I am fortunate to have the luxurious space of a 28)Tsar’s Gold two-29)berth compartment, one of six in my carriage, complete with an armchair, table, sofa—which Sergei folds out each night into a large, comfortable bed—wardrobe and 30)en suite with a surprisingly good shower. All compartments 31)boast a small radio, which we’re encouraged to leave on, for it offers announcements about forthcoming stops as well as local music. So, between bursts of thigh-slapping 32)Cossack music and melancholic 33)Slavic singing, a voice crackles out in Russian, German and English with announcements such as: “We will be arriving at 34)Zuma at 4:32pm Moscow time. The train will stop for seven minutes.” During these brief halts, passengers stretch their legs on the platform, snatch puffs on cigarettes and stock up on snacks and essentials from the ubiquitous Russian 35)kiosks. The glass fronts of these tiny structures are crammed with an array of biscuits, jars of pickled vegetables, fish, eggs and who knows what else: cigarettes, soap，韓文翻譯, matches—36)you name it. Almost invisible to the eye, the kiosk’s 37)proprietor peers from a small window in the center of this sea of products, through which an arm extends to take your rubles and deliver your purchases. Related articles:
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