks and beer and got to know the driver and fellow passengers. We got talking about our landladies and the extortionate prices we were paying; one of the women, who was a realtor, literally wouldn't believe it at first. By the time we were pulling into my road we were all bantering about my cruel landlady and wondering if she would let me in, as she’d taken my keys off me. Sean walked me to the door and thankfully, Lyudmila answered the intercom and opened the doors. She didn't seem exactly over the moon to see me, but she reciprocated my polite questions and when I got to my room, I found she’d changed my sheets and towels and put my cuddly horse by my pillow. I was still apprehensive about how things would be, but in a way, it did feel good to be back.