It was in Sri Lanka, many moons ago, during our 3-week vacation on this most beautiful of islands.
Mrs B and I had decided to take a rail trip from the capital Colombo, inland to the Central Province city of Kandy. It’s a spectacular journey and the city itself is set on a plateau surrounded by mountains, which are home to tea plantations and a biodiverse rainforest.
The train consisted of a first-class carriage, where we sat for most of the journey, followed by a restaurant car, with a fully stocked bar, with the third and final coach being the kitchen and staff quarters. All pulled along by a magnificent steam locomotive, belching out blackish smoke with wild abandon.
We stopped, unexpectedly, at a country station, and along came a tour guide and asked if any of us would like to go onto the footplate of the locomotive. Well, the five-year-old in me immediately put up my hand – “me, me, me, me, me…..” and a minute of so later, I was chatting to both the driver and the fireman. It was 35C outside and very humid, so I leave it to your imagination as to how hot if felt standing alongside a huge boiler. I was even allowed to shovel in coal, just to add to the experience.
Eventually, we chuffed away and began the climb up to Kandy. Exhilarating. I felt I had been transported back in time and was loving every moment. Suddenly, the fireman turned round, and offered me a spliff. He had just lit up. Could this trip get any better? He insisted I smoke the whole reefer, which I did. I remember little else about the journey, except when I eventually got back to the carriage, everyone was laughing at me. I assumed they could tell I was off my head, but in fact it was because my face was totally black from smoke, having been on the footplate for so long.
The irony was that shortly afterwards, the locomotive broke down, and had to be replaced by a diesel. Funnily enough, that too was belching out black smoke, but hey, I wasn’t too bothered…
It’s not a lie, it’s true!!!
Some people who know me might think that I am a daredevil, at least, in a way.
They look at me in sports, or in a company, and have their reasons to think so.
Well, I can be ruthless in karate, or very stubborn in running, for instance. Yet, these things don’t tell a full story.
I know the truth when it comes to myself.
In fact, I am not a brave man anyway; and my life is the evidence of numerous stories proving it in various situations.
I won’t go in every detail, but I would choose a coward’s story regarding myself.
In June 2011, I was in Nepal, filming a documentary for Reader’s Digest, devoted to Russia’s cultural heritage abroad. That was our third story, after Alaska and France. The outcome was a three-part DVD, each part a 52-minute film. That was the best film production by Russian Reader’s Digest by sales, and I am still proud to be the driving force of the project, originating it and guiding it to success.
Getting back to Nepal. The story was unfolding in Pokhara, Nepal’s western resort town, 30 minutes by air from Kathmandu. We were filming a part of the documentary there, which was a real discovery to me. We were filming a story about a Russian-Nepalese family that was a well-known story. One of their two sons, Stephan, was a paragliding pilot, working in a local company.
Their business was to organize paragliding tours for foreign tourists to enjoy the beautiful Pokhara valley with its Pheva lake and surrounding hills at the footprints of the Great Himalaya ridge.
In the end, after we’d done all locations and interviews, we, as a shooting team, were offered a free paragliding tour over the valley. Actually, the offer was for me as the head of the crew.
I didn’t take it because I was afraid! I thought it was nice to look at, but just too much for me. My friend, the sound man, Kolya Smirnov – we are still great friends now – also refused. Finally, our director took his chance. I, personally, was ashamed to refuse it, but my fear of death stopped me.
Four years later, Stephan died in an accident, along with a Chinese tourist, when his paragliding aircraft’s engine suddenly stopped, and they just fell from skies to earth. His Russian mother, Natasha Shrestha, was flying on the second aircraft, helplessly watching his fall…
Back in 2011, it could have been a safe flight. Yet, I am not a brave man at all.
It’s not a lie, it’s true…
I love the water, not swimming mind you, but I love to be out on the water. I have always enjoyed time in a boat. Any boat, anytime. Many of my earliest memories are from a marina my Dad owned when I was very young.
We had 115 little aluminum fishing boats and a line of progressively bigger boats, up to large pontoon boats suitable for parties. I became quite good at piloting these boats. In fact, better than virtually all the adults. I knew the lake well and could bring the bigger boats into the dock with ease. To gently kiss the dock without bumping it in a breeze takes practice and a little skill.
At the time it seemed natural but looking back on it now, it must have looked bizarre. A four or five-year old preschooler acting as pilot. For the staff to stand back so this small child could maneuver a large pontoon boat around in tight quarters must have looked strange to customers. Yes, I had a box to stand on.
I don’t know if such a thing would even be legal today. But I remember seeing the game warden from time to time and I must have answered all questions to his satisfaction because this went on until the marina was sold and I was in school.