Baba Galya (left), Sveta (right), and Sveta's grandson Vova celebrate in Galya's home The small shots are Galya's home-made wine/vodka called 'Barmatuka.' Tim and Chris spent ten days in the winter of 1999 with Baba galya after recovering from a mild case of frotsbitten toes.
Baba Galya with her 'salami forearms' and 'eyes drooping with kindness' broods over a shot of her famous homemade 'barmatuka.' We are about to drink 'Chuut Chuut' (a little).
Tim with Sveta (far left), Baba galya, right, and Sveta (baba Sveta;s daughter in law) on the first afternoon when Tim arrived.
The pedestrian bridge joining the residential side of the village with the commercial centre.
Traditional haystacks dot the fields near Babushkina The hay is first cut by hand with Scythes, then loaded onto trucks or horse and cart, and then built into these structures.
A world away from the winter wonderland, a village stands timeless near Babushkina in the height of summer, the taiga forest panning out in a green sea beyond.
Tim and the crew celebrate in Baba galya's home with some 'Chuut Chuut' vodka (a little bit of vodka).
The river offers relief to villagers in the height of summer with temperatures soaring to 34 degrees celsius, a far cry from the frozen ice of winter.
Sveta and Lovka come racing towards tim in their 'Volga,' the statesmen car of the soviet era (labelled a bin on wheels by locals) nowadays.
Sveta and her friend sit in the back of the Volga on our way to the timbermill We have just stopped off along the way to buy bread.
Lovka, driving the Volga slaps my wrists when I instinctively go to put my seatbelt on It can be considered offensive to the driver to wear a seatbelt in Russia.
A timber worker at Lovka's mill guides a log through the saw.
The log is cut, and a plank is moved over to another saw for refining.
Lovka and Sveta sit in the office of their timbermill during a lunch break Sveta tells me casually that many of their logs are stolen from the forest- common practice in Russian forestry.
A spontaneous invitation to a wedding in babushkina ended in a celebration on the roadside where the grrom carried the bride across a bridge and back, the best main scaled a tree and tied a ribbon to the top branch, and we all feasted on vodka, cucumber and sweets from the greasy boot of a lada.
To begin the fishing expedition, Viter rips a cloth in two and wraps the pieces around his feet in the traditional form of socks.
Loshka, my fishing guide carries one of several poles (branches0 cut from the forest as fishing tools...
Viter chops away at poles, our fishing instruments...
While we collect branches from the forest, Pasha meanwhile sets nets across the width of the river...
Suddenly the fishing method becomes clear We grab the branches and thrash the river, walking slowly downstream and scaring all the fish towards the nets...called 'bukhat' in Russian (to whack!).
After a fairly poor catch of fish we opt for sandwiches, rather than cooking the planned fish soup No matter it has been a fun day.
I sit and take in the serenity of a Finnish lake in eastern Finland days before departure to Russia I had spent a year studying as a wilderness guide in Finland in 1998-99 and made many good friends, whom I also revisited in the July journey.
Reeds and their reflection catch the eye on a Finnish lake in the long summer evening.
Valentijn and Veronika take their huskies for a swim near their home in Eastern Finland near Lieksa I studied with Veronika (a Russian) and Valentijn (from the Netherlands), on the wilderness guide course in 1998-99
