Another soundtrack post:
The train creeps along the frozen Russian steppe. Peering through the window glistening with frost, I see a thick fog creeping at the base of the snow covered trees. I've gotten in the habit of picking a new book for each of my little trips and trying to finish it before the time is up. This time I was in a hurry and grabbed the first book on the 100 ruble shelf at Biblio Globus (a GIANT bookstore here that I love perusing)...this time it's the book Кому на руси жить хорошо (who lives well in Rus) by Nekrasov. Well, I think I bit off more than I can chew this time, it's poetry from the 19th century about the Russian peasantry. After about 100 pages I gave up, and started a conversation with the elderly gentleman sitting next to me, who ended up being much more interesting. Having moved to Siberia in the early 70's, Vladimir is a classic Russian muzhik with a barrel chest (and gut), gold teeth, and a handshake that tells of strength that was once there. This is his first trip outside of what is now Russia, so I help him fill out his border papers.
