Aaaahhhhh

Sitting on the BA flight home, I have to say I don't think I'm quite ready for my 'Intrepid Explorer' badge. I've been away for roughly ten days, and it feels like a month. After negotiating various coffee shops, taxis and airport desks with no Russian language skills apart from 'yes', 'no', 'thank-you' and 'where is the monkey?' (possibly ??? ?????????), I can't express what a relief it is to sit back and hear the reassuring dulcet tones of a BA Captain informing us that the cabin staff will look after us and we should just 'sit back and enjoy the flight'. You know British airliner captains always have that same luxurious cadence and tone that suggests nothing ever phases them. I also just asked a stewardess for a glass of water and received it with a smile, rather than the 'hmph' I've become accustomed to. Blatant generalisation alert, but I'd say eighty percent of the staff I've encountered seem to sulk when you ask them for something. Or, at least, that's my perception. What do I know?

So, heliboarding. How did it compare to expectations? Well, I think I can say that I'd do it again, and it was an amazing experience. It wasn't, though, quite what I expected. For a start, I hadn't realised just how unreliable it is. The visibility needs to be excellent, the wind speed has to be low. Good snow conditions are a bonus. We went up on two days out of six, and for a trip to the other side of the world, that's not a great return. Sure, we get cashback for heli time not used, and I think we had four-and-a-half hours out of ten remaining at the end of the week. I'd have preferred to have been flying. This trip was still fantastic, though, because we were able to see so much of such a new and interesting place, and jumping out of a helicopter on to a deserted mountain ridge is something to be experienced. Would I go heliboarding again? Definitely. Would I travel to Kamchatka to do it? I'm not sure. Although the spring 'corn' snow conditions were great, it wasn't perfect, or as good as it could have been. I'd want guarantees as to the conditions, and that's never going to happen. I've 'seen' Petropavlovsk now, so 'down' days would hold even less interest for me. I spoke to an Aussie guy who lives and works in Niseko, in Japan, He's been heliskiing for many years, and says he figures on a fifty percent fly return. He also says he comes for the experience, the terrain and the challenge, and that he can get powder most days in Nisseko. I'm considering Japan for next winter...

Last week, though, I stood on the slopes of a volcano, looking down on a Russian helicopter landing by the Pacific Ocean. I snowboarded down and had lunch on the beach. I'd do that again in a shot.

And Russia itself? Well, of the very limited bits I've seen, it's everything I've written about over the past week, so 'see above'. I have a nasty habit of coming up with slick but trite conclusions when I write – 'Jerry's Final Thought', as a friend once described them – so I'm not going to bother. I'm definitely planning on going back to Moscow for a weekend sometime. I was slightly hacked off that we had glorious sunshine on the day we left, since I have a load of photos of Red Square with grey, gloomy skies. Rach reckons she's going to take me to 'White Nights' in St. Petersberg, when they have twenty-four hour daylight. Russia in the Summer...

Meanwhile, time to organise 'Africa'.

Final thoughts...

A few final thoughts on Moscow, or 'Mokba', as I've taken to calling it (whatever Dex says)..

Subway near Red Square

They do great cafe lattes, but they cost around four pounds fifty a pop. We found a place called 'Coffee Mania', which sounded dubious, but we gave it a go. You'd imagine anything with 'Mania' in the total to be a bit 'Ceraaaazzy!'. I guess I was expecting the barrista-equivalent of Timmy Mallett to come bounding up to us, it us over the heads with a sponge espresso cup and take our order, but it was actually very classy in there, with a dark-wood-and-classical-sheet-music theme. As Dex pointed out, it seems that in Russia there are always plenty of staff, but everyone has a job to do and they stick rigidly to it. So, we had a waitress to take our orders, then coffee from the coffee waitress, food from the food waiter, and the bill from someone else again. It all worked very well, though.

On a broader note, I guess I've always thought of Moscow as being defined by its communist past,with all the grim, utilitarian stereotypes that carries. Now I've had a very brief and limited look around it, I realise that that's only part of it. There are many beautiful, ornate buildings. I didn't take the Metro at any point, but some of the architecture there is wonderful, and makes some of the older efforts on the London Underground look ugly by comparison. The other thing I couldn't get over was just how wide the roads were. Keep in mind that we were within half a mile of the Kremlin, all the main roads were at least six lanes wide! I don't know whether Moscow's been demolished and rebuilt a number of times or the people that originally settled there had amazing powers of foresight (or, I suppose, they simply didn't like each other much, so built their houses apart), but I don't think I've ever seen such wide roads in such a central area. The traffic was all moving at speed, too, and it goes without saying that trying to cross (rather than taking one of the numerous subways) is tantamount to suicide. This did, though, lead to a number of situations where we needed to cross the road, but had to walk two hundred metres until we found a suitable crossing point.

Fine Dining

GUM shopping centre

6am again today, and the jetlag shows no sign of abating. Annoying. It does give me a chance to enter a few more thoughts, though, as it's sure as hell unlikely I'll get around to it when I'm back in London. Yesterday, we spent anther day strolling around Central Moscow, but I'm getting more of a feel for the place. Before I say more about that, though (in the manner of a slightly camp fashion corespondent), I simply have to tell you about last night.

There were two things that left me slack-jawed and staring in wonder last night. The first of these was the gypsy cab'. Rachel had booked the three of us (she, Dex and I) a meal at a restaurant called 'Turandot' last night (and I shall get on to that in a minute). It was a fifteen-minute brisk stroll along the main road, but she said we'd get a 'gypsy-cab'. I simply assumed this was the local ex-pat slang for a taxi, and Rachel seemed to concur. What I didn't realise is just how they work. So, we stroll out of the apartment, nip under the subway to the other side of the road, then Rachel steps on to the road and sticks her hand up. A knackered hatchback stops, with a smoking, bearded man at the wheel. After some negotiations in Russian, in we get and off we go. A private cab, just like they have in London.

Only it wasn't. It wasn't at all.

So, after we came out of the restaurant (which I will come back to, believe me), we decided to call it a night and get another gypsy cab home. We cross the road, Rach sticks her hand out and another car stops instantly – instantly! Another car pulls in behind to see if there's any other business to be had, but after some more negotiations, off we go again. 'Quite lucky there are so many cabs around on a Monday night', I thought. The driver was wearing a shirt and tie, and there was a jacket hanging in the back, together with a few other bits and bobs. The penny dropped. These aren't licensed cabs. They're not unlicensed cabs. They're not even private drivers who go out to make a few quid at night. What they actually are are people on their way home from work! Essentially, these are guys who've just left the office or building site, or suchlike, who see an opportunity to make an extra couple of quid on their way home and will simply pick up anyone that sticks their hand out. I couldn't believe it. Apparently, the system (which is at best unregistered, and at worst downright illegal) is basically self-regulating, and as long as there's no trouble, everyone's a winner. They make a few quid (literally two quid each way in our case), and we get a cheap and convenient ride. There have been instances of single ex-pat girls having issues late at night, but by and large, the whole thing works. Rachel, being a bit of a linguist, speaks some Russian, but reckons if she were actually Russian, she'd have the journey down to a quid each way. Unbelievable.

'Spat-zee-ba bolsh-woy' means 'thank you very much', incidentally.

So, that was that. Turandot, though. Frankly, I'm gutted I forgot to bring my camera. We went in through some rather ornate doors, guarded by two suited doorman. Wandering through a few corridors, we eventually found the entrance to the restaurant, with a reception desk beside it but no receptionist. One soon appeared. I looked at Rachel and said, 'Seriously?', not for the last time that evening. The receptionist was decked out from head to foot in full 17th Century costume. The only thing missing was a wig (which they ;tend to leave off in the summer as it's a tad hot;, explains Rachel. That's a relief). We were led into the restaurant.

