Unexpected surprise

At just before six o’clock in the morning, the sun casts its first rays on our palace. It doesn’t take long and we feel like we’re in the tropics. I look to the side and look at Tanja. Her face is terrifyingly puffy from the exertion and badly bitten by horseflies and mosquitoes. If I had enough energy, I would take her in my arms. However, my own body is taking a toll on me. Despite magnesium, I get cramps in my left thigh with almost every movement. I run my hands over my sweaty face and try to find the strength to get horizontal. “I can’t believe what yesterday did to us,” I think to myself. I listen intently to the whirring behind the tent. “Come out at last. Come out, we want to suck you. We have time. We’ll wait. But when you come, you’re ours. Hi, hi, hi, hiiieee!” I think I hear the mosquitoes laughing and I’m annoyed at the nasty bastards. Birds must live in a feeding paradise here. At least in summer, the taiga is the Garden of Eden for every insectivore. “Too bad I’m not an insect eater. I’d return the favor for the mean, sneaky stings and stuff as many of them into me as I could,” I think and get up, groaning and scratching my feet. Now finally seated, I carefully touch Tanja. “Get up. We have to get out of here. The sun is shining and it’s getting more unbearable in here every minute,” I whisper. “I don’t want to go out there,” I soon hear incomprehensibly next to me. Then I put on my sweaty cycling shorts and my cycling shirt, which smells of sweat. It’s unbelievable how a person smells after eight hours in the saddle. Tanja is now also getting ready for today, as if in a trance. Our mood could definitely be better. “Well, they got you pretty good too,” she says, pointing to my neck and forehead. I feel the spots in question and am startled by the pea-sized bumps. As soon as I touch them, they start to itch violently.

Without further ado, we carry out our tasks. Tanja crawls outside as if in slow motion, while I let the air out of the sleeping mats and roll them up. “And what’s it like in the realm of insects?” I ask. “They’re there waiting for you,” I hear and find her statement quite unfunny. Outside, I start by spraying a powerful defensive mist of the insect stuff over my clothes. Then we take the Ortlieb bags out of the inner tent and put them next to the bikes. There’s no doubt that anyone with weak nerves would go crazy here, because despite the strong rays of sunshine, there’s a buzz of activity around us. “I think it’s because of the tall, damp grass around us,” I say. “Would you like breakfast?” I ask Tanja sympathetically. “Sure, I’ll start making tea here in this hell,” she replies bearishly. “Don’t get all sarcastic on me,” I object, not admitting that eating breakfast under such circumstances is a crazy idea. Despite 28 degrees in the shade, we quickly get dressed as if winter is coming. At least that way the bloodsuckers can’t stick their damn snout through your clothes. Then we put a fine-mesh mosquito net over our helmets, spray our shoes and feet again against the ticks and push our Intercontinental through the tall grass to the cruel road.

“Tick check!” I ask us to check our legs for the most dangerous inhabitants of the taiga before we set off on the dusty track. Only then do we bump over the pebbles up the mountain. Only minutes later, we are covered in dust from the passing cars and trucks. “It must have been something like that in the Middle Ages,” I say. “What do you mean?” “Well, when you’ve been tarred and feathered. Here, the tar is the sweat, the insecticide and the sun cream and the feathers are the millions of grains of dust and sand that fly around our ears,” I explain, trying to be a little funny. Tanja does not answer. “Hm, it’s not funny either,” it goes through my head. “Look, there’s asphalt up ahead,” I shout happily. “Yes, wonderful. Cycling on it is like being on vacation, despite the mountains,” Tanja responds cheerfully.

Georgio

We have just laid our bikes against a rusty crash barrier to take off our windstopper jackets and long pants when a lone motorcyclist roars up and brings his bike to a halt next to us. “Where are you from?” the man asks in broken English. “From Germany.” “With the bikes?” “Yes. And where is your home?” we want to know. “My name is Georgio. I’m from Barcelona,” he replies, taking off his helmet. “Then you’ve come a long way?” “Oh yes. I’ve been traveling for almost two months. I’ve traveled from Spain to France, Italy, Croatia, Serbia, Romania, Ukraine, Russia, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan and part of Mongolia,” he says, listing the countries he has visited. “And all that alone?” I wonder. “It’s not a problem. The people in the east are very friendly. They only wanted money and a pocket knife from me when I left Kyrgyzstan. Apart from that, everything went smoothly,” says the likeable man, while several mosquitoes use his forehead to feast on his blood. “You’ve got some Siberian suckers there,” warns Tanja Georgio, who obviously doesn’t feel that he’s being tapped. “Oh, those darn mosquitoes,” he laughs and wipes his half bald head, which is already covered in blood. “What does the road look like up ahead? When will the horrible gravel come back?” I want to know. “So you’ll be spared that for the next 50 kilometers. It’s all asphalt. But then there are still around 250 to 300 kilometers to go. The route alternates constantly between gravel and dirt. The bad roads only stop after the town of Tulun. From there it’s good all the way to Mongolia,” he reports. “Are there many mountains? We’ve heard that the mountains around Irkutsk are very high?” I’m very interested as we’ve finally met someone who comes from that direction and is obviously reliable. “I cycle a lot in Spain myself. You can do it,” he encourages us, which boosts our confidence again. Then the Spaniard talks about the nice people in Mongolia. “Mongolians are very different from Russians. They laugh more. You’ll notice that as soon as you cross the border. The road from Russia to Ulan Bator is perfect, by the way. Better than most Russian roads. No wonder, it’s the only road the Mongolians have,” laughs Georgio. We shake hands to say goodbye and, as is customary among travelers, wish each other a safe and pleasant journey.

