We woke up just over the Russian
border to thunderous raindrops on our tent canvases. Annoyingly, the rain
showers were intermittent making the whole packing up process a sine wave of emotions.
Peak blue-sky optimism soon plummeted to misery before rising back up to false
hope again. The wet weather however wasn’t going to spoil the first bowl of
actual porridge we’d eaten since the Aral Sea on Day 25. At last we could see
the back of Buckwheat Flakes, which I wouldn’t even wish upon a starving
African child. Ant-free and coated in a large dollop of strawberry jam, this
triumph stood defiant in the face of sodden clothes and lashing rain.
The roads towards Barnaul began very
poorly; they were straight enough but numerous potholes punctured their surface.
Initially, the landscape was very similar to what we had seen in Kazakhstan but
we were so excited by the prospect of entering Mongolia in 2 days time that we
didn’t mind. Knowing that during our return journey we were likely to experience
the real Russia, at this stage it felt like more of a warm up act before the
main event. Mongolia was Harry, the firebolt-flying, golden snitch-seeking Quidditch
hero whereas Russia was Ron, the somewhat overshadowed, unheralded Gryffindor
house keeper.
The extensive desolate backdrop
continued as we neared the town of Bisck. After a much needed western comfort
food dinner, we set up camp a little way out of town at the side of the road.
Posted by: Rich