Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
exit to towns and cities across the country. The primary reason was to check wheth-
er vehicles were roadworthy and licences were valid. However, since it is compuls-
ory for Russians to a carry an 'internal passport', and the authorities were on alert
for Chechen terrorists, it was standard to check personal identification.
'Where are you from?' asked the man. He looked confused, as if not sure wheth-
er we were riding motorbikes or, as many people first believed, some kind of bi-
cycle for the disabled.
'We have just come from Bratsk,' I answered, hoping to avoid retrieving our
documents. It didn't work.
'Can I see your passports and visas?' he asked. Begrudgingly, we followed him
into a little shack on the roadside. He flicked through the passports, amused by the
array of colourful stamps. Our visas were separate documents stamped with the
title 'Cultural Connections Visa'. He had no more idea of what that meant than we
did.
Eventually, he made a phone call. 'Hello, we have here two Australians. They
have passports and visas, and everything seems all right. What do we do with
them?' There was a long pause, then he handed us two cold beers and strode out to
inspect the bikes.
Having dropped his official manner, he sipped his beer and grinned at the un-
earthly contraptions. His bushy moustache and rounded belly were suddenly far
from intimidating. Then, abruptly, his grin vanished. 'I'm sorry, boys, but if you
intend to follow the road towards Baikal, I have to strongly advise you to go by
truck or car. At the very least, you should only ride by day and spend the nights in
villages. There are seven escapees from a nearby jail and they have been ambush-
ing traffic. They are living in the forest and are armed with guns. It would be very
dangerous for you.'
We had been warned of dangers on many occasions and were used to ignoring
such advice, but I sensed that the man's concern was very real. However, sapped
into a state of lethargy by the sun and beer, I wasn't all that bothered. And besides,
I was looking forward to a rest in Ust Kut. Under vague direction we trundled into
town.
Ust Kut was a collection of tiered apartment blocks sprawling along a narrow,
deep valley shouldered by mountain slopes. At the southern extremity was the con-
fluence of the rivers Kuta and Lena. The Lena is the second-longest river in Russia,
and the sixth-longest in the world. From the road high along the valley side, a busy
shipping port could be seen at one end of the town. I imagined getting on board one
