Creepy cellar and rabies

This day also greets us with a hazy and cloudy morning. All color seems to have been drained from the earth and everything it contains. Doomsday mood. At first there is no wind at all, but how could it be otherwise, after a few kilometers it blows in our faces again. Strange that the cyclist usually has to pedal against the wind. Is it just my imagination? However, the headwind must be a phenomenon. Sometimes the wind comes from the east. It goes without saying that the road winds its way east at exactly this point. Then it blows from the north. It’s also clear that this is exactly the day when the pitch strip heads north. To put it mildly, it’s hair-raising. It’s best not to think too much about it and if it really does happen to be pushed by the divine wind, then the motto is to be happy about it and enjoy the moment.

Given the few kilometers we have covered in Russia so far, we can’t be sure. Nevertheless, we realize that since the border, at least the larger roads are in a fantastic condition. They also lead around the villages on this route. This means that residents are not unnecessarily inconvenienced by heavy goods traffic. Russia is undoubtedly much richer than Romania, Moldova and Ukraine. The houses are often in better condition and sometimes colorful, mostly painted blue. The roadsides are not as dirty either. Public facilities are maintained. There is hustle and bustle everywhere. The lawns are mowed and kept clean. I wonder if that has anything to do with the region here? We will see how and whether the situation changes in the course of our trip.

After 40 kilometers we stop at a parking lot, lean our bikes against a traffic sign and, as so often, use my trailer as a table. We eat eggs with mayonnaise and bread. For dessert, we fortify ourselves with a fat five-kilogram watermelon that the owners of yesterday’s Gastiniza gave us as a gift. Then there are a few cookies and delicious tea from Sonnentor. 30 minutes later, we continue against the wind. What else.

We are also surprised that the people here are even more open to us than in other countries in the East. Every now and then a driver slows down and asks us where we are coming from and where we are going. We’ve hardly ever experienced that before and it’s common here in Russia. The enthusiasm of the Russians for our trip is definitely extraordinary. “Come and stay with me. I invite you to spend the night with us tonight!” another driver calls out to us in a friendly manner. The honking of horns from overtaking and oncoming trucks and cars has also increased considerably. In one town we are literally stopped by a large sledge. Two high-ranking officers get out and kindly ask us about the purpose of the trip and how we like it in their country. “Very good,” we reply, to which they look forward and drive off again. The police soon check us out in every village. They drive behind us for a while and then turn off somewhere. Sometimes they overtake us very slowly, look over at us and speed off again. None of them have stopped yet. I think that’s a good thing, because I still have a lot of respect for the Russian police because of all the horror stories.

In the town of Slavyansk-na-Kubani, we don’t look for accommodation again. A beggar approaches us and won’t let us go. He persistently follows us and wants money. Tanja gives him a cross from the Marta-si-Maria monastery. He puts it away and wants more money. Drinking, he says, among other things, tapping his finger against his throat. Disappointed, we hear that the Gastiniza is fully booked and drive to the next one. “3,500 roubles”, says the woman after I ask the price. “What? That’s 100,- ? per night”, I say in horror and explain to her that we can never reach China at such prices. The girl looks at me thoughtfully and makes a phone call to her boss. Then she shows me a room in which there are eight beds. But toilet and shower in the corridor. “How much does it cost?” “2,000 roubles”, (approx. 60?) “Thank you. It’s still far too expensive”, I decline. Tired, we get back on the saddles to pedal to the next town. It is already 5:30 p.m. when we reach Poltavskaya after almost 85 kilometers.

“Yes, we have a room available,” says the woman. “Oh, thank God,” I reply with relief. “How much does it cost?” I ask, to which the lady holds a Russian letter in front of me. The only thing I can decipher are the figures between 400 and 3,500 roubles. “Uh, I don’t understand. Can you write the price for a normal room on a piece of paper?” I ask politely, whereupon she places a registration form on the table. Either the woman is playing dumb or she is. In any case, I’m not getting any further. I am tired and exhausted. I just can’t take it anymore and don’t feel like arguing with this person. “My God, Ludmilla. Don’t be so stupid. The gentleman just wants to know the price of a double room. He’s from Germany and doesn’t speak our language well. You’ve noticed that. So write the price down on a piece of paper,” a woman standing next to me at the counter helps me. I nod and thank her. Then, after inspecting the simple and run-down room, I ask if we can lock our bikes somewhere. “You can leave them in the yard.” “No, please don’t. They’re not motorcycles, they’re bicycles – they’re easy to steal. Zapzerabsen. Do you understand?” The lady doesn’t want to understand again. After I say the word lock several times, she shows me a door that leads to a cellar. “Ah, that’s good. Will the cellar also be locked?” I want to know, but as soon as I turn my gaze towards the cellar door, the dolled-up receptionist hurries off. Since I have no other choice, I take a look at the cellar. A staircase leads down from the lonely backyard into a damp dungeon. Large dark rooms yawn at me. At the very back, about 20 meters away, I see a light shimmering. I pull myself together and run through the dark, eerie-looking corridors deeper and deeper into the underground walls. At the end, I discover a room lit by a light bulb. Dirt and garbage everywhere. It smells damp and like leftover food. There is a chewed mattress on the floor. A kind of radio croaks quietly in the corner. Even further back I hear a bad cough. “And our bikes are supposed to be safe down there? She’s out of her mind,” I curse quietly and make sure I get back outside as quickly as possible. Back out in the fresh air, I breathe a sigh of relief. Then I run to Tanja. “I can’t do any more. The room is fine. The price is fine too. But our bikes are supposed to be in a rat hole from which it coughs frighteningly. So if they’re not stolen by a thief, then maybe by the poor creature that has to live down there. Why don’t you try your luck? The old woman behind the counter just drives me crazy,’ I say, exhausted. “I’ll manage,” says Tanja confidently and goes into the gastiniza, which can accommodate at least 200 people. Only minutes later, she comes back smiling. Our bikes have their own room on the ground floor. Here’s the key,” she amazes me. “So how did you do that?” I want to know. “I told her that we had come all the way here from Germany on our bikes and still wanted to get to Burma. I told her that our bikes are extremely important to us. Then another woman came out of a back room. She had something to say and arranged it with the room.” “Wonderful. Simply fantastic,” I say happily, relieved that I don’t have to travel to another city today.

While I write down my short notes about the day as I do every day and transfer the pictures to my laptop, Tanja goes shopping in a nearby magazine. She returns excitedly. “So imagine what I just saw. I was walking through the park and there was a dog lying there. He was foaming at the mouth and suffering from convulsions. I’m sure he’s dying of rabies.” “I hope you didn’t get too close to him,” I say, startled. “No, but you can feel sorry for the poor guy. So if they have rabies here in the city, we have to be a bit wary of the wild dogs we come across all the time.”

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