Sadly, I don’t know how to relax ☹ No sooner were we finishing
breakfast that I donned my boots and hat to go for a walk. That broke the
after-breakfast Kaffeklatch, and
Christine and Zsuzsa decided to join me (Zsuzsa is a molecular biologist from
Hungary, and is a fun gal). Our plan was to follow the creek upstream, although
we didn’t get too far until the path ran against the steep bank of the stream.
We then detoured along the side of the mountain, where we saw a rather peculiar
anthill, built out of little bits of wood. Christine and Zsuzsa decided to make
a photographic study of the funny-looking structure, whithout putting attention
to the thousands of ants that were milling around not only in the anthill, but
also within 10 m in all directions. In no time whatsoever we had ants crawling
up our pants, so we were forced into a shameful retreat.
Back at the resort we opted for going to the lake. While the
others went for a walk along the railroad tracks, I went down to the shore. The
creek forms a pretty cove here, and there is a bit of beach, so I thought I
could get my feet wet. Ha! The water is brutally cold and a toe is all of my
anatomy I was willing to risk to frost bite. So I sat on a rock and pondered at
the origin of the lake. A bit of further research tells me that there are some
similarities between Baikal and Lake Tangaňica, in the East African Rift
Valley. Most of the rift lakes of Africa are fairly shallow (say less than 500
m), but Lake Tangaňica, albeit not as long as Lake Baikal, has a maximum depth
of 1,400 m. I am going to have to look further into the similarities between
both lakes.
After lunch I announced my intention to go fishing, thinking that I could sit quietly
by the creek pretending to do something while listening to a recorded book in
my iPhone. Rainer, a young man of maybe 30, said that he would like to
accompany. Rats! Well, I like him quite a bit, so I quickly made the transition
from recorded book to companion, and the two of us went down to the foreman to
borrow fishing poles. He had one with a reel and a lure, which was better used
in the lake where there were fewer things to tangle with (and I graciously let
Rainer have it), and another one that was simply a stick with a line tied to
it, and for which I needed to find some bait. We promised everyone fish for
dinner, and happily went in our adventure. For lack of bait I plucked a
poisonous mushroom, thinking that strands of it could simulate a worm (and that
if I could not hook a fish perhaps I could poison it). In the last minute Jörn
decided to come with us, to document our efforts with his expensive camera (I
would put him also somewhere around 30). Unfortunately, the whole adventure had
started on the wrong premise: Rainer thought I was an experienced fisherman (no
doubt because I remind them all of Hemingway), and I assumed he had been
fishing before. Much to the delight of Jörn and his camera the whole outing was
a routine worth of Laurel and Hardy, with tangled lines, thumbs pricked by the
hooks, the lure getting caught in something every single time, and the eventual
loss of said lure (which the foreman had entrusted to our care because it was
the only one he had—we compensated him for it, but keep in mind we are in the
sticks here, so he will have to wait until he goes back to town before he can
buy another).
In the afternoon we indulged once again in the banya, with the crazy Germans jumping
into the freezing stream in between periods of getting cooked by heat and
steam. Don’t they know they can get a cold doing that? I was happy to sweat for
a little bit, and to sit in the cool open air in between, but waited until I
got back to our house before taking a shower. But enough of this life of ease.
Tomorrow we get to walk fully loaded to our next stop, 8 km away. I am not
looking forward to this particular death march, and would have rather taken the
train, but tomorrow is Wednesday, and that is the rest day of the train. Rats!
No comments:
Post a Comment