Smells of instant noodles and cigarettes waft past, as passengers rehydrate their cardboard food in the Drinking Water Roher Room.
I have my own stash of food, purchased from the station shop before departure. Mystery alcohol, peanut caramel biscuits, eight mini muffins, salty dried kiwifruit and peaches, plus the obligatory noodles and a thick length of spicy sausage.
I am quite proud of my experimental stash. But the half eaten meat and fruit make poor bedfellows and soon my bunk reeks of bad food choices.
I’d love a shower, though I’d settle for a number two. But I still haven’t solved the riddle of where all the used toilet paper goes to die.
Thankfully the cabin sound system is playing gently cascading piano music, which takes the edge off my claustrophobia.
But I don’t fancy lying down for the next two days, so I take the tiny fold-down dining seat in the hall. Unfortunately it faces the wrong way to people watch and I’m continuously angling my gangly legs out of everyone’s way.