Hot Dacha Action

After the kaleidoscopic madness of the night before, we sleep for most of the day.  We’re meant to be going to the family’s dacha later in the afternoon, which is about when we start waking up.  A dacha is a small summer house with an attached garden that many Russian families have.  They use the garden to grow fresh fruit and vegetables and the house as an escape from city living whenever they feel the need.  The deal is that we will go there, stay the night and swim in the nearby lake in the morning; in return for helping her father paint the fence.  We discover Vortex Yulia managed to get up about nine in the morning to meet a few Spanish travellers to collect paperwork from them.  She’s in the process of helping them to get registered and find train tickets too.  I can’t believe this amazing woman, there’s nothing she won’t do to help people, even while pushing through terrible mornings like this one.  I still think she deserves nomination for sainthood and this might be one of the required miracles.

Just after Yana arrives, Vortex Yulia suddenly announces that her father, Oleg, is leaving soon and we need to be downstairs in the next five minutes.  This causes a flurry of packing and we soon flood out the door much to the amusement of her mother.  She had been the one to discover Don passed out in the door and thought he was hilarious.  This kind of thing is apparently not uncommon for their family and friends.  So it was that myself and Don, with Yana, Vortex Yulia and Yulia’s little brother Dimitry, Dima, pile into the 4WD to begin the drive out of the city.  Lari was due to meet us later after catching up with some other people.  We agree that there will be no chance of alcohol tonight since we’re all still too seedy.  We stop in a hypermarket to get food supplies along the way and we wander around it aimlessly for a while before Oleg starts hurrying us along.  I then find Yana standing transfixed in front of a massive fridge filled with cakes.  These are one of her major weaknesses and I can feel the inner torment going on.  So I search for the largest, craziest looking one and pick it up to buy it.  Her face lights up and we then discuss at some length the potential benefits of all the other cakes.  Then we find another shelf of them to continue our strictly scientific analysis.  At the end of this important scientific research we conclude that the one in my hand meets all the most important and relevant criteria.  It’s a cake.

The trip to the dacha is uneventful until we turn off the sealed road and onto a dirt track.  Vortex Yulia immediately bursts into life and a bottle of cold beer appears in her hand.  I’m actually thinking that looks like a good idea, but I can’t quite bring myself to actually drink again.  She opens the beer and hands it to her father; who’s driving.  I do a double take and check on Don who’s also smiling and looking surprised.
“Is that normal?”, I ask her.
“No!”, she exclaims, looking suitably shocked at the very thought.
“Normally mum does it, but she’s not here so I have to”, she explains.
Don and I start laughing.
“It’s a tradition when we hit the dirt track; Dad gets a beer”.
“Do you realise how unbelievably Australian that is?”  I venture in happy disbelief.
She looks confused for a minute then asks if we want one.  Don and I both look equally horrified at the prospect.  Even with recent improvements, the idea is sickening.

Just before we arrive at the dacha we pass a huge pile of smouldering garbage on the side of the road.  It’s placed about fifty metres from the beginning of the small village built here and parts of it burst into flame randomly as we approach it.  All kinds of rubbish are piled together; bottles, cans, plastic, cardboard and whatever else someone’s finished using.  The stench is overpowering as we pass next to it.  Burning plastic and rubber mixed with a melange of wrongness.  Don and I share another surprised glance and I know this will be discussed later.  We pass through a strange iron gateway with wrought iron lettering stretching across and above the road.  The lettering says ‘Механизатор’.
“What does that mean?” I ask Vortex Yulia, trying to recognise the word
“Ummm…it’s like a machine operator, someone who drives a tractor or some other thing with a big engine.”
“Oh, a Russian woman then?” I suggest with an evil grin.
“Yes, something like that”, she answers with a laugh.
It feels like we’ve officially passed into a separate land, the world of the dacha.  We can see about fifty tiny blocks of land (about twenty metres each side) nestled within a large clearing in the forest.  Each block has a quaint little wooden A-frame house and many have one or two other small wooden shacks on them.  Next to every house there is tilled land growing all kinds of vegetables, fruit and flowers.  Some plots have greenhouses as well, including ours.  We unpack the car into the tiny kitchen inside the doll house.  I think small is the best way to describe everything here.  It’s like a village, only, well, smaller.  The first thing I notice wandering through the door is the deer head mounted on the wall with a badminton racket hanging off it’s antlers.  Purely practical, of course.  Where else does one hang one’s badminton racket?

Racket Hanger

Don and I notice that we have both sparked up a fair bit on the trip.  Maybe it’s the cool country air or the Georgian food; but the day is certainly looking up.  We’re shown to our, well, small cabin.  It’s exactly big enough to put two single beds in it with half a metre between them.  In the twilight you can make out the silhouettes of plants and flowers leading down a gentle hill from the house and cabin.  We’re standing on the small verandah in front of the house admiring the view when Vortex Yulia emerges again to join us.
“Where will Lari sleep?” I ask her out of interest.
“Oh with me and Yana or maybe upstairs if she wants more space”.  I involuntarily look up at the ceiling and imagine what kind of small attic will be there.  I picture Lari curled up in a corner of it talking to a mouse about one day having her own room.

Oleg and his dacha garden

We wander out to set of the fireworks I found in the hypermarket and meet Lari while the show is going on.  We trudge back to the dacha along the gravel road, feeling perky in the cooling night and filled with the childish happiness that fireworks bring.  Lari decides she’ll sleep in the attic.  Now I can see her with a little bluebird up there and I think I want some pictures.  While she’s getting settled, I setup my portable speakers and mp3 player on top of the fridge in the kitchen to provide some calm, funky music to settle us all down.  I grab one of my beers from the fridge thinking a nightcap would be good about now, but this is when I become aware that Oleg is cutting up cucumber and tomato.  I wonder what it’s for when he starts on some of the processed luncheon meat the Russians seem to love, but my bowels detest.  He then says something to we three crazy Australians and his face opens up into a broad, mischievous smile.  We look to Vortex Yulia expectantly and she shakes her head
“I’m not going to translate that!”, she says in her most unimpressed voice.
A vodka bottle has appeared in his hand and we’re looking at each other in mild terror.  He wouldn’t do that to our poor livers would he?  We badger Yulia to translate so we can meet Russian hospitality head on.
“He says….You’re in Siberia now, so you can have some vodka or we put you in a grave.”
Don and I look at each other and grin.  We both shrug, resigned to our fate,
“Well, if you put it like that, we’d love some”.

