Swap your old clothes for knitted socks and a housecoat!

A lot of things go through my head when I’m cycling. It is always different, from trip to trip, from expedition to expedition. On the one hand, the lightness of being, united only with nature, traveling with camels through the deserts of this earth, the Australian outback. (Red Earth Expedition 1999-2003) This is of course from the very romantic point of view at this moment, we must not forget the forces of nature and other various challenges. At the end of the day, we set up our tent in the outback at our chosen spots. Food for the animals was an important criterion. Shadows and many other aspects too. Stamps and registrations also played a role, but to a different extent.

In the here and now, we cycle past the planned economy. For various reasons, there is often no suitable place to pitch a tent. So I ponder how different it is to be out and about in pure nature. Where the camper can seek the protection of nature towards a journey in a populated way of life.

I think it’s a gift to have time to think. But also the time to take in the country and its people. Sometimes I wish I could think nothing at all and just enjoy the flow of driving. Of course, the more kilometers we cover in a day, the less I see of the landscape and the people.

Of course, it’s still up close and personal when drivers wave happily and we return their greeting. The thoughts continue to circle in my head that it’s a shame to drive from one Gastiniza to another. How are we supposed to see how a Russian family lives? One of the main reasons for our trip.

As if this thought had been answered immediately, we didn’t actually find a registered place to stay for the last night. When I asked Jurii if we could pitch our tent, I thought I hadn’t heard correctly at first when he replied “In my home? Yes, you can.”

The hospitality of this family is truly amazing. Jurii’s wife Vala: “Put up a tent? That’s out of the question. We have enough beds available. I will also cook something for you straight away. Save your food for the onward journey.”

In no time at all, I found myself in a cozy housecoat with my feet tucked into thick knitted socks. 64 years later and only about 80 kilometers away from Stalingrad (today’s Volgograd), which unfortunately became known to us at the time of the Second World War. As Germans, we experience such hospitality and love from Russians here that I am deeply grateful to be able to write these lines:

That the world is changing, that so much of what we think about other peoples is wrong, what we are told about others and what legacies have become embedded in our way of thinking. The deep gratitude to be able to free ourselves from the prejudices and stories we once heard. Here and now, we are able to share new, wonderful experiences that unite peoples and allow other people to participate, so that we can all form new ideas together.

Grandma Vala’s cooking skills

Vala’s breakfast is simply amazing. The freshly baked doughnuts are really great. But the homemade plum jam is simply irresistible. I could jump in and roll around in it. Hungry, we eat everything in a jumble. “Eat, eat”, Vala immediately begins to urge us to consume more and faster. “Come on, Denis, why don’t you have some more doughnuts?” “I can’t take any more. My stomach is about to burst,” I try to defend myself. “Oh, you’re skinny. You definitely need to eat more. Have some more of the cream. It’s good for you. Tanja, you need to eat more too. You’re on the bike. You need a lot of calories. You have to eat,’ she urges us on, constantly moving the full plates into position. Tanja and I do our best until our bellies won’t let us eat any more. Then we are really battered and overeaten, hanging on the ropes and can hardly get out of our seats. “And how far is today’s stage?” Tanja wants to know, groaning. “Well, it could be between 80 and 100 kilometers to Volgograd. Depending on where we find accommodation,” I reply, massaging my full stomach and aching thigh muscles. “Do you think we can ask if we can stay another night?” asks Tanja. “I think we should give it a try.” “But on the other hand, I don’t want to just invite myself. It’s kind of impertinent of us,” Tanja begins to doubt. “I’ll just ask. We’ll see how they react and make our decision based on that,” I suggest and very carefully express our wish to stay here for another day. When Jurii understands, his face begins to beam with joy. “But of course you can still stay. It’s an honor for us. Get some rest. Lie down again. If you don’t mind, I’ll take care of our animals now. I’ll see you again for lunch,” he says, getting up with a satisfied look on his face and leaving the kitchen. Vala is also delighted to be able to host us for another day. “Are you eating fish?” she asks Tanja happily and immediately goes into the kitchen to prepare another feast.

Again we sit there and look at each other. “What a gift. What hospitality,” I say. Somewhat confused by the spontaneous decision not to load the bikes immediately in order to press another 100 kilometers into the asphalt, we linger in the kitchen for a few more minutes and enjoy the moment. Then Tanja lies down on the sofa again while I study the maps for a while.