'Seriously?', I said.

We had walked on to the set of 'Amadeus'. Well, actually, I think we'd walked on to the set of 'Amadeus' before the director saw it and told the set designers they needed to calm down a little. We were in a circular pillared room. In the centre, right by our table, was a raised circular stage. This was very slowly rotating. There was also a balcony level running the circumference of the room, with more tables overlooking. Everything was covered with ornate gold carvings, patterns and cherubs. The domed ceiling was painted sky blue with a few white clouds. The waiting staff – men and women – were all in costume. I had never seen anything quite like it in all my life.

Rachel told us it was the most expensively-designed restaurant in Moscow. Browsing through the menu, I could see that the prices reflected that. It was also a strangely eclectic menu, with Modern European, but also a lot of sushi and dim sum. Apparently, sushi has taken off in Moscow in a big way.

Oh yes, the stage in the middle had on it, variously, a mock piano/harpsichord, a harp, and seats for a violinist and flautist. 'They're not going to actually play up there, are they?', I asked.

''Uh-huh', said Rachel'
'Seriously, though', I said.

The musicians appeared and took their positions on the stage, all wearing costume and wigs. They launched into Bach's 'Badinarie', all the while gently rotating. Oh, above them, in the centre (although, really, it's so obvious I don't even know why I'm mentioning this) there was a large metal peacock. It was reminiscent of that clockwork owl in Clash of the Titans, and every ten minutes or so, it's metal tail fanned out. One can only speculate as to how that design discussion went:

'Hey, wow, the whole place looks fantastic! I love the costumes, those pilasters are great, and the ceiling is wonderful. You've done a great job, seriously. But...hmmm...'

'What? What is it?'
'Well, there's... there's something missing. I'm not sure. I'm thinking it needs...'
'Clockwork metal peacock?'
'Oh, you read my mind.'

So that's Turandot. Have a think about what you're envisaging, then take a look at the photos here to see if you're even half way there.

I have to say, the place fitted in very well with what I knew of the Russian stereotype. It was utterly over the top in terms of gold and opulence, and they simply wouldn't get away with it in London. I can only imagine A.A. Gill's or Giles Coren's thoughts on such a place. it reminded me a little of the 'Blue Elephant' Thai restaurant in Fulham, in that it was so OTT it almost approached parody. It was fantastic, though, and for the first time since I landed in Moscow, all the food arrived on time and in the correct order.

Wait! Ha! Seriously, I just remembered that Rachel ordered some extra dim sum, which didn't turn up. Oh well, scratch that last sentence.

(An NY Times profile of Turandot here, if you're interested.)

Early

Well, it would appear that my body-clock is well and truly hosed. Since it's around 6am on Monday morning and I'm wide awake, some thoughts on Moscow, and a couple of things from Kamchatka I never got around to writing about...

I can't remember whether I mentioned this before (in the, apparent, ten-and-a-half thousand words I've written, thus far!), but just about every building in Petropavlovsk looks totally dilapidated. As Michael Palin said, 'Where paint can peel,it peels. Where metal can rust, it rusts...' The state of the buildings is, however, only half the story. I never had the chance to for a stroll around the local town, but I'm told by a couple of guys that did that most of these seemingly-derelict building house decidedly plush supermarkets and boutiques! This was certainly the case with the 'Italian' restaurant we visited (a long story, but it's not actually in any way Italian) – the waiting times aside, it was a classy and expensive establishment, but hidden in what, from the outside, appeared to be the basement storage room of a block of council flats. Why was this, I wondered.

In what was a bit of a 'light bulb' moment for me, my friend Rachel (mein host in Moscow) explained that in Russia – and, I guess, particularly the farther-flung parts – there is little concept of shared ownership or responsibility. Historically, the State allocated you somewhere to live, and The State would take care of anything that no individual was directly responsible for. This was, she said, the reason why they tended to dump refuse and cars everywhere: The State would take care of it. Sadly, they haven't shaken off this concept yet, and The State ain't taking care of it anymore. In the UK, all the tenants of a block would be paying a service charge, with a committee or freeholder taking care of repair and maintenance costs. I do wonder, though, what would happen if some particularly enterprising tenants in Petropavlovsk were sufficiently motivated to pool some funds and have their building renovated? Would that, then, make it a more attractive proposition and push up the prices? Or is the attitude so entrenched that locals don't even notice the state of an exterior? Then again, I saw no evidence of estate agents, property advertising, or indeed any sort of trade in housing, so maybe it's all academic.

Moscow, then. Rachel's apartment is on a very busy road which may or may not be called something like 'Fash-ny-a, Fash-ny-a'. It's covered by an enormous Citroen advertisement over scaffolding at the front. The building is being renovated, but Rachel tells me that it's purely a scam by the mayor to take commercial revenue for the he advertisements. It's true to say that any scaffolding around here is covered with impressively-epic adverts. Oh yes, to clear up another 'is it just me?' issue, apparently most restaurants have no clue how to serve food – it comes when it comes, sometimes mains before starters. This is completely normal.

So, we took a stroll to Red Square. It was raining, and Red Square is about a mile or so along the road we're on. As I've said before, it's a real experience being in a land where a) I know so little of the language (currently surviving with 'Spat-zee-ba', which means 'thank you) or b) they use a semi-alien alphabet – cyrilic, in this case. This means I can't even take a stab at a word I see written down.

Dex and I are rubbish tourists. Possessing no form of phrase book – not even the handy laminate, we struggled to find something for lunch. We eventually happened upon a traditional Russian canteen. Luckily, they had a big, back lit menu displayed behind the counter, so after much gesturing, 'niets', and 'das' (and a liberal sprinkling of 'spatzeebas'), we managed to secure some victuals. Mine consisted of some sort of reconstituted beef between three layers of bread, with some green vegetables and lots of sauce. This was served with a large carton of carbonated drink and some sort of thinly-cut salted, shredded potato dish. Dex managed to get one containing what appeared to be chicken. It wasn't exactly haute-cuisine, but it filled a gap, and it felt good to have finally managed to order some traditional local food on our own. The large yellow double-arch-shaped logo looked strangely familiar, though...

The Rest

Well, it's Saturday afternoon, Kamchatka time, somewhere over the Russian Federation, and I'm so tired I managed to sleep through take-off – eventually waking the overly-loud pilot's PA system kicked on. Why is it, in the name of 'in-flight service' they make it so hard to get through an entire flight undisturbed?

Some catching up, then. Ideally, I'd be snoozing right now, but when I've written these travelogues in the past ('Who does he think he is? Alistair-bloody-Cooke?'), I never manage to finish them off. I always mean to, but then I arrive home and 'life' takes over....

So, yesterday wasn't quite the day it could have been, but it still provided memories a-plenty. Since I've been making an effort to write all this down, my attitude has change a bit, There have been a few things that have happened that have been less than ideal, but I've been able to look at them and say to myself, 'hey, there's something else to write about.'. But I digress, not for the last time today...

There is a noticeboard outside the lifts in the foyer. On it, Vertikalny Mir posts weather reports and updates. Well, actually, a little moustachioed fellow wearing a shrunken t-shirt (with Kamchatski! and a picture of a bear on it) posts weather reports and updates. His name is Vitaly, and he seems to be the link between the heliport and our translators and guides. Today, in the mountains, it is windy. Very windy. We have to take their word for this, as it's merely breezy down at the hotel. It means no flying for the next few hours, though. Damn. So, we arrange to meet every hour for more updates. By twelve, we've reached the 'cut our losses' point. Skidoos are still 'on the table', but from nowhere, Lisa throws 'Cat skiing' into the mix. Lisa's been great this week. She's been in Russia for twenty years, and whenever we have any issues or problems, she's immediately on the phone. She's a skier, boarder, climber and kiteboarder. She's also German, and so even though she's a 'crazy adrenaline junky', she's still very sensible and a bit straight. Funny old world. Everyone agrees that cat-skiing is the way forward – even for two thousand rubles each. So, off we go on't chintz-wagon.

