Burn Baby Burn
March 31, 2010 by admin
Filed under Linger Longer
Linger Longer: Driving the Trans-Siberian
Chapter 18: Burn baby Burn
With pasta shell eyes, Si drives on the M55 to Ulan Ude
through the burning taiga, the largest forest in the world.
Covering five million square kilometers, an area of unbroken
forest roughly the size of India, it contains about 25%
of the entire planet’s wood reserves. On either side of the
road, charred trees smolder like burnt matchsticks and
flames leap sporadically into the air from patches of green
forest. It feels like the world is on fire, and watching a
roaring inferno attack an area close to the road, we hear
wood crack and watch a tree collapse in flames.
‘Hey, Si, keep an eye out for the smokejumpers.’
‘Smoke jumpers?’
‘Uh-huh. They’re the Siberian firefighters, who
parachute into the forest from fifty-year old turbo powered
Mi-8 helicopters. When there’s a fire they’re dropped
into the forest and spend weeks battling to put them out.
They survive by hunting for food and eating raw fish.’
‘Now, that’s cool!’ Si beams.
Not one single car or truck passes by as we make our
way through the burning forests, and I begin to feel a little
concerned for our safety. Rummaging through the glove
box, I dig out the Survival Guide and flick to the section
on ‘fire’.
‘Right, listen to this, Si. It says here, “do not drive
through thick smoke.”’
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Si frowns. ‘Bit late for that, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, I suppose it is. It also says, “if caught in a fire find
a clear area.”’
‘There aren’t any clear areas.’
‘Hmm … OK, forget about that one, too. Ah … “turn on
the headlights and stay in the car”.’
Si quickly flicks the lights on full beam. ‘OK, what else?’
‘“Close all the windows, turn off the ventilation and stay
in your vehicle until the glass begins to melt”.’
‘What?’
‘That’s what it says! It also mentions there’s a danger of
the petrol tank exploding.’
Si gulps. ‘We’re going to die, aren’t we?’
‘It’s highly possible. Although, if the wind does change
and the windows melt before the fire passes over the car,
there is always the final option of burying ourselves in the
earth.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘It’s true,’ I smile, pointing at the page. ‘It says, “If there
is no natural break or gully in which to shelter and the fire
is too deep to run through, you may have to seek the protection
of the earth itself.”’
‘Fuck that!’
All of sudden, a squirrel darts across the road in front of
us. Si swerves to avoid it, but we feel a bump as it disappears
under one of the back wheels.
I clench my teeth. ‘Poor blighter, what’s the chances of
that? You escape the forest fire by the fluff of your tail, and
then you get mowed down by the only car for miles
around.’
Si shakes his head. ‘Pure tragedy. Life’s a bitch, isn’t it?
I mean, what’s the point?’
‘In being a squirrel?’
‘No, in life.’
‘I don’t think there is a point,’ I reply. ‘The fact is, we’re
on this planet for a nanosecond and then we simply dis-
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appear into dust.’
‘Very deep, Chris, very deep.’
‘Thanks.’
‘So, how do you reckon you’ll die?’
‘Bloody hell, Si, liven up the frigging party!’
‘Don’t ignore the inevitable, man. It happens to us all
eventually.’
‘I haven’t really thought about it.’
‘Chris, you must have thought about it. It crosses everybody’s
mind at some point.’
‘Well, you’d hope of old age, but at the rate things are
going I think that’s gonna be pretty unlikely. Hopefully I’ll
suffocate between a huge pair of breasts.’
‘Yeah, I guess that would be the ultimate. What about
falling off a cliff or having your head cut off?’
I frown. ‘You’re kidding, right?’
‘No. I mean, imagine what would be going through your
mind?’
I tap my chin. ‘Hmm … let me think. How about…help, i’m gonna die!’
‘Fucking hell, wouldn’t you like to know how that would
feel?’ Si laughs. ‘You know, to have your head cut off.’
‘No, not really.’
‘In Medieval times it was entertainment to go and see a
public execution. It still is in some countries. Apparently,
you can still see and hear for seven seconds after you’ve
been decapitated.’
‘How the hell does anyone know that?’
Si shrugs. ‘Dunno.’
‘I must admit, I’ve often wondered what it would be like
to be eaten alive by a Great White shark.’
‘That’s the spirit, Chris! You’re starting to get into it now.’
‘I don’t think it would hurt for long. The shock would
numb the pain.’
