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...