So what is three nights straight on the train like? There were highs, there were lows. Or more accurately there was sleep, eating, turning back clocks twice a day, more sleeping, choosing mysterious dishes from the dining car, being chased by babushkas on the platforms, sleeping, eating, getting depressed by the misguided decision to read the Gulag Archipelago, getting depressed by the sheer volume of unattractive Russian men with their shirts off, sleeping, eating, changing clocks and then arriving in Kungur, in the Ural mountains for brief respite. A small town of about fifty thousand maybe, our tour skipped the ever popular Ekaterinburg, instead choosing to bring some foreign tourism to an otherwise often passed place. After a much needed shower and change of clothes, we embarked with a local guide on what became the dawdling
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