Yana seems to absorb slices of the cake through her skin and also manages to pass some around to everyone as we start our vodka session.  We continue working through the vodka by toasting the dacha, Vortex Yulia, her dog and I think we toast hamsters at some point in following with the alphabetical sequence.
Oleg keeps producing half finished bottles of vodka and we drain two of those with a little help from Yana and Lari as he regales us with stories of his trips to Germany and Paris with his wife a few years earlier.  Of course, he doesn’t speak English and our Russian is very limited, so the story takes a fair while with us gaining the barest surface details of it.  I beg Vortex Yulia to come back in so we have some chance of understanding.  We’ve emptied the plate of food and Vortex Yulia leaps into action to get some water on the boil.  Pelmeni are on the way!  We’re absolutely loving sitting in this lovely, warm small kitchen of a dacha in the middle of Siberia drinking vodka with the locals.  Whatever comes our way is going to be just fine.

We finally move onto the bottle he bought back in the hypermarket – back when we had vowed not to drink again.  He’s now talking about a taxi driver in Paris who completely fails to take them to Maxims.  The driver takes them to a number of other tourist destinations in the city, but not where they want to visit.  Oleg ends up getting angry and underpays him before running across a street in heavy traffic with his wife in tow.  We remember the night we were drinking Samogon with Elven Nastya in Yekaterinburg.  We try to tell him but we can’t remember the word in Russian.  We ask Vortex Yulia and she tells us again – much to her father’s delight.  He then produces a small bottle of what he calls ‘whisky’, but is definitely Samogon – of a much lower standard then Elven Nastya’s .  It’s vaguely the colour of whisky, but the smell is more like methylated spirits.  He pours all of it into two small glasses for myself and Don and wryly says it’s only for guests.  We both assume at this point that he’s trying to get rid of it.  He’s not interested in having any at all, but pours himself some more vodka.  Don and I agree it isn’t really whisky and that throwing it down quickly is the best possible approach.  We do so and immediately regret it.  Finally we’ve found the Samogon we’d been warned of; the kind that finishing a bottle will probably destroy your eyesight for a week.  I suddenly picture the two of us genuinely blind and staggering aimlessly around the Siberian countryside looking for assistance.  Friendly Siberians would take us in and give us some bread, tomato and cucumber and then more Samogon that keeps us in this state permanently.  We’ll become Russian Samogon Zombies; doomed to walk the earth at the mercy of the kindness of strangers.

Oleg mid session

Suddenly the pelmeni are ready.  We dive headfirst into them to get rid of the taste of the vile liquor.  They have to be the best food for a vodka session that I have ever had the joy of experiencing.  Oleg has some sour cream to dip them in and then Don remembers our adzhika sauce is in his backpack and runs out to fetch it.  They are delicious 100% Russian stodge!  Lari decides she will let the three of us finish the last half bottle and wanders upstairs to sleep.  By this time communication is largely a matter of charades, heavy gesturing and hoping one of the other team will recognise a word in there somewhere.  I have no idea what the last toast is to, but we decide that bed is the right place to be.  This happens just after the last bottle is emptied.  I shut down the music and Don and I walk unsteadily out into the night.  The cold air kicks us sharply awake and brings on the full effect of more than two bottles of vodka that have largely been consumed by just three people.  Don makes it to the cabin and lies down.
“What was with that pile of rubbish on the way in?”  I ask, suddenly remembering how utterly unexpected it was.
“Dunno.  Haven’t seen something like that since Africa.  Nobody cares because it’s not important enough”, Don replies sadly.
“I think it’s gotta be Boris and Yuri at work again”, I add and then continue, putting on my best Russian accent.
“Yuri, where we put water bottles and plastic bags now our picnic in beautiful park is finish?”  Don smiles continues with his best accent,
“Just put them in pile here with car tyres and chicken bones then we set whole thing on fire.”
“That sounds very good Yuri, throw on plastic bottles so they burn quicker near our houses! …but… It will start fire in grass, yes?”
“Dont be silly….grass only here two months, then snow and we need good fire.”
“And our vodka bottle?”
“Oh throw on too, we can’t make two piles here…”
“Maybe government will pay your sister to sit here in little booth and tell people?”
“Good idea! Then we have more money for vodka!”
“And sausages and cucumber and tomato, Yuri, only drunkards drink without food!”
Don finishes giggling and turns over, succumbing to the sleep demons.

I’m pottering around thinking some music would be good and I’m about to go back into the house to retrieve everything when I see a shadow of someone walking past the house and into the yard.  I freeze, the light is on inside the cabin, but it’s in front of me.  I don’t think I can be seen here.  Another shadow drifts past and I suddenly picture some local activists coming to relieve the foreigners of their possessions.  And maybe some blood.

Yana suddenly comes in the door to say hello while Vortex Yulia is heading for the outdoor toilet.
“Fuck! You had worried me just then! I thought someone was breaking into the dacha!”, I admit with extreme relief.
Yana and I chat a little and share a cigarette.  Yulia and Yana trade places and I invite her to sit down.  She says she has to sleep tonight after last night’s efforts and would just wait for Yana, who soon returns and we all move outside to let Don sleep in peace.  Yulia leaves us talking on the back verandah and sharing another cigarette.

I look up at the moon, which is now bright enough to throw the village into relief.  I wonder what it is that I have done to deserve this idyllic moment of natural beauty.  In the middle of Siberia I am sharing a quiet moment with this amazing woman under the care of this wonderful Russian family I met less than two days ago.  I know how I got to this place, but not this feeling of peace, connection, harmony and beauty.  The light is perfect on Yana’s face as she says goodnight and I close my eyes to try and hold the feeling in the moment as long as I can.