We eventually arrive at a crossroads. Literally. It's in the middle of nowhere, some muddy-snowy tracks crossing a slightly-better defined dirt track. It's like something out of...damn, what is it like? It seems I have yet to totally master the art of 'simile'. It was quite striking, in any case. 'And now, we wait', says Lisa. Now, this was a bit like Moby Dick (okay, okay, that Guiness advert).

'Tick followed tock followed...'

Ten minutes later, the snow cat appeared, running up the track perpendicular to us. It looked like a cross between a New York taxi and Thunderbird 4 (go on, get googling). It must have been about thirty years old, had a box compartment on the back with about ten seats in it – all faux-leather and wood – and a fair bit of rust. We piled in, and off we went. It took two hours to reach their base camp, trundling along mud and snow, being rocked around and bounced up and down.

Thunderbird 4

Put it this way: I wouldn't have dared try to open a can of coke during or at any time up to six hours after we'd stopped. Base camp consisted of some rather ornate Alpine-style huts and lodges. We stopped in one to eat our usual heli lunch, then off we went again. We got in around five runs in the space of three hours. It was bitingly cold, and it was also rather nice to see that it was, indeed blowing a gale up there. The snow a bit wind-blown, but basically powder, and at several points, the cat was almost sliding backwards. Despite being tiring and uncomfortable, this was also a really good laugh,with Neil and Pete on particularly good form. We got a few nice runs in, and it was a spectacular scene – just us, blue skies, wind-blown snow cascading off the rocks and peaks like water, and two volcanoes, looming over us. On the last run, we hiked over two rocky ridges and hit some large powder fields, then took the cat back down the lodge. A quick cup of tea, then five of us decided to set off ahead of the cat to see how far we could get.

Thunderbird 4

We got about two hundred metres. Unfortunately, it wasn't very steep, and there was an incredibly strong headwind. We cut a fairly pathetic bunch, huddled together, waiting for the cat. We, of course, insisted it had been amazing. Another highlight for me was watching Neil and Seb with tears of laughter streaming down their faces as the four guys on the back seat were continuously bounced against the ceiling, with their seats collapsing. Ben pointed out my head was close to hitting a metal bar mounted on the cabin wall. I didn't hear him properly, and looked up. You can guess, can't you.

So, we reached the hotel at around ten thirty in the evening, and after a quick change it was down to the... let's try 'refectory' for a change, shall we for a quick bite to eat. The menu changes every day – and by that I mean that only half of the menu is generally ever available. A quick mention for one of the specials I've been meaning to write about all week. I reproduce it exactly as it is written...

'Under the Sea' – Special Hodgepodge of Sea-Dwellers in cream soce.

I'd also been meaning to try the 'clab sandwich', thinking it was 'crab'. Ben tried it an informed me it was actually 'club'.

The plan was to go to the Sports Bar again, leaving at around 12:30. I ummed and ahhed, but figured I should probably go, seeing as it was the last night, n'all. . It was, oddly enough, quieter than Wednesday night – possibly because at 500rubles to get in, it was too expensive for most locals. There was also, umm, a 'floor show', of the sort that had you saying things iike, 'Now those aren't very practical when there's snow on the ground', and, 'Where on earth was she hiding that?!' A bit tacky, and not really my thing. It was proceeded, though, by something that appeared to be some sort of awards ceremony involving various members of the crowd. This was all compaired by...well, imagine, if you will, that Eddie Izzard hadn't made it as a comedian, but had ended up living in a council flat, feeding mainly on pizzas. Dex was on a bit of a mission, and bought absinthe shots for Pete, himself and I. Pete and I both refused, Dex drank his, then waved them at anyone who approached, saying, 'Drink this: free shot! The funniest moment was when Seb wandered up, glassy-eyed and swaying slightly. Dex offered him a shot and some primeaval survival instinct at the back of Seb's brain kicked in. He suddenly looked very serious, and said in an unnaturally sober and authoritative voice, 'No, I'm not drinking that', before returning to his previous happy-drunk state.

There's not much more to tell, really. I got home at 3:30am and I heard Dex stumble in at around a quarter to five. I managed breakfast around half nine, and we were loading the coach at twenty past ten to leave at half past. Dex was still in bed. After I'd tried twice, Lisa went to check and reported back that he was 'having a shower'. There was talk of leaving and making him get a taxi, but he managed to lurch on to the bus at twenty to eleven. Check-in was interesting, as the airport had clearly not been designed with snowboards in mind. There was a nice moment when one of the other skiers, who had managed to queue-jump his way from behind us to well in front, was turned back at security. I found out later he'd booked his fight for the wrong day. He was French. I mention this merely for historical accuracy. There was yet another funny moment when a middle-aged peroxide-haired woman with a rather fuller figure started blustering to Dex and I in Russian. Something about queues, I guess. Hearing us talk, she said, 'I no speakee Engish'. We were tired and in childish mood, and I replied, 'Now, that's not entirely true, is it love?'

Why 'love'? I'm not sure, It just felt right.

She then made a lot of noise to her friends about something or other, that we couldn't put our fingers on. Dex and I 'replied', variously with, 'Well, what can you do?', 'this is it, you see...', 'Yes, the youth of today...' and, 'Well, I blame this Labour Government.'

I'd also been told they were pretty strict on weight on the check-in, so I managed to balance my shin against my board on the scales to take a few kilogrammes off the total. I then began to get cramp, and was desparately holding on while the guy did the ticket. Got away with it, though...

Anyway, ,that was the last bit of drama – apart from the pre-boarding smoking corale. Smoking is what you do here when you're not doing anything else, but maybe more about that later...god, there's so much else to say about this place, the people, the culture, the scenery. Maybe I'll sum it all up when I get back to Blighty. Chances are I won't, of course, but fingers crossed. I've rambled too long again, my eyes are closing, my battery is going, and I'm going to get my head down for a bit. Next stop: Moscow.

6 hours in.This cannot be in any way good. I am giving serious consideration to elbow-smashing a four-year-old child. This cannot be good. There's three of the little blighters, and in the way that small kids do, their boundless energy is finding outlet in running laps of the cabin. I'm on an aisle seat (30D, since you ask – and the number is on the back of your seat). On every lap, my elbow is jogged at least twice, and it's so tempting to simply stick it out a little further at the appropriate (or rather, inappropriate time).

Cat on a Plane

Oh yes, I walked back to the toilets earlier, and there's a woman with a cat on board. We'd just been served lunch. The choice was chicken or pork, but as I walked past, I noticed this woman with the cat in her lap. I...oh, it's too obvious, isn't it? What was funny, though, was when I walked back from the toilets, the cat had gone, but the woman was chewing on a small chicken bone...

...Ooh, food. I may be back again in a day or two...

Do or Di.....well, probably visit another hot springs, actually...

View from the window

There's some sun and some clouds. Staggering over to throw back the curtains, I can see the mountains and volcanoes on the horizon. Down to breakfast, and the place is buzzing. No-one's saying much about snow as they don't want to jinx it. Neil tells us to meet at nine for an update, but be ready to be on the bus by nine thirty if everything's good. The heart's fluttering a little. There's a chance of quite a bit of fresh snow, but if the stuff already there was frozen when the new stuff fell, we'll have to pick our spots. We won't know what the window is, so if we go, it's going to be non-stop. Today could be very good indeed.

