Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
was dumbfounding: Russia and Siberia cover more than twice the mass of Aus-
tralia. In all that vast landscape, what kind of people would we meet? Would we
come through it alive? Was it possible to ride in Siberia? If we did make it, what
would I be like at the end? We hadn't looked at any maps beyond the world atlas,
didn't know how long it would take, and I had barely been on a bike in the past two
years, and then never for great distances.
10 000 kilometres? It might as well have been a million. All I knew was that it
was a bloody long way. From the outset I had been repressing a fear that maybe I
didn't have what it took to endure such a mammoth challenge. I had enough money
to live on a budget of US$60 a month - and that was only if the journey took one
year. What if it took longer?
My chest grew tight and a tangle of emotion balled up in my throat.
I had been based in Finland for fourteen months. During that time I had grown
attached to the country and developed strong friendships. In recent months I had
fallen into a comfortable relationship with a Finnish girl. Leaving it behind felt like
severing ties with everything that had become a part of myself.
My thoughts were interrupted as the van came to an abrupt halt in front of the
Russian border post. I pulled out the little document from my passport and re-read
it for the hundredth time: 'Twelve month Russian Visa'.
The fragile bit of paper was the only tangible security I had. I first visited Russia
almost a year ago. I had felt an inexplicable connection with the country, as if a
part of me had lain dormant and suddenly sprung to life. I had known instantly that
Russia was where I wanted to be: to travel, live, explore and experience.
It was also reassuring to think that I was embarking on this journey with a spe-
cial friend, Chris. I remembered our brief time at university in Canberra, where we
had met. In all honesty, I couldn't think of a more ideal partner.
I took a deep breath, clutched the passport and approached the guard on duty.
The female guard smiled. Her bright red lipstick contrasted with the drab khaki
uniform she wore. 'You are really Australian?' she asked. She made several calls
and some officials whisked away my passport for processing.
After some deliberation I was waved through customs. Back in Alexsei's van, I
was surprised to find two men squeezed into the front and three giggling women in
the back with my gear.
'Let's go Alexsei. Time to go home!' one of the men roared. He was a little
drunk, as were the others. It took me a few moments to realise why Alexsei had
