The scene out our train window was a stark contrast to the one we’d left behind.  We departed Moscow in the dead of night, and when we awoke, we discovered a transformed world.  Gone were the city’s dull grey landscapes and congested prospekts (avenues).  Taking their place, were walls of stark white trees capped with brilliant autumn foliage.  The endless roar of traffic was traded for the gentle sway of the train, and a rhythmic click-click, click-click as we rolled across the tracks.  Instead of factories, we found harvested haystacks that seemed to be posing for a Monet painting.

In Moscow, drivers jam their cars into every conceivable crevice – often parking at cockeyed angles or even on the sidewalk.  But in the vast countryside, our train races for hours without passing a single car.

Everything in nature this time of year is brilliant yellow – that perfect moment when leaves are completely sapped of their green but have not yet succumbed to gravity.

Without phones, television or internet, life on the Trans Siberian Railway takes a slower pace.  Small events become a big deal when you have all day to watch the scenery pass by.  Amanda spotted a fox running down a dirt road.  In a small village, we noticed a woman using a hand-crank well with a wooden pail, like you know from fairytales.

The hours roll by, marked every 100 meters with a small white concrete pillar, and larger signs denoting the kilometers from the capital.  We check off important markers in our guidebook as we pass them.  Kilometer 1,777 tells us we have crossed the continental divide and have officially arrived in Asia.  Kilometer 2,102 tells us we have entered Siberia.  It doesn’t take long before travelers settle into the rhythm of reading, writing, knitting, eating and stepping off the train for a quick breath of fresh air and a survey of the local platform food (chips, mushrooms, dried fish, and always vodka).  Before you know it, the day has ended and it’s time for bed again.

There are no showers on board, but that’s OK because we rarely walk more than the length of our car.  There is an overpriced meal car a few carriages down where they stow warm beer under the seats, but most passengers opt to bring their own food, making the TSR a giant moving picnic.

We were fortunate enough during the first half of our journey to get our four-person berth to ourselves, making our entry into the TSR a luxurious event.  Traveling during the off-season has its privileges.  Or perhaps the train shamans know it’s our honeymoon.