The party is over, and now it's time to go home.
In the final leg of his Siberian journey, reggae artist Lenky Roy performs a farewell concert for the people of Tomtor Village, a tiny town not far from where he and his crew finished the Pole to the Cold, a 5,000 kilometer road rally that goes through some of the harshest terrain on the planet.
On the trip back to Yakutsk, Roy learns that their team was declared the winner of the race. The surprising news is more than just cold comfort to Roy and crew, who endured their share of challenges on this trip.
Filmmaker Jim Hall chronicles the story in his travel diary below.
Previous excerpts from Hall's journal appear here: Day 1, Day 2, Day 4, Day 5, Day 6-7, Day 8-9, Day 10-11, Day 15-16, Day 18-19, Day 20-21.
Day 22: Thursday, March 22
Tomtor Village, Republic of Sakha
The final page from this tale takes place in Tomtor, some 100 kilometers south of the Pole, but no less cold. The rally's end has been scheduled to coincide with a Siberian holiday that marks the beginning of spring, though it's hard to imagine this winter having any end -- especially with my lingering vodka headache.
A festival is happening at the outskirts of this tiny town at the foot of a mountain. A stage has been erected, and a serious-looking public address system is in place for the show. Rumors are circulating in the crowd of 200 or so that Lenky Roy just might perform. This was not planned, but after word got out about his spontaneous performance last night at the only pub in town, the festival planners got the go-ahead from Mr. Roy.
After a long and very cool series of traditional Yakutian dancers and an appearance by not one, but three Santa Clauses (Santa Claus is really big here for reasons that have nothing to do with Jesus or Macy's), Lenky gives his best performance of our tour.
Listen up:
Hear Lenky Roy's single, "Siberia"
Afterwards, we witness some wild reindeer sleigh races and buy bear rugs because they just look so very cool on display in one of the many vendor booths. Somehow, animal hides seem very acceptable to even our PC mind-set.
In order to undo the 1,200 kilometers that have passed since the start of the Pole to the Cold rally, we gather up all our plunder and head for the airport -- a small strip of ice that has a helicopter waiting for us. It's an aging Russian beast of a chopper. Military spec all the way: bench seats and bare metal interior. Forget about checking in.
As many people as possible wedge themselves into the copter until no one else can fit. The 25 or so passengers are mostly from the rally. The rest include local government officials and one of the Santa Clauses that no doubt had to be imported for the festival.
We land at what must be the single most scenic airstrip in the world -- up high in the mountains and surrounded by vast uninhabited white hills. Several junked aircraft fuselages lay scattered on the runway shoulder. We haul our cargo into an awaiting turboprop charter (the only craft here) and have a smoke while trying to burn this visual into our memories.
It is here that the rally organizers surprise us with the news that team Takima has actually won the race! We were never entirely clear what the parameters were for winning. We just assumed that our chances were on par with the Jamaican bobsled team -- especially having totaled car No. 1 on day one.
But it turns out that after carrying on with car No. 2, and thanks to Dave's excellent snow driving, team Takima has come in first place. In Siberia everything is possible.
After official handshakes on the tarmac we are presented with certificates honoring our triumph, and we board the charter plane to head back to Yakutsk. Unfortunately there is not yet a cash prize for the winner, but we are just happy that they have not (yet) presented us with a bill for the trashed car number one.
On the plane, several seize the opportunity to ask Lenky about Rasta and Iraq. It has been a turnaround day for Lenky -- the combination of winning something and getting a really warm reception at the festival has lifted his spirits. The fact that he is heading back to the warmer air of Kingston could also be a factor. I didn't realize this before, but singers have a hard time with extreme cold, dry air -- bad for the chords.
Later that night we locate the very best restaurant possible in Yakutsk and reflect on all the heaven and hell that has passed during the last three weeks. It would be impossible to consider the trip anything less than a success -- even with the clashes and missteps factored in. There are certainly things about this trip that I regret, but I would not wish to revise any of this history. Real life (the flawed one) is always more interesting than the execution imagined in our dreams.
One last trip to the local disco, and we are primed for the long haul back to Moscow, Frankfurt, San Francisco and Kingston. I'll always have a warm spot in my heart for this icebox of a land and hope that somehow I find another reason to return. Dear reader: do yourself a favor, and get over here before Starbucks discovers the place.
