Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
the blue of her apron, which barely fitted around her bulging waist. 'I was wonder-
ing if you had any bread?' I asked.
'Sorry, no bread here. Everyone in this place makes their own.' She seemed al-
most proud of the fact.
'Okay, well then can I have a kilo of
pryaniki
biscuits?' I asked, after a pause.
With lightning fast swipes she whipped a couple of beads across an abacus and
shuffled over to the shelf. 'Do you mind if I ask where you are from?' she asked.
'Australia.'
As I left, she was almost shaking with excitement.
Outside, the boys were waiting. 'Hey, boys, do you know where I can fill up my
water bottles?' I asked.
Their freckled noses began bobbing up and down and they tore off on their old
single-geared bikes, expecting me to ride at the same speed. They were probably
no older than nine or ten, with the crewcuts that were the standard for Russian boys
at the beginning of summer. Their faces were already an earthy brown and darker
than their translucent blond hair and eyebrows.
As I filled my water bottles I smiled, and a split second of eye contact gave them
all the confidence to start asking questions.
'So where is the motor?' one boy asked.
'No motor on this bike. This is the motor!' I said, pointing at my legs.
'So, how far do you ride a day?' the other boy asked.
'Oh, it depends, between seventy and 100 kilometres. It depends on the roads,'
I replied.
'Really!' The boy's eyes lit up. The other boy nodded slowly, accepting my re-
sponse with the indifference of an older man.
Questions ranged from what I carried on the bike, to what kind of food I ate,
and whether I liked vodka. Like most children, they had a simple, uncomplicated
view of the journey. To them it was a matter of riding, eating, sleeping, and now
and then stopping in villages. In many ways, this was accurate. It contrasted with
the reactions of adults, who were more inclined to disbelieve, or to talk up all the
obstacles that made such a journey too dangerous, too expensive and too difficult.
I wondered at what age the attitudes began to change.
Now for bread. I pushed the bike along the path until I came across a woman
pottering in her front garden. Like all yard space in the village, every inch was be-
ing dug over for planting the staple vegetables of the Russian diet.
