<p>"Years ago on assignment for <i>National Geographic</i> magazine, I traveled eastward on the Trans-Siberian Railroad, traversing the Ural Mountains. It was a time when U.S.-Russian relations were improving and Westerners were welcomed with open arms. The passengers on the train had been informed about my mission to photograph on the train and had been asked for their support. After a couple of days most passengers, many of them long-distance travelers like me, were quite used to the sight of me with my cameras. A couple that occupied the compartment next to me had always given me warm smiles, but we had not found a chance to talk. One day, on my way back to my compartment, through the closed compartment door, I could see them engaged in a lovely conversation. I assumed they possibly were newlyweds in love. I signaled them to please not move. For a short while, I became the proverbial fly on the wall, silently witnessing tender, flirty moments unfold in front of my camera. When I quietly left, they barely took notice. A day later the young man was gone, and an elderly couple occupied the compartment with the young lady. Only then did I learn that the couple I had photographed had just met on the train. I did not ask more … I wanted to believe in the fleeting moments of love I had seen through my camera. But was my impression real? I will never know."</p> <p> —<i>Gerd Ludwig</i></p>