Novosibirsk

"I can't, because it will cause problems with the FSB" says Elena, the receptionist at one of Novosibirsk's cheapest hotels. Cheap in Russia's third largest city, capital of Siberia, is not the same as cheap elsewhere. The centre is replete with every new Western and Russian chain possible, there's even the soap shop Lush. However the hotels seem unable to let go of the Soviet era mentality to tourists and I sense it is beginning to try Dima's seeminlgly endless patience. I met Dima between Barabynsk and Novosibirsk, he'd been sitting in my section in platskart. We'd only spoken briefly but when I got off he offered to help me find accomadation. We first tried the station hotel, a feature of many of the larger cities, but its prices had risen considerably in the past few years. Then Dima suggested we go back to his house, look for hotels on the internet and then ring them from there. It was quite a distance to his home, two subways and bus, all the way back over the river but when we got there he very quickly and efficiently compiled a list of places and found the best one, who said they had free rooms. Armed with this information we headed back to the centre. I'd discovered that Dima often listens to 1Extra, the radio station dedicated to black music, though he primarily enjoys the drum and bass. This was a pleasant surprise and it certainly meant he was more enthusiastic about the trip. Upon arriving at the hotel we met Elena and things take a slightly less pleasant turn. All is going smoothly and I am filling out the forms until the time comes for me to hand over my passport. Elena looks at it. "He's a foreigner?" she says. Dima says yes and Elena starts to shake her head, its not possible. We try to cajole and beg but its no use, always "FSB, FSB". I strongly suspect that it is less FSB and more F-ingBS but there is little we can do. Dima then suggests that I leave my bags at the station and come and stay with him. This is an eminently sensible idea, practical, easy, requiring little effort and fuss. I refuse. I think this is for several reasons: Firstly, I didn't want to impose on Dima. Secondly, I had wanted to explore Novosbirsk at my own pace and thirdly, perhaps most importantly, I didn't want to drink any more vodka. Dima's girlfriend phones from the hospital, Dima says he is helping me so may not be able to visit her tonight. I am dumbstruck. I try to say that I will manage on my own and that he must visit his girl but he says that my problem is now his problem. So we trudge to the station and speak with a lovely lady at the desk about renting an apartment. The only one free is 4 rooms and quite pricey but it will have to do. We must go to a cash machine to pay. As is always the case in these situations it doesn't work. We ask a policemen where the nearest one is. He lies and says it is miles away. Thankfully, Dima doesn't belive him and we find one nearby but I can see that the police have earned their Russian nickname "Moosara" or garbage. Finally after finding my buidling, tucked away in a courtyard within one of the city blocks, opening the front door with my magnetic key and my doors with a conventional one I am in my very own giant Russian apartment. I feel bad again, having visited Dima's nice but not quite so roomy home but I'm glad to have somewhere to stay. Dima then takes me to a sports bar. All the dishes on the menu are named after teams or clubs. I have the Dinamo Kievs and watch Arsenal against Chelsea on the television, talking with a group of Russian Chelsea fans sitting nearby. Dima then walks me back to my apartment, bids me a polite goodnight and then heads home, after six hours of helping me, for which I can only be eternally grateful.