Service

It feels like I'm writing an awful lot, y'know. And part of me feels that I'm writing when I should be, well, on holiday. The thing is, for one, I'm a quick typist, and the second thing is I'm doing this when I'd probably only be reading anyway. In fact, I managed to go backwards on the book I'm reading the other day. Seriously. I'd last been reading it on the plane, when I was a little zonked out. I picked it up this morning to read, found my marked page, and realised that it was on an interesting bit about Uganda, but that I'd lost track. So, I turned back a couple of pages...then only managed to read half a page before I was distracted. So yes, I've literally gone backwards.

Soooo, as predicted, it was another 'down' day, and I hauled myself out of bed just after 10am to go get breakfast. Dex and I spent a subdued half an hour in the empty hotel bar/restaurant (I still haven't decided what the bloody-hell it is) laughing at the staff. Well, not so much at them as at their behaviour. Perhaps I should say something about the 'non service culture' I keep harping on about.

From my rudimentary knowledge of communism, everyone is allocated a job to do, and is then rewarded with enough money or other goods to live adequately and provide for any dependents. Communism is, of course, the absolute antithesis of Capitalism and, thus there is no faciliity whereby initiative or extra effort can be rewarded. So, to be blunt, why would anyone bother doing any more than the bare minimum required from them. Well, since I've never been here before, this is all conjecture, but I tend to think that this culture still exists – particularly in this far-flung corner of Mother Russia.

So, some examples, then: There are more bar and restaurant staff than necessary at the hotel. They keep running out of beer. Now, if you know that the hotel is going to be full of (mainly) hard-skiing blokes for a week, wouldn't you think they'd be keen on a beer or two? Even after you run out on the first night, wouldn't you rush through an order? But no, they don't. I'd imagine beer is supplied on one day of the week, and if they're out, tough. That's just the way it is. They have no interest in providing a decent service. They're missing out on some big profits, but there's no incentive for them to care. You never get a smile out of them, and they get extremely stroppy if you try and use a note over 500 rubles. Dex and I were laughing this morning at the woman who seems to be in charge at breakfast. She has an orange dye-job that makes her look a bit like the princess in Shrek (as the ogress), the place is dead, but somebody asks her for something, and she responds as if she's been asked to piggy-back the guy to his room. We were imagining her saying, 'You treat this place like a bloody hotel!'.

Another example: The restaurants not only keep running out of food, but they seem to have no ability to cater to groups of more than five. The food comes when it comes. Often it doesn't come at all. Sometimes it comes in reverse order. Again, there's no incentive to please the customers. The other night, it had taken an hour to get cold starters, and four were missing. I waved the waitress over and asked if the other four were on their way. I was very polite. She responded fairly aggressively that they take longer to prepare. Yes, but an hour? It's a salad!

I guess that one's more likely to go under 'interesting' rather than 'funny'.

Not much more to say about the day. We did a hot spring again... Oh! We dined in a medieval theme restaurant! Yes, built like a faux-castle, on a roadside, with gold-tinted windows and frescos of various medieval scenes on the walls inside. Food arrived in a random order. Pete, though, was particularly pleased, as he likes menus with photographs of the dishes.

Yes, we were served by a woman garbed as a 'wench'.

So, we've had some beers at the hotel, the others have gone to play pool, but I really need an early night – and I have everything crossed for good weather tomorrow. If we go up, it's going to be non-stop, and very hard workd. We did around seventeen thousand vertical metres in the two days we've been up, and we could have done a lot more. Wish us luck.

Glasnost on the Dance Floor

Gah, I have a bit of a problem. As I get to know people, I want to comment on them, their nuances, our interactions. This is not anonymous, though, and if anyone ever stumbled on it, they'd know who they were. What do I do, then? Do I tell it like it is? Do I edit? Not sure.

The reason I'm now struggling with this is because we went to a club last night, and there's nothing more eye-opening than seeing people with a few beers inside them. As I've noted before, the women here really do get dressed up to go out – only they tend to do it a little like 1980's 'working girls' – think a bling'd up Julia Roberts in 'Pretty Woman'. We took a taxi to this 'Sports Bar' around eleven, after eating in the hotel. Dex decided to skip it and went to bed, and I was very close to doing the same until a phone call from Ben alerted me to a waiting cab.

They're very friendly in a 'speak when spoken to' fashion, but it's such hard work. This is no reflection on them, since I'm in their country yet possess no language skills at all. Well, that's not entirely true: When Dex turned up at the airport he had an A4 page with some handy phrases on it. (Chut Chut peeyanee means 'P1ssed!', apparently. See? Handy.) I produced this at the club, and Neil immediately borrowed it and turned to the two girls next to him to try some phrases out. The man has no shame. Ben and Ruskin spent the evening talking to two other girls. Frankly, I'm not sure how interesting the conversation was, but then again, I have a feeling they weren't in it for the intellectual stimulation. We left them at the club at 4:30am, and they were still spading away. It's currently 1pm the next day, and so far they haven't been seen this morning...Ruskin's an Aussie guy in one of the other groups. He used to be a guide but works in real estate in a Japanese ski resort now. He stitched me up by introducing me to a Russian girl then leaving me to it. Again, nice girl, but the conversation was a travel. She did, at one point, ask me if I was married, and if I wanted children. She also thought I was twenty-five (it wasn't that dark in there!). She also told me I made her 'laugh very much'. The only thing I found slightly disconcerting was that she sounded ever-so-very-slightly like Borat ('I come from Kamchatkaski. It is niiice. I liiike very much to come to UK.'...

...I made my excuses and slipped back to the dance floor, where T-900 was throwing some of the campest shapes I've ever seen. 'T-900', or 'Terminator' is the nickname I've bestowed on one of the Austrian guys. He's a big bloke – about six foot four – and obviously spends a lot of time down the gym. The thing is, he looks faintly ridiculous, as he has floppy hair, and is very much a product of lifting lots of weights. That is, his upper body is pumped up to a level of parody, yet his lower body is tiny. He could probably have played one of the bad guys in a 'Die Hard' movie. Just looking at him normally makes me chuckle, but seeing him in the middle of the dance floor, hands behind his head, gyrating and air-kissing, was almost too much for me to bear. He was very, very drunk... I should probably mention the 'show', too. When I came back to the dance floor, a topless dancer had appeared on the podium, wearing little more than body glitter and a look of intense concentration. They were around for about half an hour, I suppose. One of the Austrians spent about twenty minutes on his knees in front of the podium, just staring at her – at one point, tucking some cash into her waste-band. Classy guy.

So, we stayed until about four thirty in the morning, and it was still buzzing when we left. At one point, they turned the house music down to a 'slow' number, and the place turned into a bit of a school disco (like, a sixth form, rather than 'management consultants in shorts and tie.), with girls standing around, waiting to be asked to dance. This only lasted one song, though, and the couples were interrupted by the Russian version of Prodigy.

And so we left. The taxis here all have TVs in them! And I don't mean mounted in the back of the front seat for the passengers to watch, either. No, this is fixed to the centre of the dashboard so the driver can watch! I was shocked when I saw this on the way to the club, but even more gobsmacked when we caught a cab home and I realised it was standard. We worry about making phone calls while driving in the UK, and these guys are driving in heavy snow whilst watching Eastenderovski!

Do or Di.....well, probably visit another hot springs, actually...

There's some sun and some clouds. Staggering over to throw back the curtains, I can see the mountains and volcanoes on the horizon. Down to breakfast, and the place is buzzing. No-one's saying much about snow as they don't want to jinx it. Neil tells us to meet at nine for an update, but be ready to be on the bus by nine thirty if everything's good. The heart's fluttering a little. There's a chance of quite a bit of fresh snow, but if the stuff already there was frozen when the new stuff fell, we'll have to pick our spots. We won't know what the window is, so if we go, it's going to be non-stop. Today could be very good indeed.

