We feel the Kirovo-Chepetsk slowing. A glance through the hatch tells us that the approach to St. Petersburg is frozen, with the ice extending at least two miles out to sea. For the next few hours we barely move, and then an icebreaker vessel appears off our port bow, and begins cutting a ship lane for us. It's a desperately slow business, and we alternate between lying in frustrated silence on the clothing bales and facing the glacial wind at the hatch as the icebreaker shears, meter by meter, through the creaking, protesting ice.

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