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quasars on the radio
Sep. 23rd, 2005 10:45 pmToday I'm in Beijing. I am still having a fantastic time. I am still saying 'wow' every five seconds. Forbidden City tomorrow, Great Wall on Sunday. I never realised Mao had such a huge wart on his chin. Anyway,
Bolshoye Goloustnoye village
September 15-17
I don't really know what to say about staying at Lake Baikal. None of the best bits involved many words. (But - as I read back over this torrent of verbiage - not knowing what to say has never stopped me in the past, has it?)
Coming off the train in the sleet, all fragile and hungry, we were met by the Russia Experience driver, who took us down forest dirt-tracks (cracked slate and yellow mud with little rivers in it) for two headlong hours. He played chicken with oncomers, hurtling at them and honking the horn till they moved over to the other side of the road, whichever side that happened to be. He'd laughed at Ivan earlier for wanting to sit in the one seat that had a seatbelt. But it was a blissful journey despite the crazy driving and the bouncing up and down and the hunger, even despite my expectation that as soon as we got there we'd be hauled off on a hike around the lake in the rain. Why? Because we were further and further Away. Because of the fizzing and popping on the AM radio almost covering up the voice of Annie Lennox, coming from a different world. And because IT SNOWED! The guidebook swore blind that it would be ten to twenty-four degrees in Siberia in September, but still the snow came. I stared at the flakes chasing each other down in spirals between the trees and filling up the woods until my eyes hurt.
( another kind of time warp )
Tomorrow: Bangin' nightlife of the village! Boy racers! Bookcrossing! Being trapped up a hill by dogs! Mysterious dancing clouds! And - I hope - many pictures.
Bolshoye Goloustnoye village
September 15-17
I don't really know what to say about staying at Lake Baikal. None of the best bits involved many words. (But - as I read back over this torrent of verbiage - not knowing what to say has never stopped me in the past, has it?)
Coming off the train in the sleet, all fragile and hungry, we were met by the Russia Experience driver, who took us down forest dirt-tracks (cracked slate and yellow mud with little rivers in it) for two headlong hours. He played chicken with oncomers, hurtling at them and honking the horn till they moved over to the other side of the road, whichever side that happened to be. He'd laughed at Ivan earlier for wanting to sit in the one seat that had a seatbelt. But it was a blissful journey despite the crazy driving and the bouncing up and down and the hunger, even despite my expectation that as soon as we got there we'd be hauled off on a hike around the lake in the rain. Why? Because we were further and further Away. Because of the fizzing and popping on the AM radio almost covering up the voice of Annie Lennox, coming from a different world. And because IT SNOWED! The guidebook swore blind that it would be ten to twenty-four degrees in Siberia in September, but still the snow came. I stared at the flakes chasing each other down in spirals between the trees and filling up the woods until my eyes hurt.
( another kind of time warp )
Tomorrow: Bangin' nightlife of the village! Boy racers! Bookcrossing! Being trapped up a hill by dogs! Mysterious dancing clouds! And - I hope - many pictures.
