On the fourth morning, the train was west of Novosibirsk. Polly looked at the clock. It said 06:30. The clock had not changed since Moscow.
The whole train runs on Moscow time. It does not change for seven days. You cannot run a long train with different times at each station.
But local time outside was 10:30. The sun had been up for six hours.
Polly went to find the dining car. It was three carriages away. She hopped along the corridor.
The conductors in green uniforms read newspapers between stations. They did not seem surprised to see a parrot.
The dining car had pale blue walls and lace curtains. Polly perched at a booth by the window.
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A waiter brought her a menu. She tilted her head. He took the menu back. Then he brought her a small plate. Bread, butter, and dark herring.
"Compliments of the kitchen," he said.
The herring was salty. The bread was sour. Russians have been eating this on trains for a hundred and twenty years.
Outside, the forest had become open grassland. Cows grazed near a small house. A man on a bicycle waited at a railway crossing.
