Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
For no particular reason we rolled out of the wrong side of bed the next morning.
After bickering over whether or not our rolled oats were precooked, I rode off in
a stink, relieved not to have Chris in front of me. I stopped only once, when a car
pulled up and the driver passed me a litre bottle of vodka. I gladly filled up my
empty drink container, knowing it would come in handy at some point.
As I rode, I tried to think of why there was such animosity between Chris and
me at times. As tolerant as we were of each other's foibles, we got caught up in
petty arguments that could destroy the day. In the scale of things it seemed ri-
diculous that such insignificant differences could bring about the downfall of our
friendship.
It was almost time for camp when we rolled into the village of Igra and stopped
outside a shop. Chris handed me the group wallet and I darted inside to find a rare
delicacy -
pryaniki
filled with dates! After munching away on two or three bis-
cuits, we looked at each other and laughed.
'Bloody hell, Tim, aren't these just the ultimate!' Chris boomed with crumbs
rolling off his chin.
'Bloody oath. They're from heaven!'
The next morning we rolled into a village nestled in the forest. It was a typical
northern settlement with greying log houses and unpaved streets.
As we turned into the dusty dirt track that wound through rows of homes, I was
overcome with nerves. We had finally decided to pay a visit to a school. Right from
the beginning of the journey I had tried to impress on Chris just how important
it was to me that we speak to students. After asking a couple of babushkas in the
street we headed towards an old two-storey log building. I put on a jacket to hide
my dirt-stained white T-shirt and strode into the schoolyard.
I had taken only two paces into the yard when I was surrounded by a growing
semi-circle of children, all smiling and whispering. Chris followed and we stood in
silence waiting for something to happen. Eventually, a teacher stepped forward. He
was an old square-shouldered man with a greying beard, and looked just as eager
to ask questions as the kids, only he was a little less impatient. 'So where are you
from?' he began.
After a short introduction we told our story and the rest followed. When I pro-
duced photos, the 200 or so children broke into wild excitement. Instead of passing
the pictures around the semi-circle they rushed forward, wanting the best view. The
teachers elbowed their way through the waist-high crowd, also fighting for a look.
