Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
found the first message, and also told me how to find the spot where he'd camped
the previous night.
About ten o'clock, I was on the verge of brushing my teeth and hopping into
bed, when Tim strode down the slope against the sunset-painted sky. He looked
tired but successful. I quickly stoked the fire and warmed some soup and macaroni
while he told me of another day of adventures in the Russian hospital system.
We pedalled into Tyumen the next day and left our bikes in a private carpark
under the care of a bemused-looking security guard, before taking a bus into the
centre. It was a public holiday and the crowds were out in force. The day was meant
to be a celebration of the Allied victory in the Second World War - a good couple
of months before similar celebrations in the west - but the people in the cafés and
on the streets seemed more interested in celebrating the eternal glory of the vodka
bottle.
We found an Internet café and visited the post office before making our way
to a central park to have a bite to eat. There was a paved area and a fountain
nearby and we watched in horror as an argument between teenagers developed into
a brutal bashing. A group of young thugs wearing Reeboks and gold chains stole a
Discman from a guy on roller-blades then pulled him to the ground and savagely
kicked his head until he managed to get to his feet and skate away. This was not
what we'd come to expect from Russia. Although the news bulletins on the tele-
vision invariably showed gruesome corpses and graphic war footage, we'd nev-
er encountered any hint of such public demonstrations of violence. These teen-
agers were the younger generation of the
gopniki
. Everything, from their dress to
the roller-blades, was lifted straight from MTV, and the shocking violence was
chillingly reminiscent of a Bruce Willis movie.
We bussed back to the outskirts, picked up some groceries from the market, col-
lected our bikes and gratefully pedalled away from town.
———
Ahead, the road stretched over 1000 kilometres to our next destination, the city of
Omsk. We rode through areas of undulating hills and low, cleared grazing land.
The weather closed in and for three days it alternatively rained and hailed. At one
stage, we passed over a huge, recently flooded plain. Dead trees stood in metre-
deep water with their lowest branches tugging violently in the swirling current. In
other places, the tips of old fence posts protruded above the surface, choppy wind-
driven waves lapping incessantly against them.