‘I hope I get the opportunity to look death in the eyes,’
Si smiles. ‘Have a moment to say to myself, “so this is
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how the story ends … bring it on!”
‘Hmm … nice idea, but I’m not sure that’s how it works.’
‘Why?’
‘Because like I said, in that moment you’ll probably be
too busy shouting, “Oh, fuck! I don’t want to die!” while
your life flashes madly in front of your eyes.’
Escaping death with each mile, we drive through the
burning forests for a further 200 miles. Protected by the
road we eventually return to civilization … well, civilization
as in a cluster of tin-pot shacks and a roadside café.
We decide to take a pit stop. A strange looking guy stood
behind the counter welcomes us inside. Dressed in black
from head-to-toe, he is ghostly white in colour and has
deep blue eyes and long black eyelashes. His nose is huge
like a toucan’s beak, and smiling politely we grab a table
and study the menu. Ordering some food, the young guy
seems keen to make conversation and I’m intrigued to
learn he is from Armenia. We try to talk about the forest
fires, but he just shrugs his shoulders and smiles. The
mother, a Jewish looking woman with curly brown hair,
immerges from a room at the back of the restaurant. A
young boy follows closely behind. I point to England on a
map of the world pinned to the wall. They all smile and
we exchange handshakes. The young guy looks pleased to
see us and enthusiastically points to Armenia, a small
country north of Turkey. I vaguely recall the British having
some involvement in the Armenia crisis back in the 80’s,
and suggesting to us that they had not forgotten this we
are treated with the greatest respect. The young guy hands
me a packet of cigarettes with the brand name ‘London’ on
the box. I gratefully accept the present and dig out a couple
of postcards of London from the car. He looks ecstatic
and immediately pins them to the wall. Si fishes a couple
of English coins out of his pocket and gives them to the
kid. It’s a shame we can’t communicate with them more,
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as it would be fascinating to hear about their country and
find out why they had ended up all the way out here. I
wonder if it was because they’d gone in search of a better
life, but I can’t help feeling their extreme isolation and
distance from their homeland suggests something more.
The mother cooks us an incredible feast, and we leave the
cafe feeling touched by their humble generosity.
Heading back on the road, we quickly reach the city of
Ulan Ude, which chokes on the same smoke from the forest
fires we’d experienced over 300 miles away. With little
reason to stop we push on towards Chita – the frontier
of our journey. Winding down the window, the sweet
smell of Asia fills the Sierra and I peer out at the barren
landscape that dwarfs the car. Si sings lyrics from his
band days with, ‘The Blood Sucking Flower Fairies’, and
we play a few stupid games of eye spy. The sky is still
smoggy as we cruise through more untouched villages,
and to the sound of Si’s screams we nearly plough headon
into a horse galloping towards us. Two kids hang on for
dear life as they ride the beast bareback through the village.
They look so happy and free, and I look in awe at the
perfect simplicity of their lives.
We drive pretty much all day. Si places a compass on the
boot of the car and we watch the needle settle and point
east towards the horizon. For ten days now we’ve been
travelling in the same direction. Each morning the sun
rises in front of us in the east; it travels over our heads
during the day and sets directly behind us in the west. It
feels incredible, like we’re heading in the right direction.
Less than ten miles outside Chita, we park up for the
night at a rundown roadside café. Like many of the places
we’ve stopped at along our journey, it’s a small wooden
shack that’s badly in need of repair. There’s a plastic table
on the veranda outside the entrance, so we choose to sit
outside and enjoy the remainder of the day. While we try
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to work out what the hell to eat a guy in a green vest top,
with dark stubble and tattoos on his arms, exits the café
and walks over to our table. Si orders a couple of beers
and some food, and the guy silently nods his head and
returns inside.
‘Fucking hell,’ Si whispers, ‘that dude looks like he
could go a few rounds with Mike Tyson.’
The guy returns to our table with the beers. They’re as
warm as bath water, but after a long day on the road it
could be a bottle of the dude’s piss and I’d probably still
drink it. The guy’s face is red and his eyes are puffed up.
He looks like a heavy drinker and walks with a slight
limp. You can tell by his manner that at sometime in his
life he was definitely a soldier in the army, and more than
likely fought against the Chechens. His attitude is rock
hard, and I get the distinct impression that if we stepped
out of line he wouldn’t hesitate wringing our necks like a
couple of chickens. Si flashes him a ‘please-don’t-kill-uswe’re-
your-friends’ kind of a smile. The guy leaves the
table and disappears inside the shack. Suddenly, a beautiful
girl carrying a red bucket and a dirty cloth appears in
the doorway. She smiles sweetly as she passes by. Si’s jaw
hits the table, and we both sit dumbfounded for a few seconds
before turning to each other.