Hot Yana Action

Our lovely Yana

Yana arrives from her work and joins us.  She is a rather beautiful Ukrainian woman with jet black shoulder length hair, a striking and very expressive face enhanced only by her firm, but curvaceous figure.  Her heart is large enough to care for the whole world, which is why she and Vortex Yulia are such natural partners in crime; they share this feeling.  We turn and head for the first meetup for Couchsurfers in Novosibirsk.  We will congregate in a pub rather creatively named “The Old Irish Pub”.

The Old Irish Pub - This is the one that was literally moved from Ireland

Why is there an Irish pub in the middle of Siberia? I’m not sure, but there is more than one in Novosibirsk.  This one has some good live music, featuring a beautiful Russian woman who can’t speak English, but is happily singing in English.  We discover that any pint of Irish beer is priced around the 220 rouble (AUD$12) mark, so we choose Baltika at the more normal 100 roubles (AUD$5).  We settle in to meet the few people who come early and Vortex Yulia starts taking messages and calls from the people we will find later in the night.  An Irish pub is much the same the world over and it takes little encouragement for us to head for the next stop, a delightful place called “Cardamom”.

This features an outdoor area covered by tent fabric of the style you might find in Arabia or Central Asia.  The inside is fitted out with styles from Central to South East Asia; beautiful carvings, furniture, ornaments and pictures.  We immediately feel at home and settle in for a few hours.  Ordering wine proves more difficult than expected, of course the menu is in Russian, but no-one knows what kind of wines these are exactly.  The list is extensive and after a bad time with some Spanish sherry, eventually I’m happily sipping a particularly good Spanish red wine.  The manager is an amazing character in her own right, she’s travelled extensively and almost everything in the café/bar belongs to her personally.  Don buys a bottle of vodka and we all share shots randomly while we talk.  During the three hours we spend here, a number of friends of our hosts and other Couchsurfers arrive to swell our numbers to around ten people.  We become the last customers and they keep the place open for us as long as we’re ordering from the bar and can manage to keep the noise down.

Cardamom - I think we were keeping him at work

“You look like you’ve got your shine on Yulia”, observes Lari with a warm smile.
I turn to look at Vortex Yulia, who is sitting holding a glass of red wine that almost matches her glowing cheeks.  She moves with the languorous ease that alcohol provides as her broad, warm smile furrows into a frown.
“What does that mean?” she asks, checking her clothes and body generally.
“It means you’ve arrived at the stage of drunkenness where you feel warm and happy, like you’re shining from within and you don’t care about the rest of the world anymore”, Lari explains.
“Oh that sounds good!” Vortex Yulia bubbles, returning to her normal happy, world-embracing self,
“Where did you get that from?”, I ask, “I like it.”
“Some old friends of mine use it all the time.  The idea is to get your shine on and then stop drinking while it lasts.  When you feel the warmth ebbing away, you have some more”.
I consider the idea and can’t fault the logic.  Now if only my drinking style hadn’t been developed around men in the Northern Territory of Australia I’d probably be able to do the same.

Cardamom Fun - Those leather bags held our two bills, so cool.

We meet our first ever Russian hippies.  They’re from the Altai region to the south of Novosibirsk. Nick in particular has long, red dreadlocks and the kind of warm calmness that would not be out of place on the Dalai Lama.
“You have to visit the Altai while you’re in town”, he implores us passionately.
“You can do so many other things in town and around here, but this is one place you must visit to understand.”
We once again vow to do exactly that.  His friends are mostly students at one of the universities and all are fascinated that these crazy Australians would travel so far to see an eclipse.
“As soon as I found out that the best viewing would be in Russia for this one, I was very happy.  This is a country I’ve always wanted to visit and then suddenly I had the perfect reason to come here.”
“So do you ever go to countries that don’t have eclipses?”, Nick asks with a particularly quizzical look on his face.
“Well, not since I made my vow to follow them.  But that doesn’t mean I can’t or won’t, just that travelling for the eclipse takes priority.”

We spend our time at Cardamom trading small stories of our lives in different countries, but eventually the manager wants to close and go home; so we have to go.
“Davai davai davai”, Vortex Yulia stands up and encourages everyone.
“But we haven’t paid the bill or finished our drinks yet”, I point out.
“Okay, first we must wait a while, then we go.”
I remember her words as the best summary of the Russian capability to take forever to get anywhere.

Yana decides she also needs to sleep; mostly to avoid what she knows will become a huge night.  Lari takes the opportunity to leave with her and all the rest of us walk into the night with Vortex Yulia and Nick in the lead.  This is another time where I largely have no idea where we’re going or what is being planned; but I have faith in my host and follow blindly.  Don and I merge with the six or so Russians and just keep close.  We arrive at a large supermarket and are told we’re here for the purpose of buying beer.  I’m not sure why exactly, but we get into the spirit of things and emerge with a bag of bottles of various kinds to share around.  The group manages to gather together a vast haul of beery goodness by the time everyone gets through the registers.

While we’re waiting I find myself talking to someone about music and I sing lines from some Australian songs to provide some examples.  This leads to me singing a couple of songs in their entirety and drawing the attention of a large group of people gathered outside.  This is the first time I really notice that there are quite a few similar groups to ours dotted around the pavement in front of the supermarket.  Everyone has beers and is drinking them while chatting amongst themselves.  We’ve just joined a Russian outdoor pub.

A Russian Outdoor Pub

These can be found in every city, the largest (and most popular) are normally right outside supermarkets.  We’d passed one in Moscow on the way to see the film on our transfer day and we’d seen a few in Yekaterinburg as well.  Smaller ones are located near the strips of small shops found near train stations and Metro entrances.  The style and quality of them changes little and generally involves lots of people standing around drinking beers and chatting.  Small groups of immaculately dressed women will huddle together and the odd guy or pair of guys will try to infiltrate to bring their two groups together.  There might be singing or guitars at random points, there will probably be one or more unfeasibly intoxicated people staggering aimlessly around.  The police are normally close by watching for evidence of any real trouble, which I never witnessed, but feel quite sure it is dealt with quickly and remorselessly by the ever present militia.  Technically it is illegal to drink alcohol openly in public; practically we were only ever twice approached by police about this.  In both cases most people were speaking English, so the police may have thought it might be an easy shot for a bribe.  I did enjoy the look on their faces when half the group turned around to debate the point with them in Russian, our local friends were always fantastic like this.  By the way, arguing with a Russian woman is something to be avoided at all costs.

