Last days on the train were dense. I managed to carve a daily routine of writing, practicing and eating on regular intervals to keep time moving. There was a drunken group of army boys on board last night or the night before. Slumber kept us awake and made the cabin feel like a closet. Felt that we were kids hiding from domestic abuse. Chats with group members have been sincere. We’ve gone trough family histories, some personal fears and analyzed our experiences of the trip openly. Being open about an ongoing experience is laborious.

I listened trough Pattern Recognition (2003) and Neuromancer (1984) by William Gibson. The first started intensely but lost its trail midway, the second was a neu-romantic macho fantasy and I enjoyed it. Now I’m boring trough Mountain of Madness (1936) Lovecraft.

By observing scenery from the train window I learned that the Finnish narrative that Mansard-roofs are rooted on French attic regulations and designs is a bluff. Vladivostok looks nice but with all honestly every city we’ve passed looks like somewhere in Russia. There are a lot of tourists, mainly form Korea I think and people look young and fresh.