What better way to work off a traditional Russian dinner than an overnight train ride through the snowy Caucasus Mountains in an aluminium box rolling along on Cheerios with little heat and minimum electricity.
We were suspect enough when our taxi driver couldn’t find the “Train Station.” And when we pulled down a pitch black alley, lit only by a few fires promoted by the homeless we were abruptly greeted by a relocated red and white striped gate, manned by 3 questionably young guards. Shady. But working harder than the French.
I don’t really recall any kind of terminal. There was a tiny booth which doubled as a place to buy a Coke and purchase museum tickets. And then, the bum rush of people as they pushed to get on either the left train or the right train. But security wadn’t having it. Openly questioning if these things were actually real, we found our car, #15, flashed 2 pre-ordered train tickets and identification to the guard, and embarked into the Third-Class darkness that was to be our next 8 hours.
We were suspect enough when our taxi driver couldn’t find the “Train Station.” And when we pulled down a pitch black alley, lit only by a few fires promoted by the homeless we were abruptly greeted by a relocated red and white striped gate, manned by 3 questionably young guards. Shady. But working harder than the French.
I don’t really recall any kind of terminal. There was a tiny booth which doubled as a place to buy a Coke and purchase museum tickets. And then, the bum rush of people as they pushed to get on either the left train or the right train. But security wadn’t having it. Openly questioning if these things were actually real, we found our car, #15, flashed 2 pre-ordered train tickets and identification to the guard, and embarked into the Third-Class darkness that was to be our next 8 hours.
