I can now also mispronounce sufficient Russian phrases to greet the train staff as I squeeze past them on my way to the restaurant car and to ask Sergei, my carriage attendant, for a cup of tea.
Be there a restaurant car on the train?
It gets dark when they arrive at the restaurant car park. Jack drives the car to the gate and is stopped by a guard.
Eating in the restaurant car that evening was an unexpected bonus.
