Cabbage rolls and a secret bridge

Today I'm not really sure what day it is - but it's probably Friday.  We've departed sleepy Omsk, the stop we had been waiting for, so that we could jump out and stock up on some drinks and snacks.  June and I have appeared to have earned ourselves a minder - perhaps the sort of Russian man we've read about, very traditional and protective towards women.   When I went to the kiosk this morning, he accompanied me, or almost shadowed me really and insisted on carrying my litre of water to back the train.  Last night, he  bought us ice-creams.  I wonder if he thinks we're 12? 
It certainly takes a long time to leave greater Omsk.  This is where Dostoyevsky spent his 4 years in the gulag and drew his inspiration for his partially fictitious 'House of the Dead'.

Our friendly neighbor turned out to be FSB.  A little more than 'cop' as he initially offered.  A couple of militia boarded the train and asked to see what photos we'd taken.  Apparently, we had passed through a no-no zone where a 'secret bridge'  was located.  However, they were friendly chaps just doing their job who were more than happy to let us off with a warning.  After he told us he was secret service, all sorts of things occured to me about all manner of characters I'd run into previously.  While I'm innocently snapping photos, am I being watched? All in a day's fun...

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