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...