Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
and tundra, to eventually drift into the Arctic Ocean. I sympathised with the bushes
and envied the driftwood.
Then the words came back to me as bluntly as I had read them half an hour
earlier on e-mail: 'Basically, bouncers and an undercover policeman beat me up.
My nose and cheekbone were broken and my teeth knocked severely. My nose was
put back into place but is now permanently bent. My teeth are still numb.'
It came from my nineteen-year-old brother, Jonathan. Jon has always been like a
best friend to me. He has the muscular body of an athletic hero. As we were grow-
ing up, his build highlighted my weedy figure, typified by my kneecaps that are
wider than my thigh muscles. Yet behind Jon's broad shoulders and beefy chest, I
knew him to be a soft and caring person.
I pictured the bewildered look on his face as some brute mistook him for a thug
and smashed his face, knocking him unconscious. It brought back flashes of the in-
cident in Tyumen when we had watched a boy on roller-blades being attacked.
I thought of my mother. She had probably been more hysterical than Jon about
it all.
When the air began to chill I made my way back to the hotel room where Chris
was still lying in bed. His bouts of diarrhoea had worsened in Omsk and he couldn't
keep food down. I had spent two days trying to find a tent for the solo journey
to Novosibirsk. Failing that, I bought some material and befriended a family that
owned an old manual sewing machine. I was quite proud of the fly netting I had
subsequently made, which would hang inside my
loue
shelter and protect me from
ticks and mosquitoes.
'Hey, Chris, mate, what do you reckon about this?' I asked, unravelling the net-
ting.
He rolled onto his back and groaned. 'God, I feel like crap,' he said. 'But I think
I am getting better, and there is no way we can spend more time in the city. It's hell
watching you munch down ice-creams and greasy pies when I can barely stomach
bread!'
'Yeah, it must be. But check out this fresh batch of potato pies. They're steam-
ing hot, came straight out of a babushka's handbag. Divine!' I replied, provoking a
grin across his pale face.
We agreed that we would leave the following day and split up for the 800 kilo-
metres or so to Novosibirsk. We had been talking about going our separate ways
for months. Not only would it be a chance to clear the air between us, but it would
also give us the chance to experience Russia alone.