At lunchtime we are once again pressed into our chairs by Vala’s cooking skills. There is again bortsch with cream, potatoes in cream sauce, fried small fish, mushrooms, gherkins, eggs, white bread, turkey legs and for dessert confectionery, doughnuts and milk tea. Then we lie back down on the canapé and rest our aching muscles and now stomachs too. At 17:00, Tanja asks me to lift my leaden body. “Come on, let’s go to the village. Maybe we can get something for the two of them in the magazine.” “Okay,” I groan and rise heavily. It’s a windy afternoon. The dust blows across the village road and obscures the sun. Sparrows sit in groups on the ground and buzz in the air as we approach, only to sit down together on a telephone cable. Ducks chatter and complain loudly about being disturbed in their peace and quiet. They waddle across the path and put their feathery bottoms in a small puddle. Old houses and a former factory complex make a sad impression on us. I think of home and become a little melancholy. How beautiful it is there and I can hardly believe it when I feel something like homesickness for the first time in my traveling life. Dark rain clouds arch over the forgotten settlement and support my feelings. Jurii has told us that winter will soon be here. That it gets between minus 30 and 40 degrees here. The thought alone sends shivers down my spine. We enter the magazine. The sales clerk looks at us in amazement. Ask us how it is that we are still here. “Are you guests of Jurii? Do you have a registration?” she asks curiously. When I hear registration, I am briefly startled. “Of course we have a visa,” I reply kindly. We buy a large box of chocolates and a fine bar of chocolate for Vala and find an advertised export vodka for Jurii. Even our little grandson Costa doesn’t go away empty-handed and gets a delicious fruit juice from us. With our rucksacks full of treasures, we walk back through the village to our hosts. Astonished looks from the few people we meet follow us. But when we look at them, they quickly look away. As if they hadn’t seen or noticed us at all, as if we were as much a part of the village landscape as the abandoned Gastiniza. We still say hello. Our greeting is returned shyly. The wind blows the dust into our eyes, catching it in the many old cables hanging over tired, crooked posts. The mood on this late fall day in this village is not uplifting. My homesickness is still there.

“I’ve heated up the banya for you,” Jurii greets us with a laugh as we re-enter his house. “That’s wonderful,” I reply and my mood lifts a little again. Before dinner, Tanja and I enjoy the small sauna and can wash the road grime of the past day off our bodies. On this chilly evening, it’s a wonderful place to really warm up. We tip the bowls of hot water over each other’s heads. Then it’s back to the house. But before we sit down at the table to eat together, Jurii sets off to take his weekly bath in the banya. Then it’s Vala’s turn and finally, little Costa is also thoroughly scrubbed down. Then the time has come. All freshly washed and smelling of soap, we take a seat at the round table next to the heat-breathing stove. Although I hardly feel hungry, we are spurred on to fill our stomachs again. We put a large bottle of beer and a bottle of delicious red wine on the table. Vala immediately fetches small glasses for the beer and wine. “What first? The beer or the wine?” asks Jurii. “As you wish,” I reply. “Okay, then the wine. Nastrowjie,” he toasts us and pours the good wine down his throat in a single gulp. “Nastrowjie,” he says repeatedly and the beer follows in the same manner and speed. Well, other countries, other customs, I think to myself and do the same with the beer. However, I drink the heavy wine in sips and enjoy its taste. It doesn’t take long and the bottle of wine has mostly disappeared into Jurii’s stomach. He is now buzzed and even more talkative. Tanja and Vala have retired to the next room and are watching something about figure skating on TV. I, on the other hand, sit at the kitchen table with jurii and drink beer. Jurii also bought an extra bottle of expensive export beer. He now generously pours me a full glass. We talk about communism, capitalism and current politics. “We have to provide for ourselves. Our government only pays us 3,000 roubles (? 86) a month per person. That’s not enough. But we manage with our animals and the produce from the garden. I’m happy with our President Vladimir Putin. I don’t think capitalism is good. It is just as doomed as our communism,” he explains. “Nastrowjie,” Yurii says to me again, laughing and with a satisfied expression on his face. “Nastrowjie,” I reply and thank him again for his hospitality. Then he begins to talk about his past. About the fact that he was stationed in East Germany as a soldier for three years. That he was born in this village and his wife comes from the neighboring village 20 kilometers away. “We are Kalmyks, do you understand?” “Kalmyks?” I ask. “Yes, we are descended from the Mongols. From Genghis Khan, if you look at it that way. From the 15th to the 17th century, we, the Kalmyks, lived a nomadic life and fought with the Chinese over Beijing. Later, our ancestors moved to the Eastern European region on the lower course of the Volga. But the Russian Tsar pursued us and a group of about 300,000 Kalmyks fled from him to China. On the long journey, the refugees were attacked by Russians and Turkic peoples. Only about 100,000 of us arrived in the Chinese part of Turkistan. The then Emperor Gaozong gave my people the IIi river basin where we were allowed to settle. The other part of the Kalmyks remained here in the Volga region where we still live today,” he reports. I listen to his story eagerly and ask many questions. Then the alcohol takes effect and a leaden tiredness sinks my attention. Before I can retire to the divan, Jurii takes me by the arm and leads me out of the door. He points to a bucket. “Because of the beer, you know?” “To be honest, no,” I reply. “Well, when you drink that much beer, you have to pee a lot. You don’t have to go to the toilet in the garden tonight. Pee in the bucket here. I’ll do that too,” he offers with a friendly grin. In fact, it doesn’t take long before my bladder is screaming to be emptied. Tired, I stagger out through the house. I am greeted by cold rain. When I come back from the outhouse, I’m dripping wet. Jurii knew what he was talking about. Sure, he has experience and has lived here his whole life. The bucket in front of the door makes sense. The second time I’m happy not to have to walk so far through the rain and the third time it becomes a matter of course. It’s hot as hell in the house. Jurii meant well with us and stoked up the oven. My thermometer shows 28 degrees room temperature. I am only surprised when I walk past Vala’s bedroom. A radiant heater stands in the door frame and thunders in its additional heat. Little Costa, who is lying in bed with her, is dreaming restlessly. No wonder, I think to myself. He’s probably too warm. Tired, I lie back down on the sofa and fall into a deep sleep.

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