Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
We were skirting around the central square, when suddenly a fierce shouting
began. 'Hey! Tim! Tim! Australians!'
It was Slava. I had talked to him on the outskirts of Bratsk, where he had handed
us a bottle of 'Baikal Mineral Water'. Now he was leaning against a car with his
arms crossed above his pot belly. His face seemed to run in parallel lines, his chin
just as wide as his forehead. His eyes were clenched tightly between tensed brows
as he squinted into the sun.
'What took you so long?' he boomed, as we approached and shook hands vig-
orously. Within minutes we were following him home. Unfortunately, he had for-
gotten his house keys and tried to break in through his own window.
'Don't you know, it's normal for us Russians to get into our homes like this,' he
said.
Once inside, it didn't take long before a steady flow of friends arrived to meet
the famed Australians. One visitor was Sasha, a man with the erect posture of a
policeman. In his train conductor's uniform, I mistook him for an officer come
to check our visas. His hair was short and thick, combed back in a stiff series of
waves. He wore sunglasses perched above his forehead and when he smiled they
moved ever so slightly, making the grooves around his eyes apparent. He was full
of energy and never without another question or suggestion.
'Have you swum in Baikal yet? Have you talked to a captain about getting
across to the other side? Do you have a wish to do such?'
Dinner was almost ready but Sasha convinced Slava's wife that a turn on the
lake was obligatory. After a trip on the open water, we returned to port for an im-
promptu swim in the icy water. Dripping wet and shivering violently, we returned
to Slava's home and a celebratory chorus.
'Don't be shy, eat as much as you can, be at home, eat! Eat!' demanded Slava's
wife. I looked down at the table and my pulse rose. There was an array of salted
and cooked fish, an endless supply of
pelmeni
, potato salad, cucumbers and tomato.
And, of course, vodka.
Next came the
banya
. Inside, Sasha grasped the
veneg
, a bundle of birch twigs
and leaves, and dipped it in a pot of boiling water. I lay down on the timber slats
before he began whipping my back and legs in a mad frenzy. '
Mechta? Mechta!
Isn't this just a dream? It's a dream!' he kept saying. It felt as if my skin was being
singed and boiled; at any minute it would be ready to peel off.
The session lasted three hours. I watched in amusement as Chris stumbled out
naked with glowing red skin, unable to focus his eyes. The grin on his face sug-
