Trans-SKI-beria

In camouflage braces, stamping his woollen boot on the floor to force his heel inside, Jura rubs his giant bear paws against one another other over the stove. ‘Siberia. Cold,’ he mumbles, and he lunges into the cold to chop more wood.

Outside, the temperature gauge reads -37ºC. After forcing down the overly sweet porridge, a dry slice of bread and some even drier cheese, we step out to start our climb to catch the sunrise. Being outside in this kind of cold feels like a betrayal of the body, but we were up on the mountain yesterday and we know the reward is worth all the betrayal in the world. We have found a powder heaven in a desolate part of Siberia. A region not visited by non-Russians for over 15 years.

This trip was put together by the former professional skier, Tom-Oliver Hedvall and his fearless girlfriend, Sibylla Lundström. As they strive to reduce their carbon footprint to as small as possible, they have completely stopped flying. With their great desire for Japan though, they considered how they could get there without hopping on a flight.

Winding 9289km through Russia between Moscow and Vladivostok, the classic Trans-Siberian railway is the world’s longest railway. With a few hundred miles at sea and connecting trains at either end to reach the sushi holy land, it sounded like a reasonably straight forward plan.

Some months later, when the gang gathers in Stockholm’s Värtahamnen to catch a ferry to Tallinn, the duo has grown to a sextet. Riders William Larsson, Matteus Lestage, Johan Rosén and myself, one knowing less than the second about the third.

On our first of many trains, from Tallinn to Moscow we take votes on if we’ll make it through border control, but soon enough with timid smiles, we make it into the heart of Russia. Like stickers against the windows of our sleeping compartments, we scout the passing countryside whizzing past us as we discuss life’s big questions. With the rails zipping beneath us, the questions remain many and the answers few as we fall deep into slumber.

Ahead of us now is four days and five nights by train before we arrive at the port city Vladivostok where we’ll take the ferry to South Korea. We’re all piled up with audiobooks, movies, comics, and diaries to combat this mammoth leg of the journey crack us. But the computers remain in their bags. It becomes surprisingly easy to explore out thoughts and discus the lives of the people who live in the villages, towns and deserted landscapes the other side of the glass. Add to that the fact that our gang of seven didn’t know each other before this trip, plus a few hundred potential extra friends on the train and we’ve solved ours phobias of boredom.

Our carriage is in the middle-class section of the train. A comfortable four-bed compartment, but we quickly all end up further back with 30+people in an open plan of bunk beds. We hang out with two South Korean girls who have been to Lake Baikal, and a family with kids on route to visit a relative invites us for tetra pack potatoes and vodka. A curious but subdued North Korean avoids talking about what his business with Russia but takes pleasure in watching Sibylla tattoo Siberia in Russian letters on Matthew’s forearm. It was misspelled and looked horrendous, but Matthew was happy with it anyway.

“It’s an experiment,” a conductor explains to us with a smile on his face as we realise there’s no food available when the time comes to look for sustenance. Instead we resort to five day old smashed potatoes and instant noodles we find during the train’s short stop. A little later on we’re able to buy smoked fish through the door, as the train stops next to the shores of the majestic Lake Baikal.

Ten time zones later and a few kilos lighter, we meet up with Evginey’s snowboard buddy Vitek in Vladivostok. Russia’s San Francisco is hilly, modern and world famous for its crabs. Eastern Dream is the vessel to take us across the Sea of Japan. A one day journey to the South Korean city of Donghae-si.

On the ferry we settle into a show with school vibes from the ninth grade. The first part of the trip we’re alone in the audience, the second part sees 100 South Korean retirees storm the scene, moving their bodies in a way we didn’t know one could.

When we arrive in Japanese Sakaiminato, three weeks and 12,076km after we left Stockholm, we do it with unreasonably satisfied smiles on our faces. We’ve already had our journey of a lifetime, while one last week by motorhome remains on the Japanese island of Honshu.

We take a Shinkansen (bullet train) to pick up our motorhomes in Tokyo, zipping past Japan’s pristine countryside in triple speed. It’s total silence in comparison with the Russian trains we’d gotten accustomed too. The sun is shining and there is a nurturing hardpack layer of snow under 15 centimetres of fresh powder.

In our new miniature homes on wheels, we skid around The Myoko region.  An hour and a half driving east and we end up in Nozawa Onsen, known for its natural hot springs and a picturesque alpine-like village center.

It’s January 15 and we fall right into the annual fire festival held in the village, to promote health, happiness and an abundant harvest for the coming year. The village’s 42-year-olds sit at the top up on a large tower-like wooden formation, at the same time as the village’s 24-year-olds neck sake, bark rhymes in chorus and act like human shields while the remaining villagers go on the attack with burning torches to set fire to the tower. It’s a bizarre inferno of fire, screams, laughter and cheers an hour before the whole tower is on fire.

While Russia and Japan are just a stone ‘s throw from one another over the ocean, the differences between the countries are universes apart. The charming vodka-scented 100-kilo Russians in snowmobile overalls are replaced by superficial 50-kilo Japanese women bowing with their transparent umbrellas. The brutal Russian diet of noodles and vodka we’d developed on the train has now been replaced with the Japanese equivalent; fish-filled rice balls and sugary coffee latte. Military buses have been replaced by something resembling small futuristic toy cars and the snow-laden branches of the spruces replaced by airy larch forest to the horizon.

Over the next few days, the snow falls at a furious pace, and during the last days of the trip in Nozawa Onsen we finally get what we came here for. Blinded by feathery snow, the snow is so thick we struggle to catch breath between turns in the playful forest.

Tom-Oliver and Sibylla’s environmental commitment and refusal to fly has provided us with some of the most unexpected experiences and adventures of our lives. A few days later however, we’re ashamed of our onward journeys by plane. Tom-Oliver and Sibylla on the other hand prepare for an equally long train journey home to Sweden.