ad infinitum

At one stop along the way, some vendors came on the train to sell thick socks, scarves, and some were selling honey:  regular, creamed or in the comb.  I should have bought the combed honey but did not work up the nerve to negotiate until a later vendor came by.  In this too, Almaz helped because he wrote the prices down on our by now well used newspaper table covering.  While I dithered, the price dropped, and I found myself with a biggish container of honey.

When Natali came by to say goodby, another group formed, this time including another woman passenger.  They all discussed me and what I should do at length, some of which clearly embarrassed Natali, and she refused to translate it for them.
I asked her if she felt I should be concerned about anything and she said no.  I think it is unfathomable to the others that I am traveling like this unable to speak Russian.  Natali has had some experience with traveling outside her comfort zone, so she dismissed their concerns. With her departure, I would be without someone to translate, and this was a concern for Almaz in particular, who seemed to feel responsible for me.
It is true that I am alone, and I do feel it.  But just as I have become their project, people do tend to help others, and while I will no doubt be hungry sometimes, and will miss some very cool things, I will be ok, and I would rather do it this way than not to go.
We followed the Volga River for a while after Saratov, and I made a second attempt at the dining car.  The head? waitress was there and she just came and sat down with me and the menu, another crew member came over too, and they told me what to order by pointing to something and of course talking about it, none of which I understood.  So that was what I ordered.  There really was no other way.  It was some sort of goulash, served with rice and a couple of tomato and cucumber.  I had a warm Coke, because I couldn't figure out any other drinks besides vodka on the menu.  No ice, and all drinks served room temperature.
I find myself glad that I brought all those books, in spite of their weight and bulk.  Watching the scenery only goes so far, and once it is dark around 7, there is none of that to do.  Talking to fellow passengers is really hard work.  We got two more cabin mates during the night, a couple.  They are now in the top bunks, and are going all the way to Almaty, Alma Ata.  I had foolishly hoped to have the cabin to myself after Almaz disembarks, but that is not to be.  In fact, the train has gotten progressively more full.
People stand out in the corridor, lean on the railing and talk endlessly.  It appears that keeping to one's self would be an oddity in this part of the world.  I rely on smiles and offering food, and saying 'spaseebah' (spelled phonetically here), which means thank you, in order not to seem boorish and rude.  Almaz wears me out with his constant interaction, just because it is so hard to make ourselves understood to each other.
I went again to the dining room mid-day the following day because it occurred to me that I would be ignored there, and there were two men who had eaten, and were drinking shots of vodka.  By this time they were sloppy drunk.  One of them knew some English and started talking to me.  He was hard to understand, either because of his English or the vodka, but I didn't try very hard either.  They offered vodka, and I wisely (I think) declined. At last they gave up and left me alone.
It is amazing how much can be conveyed without language, and conversely, how little.
My sense of time is altered, because it really matters not at all whether it is 10am or 7 pm.  I eat when I am hungry and can find something, use the toilet, doze, read and the day goes on.  Surprisingly it does not drag. I realized near the end of day 2 that I actually have four nights and three full days on this train.  Somehow over the time since I scheduled this leg, it had morphed in my brain to 3 nights.  That was painful, because I was ready to get away from the constant scrutiny, however well-intentioned it is.
The outsides of the windows are all dirty, and combined with the fact that we are usually moving, many of my attempts to photograph the country we are traversing are not as successful as hoped.  I have seen miles and miles of empty plains, beautiful river, villages and settlements too small to be a village, fields of grains, and more.
Day 3:
Almaz has found more English speakers, and has presented them to me with delight, almost as a cat brings a mouse before its human.
I am not sure that the two young ladies were very happy to  be brought, but I am sure they would not have been able to tell Almaz no.  What a hoot he is.
Their English is limited, but I believe one is just finished with University as an accountant, and the other is going to school studying law.  The accountant was the primary speaker, and she said they go to school for 9 years, then 3 years of college, then 3 of university. It may be that college is more like our high school but our language difficulty precluded clearing up that point.
I find Almaz to be a kind human being.  I was feeling a bit low last evening, and had no idea anyone would know but I think he noticed, because he started pulling up a video on his computer, and he had Ms. Accountant help him type my name in to it.  I asked her what it was, and she said it was to make feel good or something like that.  I think she meant humor, but not sure.  This evolved into watching some cartoon show in Russian that had different characters but in some ways reminded me of the Roadrunner.  Even without knowing any of the language, I could get the jist of the plot.  At one point we had 6 people in our cabin watching this.  Four of us were on my bed, so going to bed was not an option, and I began to feel it would never end.  I knew I could not be so rude as to kick them out, and besides, I did not have the words to do so.  It felt a little surreal, and kind of funny too.

Today is Kurban ait, a Kazak celebration.
Immediately after Almaz left, a woman took his place. She spoke to me, and I told her I did not speak Russian.  She continued to talk, and was clearly in disbelief that I really, truly could not respond or even understand.  This seemed to offend her a little, and I wondered if it is because the norm seems to be to befriend fellow travelers on sight.  I offered her food to show I meant no ill will. She in turn gave me what looked like a small pumpkin.  I tried not to take it but that went nowhere.  Later I realized it was a melon, and she could see that I had a knife on the table.

Suddenly, or so it seemed to me, the countryside began to change.  We passed from the long stretches of empty plains where the only color came from occasional rooftops or paint on a house, to something that looks a shrine, then a ruins, and then! a camel!  I thought at first it was just an oddity but soon there were more, whole herds of them.  The small towns have minarets, and some of the people seen along the way look like peasants.

The stop in Turkestan (town) showed a marked difference.  I got out to look around a bit, and was excited to watch the goings on.  Vendors selling their wares, little women in caftan type outfits and scarves on their heads, large carts full of melons, rows of apples and other recently harvested fruit. I wanted to stay for a while, but alas I have visa time frames to keep, and other travel plans already made.  This makes me excited about Hotan (aka Khotan or Heitan), China, and about Uzbekistan as a whole. We passed some of the orchards on our way out of town, surrounded by high bare adobe walls.  In the smaller settlements, most of the buildings are adobe, with the houses tending to be stucco'd and the barns and sheds left rough. The soil looks sandy but clearly there is adobe nearby.
I went again to the dining car, this time just to use the table to write, and to look out the window.  They have some lovely music playing, and I asked what it was.  Of course, my pointing at the ceiling did not clue them in to what I was asking, so a committee formed again, and a man at the next table knew the English word music, so we got it worked out.  He wrote the artist's name down in my notebook for me.
One of the travelers from last night's video session had followed me in to the dining car, and he soon left his booth to join mine.  Boundaries are just different, at least in such a close environment as a long distance train ride.  He was asking me something (in Russian, even though he knew I did not speak it), as if he could make it clear to me by saying it over again.  Suddenly he jumped up with an exclamation and ran to the car.  Not surprisingly, hereturned with Ms. Accountant in tow.  I felt sorry for her, but what could I do?
Like Almaz, his solution to not being able to communicate is to show me pictures and videos.  I will have to leave this lovely spot to lose him.
I pick up my Uzbek book and he eventually wanders off.
Out the window I see see a boy playing with a soccer ball while tending sheep, a man driving a donkey and cart through a ditch, an old woman bending over a bucket in the farmyard, a patch of sunflowers left standing in a garden.
Unlike other places I have been where I was of as much interest as the others were to me, I do not have a place to retreat on this train, other than at night, when I curl up in my bunk.  Then I close my eyes, and I can pretend that no one is watching any longer.
Each new arrival to a compartment changes the delicate balance previously achieved balance, and we must resettle.  The small unspoken agreements are unknown to the new entrant.