In Siberia

We land at Krasnoyarsk airport at 10:30 am. A large city with over 900,000 inhabitants that was founded in 1628 as a Cossack fortress. After the discovery of nearby gold deposits and the construction of the Trans-Siberian Railway, the town, which was still small in the 19th century, grew rapidly. Today, Krasnoyarsk is the capital of the region and the port and railroad center on the banks of the Yenisei. It has developed into one of the largest industrial centers in Siberia with shipyards, a large hydroelectric power plant and factories producing agricultural equipment, chemical products, aluminum, cement and textiles.

We follow the passengers into a modest reception hall. As soon as we reach the conveyor belts at baggage reclaim, Katja and Jenya rush towards us. “Hello, hello, nice to see you! Did you have a good flight?” they shout and hug us, laughing. Jenya immediately runs with me to the conveyor belt to wait for the equipment that will hopefully appear shortly. I’m excited and a little nervous. Did the Russians in Moscow load everything onto the right machine? We have been told that it is not uncommon for one or even all of the luggage to be forgotten when it is being reloaded. That would be a minor disaster for us. We wouldn’t get far on our bike trip without bikes. Each individual item of equipment is also almost irreplaceable and in some cases cannot be procured here. I can see the smiling and satisfied faces as the people behind them pull their luggage off the conveyor belt. Where are all the big boxes? “Will you be staying with me?” Jenya’s question distracts me.

At the beginning of winter six months ago, the truck driver Sergei picked us up after the drawbar broke in the Siberian pampas. It was raining cats and dogs when we arrived in Krasnoyarsk at 9pm. Sergei couldn’t drive his big truck into the city center. So he asked a young man at a petrol station if he would help the two German cyclists. “I’d be happy to,” he had replied, throwing his plans for the evening overboard and driving us to a monastery in the city center, where we found accommodation. The next morning, Jenya introduced us to his girlfriend Katja, who speaks perfect English and German as an interpreter. In the days that followed, the two of them looked after us devotedly. They showed us the city, got us plane tickets to Germany, organized the important registration, invited us to a coffee, took us to the airport with all our equipment and stored the two trailers with equipment in their apartments until today. Since then we have kept in touch by email. “Look, there’s a big box over there. Is that one of your bikes?” says Jenya, pointing to the riese und müller box. “But yes. Fantastic!” I exclaim delightedly. It doesn’t take long before the black, worn conveyor belt rumbles out all the equipment. Many helping hands quickly reach out and carry all our belongings to the parking lot in front of the check-in hall. Siberia welcomes us today on June 17 with around 13 degrees and unpleasant rain. “It’s really cold here. Strange, only yesterday our Russian friend Michael called me from Samara and told me that it’s 35 degrees in the shade there,” I say. “Samara is 3,000 kilometers away from here,” Katja replies with a laugh. “Russia is big, I heard on the news today that there’s a hurricane in Omsk,” replies Jenya as he tears open the boxes to load the bikes into Katya’s father’s car. “Priviet” (hello), he greets us with a friendly smile. He also took time off work to pick us up from the airport today in his little van. “We are lucky. So many people are helping us. A fantastic welcome in this country,” says Tanja happily.

I’m really happy that you’re going to stay with me in the apartment,’ says Jenya with a laugh. “We’ll show you our town, go hiking and enjoy a real Russian banya (sauna) if you want. I hope you’ll stay a few days?” he chats excitedly. “Please don’t speak so quickly. Our Russian has fallen asleep,” I reply. “Okay, but you’re staying for a few days, right?” “Sure, we’ll recover from the preparations first.” “Fantastic. You’d best stay a few weeks.” Half an hour later, we reach a typical Russian residential area of a large city. Katja’s father parks his car in front of a 10-story apartment block. Everything is quickly carried up to the sixth floor. As soon as we enter the large apartment, the door is locked behind us for security reasons. “We always do it this way,” Jenya explains with a friendly wink and shows us which number code we have to enter at the main entrance on the first floor so that we can enter the house at any time. “This is your room,” he then says and opens the door to a living room measuring around 20 square meters. “We can stay here?” we ask, somewhat incredulously, because we never expected so much space. “Of course, make yourselves at home,” he replies, beaming with joy. It only takes minutes and the spacious room is packed with bikes, duffel bags, trailers and camera equipment.

“This is my mom Sasha, my dad Vladimir and my little brother Alosha,” Jenya then introduces us to his family, who watch all the goings-on in their apartment with gentle smiles. “Otschin prijatna”, (very pleasant) we say politely. Mom Sascha immediately pulls out the sofa, prepares our bed and gives Tanja a pair of slippers she knitted herself. Then she goes into the kitchen to cook for us all. Katja says goodbye for today. She is currently working on a new oil field in northern Siberia and is here purely by chance to take an exam for her medical studies, which she is doing alongside her work. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I have a lot to do in the short time I’m here. I really have to study for my exam tomorrow,” she explains, gives us a warm hug and hurries off. Since Katja is a perfect interpreter for us and we are still struggling with the Russian language, we are now wondering how we should maintain further communication with Jenya and his dear family? But a little later, the concerns evaporate. During lunch, we all laugh heartily at the odd joke, talk about how we have been doing over the last few months, hear about Jenya and his family and enjoy the fantastic cooking skills of Mama Sascha.

Around midday, we retire for a few hours to recover from the long journey. Then the doorbell rings. “This is my friend Anja,” Jenya introduces a pretty, very friendly young woman. It turns out that Katja is friends with Jenya, while Anja is his girlfriend. “Let’s eat”, Mama Sacha asks us again. Once again, we sit down together at the kitchen table, which is about to bend. There is rice, fried fish, Russian coleslaw, delicious meatballs, bread, fresh tomatoes and cucumbers and for dessert a kind of baked doughnut with filling. As soon as we’ve filled our bellies again, Sascha, Vladimir and their son Aloscha say goodbye. They live in their dadscha (vacation home) during Aloscha’s three-month summer vacation. “I hope you find the time to visit us in our dacha during your stay here. I’m sure you’ll love it out there. It’s quiet, there are no cars or exhaust fumes and we have a wonderful banya (sauna),” mom Sasha and dad Vladimir invite us.

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