Самара

Moved to Samara. I took the two-nights train from St. Petersburg, which at 40 hours is the longest I've ever spent on a train. Luckily I put up for "Kupe", which is basically the business class of the Russian rail system, one large step up from "Platskart" which, in summer, can be an adventure for the senses.

In Kupe, four people share a closed cabin - in Platskart, 54 people share an open wagon. This is a huge difference, especially when many passengers buy and consume dried fish sold by leathery old babushkas along the tracks. Other than the layout and fish, there were three small changes I noticed: the toilet had a "hygienic" plastic cover; the tea cups came with saucers underneath; there was air conditioning. Ok, AC's a big difference.

My cabin-mates were a 20-something female and another 20-something female traveling with her 40-something father. Both girls were cute. The father, in addition to his oversized plaid capri shorts, wore a tattoo on his arm which read "Army Technical Group." This meant that I felt secure from any hooligans straying into our wagon, but nervous about my eyes straying in the cabin.

Here is the summary of our conversation over the 40 hours:

Father: "Is this Chapaevsk?"
Me: "Yes."
Father: "How long do we have?"
Me: "30 minutes."

After spending two weeks out of the country, it was good to get some language practice in.

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We stopped in a lot of faceless towns, the longest pause for 45 minutes. We'd climb out of the train, most to smoke or buy from the babushkas hawking beer, chips, more dried fish, berries.

At one of the longer stops on the morning of the second day, I saw two of the women conductors racing across the tracks, pushing each other up onto the platform like slapstick, then shuffle into the city as stridently as their blue uniform skirts would allow. Hungry, I wandered into the station and found a small bakery where I bought three pastries with tvorog in them. The woman behind the counter was using an abacus to calculate change.

I went back outside and sat on a bench, eating until the 5-minute departure notice. As I sat, I noticed the women conductors running back to the train in their blue uniforms and decorative epaulettes. They were carrying bags of blankets, linens and curtains. Then I notice four or five other women doing the same thing. Who knew? Ivanovo, or Chapaevsk, or Syzran - you beguiling enchantress city of the Volga, bedding capital of central Russia.