Fish and Guns

Well, it's another 'no fly' day today. The prognosis was that it was possible, but that the conditions would be poor. Because there's been no snow recently, the slopes need the sun to soften for 'Spring' skiing conditions. So, skidoo riding was mooted, but that's going to cost us around a hundred quid each for four hours, so we decided to leave it in reserve. Instead, we headed off to have a mooch around a fish market (note to self: must do more mooching in future), and then a spot of target shooting – as you do.

The chintz-bus took us off around half eleven, taking in a few sights, including a rickety pier surrounded by rusty boats, a statue of Lenin, and a weird department store full of stuffed animals (gift ideas included a lethal-looking mace and a twenty-four carat statuette of a bulldog). Actually, I've always chuckled at and generally ridiculed the Japanese tourists I see in London, who seem to take photos of everything. I happened to notice a couple of security guards looking at us in bemusement as I attempted to take an 'arty' shot of a couple of rusting hulks, and it dawned on me they were probably doing the same thing.

Fish Market

The market was pretty interesting, if you like dried fish. Actually, that's not quite fair. Although it was a cold day, the various types of dried, frozen and fresh fish actually looked quite vibrant. This was a chance to see a bit of 'real' Kamchatka, and it didn't disappoint. The men we saw were, if not wearing camouflage, dressed in a fairly drab fashion. The women, on the other hand, when they're not dressing down, are outfitted like hookers. That's an exaggeration, but many of them seem to wear overly-bling'd high-heeled boots and the sort of skirts that were fairly inappropriate for the mud and snow. Luckily, some of them are quite attractive. On the downside, some of them definitely aren't. Neil actually spent a couple of minutes chatting to two striking shop assistants. He was inviting them to the bar we're, apparently, going to tonight. He spoke no Russian and they spoke no English, though, so I'm not sure how it went. He told us he signed off with, 'Well, it's been nice talking to you, but I have to go and shoot some guns...' Not so much 'lost in translation' as 'turned back at the border'. Very funny, though.

"Eff-Bee-Aye-A-gent

The target shooting was at a gun club in the basement of a nearby building. We were shooting pistols and it was, obviously, harder than it looked. Loud, too. The first shot scared the bejeesus out of me. I have no problems with gun use as a sport, and I always think it's interesting to see the huge gulf between Hollywood and reality. We while away the afternoon taking turns at target shooting first with individual shots, then five at a time. The five were supposed to be in reasonably rapid succession, but a Mark decided he was Johnny Utah in 'Point Break', and loosed off a very impressive sounding volley. He wasn't sure if he'd hit anything.

So, back at base for a couple of hours. I'm still feeling continuously spaced-out and exhausted, and I'm not sure if this is because of the jet lag, or because I'm physically knackered. Oh yes, they put up the skiing stats, too, but more on that later...

Tips for Russian hotel lifts

As with many of the facilities in Russia, the watch-word here is 'utilitarian'. The designers were given a brief and have followed it to the letter.

1. The lift will be clearly labeled with its capacity. In the case of the hotel, it's '4'. Now, that's four people. Technically, you can get four people in there, as long as they're standing with their arms by their sides and it's a good three hours since their last meal. They absolutely must not be carrying any bags. They may achieve a small degree of comfort if they're all naked.
2. You should only enter a lift if you're absolutely sure which floor you require. Decisiveness is expected – and practically required. Do not make the mistake of thinking you'll be given a second chance or any sort of 'cooling off' period because, once you press that button, the doors shut instantly and the lift takes off.
3. As mentioned, the doors shut with no pause and with crushing force. Possibly the 'safety precautions' section fell off the back of the original lift specification. This means that you shouldn't press the button until everyone's in. On the day we arrived, Neil, Seb, Dex and I were taking the lift to our floor. Neil and I got in and Neil hit '4', assuming, as you do, the others would still have time to enter. The doors nearly took Seb's arm off and the look of surprise on Dex's face as he was left in the foyer was priceless. The three of us in the lift fell about laughing.
4. The lifts are extremely fast. If you're going to a lower floor, keep the knees well bent as you lift arrives, to absorb the shock. Severe spinal injuries can occur if you make the mistake of simply standing up straight.
5. The lift will not remember more than one floor at a time. Choose two floors and the second will be lost as soon as the lift reaches the first selected floor. Several times, this has lead to people heading for their rooms being deposited back in the foyer.

A bit more of the same...

Got a bit carried away on the last post, didn't I? I'll try and be a little more succinct this time. Actually, it did occur to me that I could kinda spread this 'material' out a bit. I mean, should I be writing this all down as it happens, or should I move things about a bit to make it more readable. Of course, I must take the former option. I'll read this back at some point, and I want it to remind me of how it happened, rather than how it would have happened if it was specifically lending itself to being written about.

Happened again, didn't it? Oops.

So, it's – I think – Wednesday morning, and I'm typing this before we meet up at 9:15am to make a call on whether it's happening today. It's greyer again, today, and Seb reckons we're 50-50. Frankly, I'd be quite happy with a day off, as I'm feeling it this morning. Yesterday was more of the same, and that's quite alright with me. We set off a bit later to let the snow soften, and we were in the air by twelve. It was a tad windier than the day before, and the heli was rocking around a little. This also made it harder to drop us off, as the pilot needs to maintain a stable position while we unload. I'm still not bored of that bit, and the way we all jump out of the door before hitting the deck and crawling away makes me feel like I'm back in 'Nam (even though, of course, I was never in 'Nam. I have seen Platoon, though). It was extremely windy at the top, even after the heli had gone, and this has taught me to always make sure I'm zipped up and ready when I jump out now. We managed around five drops before we stopped for lunch at 3. The top of the run is generally icy, but the snow softens the further down we go, and we had some great runs. I particularly love it when the slopes are wide and varied enough for everyone to plow down together, all taking their own lines. It's fantastic to watch Seb and Neil ahead of us, as they both ride with such fluidity, and really know how to use the terrain. Show-offs. I should probably mention I nearly had another accident. The group had stopped on a ridge, and I came in slightly below on my heel edge. It was steep, and I started sliding. I was heard to shout, 'No! Not-bloody-again!'. I was mainly functioning on pride at this point, and was angry enough to point my board straight down the fall line and carve onto my toe edge, coming to an immediate halt. I grinned at Neil, watching me from above, who simply laughed and said, 'Y'see, you're learning...' Darwinism at its best.

We took lunch down in the valley this time. Bread, sandwich fillings, tea and chocolates, but it's amazing how good it all tastes standing by a heli surrounded by mountains. I was busy trying to take 'arty' photos – I never tire of taking photos of the other guys' mirror goggle lenses – although Seb thought I'd taken a liking to him until I pointed out I was trying to get the heli in the reflection.

So, a couple more runs after lunch, and we were running short of fuel so we flew over to some hot springs for a bit of a soak. These were completely natural, and were created by damning a spring with logs. It was sulphurous and not very clean, but fantastic with a beer in hand. I went and laid on the snow for the benefit of Seb's video camera. Seb's been filming, with a view to making some sort of video afterwards. It's amazing the detrimental effect on one's abilities a video camera has, though.

