Yaroslavsky Station

Yaroslavsky Station in Moscow looked, from the air, like a cake decorated by an enthusiast. Green and white turrets. Pointed roofs. Gold trim. The architect, Fyodor Shekhtel, had designed it in 1902.

Jaroslavskij Station i Moskva lignede, fra luften, en kage dekoreret af en entusiast. Grønne og hvide tårne. Spidse tage. Guldbelagte kanter. Arkitekten, Fyodor Shekhtel, havde designet den i 1902.

Polly came in low through the city haze. Moscow in June was warm and bright. She circled the station once and landed on the iron canopy over the main entrance.

Polly kom lavt ind gennem byens dis. Moskva i juni var varm og lys. Hun kredsede en gang rundt om stationen og landede på jernkonstruktionen over hovedindgangen.

The Trans-Siberian Railway begins here. It runs east for 9,289 kilometres, the length of the entire Eurasian landmass, ending at Vladivostok on the Pacific. The line was completed in 1916. It is still the longest railway line in the world. The flagship train, the Rossiya, leaves Yaroslavsky Station every other day at one in the afternoon. It arrives in Vladivostok seven days and seven time zones later.

Den Transsibiriske Jernbane starter her. Den løber østpå i 9.289 kilometer, hele den eurasiske landmasse, og ender i Vladivostok ved Stillehavet. Linjen blev færdiggjort i 1916. Den er stadig verdens længste jernbanelinje. Flagskibstoget, Rossiya, forlader Jaroslavskij Station hver anden dag klokken et om eftermiddagen. Det ankommer til Vladivostok syv dage og syv tidszoner senere.

Polly had a window berth in second class compartment 7. The conductor had taken one look at her glasses and decided, sensibly, that this was not his problem.

Polly havde en vinduesplads i anden klasses kupé 7. Konduktøren havde taget et kig på hendes briller og besluttet, fornuftigt nok, at det ikke var hans problem.

Her compartment was a small wood-panelled room with two upper and two lower bunks. Two bunks were already taken. One by a quiet retired woman in a beige cardigan, reading. The other by a young man with a beard typing on a laptop, who saw Polly, said "OK," and went back to typing.

Hendes kupé var et lille rum med træpaneler og to øvre og to nedre køjer. To køjer var allerede optaget. Den ene af en stille pensioneret kvinde i en beige cardigan, der læste. Den anden af en ung mand med skæg, der skrev på en bærbar computer, som så Polly, sagde "OK," og fortsatte med at skrive.

Polly hopped onto the small table and looked out the window. The platform was full of motion. A samovar in the corner of the carriage hissed.

Polly hoppede op på det lille bord og kiggede ud af vinduet. Perronen var fuld af bevægelse. En samovar i hjørnet af vognen hvæsede.

At exactly one o'clock, the train moved. It did not feel like a beginning. The wheels found their rhythm in two minutes and held it. The platform slid away.

Præcis klokken et satte toget i gang. Det føltes ikke som en begyndelse. Hjulene fandt deres rytme på to minutter og holdt den. Perronen gled væk.

Within half an hour, Moscow had thinned to suburbs. Within an hour, suburbs to dachas, small Russian summer houses. Within two hours, dachas to forest. Polly tilted her glasses straight against her beak.

Inden for en halv time var Moskva tyndet ud til forstæder. Inden for en time, forstæder til dachaer, små russiske sommerhuse. Inden for to timer, dachaer til skov. Polly rettede sine briller mod næbbet.

The quiet woman looked up. "First time?" she said in careful English. Polly tilted her red head. "It is a long way. Settle in."

Den stille kvinde kiggede op. "Første gang?" sagde hun på forsigtig engelsk. Polly vippede sit røde hoved. "Det er en lang vej. Slå dig ned."