Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
the distance. Eventually a car appeared, rising and dipping in the potholes, only to
whoosh past and shrink into the horizon.
By the time the mist began to fall we sat dejectedly by the roadside. Chris in-
spected an abandoned shack nearby and proclaimed that if we broke through the
window we could sleep on the wooden floor. Several hours later we had given up
all hope when a bus came to a halt and the driver ushered us inside.
For the next three hours we held onto the seats as the bus hurtled through the
darkness, swerving around unseen potholes and hitting bumps with frightening
abruptness. Meanwhile, our fellow passengers nursed bottles of vodka. We were
eventually dropped off in the centre of the city and found our way to an impov-
erished dorm beneath an Orthodox church. After haggling with the manager, she
agreed to let us stay for two dollars.
In the morning I awoke to the daunting task of finding a doctor. It was a shock to
be back in civilization. Grand, onion-shaped domes rose in a sparkle of gold above
the inner city paved with cobblestones. Rows of small box-shaped kiosks lined the
streets and babushkas sat on every corner selling sunflower seeds out of glass jars.
At first light, Chris had gone off to find access to the Internet.
I boarded a bus that took me into suburbs of faceless apartment blocks and
stumbled into what I hoped was the hospital. After failing to understand a single
word spoken by the receptionist, I was dragged before a glaring nurse. As I told my
story, she softened and her pursed lips broke into a smile of pity.
After a series of phone calls, I was led upstairs to a waiting area where a long
queue of angry-looking patients stood outside a door. It was the X-ray room. The
door opened and a short, plump woman poked her head out. 'Come here now!'
she waved. The queue turned with a collective groan. Some began to shout but the
nurse was adamant. 'He is a special boy from Australia and needs attention for his
knee. He is on a cycling expedition!'
Several hours later, after a confusing X-ray process and a visit to a specialist, I
was given a tube of cream and advised to apply it three times a day.
We left Vologda feeling positive. Chris had received some e-mails from Natalie,
which seemed to release some of his tension. I only hoped that the cream would
work on my knee.
At eleven that evening we found ourselves outside Babushka's house in Novi
Vashki.
'What do you reckon, should we knock?' Chris said over the thud of a million
raindrops.
