A Tourist's Journal
Arrival
Most of our group are from the States but there is one, very interesting British couple, Phil & Ava Watkins, who have travelled from Catford in South London.
On arriving in Magadan we were greeted coldly by the Uncle Josef's Holiday Camp representative, Sergei Ripov, a guy with bloodshot eyes, exuding an air of chaos. Ripov is the owner of an unusually oscillating gait, and when he loudly ordered us to board the decrepit Soviet-era bus, (a vehicle with rudimentary suspension and little in the way of on-board heating), it was obvious that he was pissed.
Little was said as we drove through the long, dark Arctic night, heading towards our holiday destination. To say conditions on the bus were uncomfortable would be an understatement. In fact the journey proved to be a real test of endurance and by the time we reached the camp, a few from our group were almost comatose with hyperthermia.
First impressions
It was unbearably cold and there were deep, undulating mounds of snow stretching away in all directions.
The camp, with its high razor-wire topped fences, looked foreboding, and the basic, barrack style accommodation did little to dispel a dark, sombre mood. There was nothing to suggest this was going to be an enjoyable experience and some were already questioning whether taking a vacation in a gulag was really such a good idea.
Before being shown our accommodation Sergei Ripov instructed us all to gather in front of the gates where we were addressed by a short, round little man, the immodest owner of an oversized ego. His name was Smirkin, a local politician now in his fourth term as mayor of the nearby town of Miserigrad.
Smirkin is convinced he's an entrepreneurial genius and it was his idea to offer Uncle Josef's Holiday Camp as a novelty holiday destination in his most recent scheme aimed at attracting western tourists.
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