On July 11th, I boarded an over night train for Moscow...Because of the lack of darkness, it was difficult to sleep, so i put pearl jam on the ipod, and stared out the window from my bed...the others in the compartment didn't sleep either, but seemed not to speak a conversationable english...so i kept to myself. From the window, throughout the trip, I saw trees. Trees, trees and trees. But every so often the trees broke to reveal tiny villages hugging the rail lines. An isolated group of 5 to 20 small wooden homes, led to by faded dirt roads. I wondered, what do these people do?...I saw very few cars, so they probably don't get out of town often...I saw neither animals nor fields, so they weren't farmers...only small gardens beside the house. Hmmm? I wanted to get off the train to ask them, but there were no stations...
Later on, as I dozed in and out of a light sleep, I felt a tap on my arm. Waking to find my ipod had long since stopped playing, I looked down from my top bunk at my Asian-looking 'room mate', probably Siberian, holding out an ice-cream cone. Welcome relief for the overly-warm train car..I gave him my best 'spasibo' (thank you in Russian), chomped it down, and returned to 'Benaroya hall' and the acoustic ballads of vedder....
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