As more people join us from the supermarket I realise what has been taking so long.  A few of them have also picked up picnic supplies – we will be migrating to a Russian open air café tonight!  Nobody had said anything about this, so I offer to help pay for the food and I’m flatly refused.
“The guest is king”, nick reminds us with a broad smile as his friends nod.
My singing has now drawn a guy who apparently is part of a few local bands and wants me to come to a session with them.  My friends are all regarding him with extreme suspicion and they’re unashamedly indicating to him it’s time for him to be somewhere else.  I have no idea what they’re saying, but I’m hurried away as part of the group to find our café location.  On the way one of the guys tells me they don’t really know if he was alright or not.
“Maybe he is good person, but he knows you are foreigner.  In Siberia everyone thinks all foreigners are very rich”, he advises me.
“But it was singing that drew him over, not me speaking English”, I point out.
“You were singing in English with no accent.  This is very unusual in the middle of Siberia.”
I had to concede the logic but, I still felt they were being unusually harsh to the guy.  However, I always follow the advice of trusted locals and never found myself in a dire situation.

We’re being led to a nearby playground with a small concrete square that surrounds a sandpit.  Each side is only one and half metres long, the edges are about thirty centimetres high and ten centimetres wide at the top; perfect to sit on.  There’s a roof over the whole area, giving it an especially close and intimate feeling as we sit around the edge facing inwards.  There isn’t enough space for everyone, but people take turns standing up forming a second group then come and sit down as time passes.  I spend the whole time sitting down talking to whoever’s part of the sandpit group.  The conversation is mostly a comparison of life, studies and work between Australia and Russia.  Nick tells us more about the Altai region; beautiful mountains, rivers, lakes and forests that are still in their natural state.  Apparently marijuana grows wild once you travel a few hundred kilometres away from Novosibirsk and this does form a core part of the Altai lifestyle.  Our desire to visit this apparent paradise grows with each story.  We eat, drink, smoke, laugh and share our time freely and openly like old friends who are catching up after being apart for a while.

Another Nightclub

Eventually we run out of food and beer.  I have no sense of time by now, it’s night and I’m drifting with the Novosibirsk crew.  I’m told we’re all heading for a nightclub called ‘Alibi’ that Nick recommends and the walk begins.  A few of us discover some Beatles songs we all know and sing our way down the cold streets.  At one point the guy I’m walking and talking with stops and says he can get us on the roof of the building we’re passing.  There’s a brief discussion and when he realises we would have to climb a tennis court fence we carry on to the nightclub.  As we’re arriving, our Russian friends ask us to speak English loudly so we can all skip the queue and get everyone in easily.  This situation occurs because, once again, foreigners are seen to have money while most Russians don’t.  The plan works perfectly and the whole group walks in calmly with Don and I deliberately being very Australian and very loud.

Inside a DJ is playing electro music that catches our attention, Don and I decide we will be forced to have some vodka at the bar and then get into the dancing.  In a wonderful synchronicity, our entrance to the dance floor coincides with the appearance of a couple of beautiful young women paid by the club to stand in front of the DJ.  They are wearing very little and dancing very dirtily.  The inspiration works on the whole crowd and we lose ourselves in the moment of music and movement.  Well, thus it started, but kept stopping suddenly when the DJ just switched to the next song without mixing in any way.  It isn’t that the last song had ended either, he’s just changing it every couple of minutes to something vaguely similar.  Now there are many qualities of DJs and this one could best be replicated by a 15 year old with two CD players and a switch to swap between them.  After about ten minutes I realise the style isn’t going to change and no amount of go-go dancer inspiration is going to make me enjoy it – so I turn away to investigate the club itself.

I’m strolling towards the bar in order to find some more vodka when Don appears by my side with the same plan.  After sharing our shots, he returns to the dancing and I continue my wandering.  Opposite the bar are flights of stadium style stairs leading down to the toilets and up to the second floor.  The top floor overlooks the dancefloor, is a lot quieter and this is where I find most the crew we had come in with.  They are gathered around a table and I discover a shot of vodka waiting for me; these Russians really do look after their guests!  Vortex Yulia introduces me to Michael, a Nigerian guy who works as a bouncer in the club.  I think he’s one of the very few black men I ever see in Russia during our visit.  There’s nothing like hippies and travellers to accept everyone from everywhere.

Yulia in her Natural Habitat - on the phone

This is the point in the night where things get hazy.  I’m upstairs for a while talking to two of the women in the group and then I’m dancing downstairs.  I have a drink and talk to Vortex Yulia for a while before going for a toilet beak. When I return, half the bar seems to have emptied out.  She says that’s been happening for ages, I just haven’t noticed.  Don is still dancing maniacally and is trying to get Yulia onto the stage with the go-go dancers.  I order some orange juice and sip it at the bar wondering if she will do it.  It turns out she won’t.  She decides it’s time for more vodka and is now standing next to me at the bar calling for the bartender who’s busy serving the only other person waiting.
“PAH….ZHAL…AAA…STAAA”, she cries in Russian whilst banging the bar with her hand.
I quietly sidle about two metres to the right before the bartender arrives.  He tells her she’s cut off and moves on to serve me.  I buy two vodkas with lemonade and hand one to her after he turns away.  She then bitches about the bartender for a while saying she just needs one more drink.  I point out it’s in her hand and she looks confused for a minute as she sips it thoughtfully.

A bouncer arrives and taps me on the shoulder to tell me my friend is now outside waiting for me.  I thank him for the information and wonder what’s happened as he saunters away.  I tell Vortex Yulia we should probably go find Don and see if he’s alright.  We finish our drinks and walk up the stairs to the street.  The sun is very much in the sky.  Don is busy explaining to the two bemused bouncers, quite loudly and with plenty of gestures, why he should be allowed back in.  I think the two bouncers are more fascinated and amused watching him carry on, than having any real concern over security.  Vortex Yulia and I watch for a little while in quiet amusement until one of the bouncers signals we should take him away.  As we do so, I point out to Don that neither of them speaks English and his diatribe was thus extremely funny.  He smiles lopsided drunkenly and says,
“Fair point.”

