Pretty Russian girls on The Trans-Siberian Railway

I board the famed Trans-Siberian Express at the railway station in Irkutsk. Small open cabins comprise the car; four bunks, two per side, atop which are bed sheets which have clearly served thousands of customers.

pretty Russian girl with daughter on Trans-Siberian Railway

An old disheveled man on the opposite aisle hacks away, a smoker's cough, while another lightly snores in the bunk above. The woman seated across from me passes her time knitting, glancing up at me dubiously.
I shuffle forward, finding an open cabin for myself, laying my bags beside me as I fall into a light sleep. Unclear as to the the frame, but I'm woken by movement around me; a young mother and her five-year old daughter settling down for the ride.
She's very pretty, and we stiltedly flirt back and forth for a few minutes, but alas she speaks no English, and my limited Russian isn't enough to maintain even the semblance of a conversation. Queue a twenty-year old Russian soldier, on his way to report for monthly duties, to bridge the gap as our interpreter. His English is only a touch better than my Russian, but somehow collectively we manage to turn charades into a fun and vibrant chat, as I answer questions about America and they about Russia and their lives.
We share food, sweets, and smiles, and I'm grateful for their company as we traverse Lake Baikal and head towards the southern regions of Siberia.
I find Russians born after or near the end of Soviet Communism a much more hopeful bunch than the preceding generations.

I've heard from various travelers that the train stops for 12 hours on the Mongolian border, and it's much faster to get off in Ulan Ude and take the bus across. As we approach my stop I'm highly tempted to switch my plans and offer to journey with the woman, who's let me know in no uncertain terms she's single, back to her village.
Unfortunately the language barrier is just too great. I wave good-bye to her and her little girl as I disembark the train, my heart both warmed from their company, and yet, as I take their leave, a touch sad to parting so quickly. Such an occurrence is not uncommon as we travel through life. Take the chance and beautiful meetings for what they are, knowing in small way, you've enhanced each others' lives, and be grateful for this exchange of energy. Then embrace whatever is to come next with with open arms. Wherever you are pretty girl, thank you, for while our words were few, the energy exchange was lovely.



Next- Kicked out of Russia, and crossing the Mongolian border on foot

Learning Russian + Teaching English via WOOFS in St. Petersburg. Russia

Aliska is all saddled up and
ready to ride her horsey

Her doting and loving parents gaze upon their four year old Aliska with profound pride and love.  She's cute, confident, and quite mischievous, loving the opportunity to taunt and wind up the large playful dog who's paid her family a visit for the week,
I'll be sitting, minding my own business, and I'll feel a scratch on my arm or leg.
"Woof," the dog (probably a Labrador) softly acknowledges he's being harassed.
Aliska retreats for a moment, then sneaks up again, trying to incite her new friend to play "Woof! Woof! Woof!" cries out the poor dog. The large dog curls back into a ball on the floor, or goes back to eating from his dish, or continues chatting with his lovely hosts, leaving a gentle growl lingering in the air as a warning.
Once again, Aliska momentarily shies away, then attacks with more ferocity, tickling the dog mercilessly. "WOOF! WOOF! WOOOOOOFFFFFFFFFFF!!!" responds the agitated pup while tickling Aliska to her great delight for upwards of 30 seconds, before slowly withdrawing, leaving the little girl with a huge smile etched across her face.
Wait two minutes ... repeat. The pup might growl, but he clearly has no bite.

We get along famously, but as our primary communication is in woofs and laughter, we invent a new a new game to teach other our respective languages. Sitting across from one another, I hold up various objects. "Appelsin," I'll announce in Russian as I roll the fruit to Aliska. "Orange," she'll state after a moments reminder, as she tosses it back to me. Repeat numerous times then switch to new items ranging from balls (myatch), to stuffed rabbits, to apples (yablacko for those scoring at home.)
I'm proud to be teaching Aliska a proper language.

here is Aliska's and Richie's language learning game

Believe it or not, I benefit as well.
Few Russians speak English, so my learnings came in handy when we went to the grocery store and an employee casually approached asking if he could help. "I don't speak Russ-- wait a second. Aplelsin! Appelsin!  Appelsin!!" I cry out excitedly pointing to the oranges attracting the attention of the entire store wondering what retard could get so excited over fruit. Even at the age of four, Aliska's face matches the shade of the nearby beets from all the extra attention I brought us. What a proud moment.
And finally, might I thank Aliska for being so awesome, playful, and even occasionally thoughtful and kind (a slippery slope for most 4 year olds.) I had so much fun with you, and I know there's an excellent chance my you've forgotten my English lessons, so let me express how much I miss you in the one way I'm certain you'll understand: "WOOF! WOOF! WOOOOOOFFFFFFFFFFF!!!"


St. Peter, the horse dragging Aliska's carriage, then yours truly playing airplane with her. She demanded so many flights you'll excuse me for having got quite dizzy