After a wholly uneventful day in Omsk, Conor and I boarded the train and settled in for the evening.  While no one else was presently in our cabin, there was a bag on one of the lower bunks and food and beer on the table.

A few minutes later, our cabin-mate returned from the dinning car with more beer in hand.  His name was Yevgueni.

While he didn’t speak much English (just a few words), we had a conversation through pantomime, pictionary and looking words up in my Russian/English dictionary.

He was 22 years old, enlisted in the army, married and recently became father to a baby girl.  As is customaryon the Trans-Siberian, he shared his food and beer and in turn Conor and I offered him shots of vodka.

We drank, talked and learned that Yuvgueni was passionate about his military service.  He drew pictures of where he was stationed, told us stories of training missions and laughed uncontrollably when he talked about fights that he had gotten into and animals he’d shot in the woods.

His pantomimes and drawings of such events were the most animated of the conversation and made Conor and I bit uneasy, as we weren’t positive about exactly what he was trying to tell us.

He asked about our trip, where we had visited and how long we would spend in Russia.  Instead of trying to discuss where we had been (conversation through dictionary was getting exhausting) we decided to just show him our photos.

I handed over my camera and he giddily clicked through the pics.  He smiled at photos of The Hermitage and Red Square and beamed when he got to pictures of Lenin’s desk.

Suddenly, his jovial demeanor evaporated.  His smile faded, eyes narrowed and body tensed.  Suspiciously and angrily he turned the camera towards us and pointed to the screen.

He was pointing to a photo of the missile silo ruinswe had visited in Perm.

Pulling the camera back, he continued to click through, becoming more and more concerned and outraged with each new photo.  An uncomfortable silence filled the cabin.  I half expected him to smash my camera or yell.

Instead, he began asking questions: Who were the men we were with? How many were there? Why did we go there? What were our intentions? What had we seen? Did we take anything? Where was the place located? How long did we stay there?  Why were we wearing camouflage? Why had we come to Russia?

Conor and I sat there, stunned.  Yevgueni set my camera down on the table, leaned back and just glared at us.  The tension made my skin crawl.

Yevgueni’s intensity was unsettling and Conor and I had no idea what to do next.

Finally, he got up to go have a cigarette and we used the opportunity to clean up and go straight to bed.  I was to sleep on the lower bunk, just an arm’s length from Yevgueni.  Admittedly, I was apprehensive – he was clearly livid with us, took joy in fighting people and was drunk.

When he returned, he was upbeat and talkative again – such a drastic change that we were left even more unnerved and confused.  He ordered a full meal and more beers and wanted us to stay up drinking and talking with him.

By that time it was 1am and our train was to arrive in Novosibirsk at 5am.  We tried to explain that we needed to get some sleep and decided to just lay down.  I fell asleep cautiously, listening to Yevgueni talk to himself and sip beer.

When the train attendant woke us at 4:50am, Yevgueni was already awake, dressed and sitting waiting for us to get up.  He got off the train a stop before us and shook Conor’s hand before leaving.

Conor and I just looked at each other, dumbfounded.

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