The three of us stagger off down the road holding each other in a line to find Vortex Yulia’s house.  The walk seems to take forever and Don keeps wandering off while we hold each other up.  On the street before her house Vortex Yulia starts repeatedly exclaiming incredibly loudly that we’re passing the drunk tank and if we’re not quiet they will lock us up for the night.  At last we make it up the stairs and into the apartment.  Apparently Don passes out in the entrance way near the shoes and leaves the door open, Vortex Yulia and I make it to bed safely around seven in the morning and crash into the black sleep that comes with that much liquid refreshment.

Near Lenin's Square

Lenin, Takoi Maladoi

In the morning we each demolish a noodle bowl and then line the windows in the corridor of the wagon to watch the scenery change as we enter the city.  Yulia and I exchange a few messages as she explains where to meet.  We exit the train and stand waiting, wondering how we will spot her.  Soon we see a vast, bright smile underneath a pair of huge sunglasses leading a curvaceous Russian woman up the stairs.  She is a bundle of endless energy and has us organised and through the station in record time.  Her short blonde hair gives way to a child like freckled face that never sits still for long; this is Vortex Yulia.  She manages to talk us through the city streets constantly, even noting that everyone says she talks a lot, but she still enjoys it since we’re so quiet.  We are all enjoying the flood of information about the streets, the city, herself, her family and are too dazed at first to respond.

“How do you like the way Russian girls dress so slutty?”
She says it as a matter-of-fact statement and she is commenting on a few women we’ve just passed.  The three of us burst out laughing with her bare honesty, it’s a very Australian way of speaking, and Don and I admit that we love the Russian women.
“There’s been more than one occasion where the two of us have been following cute women down a street and Lari has been following, thinking we actually know where we’re going”, I explain.
Lari discovers this for the first time too and she disowns us immediately.
“You’re just typical bloody men”, she exclaims.
Somehow she manages to smile while pouting.  She and Yulia laugh together as Don and I strut down the street grabbing our crotches and leering randomly.  Who are we to disagree with two beautiful women?
“Yulia, I think I’ve fallen deeply in lust at least five times a day since I’ve been here in Russia”, Don admits.
“You’re counting?”
“Yes.  At least two of those could probably be love.”
I’m busy watching a girl stroll bouncily past us.
“I think that’s my second for today”, I announce.
I go on to explain my theory about Russian women and their love affair with personal photography.  She looks thoughtful for a moment and then admits that she and all her friends have exactly the same portfolio going.  She adds that she made her father take pictures of her in her bikini at the lake near their dacha a few weeks ago, so she would have some new ones in her collection.  We smile and talk about our experiences in the first three cities, when we get a chance to speak at all amidst the Yulia vortex.  She is still busy trying to get us oriented in the city and is pointing at a succession of landmarks and street names and making us repeat them back to her.  We are on the way to her friend’s apartment first, which is where Don will stay.

Yana, her best friend, is also an English teacher and had joined the Couchsurfing site after agreeing to help host us.  Yana is at work, so Vortex Yulia is just taking us there to drop off luggage.  When we reach the door, Yulia produces a key and wrestles with it for a minute, unable to open the door.  She looks frustrated, then turns to us and says by way of explanation,
“This really is the right key, I’m not breaking in here you know!”
We laugh and I offer to kick down the door if it will make her job easier.  As she’s considering that option, the key turns and we enter the small apartment.  Don puts Nastya the Tree in the kitchen window where she can get some sunlight on her leaves and gives her a little water.  He grabs his small backpack and announces he’s ready to continue the Novosibirsk adventure.

We head into the street with more of Vortex Yulia’s directions on landmarks and street names flowing straight through my head for the fifteen minute walk to her house.  I’m enjoying the parkland and open, wide streets we are drifting along.  It’s still early Friday afternoon and people aren’t hurried or appearing bothered by anything.  Vortex Yulia’s family are finishing the renovation of their large apartment and painters and builders are scurrying around as we find a place for our bags.  A rhythmic pounding sound announces the arrival of ‘Sharon Stone’, their new sausage dog.
“You can’t touch her until you wash your hands”, she advises, “she will have her shots next week so it will be alright then, but we have to be careful.  She’s only a little puppy.”
Yulia then washes her hands to play with Sharon as we prepare to leave again.
“Why Sharon Stone?”, I ask as she scratches Sharon’s little head.
“Because she likes to lie on her back with her legs wide apart like this”, she answers.
Sharon does indeed seem completely content to lie back with legs akimbo.  I laugh at the disturbingly appropriate name and we leave, enjoying being inside Vortex Yulia’s whirlwind of energy as she takes us for a walk through the centre of the city.
“You must beware of speaking English too much and too loudly in public.  It will probably be alright, but there is a common thought that all foreigners are very rich, so they will try to bring you away from the street to take your money”, she warns us.  “So if you have to speak English, try to do it near police or somewhere open and large like Lenin’s Square”, she adds loudly.
In English.  In public.  And still some distance from Lenin’s square.

Vortex Yulia - In a quiet moment

We’d all heard about troubles with this, but it was curious to hear a local confirm it – and somehow reassuring as well.  She wants to show us the famous Opera and Ballet theatre there.  It is the largest in Russia, bigger than the Bolshoi in Moscow, it’s also known as the ‘Siberian Coliseum” and is one of the largest theatres in the world.  This completely fails to explain why it is closed for summer.  I suppose if you visit Russia in the summer, you don’t really want to be inside all the time, but a show in a theatre like this would be worthwhile anytime.  It opens onto Lenin square with the standard statue of Lenin overlooking the city; this one looking particularly windswept and interesting.  There are three statues of soldiers standing together to one side of him and statues of a married farming couple on the other side.  The couple each have one hand in the air giving the impression they are guiding a plane in to land on Lenin’s head.  We look around for a statue of a plane heading in to land and can’t find it, so we ask Vortex Yulia where it is.  She laughs, looks thoughtful and says,
“It’s being renovated at the moment…like half the city.”
On our long walk from the train station we had already noticed there is plenty of building activity in Novosibirsk – this trend continues across the country.