‘Bloody hell, did you see that?’ Si stutters, shifting excitedly
in his seat. ‘Cinda-fucking-rella, or what!’
‘Yeah, she must be his daughter.’
‘She must be adopted!’ Si laughs. ‘My God, imagine
accidentally getting her up the duff?’
I shiver. ‘Ooh, you could say goodbye to your bollocks.’
The guy reappears and throws two plates of burnt mush
on the table.
‘Spaceeba,’ I smile.
As we tuck into our grub, I notice Si keeps looking
behind me and smiling. I glance over my shoulder and see
the curtain move.
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‘What are you doing?’
‘Fuck, I think I’m in love,’ he smiles.
‘Not again.’
‘Now she’s the kind of girl I’d like to marry.’
‘The guy’s daughter?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Careful, Si, that bloke could snap your skinny body in
two.’
‘Hey, don’t I know it. I’ll tell you something, right. That’s
what’s missing from my life right now … a muse.’
I frown. ‘As in a cul-de-sac?’
‘No, you idiot, someone who inspires me.’
‘Was Emily a muse?’
‘The old Emily maybe, but she doesn’t exist anymore. I
need a new muse.’
‘Bloody hell, Si! You need to settle down and get married.
You’re not cut out for the single life.’
‘Yes I am! There’s nothing wrong with wanting a muse.
Wouldn’t you like to have a muse – a reason to breathe?’
‘I don’t need one. I get enough inspiration from the little
booties walking down the street, why have one muse
when you can have them all.’
Si nods. ‘Good point. The thing is, isn’t the love of that
one special girl, who spins your world like no other and
is perfect in every way, worth a billion other girls?’
I look up at the sky and think about this for a second.
‘Uh … no! Imagine how much fun you could have with a
billion girls?’
‘All right, Ron Jeremy.’
‘You’re just soft, Si, that’s your problem.’
‘And you’re just a horny mother fucker.’
‘It’s completely natural.’
‘Chris, have you ever actually been in love?’
‘Of course I have, you cheeky git.’
‘With who?’
‘Uh … well, there was Lucy!’
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‘Lucy? She was your girlfriend when you were seventeen,
wasn’t she?’
I glaze over. ‘I think she’s the only girl I’ve ever truly
been in love with.’
‘Hmm … that depends on how you define the word
‘love’,’ Si smirks, flicking a cigarette into his mouth.
I lean back in my chair and fold my arms. ‘Love … a
deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection and solicitude
toward a person, such as that arising from kinship, recognition
of attractive qualities, or a sense of underlying oneness.’
‘Where did you get that from?’
‘The dictionary,’ I reply with a grin. ‘I memorized it
when I was a kid.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know? I guess I wanted to know what it meant.’
‘And do you now?’
‘Yeah, I think so. That feeling of losing your heart for the
first time stays with you. I don’t think I’ve really been the
same since. She was so beautiful. Those days were great
fun, we used to make love in the woods and go horse riding
together near Newbury. It was all so innocent. I even
bought her a plastic rose from a petrol station.’
Si drops his smile. ‘You did what?’
‘I bought her a plastic rose.’
‘A plastic rose?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Chris, please tell me you’re taking the piss.’
‘No, I thought it would be romantic! You know … it
would last forever.’
Si places his beer on the table and rubs his eyes. ‘Oh my
God, only freaks and old people who smell of wee buy
plastic roses from a petrol station. What a horrible
thought, a plastic rose that lasts forever, not romantic at
all, mate.’
‘Hey, I was young and clueless.’
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‘You can say that again. So … she didn’t throw it back in
your face, then?’
‘Nope.’
‘Then, why did it end?’
‘I don’t really know. I think I fucked it up somehow. We
did agree to have an open relationship, though.’
Si frowns. ‘Really? And what happened?’
‘It all went tits up when she started seeing some other
guy from her college.’
‘But that was the idea, wasn’t it … to see other people?’
‘I suppose.’
‘Well, what about you? Did you start seeing someone
else?’
I look down at the table, and sigh. ‘I couldn’t do it.’
‘What do you mean you couldn’t do it? Was it because
you were still in love with her?’
