The diary of a traveller, entry 22, Staying in Ekaterinburg

22. November

Well there’s definitely a lot to see here in Ekat (Ekaterinburg). Am a bit miffed at my accommodation people (HOFA) for putting me so far away from the centre in two cities now. Andrei gave me an appropriately weird breakfast earlier. Consisted of biscotti, milky, sicky porridge and bread with a centimeter thick slab of butter on it which I assumed was cheese at first before taking a nice big bite. “He’s trying to feed me up”, I thought. I feel that my Russian has completely deserted me since I arrived. Had a difficult time trying to change money in the bank earlier (I made sure the notes were all crisp and clean in advance). Going to be difficult to form a constructive opinion of Ekat in the limited time I have so will have to prioritise where to go. Off to the Museum of Youth to start with.

I didn’t go to the Museum of Youth because it doesn’t appear to exist anymore. Instead I went to the very small photography exhibition which contained lots of pretentious snaps including a collection by an apparently famous photographer documenting the everyday existence of, of course, drug addicts. My overall impression was that the majority of the photos in the gallery were either of drug addicts or taken by drug addicts. Spoke briefly with a Polish girl who works at the gallery. She’d been in St Petersburg for 3 years, moved to Ekat 3 months ago and lurves it. She walked off mid-conversation which I thought was a tad rude.

Really can’t make up my mind about Yekaterinburg at the moment. It certainly hasn’t won me over yet. I reckon this is the coldest I have been so far. Might have to break out the thermal underwear soon. A lot depends on your first impressions and where you’re staying and all that. Time of year, who you’re with, who you meet. All these things factor into your opinions and experiences in a big way when you come to a new place.

Back at the flat. This sofa bed is the most uncomfortable thing I have ever attempted to sleep on. I think it must be older than Andrei. Everything in this place is old and crusty and stale – like the dried bread crumbs on the floor.

from 'Trans-Siberian Journal' 

photos are taken from Richard's archive