We spend the afternoon drifting in Vortex Yulia’s wake and resting before the fun that had been arranged for that evening.  She explains she has spent a few years living in London, but also returned home more recently after breaking up with her long term boyfriend.  She also has Russian Jewish heritage and plans to visit Israel in the next year or two.  On the day before the eclipse she will have an examination on English, which, if she passes, will rate her as a native speaker for the purposes of her teaching career.  This means a pay rise and that she will get to do more work for the corporate customers teaching conversational English.  She routinely stops to ask our opinion on sentence structures and how we would say something in English.  She has a particular way of building sentences that we all naturally love; they’re always bluntly honest and direct, informative and open and, most amazingly; incredibly Australian.
“You know I love platypuses!”  She announces.
“I think the plural is platypi”, I correct her.
“Are you sure it isn’t platypus?”, Lari pipes in.
“Now you mention it, you could be right”, I accept.
Vortex Yulia is looking quite confused by all of that so she adds,
“Have you seen one? Do you get them in your yard or something?”
“No, I’ve never seen one in the wild, it’s very rare and unusual to do that”
“I’ve seen one in the wild”, Don says in regal tones.
“Melbourne zoo is not the wild Don”, I correct him with a smile.
“Nah, I saw one out in Victoria camping somewhere near a creek.  I was sitting on the shoreline and it popped up and swam by”
“Okay so nobody except freaks like Don see them in the wild”
“I’ve seen one too”, Lari adds thoughtfully.
“I’m surrounded by freaks!”  I yell, throwing my hands above my head and running off.

Vortex Yulia later asks what we plan to see and do in the week before the eclipse happens and the three of us look at each other vaguely.  I try to summarise my thinking on the topic,
“We want to get on the river for a boat trip at some point, see the Ob Sea, find the best place to see the eclipse and maybe visit the Altai area or at least Barnaul.”
She nods and continues,
“You know the Ob Sea isn’t really a sea? Well it is, but we made it, it’s for the dam where they make electricity.  You have to go see the zoo while you’re here, there’s a liger! It was born here a couple of years ago and it’s really great and so is the zoo!”  The three of us look at each other and agree a liger sounds like something unique that’s worth seeing.
“It’s mother is a tiger, it’s father is a lion…I don’t know how they got them to mate, maybe they get them both drunk and put on the right music.”
We laugh and I suggest,
“Of course, I think that’s how breeding programs work all over the world.  It’s not just humans that like nightclubs you know!”
I ponder the thought of bored Russian zookeepers trying to dress animals provocatively for their breeding programs and wonder if we’ll be able to watch that in action.  Artificial insemination doesn’t seem such a brilliant option next to this.  They could make a reality TV show about it, putting dumb animals together in a zoo-like environment and seeing if they will breed.  Then I remember that show featuring humans has already been on TV around the world for years.

Being tourists..

It’s the end of our last night in Yekaterinburg and the whole group heads for Elven Nastya’s place. I volunteer to make a real dinner for everyone and we stop at a supermarket to acquire everything. Uralski Yulia comes to me, while I’m trying to figure out if the meat I’m looking at is beef or pork, and asks if I will cook with meat.
“Most certainly! Why? Is anyone a vegetarian?”
She smiles shyly and says,
“It’s Alexei.”
I think for a moment, then say,
“I’ll make a second sauce for him.”
With that my plans evolve and I will put into his sauce fresh tomato, onion, garlic, chilli, mushrooms, champignons and carrot. Into the bigger one, I will add bacon and some beef mince as well. I ask her to help me acquire the right meat and she translates what I need for the deli staff. With food and beer in hand, we all make for Elven Nastya’s kitchen, where she makes me demonstrate my fast slicing action on the garlic for everyone else. The challenge to make two sauces at once is one I enjoy and I temper Alexei’s again with less chilli and garlic, since he doesn’t like either too much. All of us share a final meal together and we enjoy the shared warmth that only friendship brings. I remember my tiny clip-on Koala souvenirs and give one to everyone there and make sure that Uralski Yulia has a couple of spare ones for the people who aren’t. It’s around one in the morning when Elven Nastya herds everyone out so she can sleep and have some chance of being at work in the morning.

In the Scottish Pub men's toilet... Russians are weird

We wake up to Elven Nastya’s Russian morning song and she’s going crazy on all of us with the water spray bottle. We’re all laughing, I’ve been telling them all week how I wake up and they love it as much as I do. We pack everything up and I leave out my presents for Nastya, a stubbie holder with a picture of Perth on it, some little Koalas and a tinned wombat. Lari quickly adds some handmade soap to the pile as her own thanks and Nastya returns so we can make our presentation properly. She is baffled by the stubbie cooler and very concerned about the tinned wombat. She holds the tin with a deep frown saying,
“Is this meat? I can’t have meat like that. And not a wombat!”
“No..no…it’s just a stuffed animal inside for a joke”, I explain, “You can open it if you’re worried.”
“It’s illegal to hunt and eat wombat in Australia, so you can’t actually put wombat meat in a tin”, Lari adds as our host starts to enjoy the idea more.
“So what does this do?”, she asks holding the stubbie cooler.
“You put a bottle or can of drink inside it”, I begin, “in summer it keeps the drink cool and in winter it keeps your hand warm.”
She tries it out with a water bottle and is amused at the idea.
“It’s very Australian”, Don adds.
“Nah Don. It’s fuckin’ unfknblvbly Oz mate”, I correct him in my best Ocker accent. Elven Nastya notices the time and dives into the bathroom to finish getting ready for work. While she’s in there I quietly place a yellow diamond sign on her window that advises there are no pubs for nine hundred kilometres. Don also slips some magnetic koalas onto her fridge and all of us write a note for her new Couchsurfing book.

