This is weird. I mean truly, absolutely, undenialble weird. Strange. Unclear. Unnatural. Unbeleivable. There is no sense or reality to what I remember. Or at leat what I THINK I remember.
I am in a bed, a single bed. My packed lugagge is at one end of the room. A few items out of the bags are nearby. I check the tiny bathroom and it is void of clues. It is very quiet. I look outside and see a blank white snowscape, faint and featureless but for a small stand of birch trees nearby. I smell a faint whiff of smoke, maybe a wood fire. I listen closely and I hear two young people laughing then talking in Russian. I find what loks to be a hotel room key, the name in Cyrlic and undecipherable. For now I don't know the time or place of my existence. It is frightening and a bit exhilerating at the same moment.
I start to remember things. I remember people asking me who I am, where I am going, why am I going there, and where is my coat. Many people, and they all ask where is my coat. It is cold there they say, where is my coat? They say it it English and Russian, a thousand times over, where is my coat? I don't have a coat. I don't want a coat. I need a coat. I appreciate their concern but it worries me a little. I wonder what they know that I dont know. Will I die without a coat? Is a coat a legal requirement where I am going?
I remember other people asking me about my papers. They ask for papers I never needed before, never had before and never will have. I remember thinking that it is midnight and without papers I will be sleeping outside in the cold. I remember that the people's concern for my being coatless was right. I remember wishing that I had a coat. Or wishing there was coat store that was open at midnight on a Saturday.
Saturday! I remember it was midnight on a Saturday. I turn on the computer tablet and see that it is now Tuesday. Where did the last two days go? Or three, depending on which side of Saturday was that midnight I remember.
Ther's a pile of papers on the dresser. There should be a clue there. Yes! A plane ticket! Or part of one, from Moscow to Krasnoyarsk to Kyzyl. The first leg out of Moscow is used, but the second leg to Kyzyzl is intact. I was supposed to be on that plane three days ago according to the ticket, but apparently I didnt make it. What happened? I just can't recall, no matter how hard I try. The clouds in my head will lift at their own speed and I unable to rush the process forward.
There is a noise to my left, a big noise, which I soon recognize as a jet taking off. I open the window and find that I know where I am, at a hotel next to the Krasnoyarsk airport. In a minute it is quiet again. Now, instead of the peace of the solitude and quiet, I am starting to hate it. I need clues, not emptiness.
Remember when I said it was a bit exhilerating a few minutes ago? That feeling is totally gone, replaced by a large dose of dread and a fast growing feeling of fear, with panic running a speedy third place. If there is a finish line, panic will surely win, unless I can get my act together and figure this all out.
I notice that I am extremely stiff and sore, more than I have felt in many years. I feel a little beat up but I see no bruises. Everything hurts, from my toes to my nose. I go to the bathroom mirror to check if I am bearing any physical clues to my pain, but I see nothing. But wait a second! Yes, absoutely, for sure. Unbelieveable. I've had a haircut. Remarkable! I look just like my passport photos, even though I haven't had a haircut in five months. At least, that I can remember.
I am starting to hate that word, remember, mostly because I DON'T remember! It's infuriating me more than scaring me. Why can't I remember! I might have shouted out that last part. I don't care if I did or who hears it. I just WANT TO REMMBER!
There's that word again. Remember. I try and sure enough a litle bit comes back to me. I remember staying at this hotel a few days ago. I remember hauling my baagge down the snowy walkway and across the icy road that leads to the airport building. I remember the truck on the road, both of use slipping and sliding trying to avoid one another. It all plays out in slow motion, like two olympic skaters on the rink, apart but destined to be joined together on the ice while crowd watches. I can almost see myself in the crowd, but now it more like a NASCAR event crowd awaiting the inevitable crash, again in slow motion. The roar of the crowd in anticipaton is deafening. I am not sure if I should join in on the spectical or not.
There is another plane tickt on the table, for a trip from Krasnoyarsk to Beijing. It leaves in an hour. I need to catch that plane, to say goodbye to Russia and continue my journey around the world. I need to shower, shave and pack. I can tell I haven't shaved for a few days, maybe another clue. I finish getting ready in haste, and I find an empty vodka bottle under the bed. Given the volume of dust bunnies that reside there it may have been there a day or a year. I have no time to look further. I am off to Beijing as fast as my feet and the snow will carry me.
Perhaps more details of te past few days will come to me. Believe me, I want those to come back to memory more than any of you. I'll work hard on it an keep you posted
OK. I know some of you wanted closure. An Ending. A surmise, success or failure? The blog is titled Kyzyl or Bust, and neither is guaranteed. For now I don't have an answer. For that I apologize.
I warned you that this episode might be dangerous for your mental health. A cliffhanger indeed!
Even I, the central (and mostly sole) character in this blog am anxious to see how it turns out. And so doth the tale unfold before us, not as we like, but as it will.
Stay tuned!
