Countdown to Russia: days 9 - 6.

Bryn finally gets back to me. We’re trying to organise it so that I get a letter of introduction from Trailblazer, as well as business cards. Have approved the design of the cards, have translated the letter into Russian with assistance from my mother (I lack certain turns of phrase, and some of my Russian turns out to be a direct translation from English); now waiting for the delivery from Bryn.

Friday is hectic. I haven’t had word from the translation company to say that my deed poll is ready, but go to the office anyway; I need to have the translation in time for my appointment at the Russian consulate. It’s pretty close; get it with 10 minutes to spare before my train’s departure. Make it to the consulate with a minute to spare after sprinting from the Tube, only to be told that a) they don’t want the translation agency’s stamps on the paper, just the translation itself and b) that the translator’s made some sloppy mistakes (she has) and that the whole thing needs to be redone. If I’d known that, I could’ve translated the damn thing myself! Arrange to return on Monday.

Mike and Monica have come down from Peru for Cristian and Sophie’s wedding. Stay at Mike’s parents’ and work all evening. I’ve thought about not coming to the wedding, but didn’t want to let Cristian down at the last minute.

Work all Saturday morning until we have to drive down to Portsmouth for the ceremony. The evening’s gone; the reception at Sophie’s father’s farm means hours and hours of drunken revelry. The more pink champagne I have, the less likely the chance of doing any work.

Making progress on the train this morning, though. I’m not quite on target, but I’m no longer at that horrible stage where I can’t bear to think about how much work I have to do, because if I do, I freeze because of the stress, and can’t focus at all. Peru chapter almost finished, and I can fine-tune it on my one day in Moscow.

Alarming message from Steve last night; he's cheerfully hyseterical. He’s flying to Moscow with German Wings (which I’m not convinced is even a real airline) and is landing at some obscure airport that is neither Sheremetyevo nor Domodedovo. He's convinced that he won't register his visa on time and will become a fugitive from the law. I have no sympathy for him at all. He can make his own merry way to the hostel. My mother informs me that it has to be Vnukovo, formerly for internal flights only. I think I'll put Steve to work, writing about airport facilities for the guide.

Ulan Bator hostel booked. We’re looking into the ‘staying with nomads’ options, and three days/two nights is such a short time. I want to get a proper idea of nomad life without doing anything too touristy and gimmicky, whereas Steve wants to cram in all the camel rides he can get.

Staying at my sister’s. Alarmed at how expensive Russia accommodation seems to be. Or maybe that’s because I’ve already somehow managed to spend a substantial chunk of my trans-Siberian advance. Trouble.

Have printed out the new, corrected deed poll translation for the morning visit to the embassy.