"It is 9:15 local time and the weather in Petropavlovsk is NASTY!" is verbatim what the Aeroflot flight attendant announced in a heavy Russian accent on our approach to PKC, Petropavlovsk-Kamchatksy. Unfortunately I didn't have the good fortune of a window seat like Colleen so I didn't get the opportuinity to see the volcanos poking through the cloud cover as we flew in.
On my way off the plane and onto the a overcast and dreary looking tarmac I managed to lose my lovely Kashmir Alpine beanie (Another reason to return to Gulmarg next year!). PKC airport is nothing to write home about. Furtunately the weather wasn't as NASTY as I had anticipated and I didn't mind waiting in the parking lot for the outhouse that is the baggage claim to open. Mine was the last piece of luggage to arrive. Marja, who had had a very short connection in Moscow feared that she wouldn't get hers at all. Hers was the first to arrive.
The countryside we saw in Kamchatka on our drive from the airport to our unimaginatively named Hotel Petropavlovsk was much like the snow and mud covered industrial wasteland I associate with the Soviet Union and my first trip to Russia in 1993. I had heard about the ship graveyard in Petropavlovsk but I hadn't realised that every house in the countryside would also have a graveyard for cars. It would seem that the rest of the world sends their cars to Kamchatka to rest in peace.
I am told there are only 3 hotels in Petropavlovsk and hotel Petropavlovsk is the second best. We share the hotel with other Vertikalny Mir skiers and boarders and a few blood thristy bear hunters. I too was warned that on occasion we share our ski room with a bear skin. If one of them leaves a gun around, they will be lucky if all I do is mess with the sites.
I am surprised by how well the hotel staff speak English. Another pleasant surprise.
In the afternoon we headed out to the local market; a fish and caviar lovers dream. Strangely however there was a long queue for eggs. This too reminded me of Soviet days when queueing for food wasn't uncommon. What I found puzzling about this however was that there were other stalls selling eggs. If someone can explain all of this to me, I am all ears.
We had lunch in a local bistro. I cant read the menu and I left the ordering up to the others. I am tired and I am happy to eat whatever is put in front of me. Patrick and Marja quickly made friends with some locals and were pretty soon knocking back Vodkas.
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