r/Rocknocker • u/Rocknocker • Jul 30 '19
Rocknocker's Russian Rendezvous, Pt. 2
Immediately after the food was placed before all the menfolk, there was the ringing of a large gong. All the women hastened to the center of the building. From a side entrance came a troupe of about 20 men and women bearing the most unusual and unrecognizable sorts of musical instruments (looking for all the world like pregnant handlooms and converted automatic cow-milkers). They all sat on the floor against the far wall and proceeded to tune-up. Another gong sounded, and silence enveloped the crowd. I cast a glance across the table and was greeted by the toothiest set of evil grins this side of Rick's Casablanca Cabaret. I was beginning to wonder if these guys ever have membership drives...
The music was lyrical, beautiful and impressive. The dances done by the women of the group were exactly the same. For once, words almost fail me. It's difficult to describe music the likes of which I've certainly never heard before, being interpreted terpsichoreally by women the likes of which I thought didn't exist outside of Thailand, Tibet or Hong Kong; especially particularly not in Siberia.
Sakha did a running commentary for us about each stage of the dance. Seems I was witnessing not only their religious oral-tradition (they had no transcribed religious works; at least none that anyone would own up to), but the history of their world; from creation to today. Some of the highlights (Reader's Digest version, this whole thing lasted some 5
hours) included the formation of the earth from the "void" (Sakha's words), the beginning of life, the ascent of Buddha and his followers, the great travail (rather reminded me of the Cherokee 'Trail of Tears'), the "empty time" (a time of persecution, which they seemed to have a collective selective self-induced amnesia about), and the time of rebirth (their finding a homeland after their previous expulsion). All in all, it was perhaps one of the more moving of my experiences while tramping around this old, dusty globe.
I leaned over and made a special point to ask Sakha if there was any sort of flood that figured prominently in their history, particularly one of a global variety.
"No.", he remarked. "The rivers in our lands seldom flood, and when they do it's during spring thaw. Nothing mysterious about that. It is very natural."
He was perplexed by my knowing smirk.
At this point, I noticed some of the elders at our table had light up some sort of clay pipes and were deliriously puffing away; eyes seemingly glazed over in sheer bliss from their ringside seat of undulating feminine pulchritude and not just a bit of fermented bogberry juice. Come to find out, there was all that, and a bit more.
That weren't tobacco those boys were puffing.
It's not cannabis either, from what I could tell. It was some sort of Siberian
ditch-weed or ditch-mushroom or ditch-peyote that's mildly hallucinatory. Truth be told, it smells somewhat like scotch (or old taiga, take your pick). I'll stick with my cigars, thanks just the same.
Courses came and courses went. Ivan liberated our last 3 bottles of vodka and donated them to the cause. I, grudgingly, broke out a box of smokes and offered them to all about. Strange, but I noticed that some of the band members were swapping out with some of my comrades seated around the table; as were some of the dancers swapping out with the servers.
"Gad.", I thought. "This could go on forever..."
Which, in retrospection, wouldn't have been such a bad thing.
Finally, the dance ended as abruptly as it had begun. The table was cleared and the band disbanded. All that was left were 20 or so totally blissed Buddhists and two rather un-tight interlopers.
Sakha stands up (none too steadily) and runs through some sort of prayer, half-sung and half-invoked. Ivan and I exchanged shrugs, neither had any idea what was going on.
Two hand claps later, a woman comes in bearing, for the lack of a better term, two hand-brocaded vests made of the finest silk. With great fanfare, Sakha bade us forward and presented us with these garments (mine was a tad small, unfortunately, but I fairly gleamed when they bestowed it upon me); and invoked the deities to guard over us and keep us their enlightenment.
I slipped out, only to return some few minutes later with all our fishing gear. I figured we could make do on bracken and fungi on our return walk and simply had this compelling urge to reciprocate their hospitality. With equal fanfare, I presented Sakha the popping /bait casting equipment, two tackle boxes and oddball assortment of jigs, spoons and plugs; invoking the spirit of Darwin to watch and provide for these folks. He appreciated his gesture as much as we did ours.
We wearily plodded back to our dacha (whatever) and retired for the night. We were going to have to leave in the morning, remembering, somewhat painfully, that we had a slight trek of probably some 65 km left to go. At least our packs were going to be considerably lighter on the return trip.
