Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
I quickened my step and soon reached the Internet café where I had come every
day for the past week. I found a space next to some more newly rich citizens and
logged on to spend a couple of calm and blissful hours chatting to Nat. As much as
I lived for this contact, however, it was no longer enough to brighten my day.
As soon as I walked out the door, a familiar frustration returned. I kicked a stone
and accidentally sent it whizzing into the gutter past yet another slick New-Russi-
an. He turned and looked angrily at me from the door of his black Landcruiser and
I scowled right back at him.
Tim was not due to return from Scotland for another three days, and I spent them
waiting. My life was stagnating and I was repeating myself to Nat in ever-gloom-
ier circles. I had nothing new to add and although I tried to be upbeat, I could tell
that I wasn't really succeeding. I knew that Nat loved me, but she was studying for
exams and I was beginning to get the feeling that she could better spend her time
elsewhere.
I hadn't moved in ten days and the lack of exercise combined with a diet of
greasy, unhealthy food had left me feeling unfit and sleeping badly. I couldn't re-
member what it was like to have a clear thought and I'd forgotten the enjoyment of
the simple cycling lifestyle that I loved. In ten days, I'd hardly learnt a thing about
Russia or its people. The waiting was killing me. It was a waste, not only of time,
but also of the life that was waiting for me back in Australia.
The day before Tim returned, I hit rock bottom. I seriously considered chucking
it all in and flying home but in the end decided to delay the decision. As much as
I wanted to be back with Nat, I knew that it would be hard for me to return to her
knowing that I'd failed. Besides, Tim and I had long ago decided that we'd ride the
next leg - 800 kilometres to Novosibirsk - alone. I'd decide whether to continue or
not when we got there.
I thought about Tim and what he would have gone through in Scotland. How
would he be dealing with the death of a close friend? I tried to empathise but found
it hard. The friends I'd had in high school had mostly drifted away. And what about
facing up to the idea that it was suicide? Did that change everything, too?
When Tim returned I could see immediately that his thoughts were far away. We
went through the greetings and catching up, but his replies were stilted and auto-
matic. He was looking blank, tired and uninspired.
He told us about the experience of Bruce's funeral while Misha helped himself
to a large bottle of expensive whiskey that Tim had bought in Scotland. It was only
