Our efforts of international diplomacy eventually prevailed with Max (we found out today that his name means Machine Gun in Russian. Brilliant and spot-on). Through repeated peace offerings and random acts of kindness, Max begrudgingly began to accept our presence and by the final night on the train, possibly even like us. He traded shirts with Rupert and even let me get a picture with him and his brother-in-arms Anatole with his spetznaz (special forces) jacket. On the other side of the coin, Anatole was downright pleasant from the very beginning, even taking Max down from his homicidal highs. The pictures for this entry give a glimpse inside life on the train. Enjoy. . .
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