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Suddenly growing a bit tired of listening to music on my computer, I rummaged around my old selection of tapes (I'm so proud to have them with me after all these years) for some music I haven't listened to in a long time. My stereo prides itself with a tape recorder, but the sound is converted into a hazy, distant growl. Surprisingly, that makes some music sound really, really great. I listened to old favorites; Cowboy Junkies' Rarities, B-sides and slow, sad waltzes (the ending song of that album, "My father's house", a cover of a Springsteen song, is stunning and amusing, despite its jam-like, half-finished setting; CJ at their best!). I also listen to Swedish singer Dan Fägerqvist's interpretations of Vladimir Vysotsky. The album is an uneven accomplishment, but some parts of it are really captivating; when he makes the lyrics come alive, while the music augments the lyrical atmosphere of the songs. Meanwhile, I am reading a book about Siberia, written by Magnus Londen, called Till världens ände. I like it so far. The style of writing is relaxed, and intelligent.


The reason why I picked it up at the library is that me & a friend are thinking about travelling to China on the Trans-Siberian railway. I've been dreaming about that for several years, and now the prospects look good. Something strange is going on when people say that they are "fascinated by a country", but for some reason I really want to visit Russia again. I've visited the country on short trips a few years back, but I guess there were many things I wasn't ready for then. My impression of Moscow is a scary, monumental, yet somehow intriguing, place. One of the reasons why the Trans-Siberian railway exerts such a great pull are the pictures I have in my head of the taiga, the steppe, the Baikal lake... I suppose what I have now is more a landscape rooted in fantasy, than anything real. But there are other aspects of travelling on a long-distance train that I am particularly fond of. Meeting people, finding oneself in the middle of unexpected conversations. I've done some interrailling, and I've always liked the long hours of traveling, heading for new destinations, for something about which one does not have the faintest grasp. Looking out the window and doing nothing, just looking at the landscape. Reading books. Listening to the humming sound of the train. Traveling, at best, makes oneself rely on the openness of other people, trusting and cherishing the friendliness of others.