Penza - Russia

Sophie Ibbotson:

I have a soft spot for camping. Ever since predicted rain scotched my camping plans for Prague, I’ve been eager to get under the canvas. Not only is it a cheap way to spend the night but there is something very refreshing about sleeping in the great outdoors.

Penza is one of those cities that you’d only ever pass through on the way to somewhere else. It has no discernible culture, few (if any) redeeming architectural features, and is stuck out in the middle of nowhere. When we arrived almost all of the restaurants were shut (6pm on a Saturday is clearly the time to shut out the punters), the 24 hour karaoke bar had a dress code we couldn’t hope to meet, and the hotels were hideously expensive. It was looking rather bleak.

Pizza and a tent saved the day. In the Italian restaurant we sat next to a man who looked like he’d starred in a 1990s blue movie, and tucked into surprisingly tasty dishes we’d selected at random from the menu. The promised risotto bore a distinctly fishy resemblance to plov*, but was enjoyable none the less. As in every non-Italian Italian restaurant, there were photos of red Ferraris on the wall.

It was just turning dark as we left the restaurant, so an ideal time to find a camping spot. We headed out of town along the road to Samara, figuring we may as well look in the direction we were headed. The first few kilometers of road ran through a marsh. The water was fairly deep, and those bits of land that weren’t actually under water looked decidedly boggy. Unless we put an air mattress underneath the tent, it wasn’t exactly going to be ideal.

The marsh eventually turned to woodland. Our first diversion from the main road took us down a track, past a number of piles of rubbish, and towards what was either an army barracks or a factory. Either way it was surrounded with barbed wire and didn’t look particularly friendly. We did a U-turn, narrowly avoided a ditch, and headed back to the main road.

Five minutes further on we found our camping spot. We weren’t entirely sure as to the legality of wild camping in Russia and so we wanted to ensure the tent was pitched a reasonable distance from the road and that the parked car didn’t draw attention to it. This meant using the Isuzu’s four-wheel drive for the first time, and a bumpy off-road ride for us all. The car performed surprisingly well and we were soon tucked out of sight, buried in the woods somewhere between the main road and the railway tracks. We didn’t know it at the time but the woods also concealed another hideaway: one with a penchant for late night dance music.

The tent was one of the last things I picked up before I ran out of the door at home. I’d ummed and aahed about bringing it for some time, decided not to bother, then changed my mind at the last minute. In my haste I picked up one that claimed optimistically to be a three man one. As you’re aware, there are four people on the team. We therefore banished Bryn to sleep in the boot of the car, having thoughtfully moved the luggage to the front seats. It’s a good job that we travel light.

I’ve probably spoken rather too critically about our camping experience and the pain that it entailed when, in reality and as I said at the beginning, I am in fact a camping fan. The ground outside Penza was unusually soft and, therefore, quite comfortable. My sleeping bag was warm, Steve and Jo didn’t snore (another reason for ousting Bryn) and the mosquitoes and spots of rain both stayed conveniently on the outside of the fly sheet. I awoke early in the morning feeling surprisingly refreshed, not too grubby, and ready to face the day.


*Plov: a dish in which a grain, such as rice or cracked wheat, is browned in oil, and then cooked in a seasoned broth. Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pilaf