TATIANA - Midnight in Siberia: A Train Journey into the Heart of Russia - page 120

the train. And it makes sense. Look outside. The landscape is rugged, empty, and cold—at
times twenty or thirty degrees below zero Fahrenheit. If a train breaks down and the electri-
city goes out in a place this remote, passengers could freeze to death. Except that the heat-
ers would keep working—on coal. But I've noticed a downside: The heating in train cars
is not easily controlled. To keep things remotely close to a certain temperature, provodniks
will add more or less coal to the heating system. I have a guess this is why the trains get
oppressively hot overnight—hot as in you rip off your sheets and begin using them to wipe
sweat off your face. I imagine the provodnik getting ready for bed herself, not wanting to
disturb herself overnight by having to add more coal. So she loads as much as possible be-
fore going to bed. Yes, she probably thinks, that will take care of things.
Sergei and I have been traveling for about two weeks now.
Passengers have gotten on and off, and Sergei and I are now joined by a pleasant, older
couple, Tatiana and Oleg. They are two of the thinnest people I've ever met—but bursting
with personality. He has wavy gray hair, she has short hair—dyed bright red.
“You are David? From America?” Tatiana says, trying her limited English.
“Yes.”
“It is funny. I ride the train in 1972. And there was an American David with me. A stu-
dent. Harvard. He was coming from Japan. With his visa he had to stay on train the whole
time crossing Soviet Union. We talked about America, about Soviet Union.”
“This is crazy, but I went to Harvard.”
Tatiana laughs. “This is crazy! You know he gave me gift for Oleg. Two packs of cigar-
ettes. Marlboro.”
What a reminder about how this train, and this famous train route, have endured for
so long. It has been the spine of this country, even as the body around it transformed and
evolved. The train has seen a lot.
“Where are you going?” Tatiana asks.
“Ishim.”
I wish I could say that Sergei and I had a good reason for planning a stop there. In truth
I had told Sergei we had seen enough big cities—I wanted to choose one of the smaller
Trans-Siberian stops, a town where the train pulls in, dumps a few passengers, and contin-
ues on its way within minutes. The challenge if you're disembarking is to get your stuff
and yourself off in time, before the train is on its way again.
“We are going to Ishim too!”
“Really? We thought this would be a good place to stop.”
“I am going to give you a phone number for a friend of ours who works at a mu-
seum—her name is Tatiana,” this Tatiana says. Sergei takes down the number, and we tell
her we're grateful.