After an uneventful trip back to the Altai Region of some 500 kms, I found a campsite on a tributary of the Katun River. At this point the Katun spreads out onto flatter terrain and not the steaming monster that flows through the Altai valleys. A brief stop for some bread at a shop had turned into a very social occassion attracting a group of locals. They were a friendly lot and we laughed and chuckled about some of the differences between Australians and Russians for an hour. One of the girls popped into the cafe and presented me with some choclates as I was trying to leave. A nice but un-necessary gesture.
The campsite was green and grassy and the river was as still as a millpond. It was late and I had no interest in travelling on. 100m upstream was a bunch of young party animals that were into things whilst I put my tent up. In my naivity, I assumed they would all go home and leave me in peace. So I figured I could tolerate the loud, low quality russian rock music. How wrong I was for they only stopped briefly (at some point during the night) but cranked up well before light. Russins get noisy and yell and scream a lot when they are drunk. I crawled out of my tent at 8:30 feeling exhausted. I had a swim and relaxed until lunch time.
Later in the day I found a campsite on the Katun. It was right next to the highway but was a glorious place to rest up and spend a few days. The Mule needed some attention and I had 13 days to kill befiore my visa was valid for Kazakhstan.
From my campsite, I could see a giant hotel that had been constructed on an island in the middle of the river. The Katun was more than 120m wide and rushed by at a steady 15 kph.
Rafting was a popular sport but the big attractiion was a so called 'warm' lake at Aya. Russian flocked there in their thousands. To get to the lake one could drive or walk across a cable bridge. I walked for it was bedlam trying to wander around once you were on the other side. The lake sported a sandy beach and a beautiful green lake with very clear water. The music was loud, the woman (no matter what their age) all wore the briefest bikinis and the men all looked the same to me. They were solid and slightly over weight with a height of about 5'9".
I returned to my campsite to find numerous families enjoying the beach. One group of two couples from Blisk invited me to join them. The guys spoke quite english which made it all the more enjoyable for me. Both worked as managers in the railways. They very generously shared their beer and bar-b-qued shaslik with me. One warned me several times that I should not leave my bike with everything unattended. I returned to find a group of 15 people in their 20's and 30's surrounding my bike and gear that was strewn all over the place having a big picnic. One lady assurred me not to worry about my things as her friends were all very honest. A nice gesture under the circumstances. They too pleaded with me to stay to eat and drink with them. When the family group left I joined the party. It was fun! At one time during one of the vodka swilling procedures, one of the guys who was a jeweller by profession asked me if I liked russian woman. After a favourable response he said. "There are three woman here who like you very much" Oh oh I thought! Where is this leading? Sure there were many women there but I had not been making eyes at anyone, so I had no idea who he was suggesting fancied me. "I am too old " I laughed hoping that would be the end of it. After being invited to join them for some dancing I declined and said I wanted to camp they all got up and left at about midnight. By this time I had joined in many vodka 'salutes' and was litterally legless. At least I now know that the state of 'legless' actually exists. There I was trying to put my tent up in the dark by crawling around. All of a sudden one car came back and quickly lit a fire. At the moment I took no notice but to my utter disgust they had left all of their scraps, plastic bottles and broken vodka bottles piled between some rocks right next to where I was erecting my tent. It crackled and smouldered for about 10 minutes and then went out. The resulting smell was disgusting. I had enjoyed their company all night but this act left a bitter taste in my mouth that will stay with me every time I think of russians. Unfortunately they just do not get it! Clean air and clean environment are all part of one thing!
I rose very slowly at 9:30 the following morning. The tent was boiling for it had been in full sun since 6am. Surprisingly I did not have a headache but I am sure that it was my liver that was hurting all day.
The mule got some well deserved attention a day later with a good wash in the river, instrument panel glued back in place after the corrugations in Mongolia had caused all mounting points to sheer off leaving the entire assembly wobbling around inside the fairing. The top box mount was repaired. Plastic fantastic equipment is not really designed for places like Mongolian roads.
I met two young Brits also heading for Mongolia on my way down to the Altai who had naively commented that the "Long Way Round" film had probably made the tracks look worse than they actually were to drum up some drama. They were travelling on Honda road bikes.Whilst I tried to appear encouraging and positive their planning for what lay ahead of them was pretty poorly conceived. Low ground clearance, plastic panniers and few spares meant that they would be taking some serious risks by travelling on the Mongolian tracks for 15 days.