Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Omsk - Ishimka
Late Spring 2000
———
Chris
I kicked a stone along the pavement then hurried after it on my by now familiar
path through the city. I passed tiny street-side booths overflowing with newspapers
and swerved to avoid a crowd of well-dressed young people milling around the
locked door of a student caféteria. I glanced at the sign on the door as I passed. It
was supposed to have opened for lunch twenty-five minutes ago.
Two blocks on, I reached the glitzy electronics store where I would turn left off
the main road and head towards the Internet café. On the steps outside sat what
looked to be a pile of rags but, as I came closer, I realised that it was actually an
old woman. She was wrapped from head to toe in ragged strips of dirty fabric and
her head was down, sinking towards the gutter. The only sign of life that I could
see was a shaking hand extended to the passers-by. Behind her, through the store
window and through an unimaginable divide, an overweight, middle-aged Russian
businessman with a red face and an imported suit negotiated with a shop assistant
over the sale of what appeared to be a
DVD
player.
How could things have come to this? Like every other elderly Russian, this old
woman was entitled to a pension, but looking at her, it was painfully obvious that
she wasn't receiving one.
I paused to drop a few roubles into her hand. It was enough, at least, to buy a loaf
of bread, and she raised her head to thank me with a faint smile. She was clearly
not a drug addict or an alcoholic, the most common excuse doled out about Rus-
sia's homeless. I wrenched my gaze away from her watery eyes and looked through
the window to see the man paying for his
DVD
from a thick wad of American bills.
I clenched my teeth and walked away.
