200908 – Lake Baikal to Irkustk to Train

200908 – Lake Baikal to Irkustk to Train

Still feeling rotten and wishing that I had of ended Denesh, I looked about as cheerful as my mood at breakfast. I think that my cold was starting to break but I was still taking the Glass Half Empty approach. The light meal of pancakes and porrige was pleasant, but I think everyone would have liked something a little more hearty.

Id already finished packing before breakfast and was pretty much ready to go. Ann was quietly chewing Adam out for not coming back to talk to the pretty Russian girl last night. Evidently, she had stayed up chatting to Ann for several hours in the hope he would reappear. Phone numbers were still exchanged, Im sure there were more than a few rolled-eyes.

Goodbyes said and photos taken, we squeezed into the minibus and made for the ferry. There was another long wait here, the wind was driving and bitterly cold. Shelter was in the form of a great brick bus-stop, its orientation allowed for some warm sunshine to enter along with at least half of the wind. We glared at the world as a whole until the boat arrived. Boarding and waiting on the boat was much less eventful than the other day, leaving the island seemed to be a sedating action. Maybe it was simply too early in the morning?

On the other side, we disembarked and approached the minibus to take back to Irkustk. Ann issued a paniced look and a hunt around before announcing that she had left her little bag on the mini-bus. The next 40 minutes was spent trying to get in touch with the driver via the hostel. By that point he announced that he was on the other side of the island and had no intention of driving back to the ferry. A suitable lack of ammusement ensued.

More phonecalls had negotiated the driver into returning it to the homestay. A friend of Anns, or the next group, would collect it and pass it on to her in a couple of days.

It had been about an hour by the time that Ann had given up on the bag. This seemed to have angered our new minibus driver.

Typically, a Russian that you had angered, or even percieved to have angered, would blow up. The greater the explosion, the more the chance of them getting what they want. We had witnessed many instances of throwing up of the hands, using vehicles to get ones way, or the one count of resorting to a knife. This was especially the case with Russian men, either polite and well mannered with a icy-cool approach or arrogant and loud with a mullet and the opion that they were the greatest entity in all of creation. Our driver appeared to be of the later category but in the predicament that we would be paying him. If he got fed up with the wait and took of (teach us a lesson by stranding us) then his trip from and to Irkustk would be unpaid.. that would not do.. Yet we had held up his world-changing agenda and were only paying him for his troubles, this could not go unpunished..

Choosing the middle ground, the driver departed for the Russian city with a speed that could only be measured using theoretical physics and fractions of the speed of light. We did stop once for a toilet break (different toilet, less evil) the rest of the time we were all too tired to care. I was trying to doze against the window in the cramped little van. Ann had decided that my jacket made for a comfortable pillow and was dangerously close to dribbling on my right shoulder. Music players we the opiate of the masses.

Noticing that we were not noticing him, the driver decided to pull out the stops as we approached the outskirts of Irkustk. Speed went up and overtakings became more daring the closer we got. It got to the point that we had hit suburbia at about 40km above the limit, in a crowded mini-van on a densely packed street. The swerving into and out of traffic had alerted the rest of the group to our situation. Finally resulting in a van-load of angry yelling and screaming, we chastised Andre for not keeping better control of the driver. One particularly vicious attempt at jumping traffic had resulted in a savage swerve and slamming on the breaks to prevent the van from slamming into another vehicle. Something took place up front and the driver suddenly decided it was time to be a little more calm. After all, he still had not been paid.

Having arrived back in less than half the time of the original trip, we reinflated outside of the mini-bus. We were towards the middle of the town and lunch felt well and truly overdue. Receiving instructions for meeting and getting to the train, Andre departed to make sure our main-packs would find us. We crossed the road and established ourselves in the Pizza restaurant. Confussion ensued and far too much pizza was ordered, I did my best to be a team-player by helping to rectify the situation.

Having been fed, but still feeling exhausted, most of us set off towards the subterranian internet cafe and the supermarket. Emails were checked and Im pretty sure I updated my Blog. Not game to check my banking on a public terminal, it was a brief session. The plan had been to meet up out front, someone found a bar and most of the guys dissappeared there before the rest of us returned to the surface. Not overly concerned about beer, we couldnt find the others.

Navigating the main street, the masses of students with banners and matching white t-shirts smiled as we passed. There had been a motor-bike group roar through and fire-crackers had been let-off. As far as we could tell, this was a Start of Semester event. Posters on the walls and flyers on the floor told of the parties over the next few days. No matter where you are in the world, students are all the same! Thank God for that!!!

