Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Of the three hosts, one seemed to be making all the decisions and looking after
us. He was a short and stocky man with a crewcut and a remarkable scar that ran
down his forehead to below his left eye. His dark skin and bushy eyebrows were
distinctive among the mostly Caucasian Russians. He said he was of Indian descent
and that his name was Sergei.
While Chris dumped his gear and took off, I sat on the doorstep and talked with
Sergei. He told me that he had spent six years in a Russian jail, and had first been
locked away at the age of sixteen. He recounted his experience with pride and ex-
plained that his family and siblings had all done their time as well. Apparently, he
had been arrested for smoking and dealing marijuana. Nowadays, he was a sports
trainer at a school.
There was something about the way he spoke that suggested he respected our
journey, and even envied us. I thought that he was about to open up when he shook
my hand and took off.
Later in the evening I realised something wasn't right. Two men burst through
the door, changed their clothes, washed their hands, placed a pair of scissors under
a cushion and ran off again.
When Chris returned with a loaf of bread and some jam for dinner, Sergei came
running in with the girl we had met earlier. They hassled us for a spoon and minutes
later I watched the girl inject something into her arm with a syringe.
In the early hours of the morning, we were woken from our sleep by an erratic
banging at the steel door.
'Who is it?' I yelled, trying to sound infuriated.
'It's me!' came the crazed voice of a woman, followed by a sickly giggle.
I let her in and for ten minutes she traipsed around the cabin shrieking unintelli-
gibly before disappearing into the night.
Obviously, it was not going to be a night for sleep. When I did manage to close
my eyes, I was plagued by a familiar dream. I was sitting on the couch at home in
Australia. I tried to move but couldn't. I felt powerless, hopeless, mute. My family
and friends milled around, looking on with growing concern. They seemed happy
that I was home, but somehow surprised, as if my return was unexpected. I sensed
that they assumed I had plans for the future, and wanted to know what they were.
All I could say to them was, 'Let's see what is next.' Suddenly, I was left alone,
waiting for eternity, as if I had stepped off into a great swamp of grey nothing. The
future was a blank. It dawned on me that by returning home I had cut off my ties
with the life I had built in Russia and Finland.