Bes Mikrowolnowaja (Without microwave)

After just seven kilometers we reach a roadside café. We lean our bikes under the window of the hut in great anticipation of being able to satisfy our hunger for bikes in a mosquito-proof room. The trucker pub is actually open. We are greeted by warm kitchen steam and a blaring TV. A large clock ticks on the wall. It goes forward by an hour and tells us that we have crossed another time zone on our journey. We are now seven hours further on than in Germany. “Dobre utra (Good morning) we greet the young cook behind her counter. “Blinis jeßt? (Are there blinis?) “Jest”, (“Are there”) she replies. “Podogrevat bes Mikrowolnowaja paschalusta. Paschalust podogrewat c Plita.” (“Please reheat without microwave. Please reheat with stove.”), we ask the Siberian woman to keep our food away from the horrible microwave. Although, as usual, she looks at us with incomprehensible wide eyes at this request, she understands. In most cases, we also have an allergic reaction to these microwaves. That always works.

By way of explanation, I have to say at this point that in Russia it is soon customary everywhere and in every place, especially in trucker pubs, to simply heat everything with the microwave. The saying “time is money” also applies here and fewer and fewer people are taking enough time to feed their bodies properly and provide them with clean energy. The consequences of food heated with microwaves are fatal in the long term according to what we have been able to find out so far about the unhealthy food heater. Tanja and I mourn the years when food was always warmed on the fire or in the oven. But times have changed. In almost all the countries we traveled through during our Trans-East expedition, food and liquids are heated with it. We have often reported on this. Here is an excerpt from our current book “Land of the Wind” (expected to be published in December 2009)

Dangerous microwaves!

It is strange to us why the danger of food heated with microwaves is still not known in almost every country in the world. It is like a nightmare that the inexpensive microwave oven has conquered the entire world and is now also finding its way into poor countries.

Microwaves are nothing more than short, high-frequency radio waves that are used, for example, in radio and television, in radar technology, in meteorology, in the transmission of messages via satellites, in so-called directional radio, in material testing and for heating food.

Microwave ovens cause the water molecules in food to vibrate, which generates heat. According to our information, not only the molecules burst (destruction) when heated by microwaves, but also the vital enzymes contained in the food. For example, the enzymes pesin and trypsin play an important role in the digestion of meat. They catalyze many different reactions. Other enzymes in turn release energy that makes the heart beat and enables the other muscles to contract. Many enzymes convert sugar and other nutrients into the compounds that the body needs to build tissue, replace used blood cells and carry out numerous other activities.

If a person eats food that has been killed by microwaves over a long period of time, this can only have fatal consequences. The human body will suffer from deficiency symptoms as enzymes are essential for our system to survive.

Microwaves are dangerous for living creatures, especially if they are strong radiations. They can cause burns and damage to the nervous system, among other things. The possible dangers of long-term exposure to weak microwaves are not yet precisely known. Nevertheless, legislators in many countries set limits for exposure to microwaves. And honestly, who wants to know how much radiation coming out of the stove is dangerous for us or not?

Friends of ours who are professionally involved in nutrition don’t even enter an apartment where a microwave oven is plugged into the socket. Of course you can exaggerate everything, but we constantly have to watch how ignorant mothers heat up milk and other baby food for their little ones in the microwave. If they knew about the potential danger, they would certainly refrain from doing so. Or does convenience take precedence here? Impossible. A mother would never knowingly harm her child.

At 6 p.m., after 56 kilometers and 8 ½ hours, we reach the small town of Tayshet. Opposite the station of the Trans-Siberian Railway we find the only gastinitsa in the village. We are allowed to park our bikes and trailers in a chamber. Tired, we carry all our equipment up to the second floor, to a simple room. We look forward to the hot shower to wash the dust, mosquito repellent, sun cream and sweat from our maltreated bodies. Tanja prepares salad and bread for dinner. It was a tough but beautiful day. Above all, a day without pebbles, gravel and the devastating dust.

We look forward to your comments!