Through Siberia
Forests are flyting by our window in the freezing night outside, as it had for the past hours, before that there were a couple of snow-covered fields and before that even more forests. Every now and then the train slows down while an industrial view passes by in a slow-paced roll and I find myself desperately looking for anything living. It does occur that a big pile of fur walks by with a ton of hardship, but it’s a rare event. Somehow I still want that pile to be there, because I can’t make up my mind whether it’s sadder that someone lived in these desolate territories, or if it was all deserted.
It’s so cold outside that the water-draining on the toilet floor have frozen shut. All there is now is a slowly growing puddle of ice that I figure will eventually cover the entire floor. Even the door to the restaurant carriage had to be open by brute force and a shovel since too much frost had covered it up. Apparently that’s what happens if you let a door open so the humid and warm air of the coupés meet the dry Siberian air outside.
We’re waking up way past dawn with our noses frozen shut due to a massive draft from our window. Thomas is even sleeping with his hat and jacket on to fight the cold, but he’s shivering nonetheless. Every four or five hour the train slows down for a train station where a few shops the size of a cardboard box provides food in either dried or frozen form. We haven’t got tired of noodles yet, but that’s doomed to happen sooner or later. By the sound of Victor I would say sooner.
//Nisse
