Beyond Tomsk Siberia's landscape begins to resemble the character for which it is famed. Taiga stretches, a thick green covering, across the hills and tiny villages of wooden houses perch on hillsides or sit along the banks of rivers. Sometimes unmapped hamlets would appear in small forest clearings - already, at the beginning of summer, piles of firewood had begun to rise next to wooden fences or walls. The sound of axes expertly splicing logs reminded one constantly of the long, cold winter ahead. Indeed, between Krasnoyarsk and Irkutsk as the temperature fell to 2 degrees and rain fell almost constantly the forthcoming season did not seem too far away.
Whilst many of the smaller settlements in Siberia managed to retain a charm reflective of their age, and a pace of life that seemed gentle and steady, still the cities sprawled. The same tower blocks. The same, uniform grey that stretches right across Russia in her towns, embracing the dullness of mass production, and the dehumanising effects of the industrial revolution that so strongly influenced Marxist thought. And still; the same Ulitsa Karla Marksa, Ulitsa Lenina - now littered with a commercialism, both brutal and sickly sweet.
My time in Russia was one of great contrasts. While I was often saddened by the scars of a regime that seemed to have wiped out so much of the richness of Russian culture, and saddened also by a new capitalist homogeny, it is not these emotions I will remember.
Rather, it is the great kindness of the people I met - their wonderful hospitality, their warmth and their interest - that will remain in my mind. So often I was surprised by the generosity of people - who would invite me to share a picnic by the side of the road, or a bottle of vodka and shashlik in a cheap motel, or in their conversations, with which I was so often helped and encouraged.
On the last night in Russia, I was pleased to have my most fluid conversation - immediately afterwards however, I was invited to drink with three workmen - and not a word that they spoke could I understand!
After three days cycling from Krasnoyarsk, I was approaching the small logging town of Alzamai, when I was waved at to stop by two truck loads of lumberjacks. As happened more times than I could have hoped for I was invited by Dima to his home. After three nights of terrential rain, I was amazed to find he had even built a banya in his garden. It was a really lovely evening - eating drinking and meeting his family and friends.
Sometimes, in Russia, I would question whether my method of transport was best suited to a country so vast. Points of interest to a tourist seemed always too far away and I would often rage at the dulness of my route. What I experienced instead, however, were small, magical glimpses into everyday life. At each of the six homes I stayed I found something unique - different interests,ideas and opinions. But always there was an atmosphere of warmth, openness and generosity - shown to someone who, only moment ago, was a stranger.
Arriving into Ulan Ude I was met by a motorcyclist, Mikhail, who was returning to Vladivostok from Mongolia. Two days later I found myself pedalling away from his friend, Anatole's, house - after a night of eating, an evening swimming in a river and a terrifying motorbike ride - weaving in and out of traffic at 160km an hour through a busy city centre. It was with a great sense of relief that I left, alive, and at the far more sensible pace of a very slow bicycle tourer.
The last memorable meeting in Russia happenned also in Ulan Ude - with Dima, Alex, Anton and Sasha. I met them earlier at a bicycle shop and, after refusing payment for their help, they drove me an hour out of the city - as dusk threw its light across an incredible Buryatian landscape - to sample their national dish; pozy. Alex spoke very good English, after living in America, and the others well enough to help me. It was wonderful to talk with people who had such an awareness of the world around them. And the night formed a wonderful farewell to, and a reminder of, the kindness I have known from the Russian people.
Sorry, if you're still here - that was very long. Might try for little and often in the future!
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