The Russian Shack

 

Our midnight bus ride across the Russian countryside promised anything but comfort, ease, and brevity. As the half-sized bus pummeled across worn highways, I hugged my knees close to my chest and tilted my chin to the ceiling, fatigued and desperate for clean,  crisp air. The air was thick and sticky, yet the hairs on my arms stood on end from the chilly breeze wafting in through the cracked window. The sun had long departed, but the summer sky still offered a murky twilight. Sinister moon beams shone down as leftover sun rays peeped from below the horizon, reminding us that night would never truly come. In the soft midnight glow, I could see the jumbled mess of my exhausted friends, collapsed on each other in an attempt to disappear into the world of sleep before dawn’s premature arrival.

 

Our destination was Moscow, but three hours into the trip I was nearly convinced I would never survive the entire journey.

 

The quiet peacefulness was abruptly interrupted as the driver jerked the bus onto a rugged gravel road.  Eyes blinked open. Mouths yawned wide. Bodies stirred, and the bus halted.

 

 

Our one and only rest stop for the night.

 

I reluctantly exited the van along with the other passengers and found myself in the eerie shadows of majestic birch trees. On the other side of the van, away from the road, a small wooded shack stood mostly upright in a clearing, lit by a lone fluorescent bulb. Two tattered doors on opposite sides of the shack welcomed desperate road travelers. Predictably, they repulsed anyone else.

At first I refused. I could not… I would not bring myself to enter.

 

But those few drops of water that I had frantically splashed down an hour earlier in the muggy night air danced in my mind, reminding me of their imminent persecution.

 

We were only halfway to our destination. Refusal guaranteed misery long before our arrival. I had no choice.

 

I shuffled my feet hesitantly in the dirt, steering myself toward the illuminated shack. Thirty paces to go, and my body was violently repelled, as if I had catapulted myself directly into a brick wall, erected to prevent anyone from drawing nearer.

 

But this was no wall of bricks. No… the invisible barrier was a thick wall of stench - toxic fumes that stifled my airways when I breathed in the night air.  I looked up at the shack and knew exactly where the rancid odor was emanating from.

 

 

I felt suffocated. I was repulsed. And we were still thirty paces away.

 

To my luck, one of my travel companions had matched my thought process after waking from her restless bus slumber and arrived at the same conclusion: there was no choice.

 

With heads spinning and lungs gagging for clean air, my companion and I turned to each other and silently nodded. Our bold and courageous eyes signaled to each other mutual dedication to the unbearable task at hand. She handed me my life-saver: a soft tissue she had retrieved from the pack she carried with her.

 

Some of us travelers are never as prepared as we ought to be.

I quickly placed the tissue near my nose, bracing myself to plow head-on into the wall of stench.

3…2…1…

 

I gasped in the last bit of fresh air I could trace, sucking it deep down into my lungs, expanding my chest until it felt as if it would burst open. Then I pounded my body through the fog of putrescence, sprinting for the shack as fast as my feet would carry me. We flung open the dilapidated doors on both sides of the shack.

 

If I had had enough time (and air) to stop and think, I would have questioned the sanitation and safety of every aspect of the enclosure. There was nothing but a hole in the ground, with two filthy pieces of damp wood slapped on either side. Had I thought about it, I would have noticed the foot prints in the muck and refuse covering the entirety of the ground. But all I thought about was how swiftly I could accomplish the task and exit this hell hole.

 

And so I did. But as I uncomfortably perched myself above the dark, dank hole, my air supply began to wane. My chest slowly caved inwards and my lungs began to burn. I wanted…needed… so badly to gasp for air.

 

 

And thus my saving grace – the tissue. Securing my mouth and nose, I shielded myself from the stench surrounding me. I did not dare gulp for air; only a slight inhale to replenish my body enough to sustain myself for the next few seconds.

 

The door slammed next to me. My friend was already escaping. I removed the tissue from my nose and found proper use for it.  I attempted to re-situate myself without sullying any of my clothing in the mysterious substances around me. Then I bolted.

 

The whole escapade lasted no more than 20 seconds.

 

We climbed back into the bus, sighing with relief that we had successfully accomplished our hazardous mission. The rest of our travel companions did not seem to find triumph in our endeavors.  Immediately, they were struck by the same pungent scent that we had just barreled through.

Except this time it wasn’t coming from the shack.

 

My friend and I sniffed around like canines, desperately trying to locate the smell. We landed in despair in front of each other. And we were swallowed in anguish when we realized how deep the odor had seeped into us.

 

Hair, shirt, skin….

 

And it had only been 20 seconds.

 

I slunk back into my uncomfortable seat, exasperated by the foul fumes coming from me. The other passengers turned away in disgust. I pulled my knees back up to my chest and tilted my head toward the ceiling, hoping I might catch a whiff of the cool draft coming in through the cracked window.

 

It was going to be a long drive to Moscow.

 

 

 

Originally posted by Globe Aware Volunteer Vacations.