The only sound is my heart beating into my full, heavy ears as I glide weightlessly through my slippery surroundings, guided only by the beam of a flashlight.
The Trans-Siberian Express passes through countries renowned for their hearty cooking. Stewed meats, dumplings and some more peculiar feasts are on the menu.
“Oh, the kids here do one of those every year” someone shrugged by way of explanation. I continued to gawp, utterly horrified, at the giant papier-mâché edifice hanging only a few meters above my disbelieving head.
As my kamikaze driver bombed down the one lane highway from Irkutsk, I marvelled at the distinct lack of snow chains, breaks and general caution utilised by other road users.