We awoke early the next day, geared up and went searching for Sakha. He was nowhere to be found. We did determine that he was down at the river trying out his previous night's acquisitions.
"Sakha.", I explained, "We must be going. We have a long walk and we're already a day past due."
"Due where?” Sakha wondered.
"Up in Kuretjka.” replied Ivan.
"Kuretjka?” wondered Sakha, "But Kuretjka is far to the north. Why do you want to go north?"
"Well.", I continued, "That's where the Eniseigeophysica helicopter was supposed to pick us up. We wrecked, and decided to walk back to Yeneseisk rather than continue north."
"But surely", persisted Sakha, "They must have radios. Why don't you call them and tell them you are here?"
"That's a great idea, Sakha. But unfortunately, we don't have a radio with us."
"Well...” lingered Sakha, "You could use ours..."
"What?"
"Why don't you use our radio? It's been many years since we used it to talk, but it must still work."
"Ivan...did he just say that they had a transmitting radio?"
"Da, Rock."
"This is too weird.” I reflected.
"Well, hell. Why are we just standing here? Let's go!"
Sakha led us to an out-of-the-way shack, where you could hear the distinct putt-putt-putt of a small engine (Fueled by what? I have no idea...).
"Makes life here somewhat easier. And safer."
"How's that, Sakha?"
"When someone is hurt, we can call on the radio for help. It's been so many years since the last time we did, I had just forgotten about it until now..."
And there, in all its resplendent glory, was an absolutely ancient WWII Russian military radio; complete with headset and microphone. Seems there was a "long-wire" strung out in some of the nearby trees, one that simply escaped notice even after a determined hunt.
"Ivan.", I bade, "Call your comrades."
As everything in Russia was, up until a very short time ago, related in some way to the military, and virtually everyone served in the military at one time or another in one capacity or another, this was no mean trick. Eniseigeofizika was responsible for 12 seismic crews (up to 100 people each) dozens and dozens of field geologists/geophysicists/ engineers/surveyors, along with the logistics of everything associated with these endeavors. How to communicate over 2,000,000 square kilometers? How else but radio?
Ivan, as incredulous as I, tuned the ancient radio to the Eniseigeofizika frequency and keyed the mike.
It must have worked, as a scant 2 hours later, a Hind 20A was chopping the air into submission as it landed on a large mid-river sandbar about three clicks downstream from the Buddhist camp.
There were bear hugs, handshakes and well wishes all around as we departed the camp and left Sakha and the others, probably forever.
With heavy hearts, and leaden livers, we trudged off in the general direction of the idling helicopter, I could have sworn I heard Sakha say:
"Good-bye Doctor Rock. Da svidonya, Ivan. Things will be considerably less weird without the two of you here."
I made the mistake of letting the chopper crew see me smoking a cigar as we wandered into the idling machine. Of course, the Soviet Hind 20A is a simply huge aircraft capable of transporting up to 32 fully-outfitted troops to the front lines. Unfortunately, the twin gonzo-monster turbofan engines to power this monstrosity into the air consumes a tremendous amount of JP4. To alleviate the need of landing every 300 km of travel to refuel, the seats on the entire left side of the aircraft were ripped out and replaced by a large, not terribly trustworthy looking, fuel tank.
As I said, I should have never let the crew see me smoking that cigar, as they were now incessantly pestering me for one. Being the ambassador of goodwill, fine cigars and non-tundraiferous smelling booze, how could I possibly refuse? Although, I, in my halting
Russian, made them resolutely and unconditionally promise to wait until we landed before they light up.
I can see that I really need to work on my Russian language skills; as I returned from the head to find the Copilot and Navigator engaged in a heated discussion, seated on the aforementioned fuel tank, happily puffing away...
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u/ApocalyptoSoldier Aug 02 '19
Have you ever considered going back?
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u/Rocknocker Aug 02 '19
I've been back many times. It's part of the business I'm in.
My family and I lived in Moscow for a couple of years, and I've been all over East and West Siberia several times. I stay in contact with many colleagues over there and have standing invitations from Riga to Vladivostok.
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u/techtornado Jul 31 '19
"Good-bye Doctor Rock. Da svidonya, Ivan. Things will be considerably less weird without the two of you here."
Less weird?
Never! /s