Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
'Hi, excuse me. I was just wondering if you had any bread that I could buy?' I
asked.
'Oh well … sure. I haven't got that much but you can have half a loaf or
so. Where are you riding to?' She looked at me, her initial stiffness melting to a
friendly smile.
'Actually, I am from Australia, but I'm trying to ride to Beijing. I don't know if
you have heard of Petrozavodsk, but we started from there,' I replied.
'Really! Gee, you are a good boy, aren't you? Well done! Gee, you are a good
boy!' she exclaimed, shaking her head. The woman, like the shopkeeper, was in
her middle years. Blonde lengths of hair fell from beneath a blue scarf and her eyes
glistened as she smiled. Her kindness seemed to flow from the heart and come to
rest on her hips. Her full figure, with a pronounced behind and bosom, was typic-
al of Russian women between the gracefulness of youth and the stout strength of
babushka age.
I offered to show her my photo album. Within minutes we were sitting on the
porch with her eighteen-year-old son Mikhail and her sixteen-year-old daughter
Anna. More than anything, they were interested to see photos of my family. 'What
does your mother think about this trip?' the woman asked.
'Well, I don't know. I guess she is used to it, and she is definitely supportive,
but she probably misses me and worries a little.'
I always found it hard to answer this question, especially since travel had long
become the norm for me. Many people suspected that my mother would be wor-
ried sick. In fact, Mum told me on many occasions that her intuition told her that I
was in no great danger. It was a special connection that I shared with her, and if the
day ever came that she feared for me, I figured that I should be very cautious. Of
course, worrying about someone was different to missing them. I tried to imagine
what it would be like to have a child on the other side of the world for such a long
time.
Inevitably the family invited me to lunch. The glee with which they stared at the
photos and their warm company had distracted me from my lone journey. I found
myself smiling and giggling along with the children. There was no option but to
accept their invitation.
We ate a meal of fresh yoghurt, followed by borsch, steamed potatoes and meat.
The meal was served in a small shack separate to the house, which was used as a
'summer room'. The woman proudly showed me the enormous jars of preserved
cabbage and cucumber that she still had from the previous summer.
