Sick in Russia - Ugh!

A Quick Note on Internet Access

Where do we log in? Anywhere we can. Irkutsk had an Internet cafe in the basement of a three level department store of sorts, and here in Severobaikalsk we found access behind the telegraph office. We were led around the side of the building, up three flights of stairs, down a long hall, around a corner and into a locked door to an office filled with the smell of old cigarette butts, three dirty computers and one Cisco router. It was slow, but it worked.

On Getting Ill

When you get sick in a foreign country and can do nothing buy lie on your back for two days, making occasional runs to the bathroom to give up anything you've tried to eat, you have plenty of time to contemplate how you got that way. Was it the fat man on the train who sneezed at you? Was it the filthy toilet at the train station? Could it have been a virus delivered by the tiny pierce of a mosquito fang? The egg biscuit served with tea?

On the bright side, I wasn't on the bumpy train when I was overcome with this illness. There is a comfortable (stationary) bed in our apartment, a toilet and a shower, a full kitchen and John who continues to save my life with cups of tea, crackers, wet wash clothes, urgings to have another sip of water, and consolation phrases of "You'll be better in no time, se you can sit up for a whole two minutes now."

Had I enough strength to muster the emotion, I would feel guilty for wasting two days of our time; but I need that strength for my next attempt to sit up.

The apartment we are in has three magazines in English (Modern Photography) and we have read them cover to cover. We've also memorized our Lonely Planet Guides. Russian TV, the other entertainment here, is basically bad but occasionally has an old American action show on with Chuck Norris or the Equalizer dubbed over in Russian. There is one Russian voice for all the male parts and one voice for all the female parts. They are both spoken in a dull, soft, monotone totally unsuited to the fighting and screaming scenes. There is about a one to two second delay in the dub-over so we can pick out the English words now and then and make up the ones we can't (in our own dull, monotone voices).

Pay As You Will

"How much should be pay the driver?" I asked Rashit. His rely? "Pay as you will."

There are no set prices for tourists in this town because there are no tourists. "I am curious," Rashit asked, "Why do you think tourists do not come?"

Well for one there is no infastructure here for tourism, no buses to get you into the wilderness, and once you get there, no trail systems. There are no hotels here, no restaurants, no recreational equipment for the sports that are boasted about. We were told by one local that there is a class-four river with miles of rapids for rafting here. But, when asked if anyone has a raft, the answer was, "No, you would have to bring your own."

Even the locals don't venture into the national park here for trekking and camping, the park permits at $20 for two people for three days is beyond their budget. And then there is the issue of the park service not wanting tourists. "People in this town are opposed to tourism," Rashit told us. "Why? I do not know." Consequently getting a park permit is virtually impossible without a Russian guide, fluency in the language, and someone knowing someone who knows someone.

So, why don't tourists come? Take your pick. And of course there is the fact that know one knows about this area. The Lonely Planet Guide Book has exactly one paragraph on Severobaikalsk with an inaccurate email address for Rashit. The two paragraphs on a neighboring town bills it as a town of indigenous people, a polar fox farm, a fur factory and a place to buy handicrafts. When we went there and talked to a local we were told that there are no crafts anymore, no fox farm and the locals all fish or drink. "Nothing is here anymore but shabby houses."

So, here we are, the first tourists of the year and perhaps we will go down in Russian history. Rachit seems able to tell the dates of every other visit by a foreigner.

The trek we are planning will be the first time anyone has used reindeer to haul the camping gear, the first time Victor will be a guide, the first time the man who will tend to the reindeer has gone with tourists. They only speak Russian and it will be the first time that we will spend four days without being able to communicate easily with our companions.

Victor seems eager for the trip (he was excited to show us his boat and the reindeer saddles). He was overjoyed when I said "Ok, bye, see ya later," in Russian. "She speaks Russian," he said and threw his hands in the air." Well, don't get too excited, you've just heard 60% of my vocabulary.

Later that Same Day

Rashit, who said he rarely speaks of himself, spent the next two hours in the car telling us about his accomplishments while working on the electrical lines, the four tunnels in town and the BAM railroad. He was particularly proud of the four monuments he designed that commemorate the tunnel workers. He prompted Valentina, our driver, to pull over at each one.

"Be careful," John warned. "There's a lot of glass here and big rocks."

No problem for a Russian Lada and we pulled, bump bump, over the mess. Not half a mile down the road, the rear tire disintegrated. Out of the car popped Valentina and without a moments hesitation was in the trunk getting the tire iron out. Of course she neglected to engage the parking brake or block the tires so as soon as the bad tire was off, the car slid off the jack and began to roll down the hill.

Once we stopped the car, I reached in and pulled up on the brake. Rashit, who was still in the car and apparently totally oblivious to what had happened asked, "How does it look?"

Getting the jack back on the car was difficult. The rear door didn't open and the jack point was underneath it. We tried three times to adjust the jack so as not to wind the stem into the car door. Valentina waved her hand at us, "Don't worry. Commie car."

I pumped up the spare, bald tire. John got it on the car and the jack (which had now sunk an inch into the hot pavement) off the car. He managed to leave only a three inch gouge in the door. Valentina didn't seem bothered.

Now we have one day to kill until the start of our trek. Our apparent delay now due to a German traveler arriving here by train on Sat morning at 7:25am. When I asked Rashit what time we could leave on Sat he said, "You can leave anytime, 7 am if you wish." Russian logic must be second cousin to fuzzy math.

We are glad now that we have a 3 month business visa for Russia instead of the usual 30-day tourist visa. Nothing happens quickly here. Another reason perhaps that tourism is waning.