I should also mention that, in addition to Neil, Seb and Lisa, there's another girl with us – a Russian girl called – I think! - 'Doxema' (which frankly, sounds like something you wouldn't need a prescription for, but which you'd certainly have to ask the pharmacist for). I think she works for the heli company. I've christened her 'Team Player' or 'The “I” in Team', as she kinda does her own thing, and rarely speaks to anyone. She also has a video camera, so I guess she's putting together something for the heli company. We had one rather surreal moment when Pete said the word 'traverse', which practically left her crying with laughter. Does anyone know if 'traverse' is a rude word in Russian? Lisa is German, incidentally, and functions as a guide and translator. She's also an awesome boarder. There's a very mild disconnect between the guides, though, and there have been several incidents where we've reached Neil, who's wondered why everyone is coming down one at a time, and we've pointed out that Lisa has been holding us back. She's definitely more cautious than Neil and Seb (or maybe 'overly', but I'm not qualified to comment).

So, back to the heli, and they'd just loaded a skidoo into the back, via the rear cargo doors, so there we were – eleven riders, boards, equipment and a skidoo – in the back of the heli. And home we went. There was a mild feeling that we may have been a tad short-changed on another run if they were saving fuel for the skidoo, but there we go.

We got back to the hotel around eight, and arranged a quick turnaround to meet at quarter to nine to go out to a restaurant 'round the corner'. Neil had a short meeting, so Seb led us out, then promptly got lost. This was worth it, simply for the opportunity to make relentless 'glad we have a guide with us...', 'haven't got your “urban dining” badge yet, then...?' comments. We eventually found it with the help of a local Russian girl ('Ah, you are from Americas? You hef gurl-frient or vife?' Actually, that's a lie. She was very helpful, and didn't say anything like that.). As with much of this town, the restaurant was much nicer inside, although there was still the odd plastic parrot to spoil things. I won't say too much about this save that there is a definite lack of service culture in this town. Over an hour for cold starters? Really? Neil got up and left early. We eventually all left around quarter to midnight after the food had all arrived in the last half an hour. It wasn't bad when it came, but I always feel sorry for the waitress, who has no control over how fast food comes out of the kitchen. We thought about complaining and querying the bill, but felt discretion was probably the best part of valour in a town where we're not quite sure how the law works.

And so to bed. I feel a little better this morning, but my left (back) calf is in need of a rest. In an ideal world, I'd like heavy snow for a day or two, then blue skies. We shall see...

Oops

Er, 'mountain peek' was deliberate, by the way. It was a pun on the fantastic view. Honest.

Thwop-thwop-thwop...

So that's heliboarding, is it? I have a nasty feeling I may be gently hooked. Where to begin, then...

Well, let's begin with breakfast. The jet lag seems to have passed now, and I woke around seven. The restaurant was significantly busier than it had been the day before, and there was a definite buzz to the place. The sun was shining through the (many layers of) net curtains, and there was a gentle confidence in the air that 'helicopter' things may happen today. The heli operation is run by a company called Vertikali-mir, and there were several groups all staying at the hotel, from various different countries. So, after checking with Neil, we arranged to meet at 9, all ready to go. So, packing all the usual snow stuff, our ABS backpacks and some swimming stuff (for the hot springs on the way home9), we assembled by the chintz-wagon. It was a clear, sunny morning, although cold. A sunny day always makes everything look a bit better, and I think Petropavlovsk really benefited. Everything still looked slightly 'third world' and brown, but it somehow seemed more hopefully now, and slightly less miserable.

The journey to the airbase took around an hour, through various dilapidated towns and bumpy roads. The airport itself consisted of a central office/lodge painted a jaunty blue, and a large and badly-maintained airfield, on which were parked around eight or so Mi-11 helicopters. They were painted blue and white or orange and blue, but all had that 'ex-military look to them, and I could well imagine some had seen service in Afghanistan. As we unloaded boards and other gear, several other coaches arrived, all carrying skiers, and it gradually dawned on me that this was a fairly large-scale operation. Inside the lodge, it appeared that once again, they hadn't quite pulled it off. There's a definite lack of sophistication and taste in this country. They'd built a very nice office, with briefing rooms and bathrooms, and a sweeping staircase at the front, all in wood. They'd then gone and let themselves down by installing various partition walls, doors and windows all in white UPVC. Classy. They had a number of beautiful photos, all framed, hanging around the room, but most of them were very crooked. Since these were all well above head height, we wondered just how they managed this, So, after signing a piece of paper, and pushing our backpacks through the x-ray machine, we were walking across the tarmac to our helicopter. Safety briefings were conspicuous by their absence, although Neil and Lisa – our local liaison and translator – explained that the helicopter, when dropping us at the top, would only put it's nose on the surface, so we'd unload from the back of the helicopter to the front, to keep the weight forward. The helicopter was, as I'd expected, fairly sparse inside – well-maintained, but old, with various cables across the cabin roof. I got a great photo of Ben holding the end of a severed wire in his hand and looking bemused.

So, once we were all in, the rotors spun up, and we were away. It was my first time in a helicopter, and it's fair to say it was a lot smoother than I expected. It was also loud. It was strange to simply lift off into the air, and even stranger to see the world rotate around us as the heli turned to face the mountains. The first flight took around twenty minutes. As Neil explained, the first 'drops' of the day tended to be shorter and lower, since the helicopter was heavy with a full fuel load. As the day went on, we'd be able to go higher. The first drop was an experience I shan't forget. The unofficial signal is when Neil and Seb put their packs on and the copilot comes back to open the door. At that point, we brace ourselves while the helicopter slowly maneuvers into position, then Neil and Seb pile out, followed by the rest of us, one by one. As I came to the door, there was about a three foot drop to the snow and rocks. Once you hit the snow, it's essential to keep low to the ground, hold on to your board tightly and move away from the heli, so others exiting don't land on you. Once everyone was on the snow, and copilot shuts the door and the helicopter swoops away while we're battered by the downdraft. Seeing the brightly-coloured heli disappear below the peak and away is spectacular, and I don't think I'll ever tire of it.

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Originally uploaded by nickontheroad

At this point, we're left on a mountain peek, with spectacular scenery all around, and the Pacific Ocean in the distance. Neil, Seb and Lisa walked a little way away to survey the terrain and decide where to go – a pattern that would become familiar as the day progressed. The first run was icy, to say the least. I've learned that part of the heliboarding experience is that it's not always perfect powder, and that you can meet all sorts of terrain, Once the guides had decided where to go, we all set off. The scenery was spectacular and the snow, although untracked, was fairly solid in places, and we had to take care. Never mind, it was all about the experience for me. The first run down probably took about twenty minutes, and we eventually found ourselves in a valley, heading towards the helicopter, which was parked at the bottom where it opened out. Once everyone was down, we stood around for a couple of minutes, then loaded up and off we went again.

IMG_1853
Originally uploaded by nickontheroad

We did ten drops in total, all of which were longer and started higher than the first. On subsequent drops, we worked off various points on two adjoining peaks, with all the runs ending down in a river valley which snaked towards a bay, which must have been two or three miles away. As the day went on, as Neil had predicted, the sun softened the slopes, and it became much more pleasant. No-one had actually moaned after the first run, but once the snow was good, no-one was shy about the fact that it was 'much better than that first run!'.