We passed the masses of cheering academ-o-philes and slumped into the supermarket. Supplies in the form of noodles, chocolate snacks, biscuits and drinks were acquired. I tried to keep costs to a minimum and got the bare essentials. On exiting the store, I promptly undid my exercise of budgetting by calling Jenny to discuss the upcoming plans for January, also I hadnt spoken to here for a while and was missing her voice. I called Mum and Dad as well. I talked to everyone for too long, but was feeling the pinch of missing home, desperately.

Time in Irkustk was drawing to a close. Shoppers had done their dash and it was time to head to the RV point. The group grew as we approached the water-fountain meeting point, everyone was soon there. Ann was waiting for us to get our act together before we crossed the road and rounded the corner to the trolley stop.

The trolley-bus lines run down the centre of the street. The main roads of this city are particularly wide, about double what you would expect in Perth. If the latitude was lower, I would have said it would have been to allow Camel-trains to turn around, here I have no idea. The Trolley came by after a couple of minutes and we boarded as Ann purchased tickets for us. We were all quite anxious to see our big-bags. So much so that none of the boys really flirted back with the two pretty girls sitting at the back, giggling and smiling at us while pretending not to notice. The trolley ride went through a part of the city that I hadnt seen before and we passed the 20 or so minutes chatting to some local guys who were test-driving their english. Seeing the train station, the trolley stopped at the first stop. Hearing someone announce This Is It!! I dove off in an attempt to get out of the way of the people behind me, I think Denesh made it half-way out before the paniced NO NO!! NEXT ONE!! had me performing an about-turn and pouncing through the doors. The remaining passengers seemed to appreciate my ballet-theatrics, laughter welcoming me back.

About 100m further on was the actual stop for us, we had passed the long row of little stalls and kiosks much the same as when we arrived. Setting up a refugee camp on the side-walk, we all cast our gaze out for Andre and our orphaned main-packs. Adam and one of the other smokers crossed the road to buy cigarettes as we waited. Returning with a grin and a pack of LENIN brand, we decided that it must have been the unfiltered flavour of choice for the preserved leader rather than dried and rolled Pickle himself. I think Adam managed one of the little cancer sticks before going wide-eyed and carefully putting the pack away. Thinking it would make a funny gift for Yannik, or for dusting off at the next Communist Party back home, I was about to cross over and buy a souvenier pack when Andre appeared.

Our main-packs had travelled fair enough, in much the same condition as we had seen them a few days ago. Locks were in place and there was no noticable damage. A couple of the group had been led to believe that they could do their washing at our home-stays, having washed and rinsed their gear before finding no drier. Hanging or draping the garnments over bags and furniture, they had thought they would be returning to the home-stay to collect and pack their slightly less fragrant coverings. Wrong again, all of the loose possessions had been collected and bagged, one giant blue plastic bag had mixed everything that had not been locked away.

Universal grumbling had us collecting our big-bags as it began to rain lightly. Those of who only had one or two items in the laundry bag, in my case a towel and its little mesh cover, dug through it. Leaving only the possessions of those who had washed almost all of their clothes, the group finished sorting and stuffing before relocating.

Moving into the station, we set up one camp, shifted and established ourselves in a temporary humanitarian residency where there was a little more room. The first departure hall had been standing room only, with a great electronic billboard and a significant crowd of people. Our resting place was a narrower room with banks of seating, windows to the outside rain on one side and glassed offices on the other.

Older local gentlemen, who I suspect smelt strongly of vodka, worked hard to engage the girls in conversation. Intentions clear, the group folded around and doubled up, offering an easy-out for the girls. Local guys played a careful game with the guards of patrol and dodge, in an effort to sleep in the warm-spot behind rows of seating versus booting the vagrants out. It struck me as more of a token effort on the part of the officials, making them move on when they had spent a little too much time, rather than a concerted system of homeless eviction.

I got to the point of wanting to write my journal, but there was no available power-points in easy reach. A bit of a difference to Australian public stations, where there are typically an abundance of power-points for various appliances or simply to allow the cleaners to use vaccuums or buffers. The only visible power was for an ATM and several at the limit of arms-reach, assumedly for signs or lights.

A friend of Anns appeared. An intrepid leader herself, she had settled her group upstairs. They chatted and shared complaints before returning to their respective groups. Time for departure was steadily drawing close.

Ann rose at one announcement in Russian and informed us that it was time. I believe there was a walk and stairs that decended below one line in order to reach our platform. We followed typical protocol and the boys carriage was quickly established. There were no particularly memorable features about the rest of the night, possibly cards, probably pot-noodles. I could safely say that sleep would have been lovingly welcomed without Deneshs unholy nasal symphony to scare off its silky embrace.

Outside, the rain accompanied the darkness as we crashed on through Russia. Siberia was travesed in a great metal malestrom.