I woke up in Ulan-Ude and looked outside only to see a grey sky and snow blowing in all imaginable directions.
I disliked for the first time where I was.
In this empty apartment I could only hear the buzzing of the fridge, asking myself why I haven't been listening to music for so long.
Maybe I liked the lyrics in my head more.
I had no idea where I was; somewhere in Siberia, that's for sure. The darkness of the place played on my imagination and I started seeing things that were not there. I heard someone whispering in my ear and my sleeping bag didn't keep me warm enough.
My days were filled with silence, not sure if I can still speak my mother tongue. I am a walking contradiction of loving and hating my actual situation.
The people are so helpful here that I got invited for tea several times; and out of the blue, strangers were offering me their homes. Tourists are so new for locals, that they are keen to get to know you, and proud to show you around.
Frankly, I would do the same if I ever saw one in Hulste. Hell, I would give that person a medal to have found the town in the first place.
No chance to get lost, but my mind did.
I had no idea what my next move would be. Initially I would travel by bus to Ulaan Baatar, but with 2 months on my Russian Visa left, I preferred to stay and exploit my luxurious situation. I had been surfing and asking around for ages, but I could not find a nice project or eco-farm in Buryatia or surroundings. The packs of snow and -15 degrees were not helping with my quest at all.
I had been puzzling over it for several nights in a row, with an exhausted and undecided head as a result. I felt stuck in a white world.
Stubborn as I am, I needed to leave to conquer the Russian winter.
Stubborn as I am, I didn't want to turn back on my steps to go to Novosibirsk. I had to admit I went to fast, I had to admit that I didn't calculate my itinerary enough. Not mentioning there has ever been an itinerary.
I could have known that there is nothing much to do on the east-side, but now I already got this far.
It's been a week now that I'm fighting in my head to accept I needed to go back west. That I needed to travel 39 hours in the opposite direction to get to a farm that seems just the perfect deal for me. But what is 2.282 km in a country that is 10.727 km wide? What are two days travel compared to an experience of a life time?
Overdosed of freedom I am walking the road of self-centred development.
And I fucking love it.