I should probably mention my 'accident'. Off the top of our third drop, there was a very steep traverse. As a 'goofy' rider (right foot forward), this put me on my heel edge, which is harder. Those that didn't fancy it could take an alternate route with Seb, but my confidence was high. In hindsight, I probably should have rode it backwards ('switch') on my toe edge. I was right behind Neil, and negotiated the first two short traverses with no problems. On the third one, though, I saw Neil grab a tree and pull himself in. I felt okay...then began to slide. Then I kept sliding. It felt like I was moving in slow motion, and I've since thought about what I should have done, and why I didn't. I should have stood up into it, pointed round and carved on to my toe edge. It always felt, though, like I was about to get it under control. I ended up sliding what must have been forty or fifty metres to the bottom of the gully. It was never particularly dramatic, but I felt so helpless and, of course, I had no idea where I was going to end up. When I eventually came to a halt, I turned and waved to Neil to signal I was okay. Of course, I had no idea what to do at this point. I could see the chopper down in the valley, below, but I was hesitant about moving with a guide. I decided to phone Neil, but for some reason, it hasn't occurred to any phone companies that the mountains around here are ripe for coverage. Anyway, Neil shouted down and told me to wait for Seb, who was coming down with his group on that side, so that's what I did. So, no harm done, but a very good reality check. You always know everything's okay when a misadventure results in mickey-taking, rather than stern talking tos, and it turned out that the snow beyond the traverse was great. So, I'd negotiated most of the really hard stuff, then taken the really icy route down – truly, the worst of both worlds. Could have been much worse, I suppose.

Lunch also deserves a mention. We flew closer to the bay, and the helicopter dropped us at a point overlooking it. From here, we boarded down to the helicopter, which was parked next to the beach. We then had a picnic by the sea. I've never thought I'd ever stand on a beach in my snowboard beach. The evenings are long here, and we had lunch at around 4:30pm.

I've rambled a little. I'm finishing this the day after, as we have a later start to let the snow soften. I'm definitely sold on heliboarding, though. Ideally, we need a day off for it to dump snow, then blue skies. Of course, on ski holidays, the weather always does exactly what you want it to...

Oh, a quick mention for the hot springs we stopped off oat n the way home. It was in a sanatorium, and we all had to wear comedy flip-flops. Another mixed bag of Russians in the pool, including a rather attractive young girl and her uncle (we assume). She clearly wasn't a very strong swimmer, though, as he had to hold on to her to stop her sinking.

Endless powder....or not.

I think I woke up around 5:30am. In fact, I'm fairy sure it was then, as I remember it was an incoming text or call on Dex's phone that did it - one of the problems of mobile phones working in different timezones being that you get messages about Saturday night beers at 7am... (sorry I couldn't make it, Dunc, but Fulham's a bit of a stretch for me at the best of times...) So, breakfast in the same bar/restaurant as the night before, with the placid breakfast atmosphere complemented by the hard house music they'd decided to put on the sound system. Neil and Seb, the guides, drifted in shortly after Dex and I. They had, apparently, both woken up around 3am, so I guess five thirty could have been worse, on balance. Breakfast wasn't too bad, really, all things considered. We saw the first green...well, anything since we arrived: there were some slices of apple on offer. There were also slices of omelette and slices of pancake containing some sort of sweet minced meat and rice. Neil had his with honey before I mentioned they were actually filled with beef, but it still seemed to taste okay. Oh, there was also a big tray of chunks of fried or baked salmon. From now on, any time I mention food, let's take the salmon as read, shall we?

So, as had been feared the previous night, the winds were high this morning so no helicopters were going up. There was a possibility for this afternoon, but Neil thought it best to can it for today. One of the things I'm learning about heliboarding is that you have to be patient, and not get stressed if it's not happening. Instead, we went to a local resort for a bit of avalanche training. Well, I say 'resort' – there was one t-bar, for which you had to buy individual tickets. It was icy, nasty, brown, and possibly the worst slope I've ever been on. Not exactly the 'endless powder' advertised, but there we go. Everyone is being very philosophical about the weather, and I realise that it's best to be positive, as everyone's in the same boat. To be honest, I think if anyone moaned, it would rapidly become tedious. The view was like nothing I've seen before, though. The slopes looked over the sea, with multiple container ships, all gently rusting. At some point, this must have been a mighty industrial port, but clearly the salmon stocks have dropped off, or something. So, we used the first three of our five tickets doing the same slope, then stopped at the top for some avalanche training. This consisted of Seb and Neil burying tranceivers, then the rest of us hooning off into the trees to try and locate said receivers. There's definitely a knack to it, and by our fourth attempt, we were getting reasonably good at it. I still hope never to have to use it, though.

So, after another couple of final runs, we left there – on our chinzy bus – and headed to the 'hot springs'. This was basically two pools full of mildly-sulphorus hot water and fat Russians in speedos and other unflattering apparel. So, we spent an hour gently simmering and making 'don't fancy yours much' remarks as yet another elephantine local entered the water. It's amazing how they manage to take something that could be quite quaint and interesting and make it really ugly. I went to some hot springs in Chile and they were wonderful – natural rockpools with wooden changing rooms suspended above them and entry via ladder. The tin fence round this one was the least of the problems... We capped this off with a late lunch in a bar/restaurant (yes another one) along the road. This one had gold tablecloths, balloons tied to the light fittings, and a karaoke machine. We were treated to more hard house, interspersed with some Roxette. Curious. Oh yes, we also had an amusing currency-haggle when it came to pay. There was some debate about who owed what and it quickly became complicated. Eventually, somebody pointed out the argument was over about sixty pence, and everyone was a lot more generous after that

And so back to the hotel. The sun has come out, and everything looks a little less drab, now. You can also see some of the volcanoes on the horizon, and they are, frankly stunning. We hope to slide down some of these tomorrow. For now, though, dinner is at eight, and I need to take a shower to wash off my previous shower (which, we realised, was the same sulphorous water as in the pool)

Oh, I clocked my first bronze statue of Lenin today. Must be one of the few that hasn't been carted off and melted down.

Hotel Petropavlovsk - the other side of the world

Ah, so it's here they come to film footage for Cold War films! My God, this is the most unrelentingly drab and depressing place I've ever seen. The journey to the hotel by bus must have taken half an hour, during which I couldn't tear my eyes away from the scenery. More on that in a sec. So, to catch up...

...we checked in at Shere about two hours before the flight, having not seen Neil or anyone who might be in our group. They have a very strange system whereby they check your ticket and x-ray all your luggage before you check it in. This all happens in a similar fashion to the security checks at Heathrow, only you have all your luggage to put through the machine. They also make you take your shoes off and put those elastic bag things they have a swimming pools on before walking all of four metres through the x-ray, retrieving your shoes and putting them on again. Russia seems to me more and more about process – possibly a legacy of the communist era? Anyway, we found the Irish bar (we identified it from it's name – 'Irish Bar'. Since it's not the first language, i guess they have to be explicit) and were having a pint there when Neil and the others found us. They'd been downstairs at the other end of the airport for about three hours. Ben – a colleague of Dex's – and Pete joined us for a beer.

The flight was an experience. We were on an Illyushin, which had more cabin headroom than I'd ever seen before on an aircraft. Seriously, it was high enough for a dwarf to stand on a man's shoulders and still be able to juggle. Well, a dwarf of average size, anyway. So, the flight was full and crowded. It was a real mix of people, but I noticed a higher-than-average number of ABS backpacks and snow jackets, which suggested that Kamchatka may be a 'destination' for the more extreme snow enthusiasts.

Dex and I each popped one of Dex's sleeping tablets, and I went to sleep soon after lights out, waking when they came back on for breakfast. This must have given me six hours of sleep, and were nearly there....Only we weren't. Due to bad weather, we diverted to a nearby airfield to wait it out. Well, I say 'nearby',it was actually in a different timezone. It's that pesky 'scale' thing again. To try and describe this airport provides me with an ideal opportunity to use the word 'tinpot' – well as tinpot as an airport can be and still service passenger aircraft, I suppose. Most of the ground staff were on foot, and there were three sets of stairs buzzing around the aircraft but not actually docking with it. I had just been reading about an Addis Ababa street market in 'Dark Star Safari', and I had the brief thought that maybe the sets of stairs were 'freelance' and were haggling with the plane for business, since they seemed to be driving around the plane much like street urchins or market hawkers might.***Anyway, after an hour here, they decided to give it another whirl, and luckily, this time we made it – after spending only sixteen hours on the plane. Everything in this part of the world gives the impression of being not quite finished, and I'm beginning to see the logic and advantages of planning regulations. Petropavlovsk airport has a number of runways, for instance, but all the land in between – that's kept short and groomed in the UK – is basically swamp and forest land. God knows what would happen if a plane had to veer off the runway. A knackered bus took us from the aircraft to a gate (literally, a metal gate) which led straight out to a car park. We then stood here until our luggage appeared.