We manhandle all our baggage down the stairs, then Elven Nastya disappears upstairs again for a while, asking us to wait. She reappears carrying a tiny sapling in a small pot and gives it to all of us saying we must take it and plant it back at home. Lari and I know Australian customs will never let it in the country, but Don takes charge of the plant that will accompany us for the rest of our journey across Russia. I remember she had promised me a kiss as payment for making her CS book and ask her for it. She kisses me on both cheeks and smiles impishly, I laugh as she gives Don and Lari farewell hugs and kisses too. We watch her jump onto a tram and travel away before we cross the road and hurry to the train station.

We arrive with some time to wait and realise we’re hungry, so we enter the fast service café at the front of the station. I go through first while Don and Lari seize a table, then we have a quick breakfast surrounded by our baggage. I then volunteer to head off and find some instant noodle bowls. I decide we should try everything and see what works out best. My favourite is definitely one called ‘Big Lunch’, it is a meal sized version, comes in a few flavours and was actually something I looked forward to eating on the train; especially for breakfast. I return to the café to find Lari has acquired some fruit and we’re ready to find our train.

I’m able to read from the main electronic sign at the front of the building which platform is ours and we board the train with no problems. With all the hurry and rush of the morning we’ve barely had time to realise we’re actually leaving Yekaterinburg. It seems like we’ve been there for quite a while and all of us had felt at home with all the locals. The Total Solar Eclipse is getting closer now and I feel my internal tension build as I hope the weather is good enough to see it on the day. In a week I should be staring into the Black Sun once again. However, in the present, as is the life of travellers, we have enjoyed the good and lived through the bad moments and now our journey carries us down the tracks; further across Russia and into Siberia.

I know you've been wondering...

Lari's Tank Sexytime

The day is unbelievably hot. We never thought Russia was capable of such temperatures, but we’re all sweating a lot. We decide sitting in a café all afternoon is a good idea, but visit the Afghanistan war memorial on the way there. A central statue is flanked by two lines of huge curved poles, each marked with a year of the Russia – Afghanistan war. The poles contain the names of the local soldiers who died in the conflict, but it’s the three metre tall statue that is most telling of the local’s feelings. It is a soldier sitting down, exhausted, with head bowed forward and one arm resting on his knee as the other holds a Kalashnikov with its butt on the ground and barrel pointing skyward. The overwhelming feeling is the weary soldier, having done their duty, is now exhausted from the effort. I notice a young child playing on a little scooter in front of it; he is pushing himself back and forward in front of the statue, staring at it. After a minute he puts the scooter down and approaches the statue slowly. He reaches up to touch the man’s foot, whilst staring curiously up at his face. It’s a beautiful moment I become lost in.

Afghan War Memorial moment...

Lari and I soon settle down in an airconditioned café sipping drinks and eating ice cream. Don has decided to try to dispose of the winter clothes he bought along for the trip by posting them back home. We warn him against the futility of attempting anything with a government office without fluent Russian language skills. He waves away our concerns and saunters off confidently. We’re singing a song by the time he marches angrily in an hour later; still clutching his bag of winter clothing.
“They’re all just…fucked”, he carefully explains after searching for the best possible word.
“I can’t post it because I’m not a citizen or something and it’s to a foreign country and it needs…something…I’m not sure, but whatever it was, I didn’t have it…or know what it was…or how to get it”, he splutters.
“It’s part of the Russian government, you knew it would be insane. If you don’t speak fluent Russian it’s just not worth it”, I remind him.
He looks deflated and waves the bag around in front of him in a way that reminds me of the tired Russian soldier statue.
“Now I get to carry this around all day too.”
Wrestling with the Russian government is a major trial and I hope one day to build a monument to all those who’ve attempted it. I think it would be in the shape of a ticket window with a closed sign on it. Behind the window someone sits talking on a phone and about to stamp some document with their free hand.

We enjoy more ice-cream, beer and discussions. The discussions are lengthy and fruitful with the only clear conclusions being that:
1. The Russian people we’ve met don’t seem to deserve the government they have, and
2. We need to head for the area of town featuring a certain fireworks shop.

Yekaterinburg was called Sverdlovsk during Soviet times... now the hippies are here

Russian Police

We arrive near the shop and we are distracted by some awesome graffiti. It seems to be a good area for it, because with every turn down a side street we find more. While Don is photographing one of them I turn around to find a glass bottle perched in the window frame of an apartment. It looks like a large vodka bottle, but inside it there is a freshly dead snake that’s about forty centimetres long. I wonder for a moment if this could be from the crazy club back in Moscow with the drunken pig in a fishtank, so we examine it to see if the snake is part of the drink, like a tequila worm, or if it’s a later addition. With no obvious answer, or address for the club in Moscow evident, I decide to figure out exactly how ‘fireworks’ is written in Russian instead.

Snake Vodka Action

This leads me to the shop within a couple of minutes, as that’s exactly what’s written on the front of it in metre high letters. We enter and Don and I immediately return to our natural state as excited schoolboys. Lari sighs and sits down in a conveniently placed armchair as we take stock of the shop. There are two rooms lined with shelves from floor to ceiling and huge central tables and shelves in each room stacked with even more goodies. I saunter off one way, Don the other and we meet up about fifteen minutes later to compare notes. Our haul is extensive and costs about AUD$250. We just couldn’t stop once the opportunity arose. We wonder how legal they really are as we transport everything back across the middle of the city to enjoy a beer back in our café of the day as the sun begins to sink and the city cools down.

Dinner in the Park

You want me! (To know me better)

Don in his natural habitat

A real man! ..but looking like a dodgy catholic priest somehow...