‘Yes. No, I mean, uh … I couldn’t do it, all right! I couldn’t
pull!’
Si bursts out laughing and hits the table. ‘You fucking
loser!’
The guy suddenly appears at the door with two more
bottles of beer. He joins our table.
‘Rooskeey peeva,’ Si grins. ‘Very good.’
The guy shakes his head. ‘Nyet, Chech peeva.’
‘Chech peeva?’
‘Oh, I think he means Chechnya,’ I mutter. ‘Chechnya
Peeva?’
‘Nyet Chechnya!’ he bellows, slamming his fist
down on the table.
‘Czech beer!’ Si jumps in. ‘He means Czech beer!’
‘Da. Da. Czech peeva,’ the guy nods. He stands up and
walks back inside the café.
He returns with a beer for himself and sits back down.
His beautiful daughter appears in the doorway like a
bright-eyed thorn. She begins to clear away our plates,
and I try to restrain myself from looking at her as she dis-
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appears back inside.
‘Dosh?’ Si asks, pointing at the word for ‘daughter’ in the
phrasebook.
‘Da,’ the guy replies sternly.
We all simultaneously take a swig from our beers.
Breaking the silence, I show the guy our route from
England on the map, but he doesn’t seem that impressed.
Si points at Siberia and shivers. The guy nods his head.
He explains to us through hand gestures that during the
winter the roads are thick with snow, and he spends much
of his time clearing it away from the house. It can reach as
deep as the top of the door, and I try to imagine how they
survive out here in such extreme conditions, especially
when it drops to minus fifty below. Si offers the guy an
L&M cigarette, but he declines and pulls a packet of
Russian cigarettes out of his pocket. The packet is red and
made of cheap cardboard. They look like something my
great grandfather might have smoked in the trenches during
the battle of the Somme, and encouraging us to try one
I study the filterless cigarette between my fingers before
accepting a light. Drawing hard, I choke on the harsh tasting
smoke that fills my lungs, and quickly wipe away a
tear from the corner of my eye. The guy laughs, and reaching
over the table he pats me hard on the back. We all sit
silently around the table and exhale smoke into the warm
evening air.
‘Angleeya euro?’ the guy suddenly asks, flicking his ash
on the table.
‘What’s he say?’ I frown.
Si shrugs. ‘I think he’s asking if we use euros in England.’
‘Nyet,’ I reply. ‘Pound. Pound Sterling.’
‘Euro gutt,’ he laughs psychotically. ‘Dollar-ruble, nyet.’
He makes a face of disapproval.
‘Da,’ Si grins, whipping a twenty-euro note out of his
wallet. ‘Euro gutt!’
Placing it on the table in front of the guy, he looks sur-
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prised and studies it with intrigue. His beautiful young
daughter suddenly appears in the doorway and skips
across the grass towards a shed adjacent to the café. Si
looks dreamily in her direction. The guy points at Si and
then over at his daughter. He nods his head approvingly
and says something in Russian. Si blushes and looks shyly
down at the table. The guy stubs his cigarette out on the
floor and stumbles inside the café, returning seconds later
with a book. He hands it to me, and despite the fact it’s
printed in Russian I instantly recognize it as the Holy Bible.
He offers it to us as a present along with an unopened packet
of the harsh tasting cigarettes. Overwhelmed by his generosity,
Si gets a bit carried away and slides the twenty-euro
note across the table towards him.
‘For you!’ he cries, slurring his words a little.
The guy looks confused and points at the note and then
at his chest, as if to say, “you’re giving this money to me?”
His daughter suddenly reappears from the shed looking
radiant, and I catch myself admiring her slender bare legs
as she skips up the steps. I look back to the table and see
the guy looking suspiciously in my direction. He quickly
stuffs the note into his trouser pocket and speedily clears
the table. He looks paranoid as hell, and bidding us goodnight
he disappears inside the café and bolts the door shut
behind him. The light on the porch suddenly goes out,
and we sit dumbfounded for a few seconds clutching our
bottles of beer.
‘Was it something I said?’ Si whispers.
‘You just gave the bloke twenty-euros.’
‘So?’
‘That’s shit loads out here. He’s lucky to make that in a
week.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, he probably thought you wanted to give him
money for some quiet time with his daughter.’
Si looks shocked. ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’
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‘I’m serious. Did you see how quickly he took the money
and ran?’
Feeling slightly uncomfortable sat on the guy’s porch in
the dark we collect our possessions together and retire
quickly to the car.
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