Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
To add to the confusion, he told me he didn't expect payment, but asked if I
could bring a baby kangaroo as a gift next time I visit Russia!
Chris was next in line, but fortunately he wasn't diagnosed with frostbite. A
couple of days later, however, late symptoms of frostbite emerged and he too had
some flesh removed.
Back at Tatyana's, I was put to bed and flattened with heavy blankets. Then she
put on an old LP record. The tunes were slightly warped and crackly, but it didn't
stop her from swinging a bemused Chris around the room in a dance.
All I could do was take pain-killers and wonder whether it was all a bizarre
dream. Unbeknown to me, Tatyana and her daughter Lena had agreed to accom-
modate us for the ten days. And so our residence in Babushkina began.
Despite the distressing events of the day I was feeling grateful, and at ease by
evening. As it turned out, the house didn't belong to Tatyana, but a seventy-five-
year old babushka named Galya. Tatyana and Lena were visiting from their home
in far-north Russia.
When Galya walked in the front door, she looked like a big round bundle of fur.
I had expected a look of confusion when she saw a stranger in her bed, but nothing
could be further from the truth. There was no hesitation, or even a look of suspi-
cion; her entire being positively oozed with kindness.
It was made clear to us that we had been embraced with the care and support of a
family. For the time being, Tatyana would be our mother, Baba Galya our grandma,
and Lena our sister.
Tatyana was already busy organising our schedule for the next two days, ringing
up countless friends and booking dinners and lunches. She was a short plump
middle-aged woman with perky cheeks, wide eyes and a U shaped smile. Her voice
was rough and raspy and always on the verge of laughter. In no time at all we had
gone from being independent boys on bikes to having our lives run for us.
Our first Baba Galya meal was a sign of things to come. The table was piled
high with pancakes, fish pies, fried potato and preserved cucumber. This was fol-
lowed by cottage cheese mixed with homemade blueberry jam. Almost everything
was drowned in oil or salt, or both.
'Eat, eat, boys! You are eating terribly, you have to eat!' she shrieked, giggling
contagiously. Her large fleshy face was framed by a red scarf, and her mouth was
unusually small, like a card slot. Her forearms, in line with the rest of her body,
were like large sticks of salami, not tapering from elbow to wrist. Her fingers were
