Railway Station, Urals, Russia, April 1993
Ah, Russian trains... I clocked up some 1200 hours on them, going as far east as Novosibirsk, capital of Siberia. I love them for the sense of immensity they give to the country - flying across it really avoids this, and (as has been said) causes one's soul to be left far behind, resulting in jetlag. In the 1990s it was like this: There are foldout seats in the wagon corridors; samovars boil water for tea, coffee, soup or whatever; one gets to know one's neighbours; children run free, safe; the restaurant car is also quite safe healthwise; the 4-berth's beds give a good night's rest (assuming you can sleep while in motion, and earplugs are a good idea also); and the country tranquilly rolls by the windows for days at a time. In short, what's the hurry? This is all part of the experience of travel in the largest country in the world.
(I think she didn't realise that my lens was wide enough to include her in the shot. Her arm makes a nice counterpoint line to that of the train going to the vanishing point, and also forms part of a triangle with the train and the railway station.)