Robert and I stuck our heads out of the window and drew in deep draughts of cool fresh air. Body Shop could bottle it (the air or the lake) for an anti-aging tonic.
It was almost sad to leave the lake, and curve north west to irkutz, once known as the Paris of Siberia (it is odd that so many strange places, whose stars have dimmed, are know as the "Paris of the.." or the "Venice of the..").
We have found the missing restaurant car at the back of the train. It is now a Russian car, with the appearance of a retro - russian diner(according to Robert). We lunched there, deciphering the russian menu with the help of the waitress. Robert had grilled salmon, I had the stroganoff. With bread and beer and random additional charges, plus the foreign exchange losses converting a mix of dollars and euros into roubles, lunch set us back $30.
At irkutz we said goodbye to two Israeli academics who were breaking their journey at lake baikal, and wandered up and down the platform, amazed at how many Russians were smoking.
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Location:5000 km from Moscow
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