Vauxhall

Murmansk. "Largest city north of the Arctic Circle." One cannot disagree with that accolade. Arrived in Murmansk at night-time, and a two hour random trawl of the city didn't reveal any obvious hotel. Not in the principal business district, with the banks; not in the classier suburbs, either. A word with a helpful Murmanskovite revealed that one should try near the station. 100% obvious, in hindsight! The station (vokzal) is easy to find too, and as with all the Russian station building's I've encountered, magnificent... worthy of such a city.

There are various theories as to why the Russian word for a major railway station is vokzal, which coincides with the 19th century transliteration of "Vauxhall". One apocryphal tale is that a Russian delegation once visited London's Vauxhall station in 1840, and mistook the name for a generic title of this type of building. There's also a variation on this, being that Czar Nicholas I, visiting London in 1844, was taken to see the trains at Vauxhall and made the same mistake.

A more likely explanation is that the first Russian railway, constructed in 1837, ran from St.Petersburg via Tsarskoye Selo to Pavlovsk, where an extensive set of Pleasure Gardens had earlier been established, and when (a year later) a music and entertainment pavilion was constructed at the railway terminus, this pavilion was called the Vokzal in homage to the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens in London. The name soon came to be applied to the station itself, being the principal gateway that most visitors used to enter the gardens. Whatever the truth, it's certainly an easy way or remembering the Russian word for station.

And sure enough, the Meridian turned out to be a fairly European affair, a block away from bus and rail termini.

Beyond the station lies the railway sidings, a hustle of activity and temporary home to huge trains of coal wagons of enormous scale.

Passenger trains to Moscow and St.Petersburg await departure with an air of great importance and circumstance. These are no casual commutes. Families, husbands, workmates, friends and well-wishers accumulate to bid farewells, take photos, wave and witness. All under the patient and watchful eyes of the provodinizas, burly, dour and efficient guardians of each carriage. One's always in good hands with this bastion of control.

The railway and the docks are the lifeblood of this city. The road is is a humble cousin, entering unceremoniously through the back door. Everyone crosses this bridge. East to west, dock to doorstep, day to night, work to home. It's a gallery on the world. Spend an hour on here with a camera and Mumansk is in your pocket.

It's a wrap.