Crossing the Urals

On the third morning, the train stopped at Yekaterinburg. Galina had already left in the night. Pavel was still asleep. Two new passengers had taken the empty bunks: a soldier of perhaps twenty in a uniform too clean to have been worn yet, and an older man with grey-yellow hair and a fishing tackle box.

På den tredje morgen stoppede toget i Jekaterinburg. Galina var allerede stået af om natten. Pavel sov stadig. To nye passagerer havde taget de tomme køjer: en soldat på måske tyve år i en uniform, der var alt for ren til at have været brugt, og en ældre mand med grågult hår og en fiskekasse.

Polly hopped to the window.

Polly hoppede hen til vinduet.

Yekaterinburg is the largest city in the Urals. The Ural Mountains divide Europe from Asia. They are not high, more a long worn ridge than a wall. But they are old. Five hundred million years ago, the Urals were already a major mountain range. They have been worn down for half a billion years and are still there. They are some of the oldest mountains on Earth.

Jekaterinburg er den største by i Uralbjergene. Uralbjergene deler Europa fra Asien. De er ikke høje, mere som en lang slidt højderyg end en mur. Men de er gamle. For fem hundrede millioner år siden var Uralbjergene allerede en stor bjergkæde. De er blevet slidt ned i en halv milliard år og er der stadig. De er nogle af de ældste bjerge på Jorden.

The Trans-Siberian crosses the Urals through Yekaterinburg. There is a small marker at kilometre 1,777 of the line that says EUROPE on one side and ASIA on the other. The conductor told Polly, with a small smile, that the marker was a tourist invention. The real border, geographically, was not at a clean point. The dividing line runs roughly along the watershed of the Ural River.

Den Transsibiriske jernbane krydser Uralbjergene gennem Jekaterinburg. Der er en lille markør ved kilometer 1.777 af linjen, der siger EUROPA på den ene side og ASIEN på den anden. Konduktøren fortalte Polly med et lille smil, at markøren var en turistopfindelse. Den rigtige grænse, geografisk, var ikke et klart punkt. Skillelinjen løber nogenlunde langs vandskellet af Uralfloden.

But the symbolic crossing was the point.

Men den symbolske krydsning var pointen.

The new passenger with the tackle box opened it and laid out his lures on the table. He arranged them by colour.

Den nye passager med fiskekassen åbnede den og lagde sine blink ud på bordet. Han arrangerede dem efter farve.

"Where do you fish?" Polly asked.

"Hvor fisker du?" spurgte Polly.

He looked up. "Lake Baikal," he said. "In three days. Omul. The salmon of Baikal. You will not find it anywhere else in the world." He pointed at a green-and-silver spoon. "This is what I use."

Han kiggede op. "Bajkalsøen," sagde han. "Om tre dage. Omul. Bajkals laks. Du finder den ikke andre steder i verden." Han pegede på en grøn-og-sølv ske. "Det er den, jeg bruger."

A few hours later, near Pervouralsk, the train slowed past a small white obelisk in a clearing. EUROPE on one side. ASIA on the other. Three tourists waved at the train. Pavel lifted one hand from his laptop and waved back.

Et par timer senere, nær Pervouralsk, sænkede toget farten forbi en lille hvid obelisk i en lysning. EUROPA på den ene side. ASIEN på den anden. Tre turister vinkede til toget. Pavel løftede en hånd fra sin bærbare computer og vinkede tilbage.

The obelisk slid away. The train had crossed a continent the way you might cross a small street.

Obelisken gled væk. Toget havde krydset et kontinent, som du måske krydser en lille gade.