Krasnoyarsk is a place that makes itself very hard to like. The buildings are dour and the sky has not changed its dark gray complexion. Most likely because of the continuous smoke you can see belching from the smokestacks across the river. In the central area every lamppost has two speakers fixed onto it. I am sure that in times past these were for party slogans providing encouragement for the brave souls working hard for the destiny of the Soviet dream in such dour surroundings. Such exhortations would actually be preferable to the awful, bland jazz that now gets forced on you as you navigate the streets. All of yesterday’s slog around in search of a place to stay was sound tracked by this which only made Rdoc and I even more irritable. This was also after more incidents with pushy old ladies. They need to be culled. Three people standing at the front of the queue for the bus into town. All with packs front and back. Thus encumbered there is an obvious hesitancy when climbing up quite a high step. Instead of allowing the second it takes to gather oneself to do this two babushkas, scarf wrapped head down, bag in each hand, pushed past Arnika knocking her back. Taking this as a cue another bunch followed until the bus was full and we were still standing there. They really are a menace.
There is no way to counter either, are you supposed to push an old lady out of the way? [read on]