Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
As the car disappeared around a bend, he turned to me. 'Tim, it would really be
a good idea to stay with them. Several drivers have warned me about the armed
jail escapees. Apparently the group are living between the village of Zvyozdni and
Niya.' They were the next two villages on our route.
With the bike repaired, we set off again. We had just rounded the first corner,
however, when two road workers leapt out in front of us, wielding shovels. We
shot past, pretending not to see them, but two minutes later their giant truck roared
down the hill in front of us and came to a halt. We had only covered thirty-five kilo-
metres, but it seemed we were destined for a day of drama. Soon we were squatting
in the roadside trench downing three compulsory shots of vodka. Each was pre-
ceded by the chinking of glasses and a triumphantly aired, '
na zdorovi
!' To your
health.
Afterwards, the men opened a tin of fatty chicken pieces. We dipped our fingers
in and brought the slimy delights to our mouths. As my mind sank into a warm
fuzzy state, I gazed at my dirt-brown shirt that used to be white, and at the glass in
my hand that was actually an old chipped jar. My bloodied elbows and bum stung
with the profuse sweat. Meanwhile Chris was grinning and licking his grease-
stained fingers clean of chicken remnants. His tattered shorts had the trademark rip
in the arse, but in recent days it had extended to a gaping hole through which his
entire right buttock was blatantly obvious. Several attempts to sew them up had
failed.
As filthy and unhygienic as our party was, it occurred to me that it didn't matter.
It was one of those moments when you become so deeply involved with the ex-
perience that you begin to blend in with the dirt. I thought of my initial aim of the
journey and realised with satisfaction that a large part of it was coming to fruition.
The men lit cigarettes and laughed. It would never have occurred to them that, for
me, this was the most profound moment in the journey to date.
Eventually we wobbled down the road towards Zvyozdni. With our high meta-
bolism the tipsy sensation passed quickly, but not in time for me to realise that there
was something wrong with my bike - again.
'Chris, my back wheel feels really strange, can you have a look for me?' I asked.
'That's because it's dead flat and it's probably been dead flat for the past five
kilometres!' he announced, breaking into side-splitting laughter. I was past the
point of caring and just got off to push.
It was almost dark by the time we pushed into Zvyozdni. The streets were play-
ing host to summer evening life. Babushkas were out in force on their balconies
