The Golden End

I just finished talking on the phone with a nice young man. The boy (judging by the voice - a fresh graduate of some institute) long and boring persuaded me to leave the Middle East that became my native a few years ago and return to Siberia, the good in the super-company he represents, there is a job on my profile, and someone recommended me to them on his head. The boy, apparently, was very upset when I, hearing the name of the proposed job, was very dirty on a mixture of Russian, Arabic and English mat. He was even more upset when I asked him if he had ever been to the fairy place he so beautifully advertised to me.

As expected, the boy was not there (“I heard that it was not bad there”). It is understandable. Much more convenient to think about career prospects, sitting in a cozy office in the center of Moscow. However, more than half of Russia’s economy (at least 10 years ago) came from raw materials. Which for some reason within the limits of the ICAD in the subsoil is not conducted, but is conducted more than a few thousand kilometers from Moscow. And if oil workers, gas producers, metallurgists and coal miners were somehow lucky in terms of existence (in any case, Tyumen with Urengoy are pretty good cities), then gold miners are not very lucky. The scale is not the same, so where gas drivers have a city per 100 thousand inhabitants, gold miners have a village of thousands per 5 people. In any case, when I just got to South Yakutia – the first reaction was “well and deaf” (in fact, the most beautiful place, I still miss it). However, after some time, I managed to make sure that the "deep man" I only have to see. We went to the same golden land that a Moscow boy tried to advertise to me 10 years later.

The end is called Bodaybo. He may be known for the Soviet Union, either by the song of Vysotsky, or by the fact that a little more than 100 years ago the striking stalkers of the Lenny mines were shot there, after which the old Krupsky took the nickname Lenin. For the rest, I will explain: Bodaybo is one of the largest gold mining regions in Russia (and in the world too,). A total of about 20-25 tons of gold (almost a tenth of the gold mined in Russia) are mined annually in all fields, and this will still not start the dry log with its almost 3 thousand tons of gold reserves. For those who are unfamiliar with the price of gold, it is a scandal. Tax deductions only to the local budget - something about 30 million. dollars per year. For a region with less than 20,000 people, this is not bad. Live and rejoice, it seems.

The only problem is that it is almost impossible to get there. At least, we had to first drive 500 km along Yakutia to Bama, then shake on the train, and then another 300 km by car from Bama to drive on the legendary route Bodaybo-Taximo (about it - a little further). There is such a flight if there is a Nerungri airport in southern Yakutia, and there is also an airport in Bodaybo. It is only possible to get there from Irkutsk once a week. And to Irkutsk from Nerungri you can only through Moscow (although, at least twice a week). I remember when I just moved to the Middle East - surprised by the policies of local airlines, which transit flights Moscow - Istanbul - Amman often cost less than flights Moscow - Istanbul. And then remembered the route Nerungri - Moscow - Irkutsk - Bodaybo, and the surprise as a hand removed.

Now back to the description of the road. If you want to test yourself on strength - try to drive on the track Taksimo - Bodaybo. Believe me, no Paris-Daccar Rally, or Camel Trophy even nearby stands compared to the road of category IV in Eastern Siberia. For where else you will find a road that in 250 kilometers different streams cross 15 times. Nothing terrible, you want to say? I forgot to say there are no bridges. In the sense that they either do not exist at all, or there are some self-made structures that local drivers have assembled, what is called, from shit and sticks (and in this case, "bad" is not an exaggeration: in the frost -50 any shit is an excellent building material not worse than cement; out, in the same Yakutia one companion from shit under the New Year the sculpture of the cockroach built - and nothing until the temperature in May became plus, the cock stood and didn't even smell). I was relatively lucky: my trip was in the winter, and the winter and frozen rivers are easy to overcome, and the road does not seem so uneven. Although... at a minus 50 amortisers even on the Cruzaque that saw the sights become a circle, therefore in the cabin shakes so that the fifth point almost permanently hangs at the level just above the ears.

In the summer, some crossings have to be overcome by flooding. Do you mean cars don’t swim? They don’t swim in Moscow. In Siberia, any SUV first masters the "free style" (it is when you rush at the bottom, then as if you push back, and wait for the current to bring you to the other shore; about what happens when the current does not cope, I will be silent). In the second place, this same off-road Naparu with his brother Ural mastered the wonders of gymnastics on bars (more precisely, on two crushed pines, laid through some stream-crane accurately along the width of the car track). Moreover, they usually master from the first time (at least I haven’t seen those losers crashing alongside these barracks). Well, finally, they master the technique of breeding Indian fires from car tires. Our driver, remembers, carried 5 pieces in the luggage. To the question "Nahren" answered very simply: one tile, if it is lit, is enough for almost an hour. If a car gets stuck on the road, 5 tyres are 5 hours of hope that someone will drive by and help.

They say, now the situation has become a little better, and of the 250 kilometers of the track a third has become suitable for travel not only everywhere. When the other two-thirds will be done (and will be done) I don’t know. I advised the boy that before offering candidates a ticket to a magical country, he should go there first and see what it is like.

A very funny story came out at the end. I don't want to make any conclusions myself (and I don't have the right to "go away"). I leave the discussion room open, you want - scorn me, you want - speak on the topic of "how to arrange us". I went on a weekend, longing for my youth, when a few hundred kilometers off the road seemed romantic rather than hopeless.