Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
As the public buses ground to a halt, the hot-water pipes rusted beyond repair and
the power stations fell into further neglect, what would the future bring to Russia?
Fortunately for us, the man happened to have a tourist map of Mongolia, which
had a scale of 1:2 000 000. Little did we know that it would become our sole source
of navigation later on.
As we rode out of town the following evening, it felt as if we had been wished
good luck and sent on our way from Russia itself. It had been the final spontan-
eous display of everything that encapsulated the warmth and generosity of almost
twelve months in this wonderful country.
———
Two days later the border of Mongolia was in sight.
With a bowl of porridge in hand, I wandered towards a nearby hilltop and sat
beneath a lone tree. Leaning against the trunk, I breathed a sigh of relief. I wanted
to be alone with my thoughts; I wanted to think about what this day would bring.
For more than two years I had been living in the northern forest lands of Finland
and Russia. This part of the world had become my life, my passion and home. Now
that we were leaving, I wanted to hold onto it like a baby to its mother.
I peered into the distance and tried to adjust my eyes to the details of the hori-
zon. I thought that if I looked hard enough I could solicit some kind of certainty
about my future.
'Hey, Tim … ready to go?' came Chris's voice.
From our camp site, we descended towards the border town of Kyakta. 'Mongo-
lia 10 km', read a sign. The bikes sliced through the mist, freewheeling, gathering
speed towards the end. I was tempted to pull on the brakes. It all felt too early to be
leaving Russia.
The road abruptly flattened out and we rolled into the centre of town. Several
cows lazed about the bus shelters, others lay in the middle of the road, in the full
knowledge that drivers would avoid them. Box-shaped kiosks lined the main street;
and as our momentum slowed, we observed tubby women in blue and white aprons
preparing for a day behind the counter.
As we neared the town centre, I was puzzled by a vibrant display of reds, yel-
lows and pinks in the mist. They seemed to melt and swirl into one another like
running paint in a watercolour. I squinted into the mist, trying to work out what it
could be.
