Raisa told me she has made trips down south. Elsewhere in Russia, people don't speak to each other. In Vorkuta, we're a tight community. More bewilderingly, she insists the warmer weather in the south no longer suits her. I left Raisa's flat, carefully putting on my five hi-tech thermal layers, and I tried to imagine this elderly lady working so long ago, out on the ice wearing nothing but a rudimentary convict's uniform.
People can it seems grow accustomed to the most unlikely places.
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