Sprinting to the train station after a hurried visit to Stolby National Park, we had no problem finding our platform, train, car or cabin – we’d pretty much attained train-pro status by that point.

Unfortunately, there were already two women occupying the bottom bunks of our cabin so Conor and I were banished to the upper bunks.  Not that the upper bunks were bad – for sleeping – but they weren’t exactly the most comfortable to spread out on while awake.

As it was only 4:30pm (a long way from bed-time) we decided to check out the dinning car instead.

Conor and I chatted as I led the way down hallway after hallway, car after car.  Suddenly, a man grabbed Conor by the arm and pulled him into a random cabin.  Startled, I followed and found myself standing in front of a seated young man reading a Guidebook.

The arm-grabber, with a huge grin on his face, pointed to the sitting gentleman. Turns out, he-who-had-been-reading was an Irishman.  Conor and I had been identified as English speakers and had been matched with the only other native speaker on the train.

The three of us relocated to the dinning car and spent the better part of three hours eating, drinking and getting aquatinted.

We discovered that we had stayed at the same hostel in Ekaterinburg (just days apart) and had reservations at the same hostel (Baikaler) in Irkutsk the next night.

Conversation ranged from unpleasant train experiences (mostly at the hands of the semi-sanitary bathrooms) to long-term travel and life plans.

Denis – from Galway, Ireland – had recently quit his job in IT to travel for five months before meeting up with his Aussie girlfriend in New Zealand for a friend’s wedding.  His ultimate plan (after NZ) was to settle in Singapore with said girlfriend and find work there.

Outspoken, hilarious, and shamelessly crude, Denis became a fast friend.

Little did Conor and I know then that we would be spending nearly the next three weeks with the Irishman.

*Some photos contributed by Jacqueline Simone Winston-Silk