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Third-class accommodations are not unlike a cramped college dormitory room. Sergei is on his bunk, researching our
next stop on his tablet, jumping on faint cell signals that appear occasionally. There is a bunk across from Sergei, two
upper bunks above, and two more across the aisle, where the man is peering out the window (his table converts into
one.)
Sergei's family in Nizhny Novgorod could not have treated me more warmly. Aunt Nina is at the center, with Sergei to
her left.
Alexei Mikheyev, with his mother, Lyudmila, in Nizhny Novgorod. Alexei was a police officer in the city. After top offi-
cials in the Russian government began a campaign to root out bad actors in the police forces, Alexei was falsely accused
of kidnapping while off duty. During a horrific interrogation, he escaped and fell from a window, shattering his spine.
He was quickly cleared of all charges but is now confined to a wheelchair.
Boarding a Russian train is no small thing—especially when passengers are saying good-bye to family they see rarely.
Sergei had not seen his cousins in several years. As our visit ended, they followed tradition: They escorted us to the sta-
tion, carried our luggage to the train, boarded with us to get us settled, then stood on the platform, blowing kisses as our
train pulled out.
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