Olga's Caramel Treat

KRASNOYARSK, Russia – The Russiya rattles into this Siberian industrial center with plenty of warning, hissing and whining as it slows down. I calculate from the Cyrillic timetable in the hall that I have 26 minutes in this place, in which I must find and locate supplies for the night.

I use these stops as a way to pick up snacks, drinks and things to nibble on late night between our regularly scheduled meals. I buy ice cream cones, which in Russia come unwrapped and in one flavor, vanilla soft serve. There's rolls of digestives, a bland cracker, liter bottles of Sprite, and an occasional beer. I've budgeted $20 each day on the train for food and expenses, but most days I don't even spend $10.

Back at Sweet Moscow Hostel, there's heated debate among guests about how much food is available along the way. Some people describe a Russian feast, with dozens of babushkas rushing to each station to sell soups, sandwiches and fresh meat. Others report being tempted to gnaw on their own hand out of hunger, with food found only one or two stops, and even then only stale bread was for sale.

My journey has seen neither of these extremes. The Russiya makes longer stops - more than 10 minutes - about every six hours. At nearly every station there has been some food for sale, primarily at a kiosk or small store on the side of the track. There's nothing exceptional about these stores, but they are easy to get in and out of and not be stranded by a leaving train.

Krasnoyarsk is different. Olga starts putting in her winter layers several minutes before the train stops rolling, as if she knows that there will be more options this time. Usually she doesn't even get off at stops, as she has enough provisions for a return journey. But here she lead the way off the train and into the Arctic air outside.

Siberian stations are wide and open. The Russiya pulls into a middle track, meaning that passengers must use a long, high staircase to reach the main platform. Nobody bothers. Here the vendors are babushkas, old women with goods in plastic buckets. They appear to be ethnic minorities, with dark, flat faces covered with wrinkles.

People stream off the train and meet the vendors. There's no need for them to yell and hoot, we passengers know they are the only game in town. I stick by Olga, who goes to a woman two cars down. She has a styrofoam cooler stocked with cold drinks and a pile of thick brown sticks.

Olga points to the sticks and says, "Skol'ko?" How much. Then she takes out a crisp 100 ruble notes and in exchange reaches a handful. She gestures towards me and points to the sticks. I understand this, Olga's recommending I buy some.

Olga clearly sees herself as the leader of our ragtag bunch, so much so that for a day or so I believed that she was the older sister of Sergei and Vasily. She decides when it is time to eat, when we turn off the lights and play cards. Her authority isn't overbearing, she simply makes decisions as the oldest and most respected member of our tiny compartment. I'm happy for her advice, because without it, I would be even more clueless than I already am.

I take her advice and purchase four of the mysterious snack. When I have the bag in hand, I can see that the outside is a waffle cone rolled into a long tube, filled with what appears to be caramel. Olga is set in her opinions, even though they aren't always logical. She buys sweets and candies with abandon, yet lectures me when I munch on a few chips after dinner. She asks if America is a dangerous place, yet she just traveled by herself to Moscow, a place with a sinister reputation.

Olga's trip to Moscow was a vacation, her first time to the west. It was wonderful, the Kremlin, the spires and the history all met her expectations. Now she's going back to Vladivostok, where she works as a nurse.

Of the four of us, Olga seems the most content with her life. She doesn't talk about getting rich like Vasily, or running away with Sergei to other countries. The vacation was nice, but Olga accepts that her life is back on the Pacific. She doesn't mention her husband or call him

Olga isn't dour. After we buy the caramel treats, I pull out my camera to get some shots of the station. It's twilight and the sky is clear. Sergei comes out of the cabin and I ask him to the take a shot of Olga and I. She's happy to pose, and makes goofy faces at the camera. Her laugh is strong and vivacious, it rings out in the crisp air.

Back on the train, we quickly break into our stash of caramel treats. They are incredible, probably the best piece of food I've eaten this entire trip. I can see why even Olga, a bit of a health nut, would consider these a must-purchase. There are some things in life that simply must be tasted, calories be damned.