TRAVELOGUE #16

When: Friday, June 23
Where: Siberia (#5 Train)

My Canadian bunkmate has been studying guitar on his own for the past year. While in Mongolia, he bought an offensively bold, blue guitar that was made in China. I was thrilled to see the instrument when I first boarded. I couldn’t think of a better way to shave the hours off. Last night after dinner, drinks, and post-drink drinks, Jeff, Andrew (German fellow with an Australian accent and nice teeth), and I sat in our car and sang old U2 songs. It was like being at summer camp. Only with vodka.

The clouds in the north were amazing this afternoon. I walked beyond the dining car and found the windows wide open. I rose myself up on the balls of my feet so I could take in the wind. It smelled like sweet sap and rain. The Birch and Siberian Pines, lean and proud, seemed to take turns lining the railroad tracks. I was overwhelmed with my mortality all of the sudden. If it were possible to miss things after you die, I would miss the familiar smell of these northern woods.

I am constantly trying to figure out weather the provonistas (Russian attendants) simply tolerate the foreigners or hate them with seething bile. My opinion changes hourly. One moment they scowl and scold the next they smile and nod agreeably. Our carriage has two. One is very fair, thick set and curvy. Her red hair is long and she only cleans the emptied rooms after a fresh application of coral lipstick. The other seems more practical in appearance. She is leaner and her posture is a bit more gawky; almost like she never outgrew the awkwardness of adolescence. She also has a small mustache, like a graphite kiss on her upper lip.