We meet our Russian friends and they tell us they’ve been enjoying being around us crazy Australians as much as we’ve enjoyed visiting them. When we first arrived in town, a few of them had asked why we were staying in Yekaterinburg for so long, but now we felt the week had disappeared too quickly. In what was to become a common theme of the journey, we’ve engaged in very little traditional tourist activities, spending more time wandering in the city and enjoying events with the locals. Lari and Elven Nastya organise the food we’d bought and share it around with some beers as the sunset finishes and we enter the world of twilight. I’ve brought down my portable speakers and mp3 player to share some more sounds and set it playing some happy party music. With the arrival of the rest of the girls, Uralski Yulia announces that they have a presentation to make. They have bought each of us a T-shirt they think is most appropriate for us. We are very surprised at this and we haven’t brought anything in return. They tell us it doesn’t matter, it’s normal to give us something on parting. We all put on the shirts and wear them for the rest of the evening. I ask if anyone has some music requests and Singing Sasha immediately wants the salsa song from the Cat Empire again. I’m happy to accommodate and ask if anyone else knows how to salsa. Pasha and Uralski Yulia both do, they jump up as I do the same, grabbing Supermodel Nastya to teach her the basic moves. She is shy at first and keeps thinking too much about it, but with some encouragement she suddenly breaks through and dances perfectly. I get up to having her move smoothly through spins and turns when I notice there’s a line of couples dancing now, with Masha playing the song on repeat for everyone. I take a turn with Uralski Yulia and Princess Irina before we all collapse in a bundle of crazy laughing. We have managed to dance the twilight away and bring in the evening; now the time has come for pyromaniacal extravagance.

Salsa in the city

Don and I set about clearing a small area of the gravel pathway and set off five of the volcano style fireworks all at once. By themselves, these are the most boring fireworks, but in groups they look good. I consider the dangers of holding one and throwing it into the air just as I’m lighting it and pitching it as high as I can. It flies through the air, curving and rolling in wide arcs; looking spectacular. Don has a go too then we set up another block of four and ask who wants to light some. Masha and Irina are front and centre quickly and after some quick instructions, they set off the next four together. While that’s happening Don and I prepare some sets of small rockets that we poke into the grass either side of the pathway ready to set off straight away. We enter a frenzy of fire madness for a while as everyone takes turns lighting them off in bundles and we all enjoy the spectacle of noise, smoke and coloured spray.

We establish it’s high time we get the mortar out and Don sets it up on a level piece of concrete at the base of a statue before loading the first one. It is launched with a massive ‘whoomp’ and we see the ball sail high in the air before exploding into a shower of multicoloured sparks before finishing with crackling silver sparkles. We burst into cheering for this wonderful excess and barely stop for a sip of beer before launching a few of them in quick array.

“So the Australian accent is quite easy for us to understand”, Uralski Yulia comments.
“None of us have strong accents though”, Lari tells her.
“It’s true, do you want to hear us talk with REAL Australian accents using a lot of local language?”  I offer.  There is a surge of interest in the idea and Lari, Don and I look at each other for a moment.  We all switch to heavy country Australian accents, thick on the twang and speaking quite quickly.
“Youse wanna fuckin’ beer or what?”  I ask.
“Yeah, fuck yeah”, Lari replies.
“aint none ‘ere but…. Fuckin’ tragedy”, Don adds
“No wuckers mate, I’ve got some left here”
“There’s a ‘kin barbie and no ‘kin snags…not even some frickin Roo for us love”, Don complains to Lari.
“’kin oath.  Youse guys want salad instead?”  Lari asks, and we respond together in perfect time,
“Fuck off, that’s rabbit food”.  Everyone laughs at the fact we both speak exactly the same words at the same time.
“Youse guys are dickheads, it’s good for youse”, Lari finishes with a flourish.
“Well, there’s only one word I understood in all of that”, Uralski Yulia says with a naughty smile.
“And what fuckin’ word would that be for fuck’s sake?”  I ask innocently.

I think launching the medium sized rockets in sets of two is what brings the angry man down from a nearby apartment. Pasha immediately moves to engage him to see what’s happening and we pause frivolities for a moment. We three Australians have already been concerned by passing police cars, but all the locals assure us it’s perfectly legal and the police won’t be bothered by it in the slightest. The cars had indeed all driven past. After a long discussion with the man, Pasha returns to say he’d been bothered by the noise, since he has a young child trying to sleep upstairs. The man walks off slowly at this point, yelling something back to us. I ask if there’s somewhere else we can go that’s away from him; so they start the inevitable discussion in Russian. At the end of this the men want to stay and finish, but the women want to relocate down by the riverside. We start packing everything up for the move.

Sasha stealing the booty!

Me, Don and Pasha are the guilty parties

Don and I agree we now just want to set off the two huge rockets and we’re happy to leave the remaining smaller ones for some other time. These two are the size of a heavy rolling pin strapped to a metre long piece of pine. The explosions should be the finale we’re looking for. So we all wind our way down to the bank of the Iset River right near the city centre. I’m slightly surprised to find we’ve managed to come past the point where we had eaten bread and salami in a park during our first few hours in the city. I can see the Order of Lenin assigned to the city on the main bridge about a hundred metres in front of us. I look at Don as we both notice a spot with a stone fence running along the riverside that looks about the perfect height to launch the rockets. We stroll over to it feeling particularly happy and triumphant.
“Some people visit other countries and spend their time moving from hotel to hotel, taking pictures of buildings and statues they know nothing about”, I begin, Don smiles knowingly and continues.
“..and other people might pay money to stay in backpacker hostels meeting people from every country except the one they have taken the time to visit.”
“Still more people might come to Russia and get on a train in Moscow and not get off it until they reach the end of the line in China”, I continue as we both setup the rockets ready for launching.
“But we..”, Don begins, then breaks into a huge smile,
“..WE”, I emphasise,
“..We dance salsa in the parks with beautiful Russian women, we launch a vast amount of fireworks into the centre of their city, we share their homes and their lives for this short adventure, living their reality as closely as we can, not something created for tourists…we are the real travellers”.
We both pause and share a huge hug.
“I love you brother”, Don says.
“I love you too my crazy brother”, I return wholeheartedly as we finish the hug.
With that we turn to the rockets and light the long fuses. They launch within a split second of each other and both soar into the night sky trailing a shower of orange sparks. There seems to be an interminable length of time as they continue climbing and then angle their path across the river itself. We’re rewarded with an enormous double explosion of light and sound that a professional show would have been proud of. Our friends are all smiling and laughing as we are, people at a nearby café join in the merriment with cheers and applause. Our group of friends strings slowly along the riverbank; walking placidly into the cool night.

Clockwise from bottom left corner: Uralski Yulia, Lari, Don, Pasha and Elven Nastya in the middle

Touched by the city and its people