So, the bus ride. The bus was pink, and the driver had obviously decided it needed more brightening up, so had installed chintzy purple curtains and pelmets all over it. Hideous. As I mentioned, the terrain was more depressing than anything I'd ever seen. It had obviously snowed heavily weeks or months before, but the snow was retreating, and it was all either grey or brown. There were many trees, but all deciduous, and as I type this, I haven't yet seen any natural greenery. The hotel is pretty ugly, and I'm fairly certain my pennies aren't being spent on the accommodation. There are a lot of staff, and they all seem fairly miserable. Again, maybe the lack of 'service industry' is a communist thing. There are twenty or so skiers and boarders staying here, in three groups. We had a briefing on helicopter safety, and we've all had to hire ABS backpacks, as it's 'policy' ('Air Bag System' – they have a ripcord to inflate in case of avalanche). They come with shovel and probe, so I've hauled my avalanche gear out here for no particular reason, and I also don't get to road test my new Deuter rucksack. Annoying.

Dinner was in the hotel restaurant/bar – which is hilarious. They're big on neon lights and chrome, here, and the bar area is the sort of thing you may have found in a community centre circa 1983. Since we're near the sea there's a lot of seafood on the menu, and apparently salman (sic.) farming is big around here, so there's lots of that on the menu. Imagine the fun we had with the 'Salman Rosti'. By this point, apart from ailrine food, I hadn't really eaten for a day or two, so we ate everything put in front of us. The weather reports weren't great for the morning, but they'd be having a meeting and making a call on whether to go at 9:30 ths next morning. And so to bed.***As I type this, Dex is lying on the bed opposite mine, fully clothed, and sound asleep. Bless.

Moscow (airports), baby!

Well, Moscow is nothing like those Cold War espionage films. I haven't, at any point, been asked for my 'papers' by a grim-faced man in a rain coat or a soldier. I'd heard that women in Russia tended to be either stunningly attractive or, shall we say, reminiscent of root vegetables. This proved prescient as Dex and I went to adjoining passport control desks: Dex getting the 'stunna' and me getting the potato. I hope this is not to be the pattern for the week. Anyway, much fiddling and typing later, we were through passport and, lo and behold, there sat two snowboard bags. Thus, my main stress-point for the trip is assuaged. So, we had to stand around for twenty minutes, waiting for the taxi my Moscow-dwelling friend had arranged for us. I figured there'd been a cock-up and was just debating how to order a cab from the desk with absolutely no Russian language skills when a random bloke rushed up with a scrap of paper. I was just about to shoe him away when I noticed the paper he had in his hand had the name of my friend's company on it. So, off we went. Sadly, the guy had obviously been told we were very important and spoke no Russian (true on both counts), so he insisted on phoning my friend's PA – at 5am! - then handing me the phone so I could speak to her. Neither of us had anything to say to each other, so I had to do a verbal version of a 'Gaelic shrug' down the phone, and handed it back to the cab driver. Odd.

It took just over an hour, and the outskirts of Moscow are as drab and monochrome as I expected. Blocks of flats everywhere, and lots of concrete. Every twenty minutes or so, there would be a long stretch of open ground upon which were built ramshackle huts (or 'Dachas', as they call them). It seemed hard to believe that anyone lived there. So, reaching the airport, handshakes all round, and I paid 3750 rubles. I had no idea how much this was, was too delirious with fatigue to work it out, so didn't tip him. Later, I calculated it was about ninety quid. Ouch. Sadly/fortunately (depending on your point of view) this seems to be about the going rate.

So we're now sitting on barstools in Shere 1, in between people-watching. All the women are very well turned out – and some of them are even attractive. We now have nine hours to kill before our flight leaves, so we're mostly people-watching. There's definitely a 'look' here – form the most part, people have the characteristic 'flat' slavic(?) face and pale skin. I have to say that there is a greater than average proportion of 'striking' women here, but the way they dress is interesting. A lot of them seemed to be dressed for a Saturday night out (or possibly a Saturday night standing on a street corner), and patent leather and gold feature heavily. There's also one of those industrial cling-film-wrapping machines here, and most people opt for wrapping their luggage up with it. I don't know whether this says more about the quality of their luggage or the standard of Russian airport baggage handling...

T5 (It's awesome!)

(That title is an in-joke, but I realise now that I've lost touch with everyone that would get it. Actually, I could also use this excuse more often...)

T5. Heathrow. This place is stunning. It's a bit like what Sarah Beany might have done with the set of Blade Runner. What's more, it's practically deserted – or maybe the scale of it simply makes it seem that way. What's more, there are more assistants than there are travellers. In the same way that new customers are currently getting a great deal from Northern Rock, Heathrow T5 is pulling out all the stops after the recent fiascos. There's just about every restaurant you could need here, outlets for the usuals, and also a large Harrod's. Don't start me on the lifts, though. Three floors: Tube, Arrivals and Departures. I decide to take the escalator, because it's good exercise and I can. It takes me up two escalators to Arrivals. The only way I can get to the top is to get the elevator. Unfortunately, you can't call it; you have to simply wait for it to stop. Even better than that, it never stops on the way up, only on the way down. So, I had to get the lift back down to the Picadilly Line, then all the way back up again. Cosmic.

So, this is promising to be the start of an epic trip. We've had a bite to eat in Waggamamas and managed to spend a fortune in a Wetherspoon's (which tells you something about the 'airside' price of beer here). We're now sitting at a fairly empty departure gate, with a bunch of oddly-dressed (presumably) Russians. Mind you, Dex is wearing a camouflage baseball cap, and looks a little like a soldier returning from leave. Apparently, it's illegal to wear camouflage in Jamaica. (more of those little gems as they occur to me)

eee-k.

I am on a train back from Brighton, taking this Asus 'wee' eee PC for a proper spin. It's the first time I've actually tried using a laptop while on the move and, while not perfect, it's not too bad either. I'm making a few mistakes because of the small keyboard, but my accuracy is improving, and, of course, we don't have the problem of the random lurches of the train sending a my handwriting all over the page. There's only one other problem I can see, and that's that the weight tends to tip the thing backwards if my hands aren't on the keyboard.

Still, it's passed the first test, and will certainly be coming to Russia with me - where I'll hopefully have time to keep this updated.

'Betwixt Contracts'

So I've been trying to explain to my parents that I'm not unemployed. They're not worried, so much as using it as an opportunity to take the p1ss. I've been trying to make it clear to them that, even though I don't go into an office every day, my personal company is still paying me every month. It's a bit of an odd concept, but suffice to say that I can comfortably take some time off. So, I'm left making plans again. This time, however, it's not just snowboarding...

Well, currently it is just snowboarding, but this will change. First up, the trip I've had planned for months - the trip it's becoming tricky to play down: heliboarding in Kamchatka. Basically, it's a week of being flown up various mountains in a helicopter, dropped off at the top, snowboarding down, then doing it all again. It is not, as I explained to someone the other day, jumping out of an airborne helicopter and gliding through the air while attached to the aforementioned snowboard. I'm somewhere between excited and scared. I'm also hoping my omni-present injuries don't jump out and grab me.