Travel Reference
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were moored. The larger boats were made of steel and looked like ocean-going
craft.
Half an hour later we were lying on the deck of a big diesel-engine boat, chug-
ging out into the open water. The city shrank to a grey blemish in the distance.
From out here it looked like it was under siege from the endless forest.
Vladimir tapped my shoulder and passed a generous shot of vodka. Altogether
we raised our glasses and downed the firewater in an instant. Gazing again at the
city, I thought it looked like an artificial outpost of civilisation. Bratsk is a city
supported by the biggest aluminium smelter plant in the world and by the logging
industry, but how did that translate into Mercedes, Coca-Cola, pop music and im-
maculate clothing?
'Whoohooooo!' bellowed Vladimir. He took off his shirt and stood atop the
bow, embracing the breeze.
As the sun edged towards the horizon the engine slowed, and I watched the
bow slice through the glassy water. We spent a couple of hours just cruising, and
I got to know Captain Pasha. He had the nature of a gentle lion. He was over six
feet tall with legs and arms that made Vladimir's look like twigs. Unlike Vladimir,
however, he chose not to show off. His hair was a golden mop that matched his
moustache and the glint of a gold false tooth. Deep crevices forged into his leath-
ery skin and, as he chewed on sunflower seeds, you could see the muscles ripple
about his jaw. The boat was his love and he had spent fifteen years building it him-
self. He had a wife whom he labelled his 'Winter Love', during summer he lived
on the boat. Downstairs he showed me the intricate wood carvings and paintings
that were his handiwork. Although he was probably about fifty there was a sense of
childlike wonder in him. It was as if his fascination with the world had never been
repressed. I could tell that Vladimir admired Pasha for the integrity and earthiness
that he himself lacked.
When we arrived back at the docks, Pasha stood silently at the helm, facing
the shore. There was something about his contemplative gaze that made me think
that he had many stories to tell, and longed to return to the freedom of the sea.
His gentle and caring qualities reminded me strongly of someone else, but I just
couldn't put a finger on it.
On shore we were whisked away to another world. In an exclusive restaurant
we found ourselves looking at a menu of South American dishes. 'What would you
like to drink, boys? Order whatever you want!' Vladimir insisted. A glass of beer
arrived before the meal and stories began to flow.
