Tidssoner

På den fjerde morgenen var toget et sted vest for Novosibirsk. Polly sjekket den lille klokken over kupédøren. Den viste 06:30. Klokken hadde ikke blitt endret siden Moskva. Alle tidtabeller for den transsibirske jernbanen går etter Moskva-tid, hele linjens lengde, i syv dager og syv tidssoner. Man kan ikke drive en jernbane over åtte tusen kilometer hvis hver stasjon har en annen klokke.

On the fourth morning, the train was somewhere west of Novosibirsk. Polly checked the small clock above the compartment door. It read 06:30. The clock had not been changed since Moscow. All Trans-Siberian timetables run on Moscow time, the whole length of the line, for seven days and seven time zones. You cannot run a railway across eight thousand kilometres if every station has a different watch.

Lokal tid utenfor vinduet var imidlertid omtrent 10:30. Solen hadde vært oppe i seks timer.

Local time outside the window, however, was about 10:30. The sun had been up for six hours.

Denne forskjellen mellom tog-tid og ute-tid var, ifølge konduktøren, en av de små mentale utfordringene på reisen. Ved Vladivostok ville togklokken vise én ting, mens den lokale solen ville vise noe syv timer annerledes.

This dislocation between train-time and outside-time was, the conductor had said, one of the small mental challenges of the journey. By Vladivostok the train clock would say one thing and the local sun would say something seven hours different.

Polly hoppet ned og gikk på oppdagelsesferd.

Polly hopped down and went exploring.

Spisevognen var tre vogner unna. Hver vogn var en lang, trepanelt tunnel. Konduktørene i grønne uniformer satt med føttene opp og leste aviser mellom stasjonsstoppene. De så ikke overrasket ut over å se en papegøye. Toget hadde sett mye.

The dining car was three carriages down. Each carriage was a long wood-panelled tunnel. The conductors in green uniforms sat with their feet up reading newspapers between station stops. They did not look surprised to see a parrot. The train had seen things.

Spisevognen var malt i falmet rødt utenpå, lys blå inni. Tunge blondegardiner. Trebåser. Et lite kjøkken i den fjerne enden. Polly satte seg i den tomme båsen ved vinduet.

The dining car was painted faded red outside, pale blue inside. Heavy lace curtains. Wooden booths. A small kitchen at the far end. Polly perched at the empty booth by the window.

En kelner i en litt for stor jakke dukket opp med en meny på russisk, engelsk og kinesisk. Borsjtsj. Pelmeni. Lakse-kaviar. Kelneren tok menyen tilbake, så kom han tilbake med en liten tallerken på Pollys høyde: brød, smør og mørk sild.

A waiter in a slightly too-large jacket appeared with a menu in Russian, English, and Chinese. Borscht. Pelmeni. Salmon caviar. The waiter took the menu back, then returned with a small plate at Polly's height: bread, butter, and dark herring.

"Med hilsen fra kjøkkenet," sa han på engelsk.

"Compliments of the kitchen," he said in English.

Silden var saltet og sterk. Brødet hadde en svak surhet fra tre dagers gjæring. Smøret var usaltet. Kombinasjonen var noe russerne hadde spist på langdistansetog i hundre og tjue år.

The herring was salt-cured and pungent. The bread had a faint sourness from three days of fermentation. The butter was unsalted. The combination was a thing Russians had been eating on long-distance trains for a hundred and twenty years.

Utenfor vinduet hadde taigaen tynnet seg ut til høyt, åpent gressland. En flokk kyr beitet nær et lite trehus. En mann på sykkel ventet ved en planovergang.

Outside the window, the taiga had thinned into high open grassland. A herd of cows grazed near a small wooden house. A man on a bicycle waited at a level crossing.