beardlessnomad

[beardlessnomad]

Release The Hounds...

A few years back I dated a girl from a small town called Tarapoto, in the North of Peru where the Andean Mountains meet the Amazon Rain forest. It was a small, humble town with a tropical climate, that offered fuck all to do. Most of the inhabitants lived close nit, working class lives, my girlfriend's family included, whom lived on the outskirts of the city. Her house was situated in a poor suburb with run down, dirt roads, that were littered with stray dogs. During the day, the stray dogs normally slept due to the humid, perpetual 30°C+ days. However, when the temperature dropped after sunset, they came out to play, when most people returned to their houses. 

The locals where used to the good-for-nothing mutts and showed little concern towards them. I'd been informed that if a dog displayed aggression, which wasn’t uncommon, it was advised to pick up one of the many rocks on the ground and pretend to hurl it at the face of problematic dog/s. It sounded good in theory and I’d even seen it work from time to time, though it also seemed that a complete lack of fear was also necessary. At the very least, the fundamental rule when dealing with aggressive dogs, was to remain calm, continue to walk by slowly and by under no circumstance should you ever try to run away.

For the duration of my one month stay in Tarapoto, most days were spent hanging out at my girlfriend’s house with her and her family until late at night, where I'd retreat back to my hotel. During the day I could take a moto taxi straight to her front door step, but come nightfall, no taxi's would pass through the dark streets of her suburb, since nobody was around. So instead, I would have to make the anxious ten minute walk to the main road to hail one. Every one of those walks I made was a complete sweat, constantly being on the alert for mischievous strays, that would became aggressive if you wandered into their territory.

At around 1AM one typical, nerve racking night, when I turned onto the final, long stretch of road I usually took, I noticed a heap of garbage bags up ahead, on one side. I could see three dogs rustling through the rubbish whom I wanted no business going anywhere near, but the alternative was to turn back and gamble on a different road, none of which were illuminated and likely had other dogs lurking in the shadows. I took a breathe and continued. 

When I got within eye sight of the pack, I turned on a fake confidence, to try to mask the utter fear that had overcome me. There was a good twenty metres between them and me when I passed on the opposite side of the road but a shot of adrenaline injected into my bloodstream when I got a better look at one of the dogs in particular, that was of a large terrier breed. With a jacked and shredded physique, the size of a Shetland pony and seemingly bred to kill, I wanted no part in a tango with the beast. The other two were smaller but I sensed that they weren't shy of an altercation either. I kept calm and remembered my training.

*Just walk slow. Don't even look at them...*, I thought to myself, reassuringly. But less than five paces later, I heard a subtle but deep bark from one of them. Instinctively I knew it was the enormous hound that had noticed me. Nervously, I looked over again to see that all three now had their heads craned curiously towards me. The large dog barked again, but this time in an obnoxious, troublesome manner. One of the others followed suit. In anticipation for a show down, I frantically scanned the road to see a smorgasbord of rock throwing options, just in case I became more appetizing to them than the trash. But when their barking increased and they began walking towards me, it became clear that I was at the point of no return.

"Fuck...", I uttered to myself in distress, my squinty eyes widening to that of a normal size.

I looked again to the rocks on the ground for much needed ammunition; then back at them, as they closed more distance, then back to the ground again...

*Alright Ryan, no backing down here, you gotta hold your ground. Remember what they told you...*, echoed a voice from the logical corner of my brain.

The large terrier transitioned it’s walk to a trot, it’s confusingly large, yolked deltoid muscles, which looked to have been carved from the hands of god himself, flexing with terror every step. A second adrenaline dump came as my heart pounded violently.

*Do not run....Do not, run....Do not ru-...*, all of a sudden the logical part of my brain became overridden by an impulse of cowardice, causing me to come out of the blocks like Usain Bolt in the one hundred.  

Within seconds I'm sprinting as fast as anyone wearing thongs can, with the eruptions of barking at my back, from the savage hounds hot on my tail. A panic-stricken glance over my shoulder saw that there were another three dogs who'd come out of the wood work to join in on the chase for the fresh game that had been presented to them.  The enormous hound at the front of the pack of now at least six strong, with his enormous strides, I could feel closing in on me, like Phar lap galloping the home stretch of the 1930 Melbourne Cup. With a cold but indifferent look in his eyes, it seemed he'd be taking no prisoners tonight.

At the top of my lungs, I let out an almighty, primal roar of, “Fwaaaarrrrkkk!!!...", loud enough to wake up the whole of Tarapoto, whilst fed another ocean of adrenaline, never having ran faster in my life.  With only the grim sight of bare, open road, I clearly wasn't going to out run six animals with twice the amount of legs as I, so I made a change of direction towards the footpath, which was to achieve God knows what. In an attempt to do so, the six inch deep ditch, between the road and footpath caused me to lose my footing and fall face first, with my body coming to an abrupt, crushing halt. My body had gone from full sprinting speed, to a sudden, stationary stop when the middle of my thigh caught the edge of a small footbridge. The foot bridge and my femur bone shared a brief kiss, resulting in a deep, excruciating cork. 

                                                Scene of the chase

The adrenaline was enough to fend off the pain, leaving only the feeling of dread of the thought of the dogs about to tear my body to shreds with their rabies infected fangs, whilst I helplessly lay crippled on my back. 

Thankfully however, when they caught up to me a few seconds later, they just stood over me whilst barking loudly, before dispersing, when several locals came out the front of their houses to witness the scene.

Vision blurred and in a state of panic, I got to one leg and limped up the street as if still amidst the thick of an on foot chase, desperately trying to escape the canines. I hobbled clumsily up the road, panting deeply, for another twenty metres or so, until I finally realised the chase was over.

Parked not much further up the road, a young driver of a rickshaw moto taxi, looked on as I approached. He asked if I was okay, trying to mask his amusement but failing to do so, after having witnessed the whole ridiculous spectacle. During the chase, one of my thongs had gone astray, so the guy agreed to drive me back down to where I fell, since I was too much of a wimp to walk back to where any of those blasted hounds may have been lingering.

Back at the scene, several of the dogs began barking loudly again, with little regard for the sleeping neighborhood, as I proceeded to scan the ditch where I had fallen. Meanwhile, the taxi guy informed the small crowd of civilians dressed in their pajamas, about what had happened.

"Fucking Gringo...", was the disgruntled expression on most of their faces, when I’d shamefully glance over between rummaging through vegetation.

After a few minutes, right as I retrieved my parted thong, all of a sudden, a large Peruvian man, donning only Crocs and a pair of bright red, speedo-cut underwear, emerged from outside the house where half a dozen people congregated. Standing at around 6′4″ and weighing almost 120 kg, he was visibly mad for having been yanked from a deep slumber and wanted vengeance - to my horror, the target being, the young, innocent and friendly taxi driver who'd only been there to help me. After attempting to explain all the commotion, the young lad desperately tried to plea with the enormous, Peruvian giant but his words fell on deaf ears as the ogre came for him. The kid weaved in and out of the standing folks, desperately evading the grips of the oaf whilst I looked on in despair. At that point my Spanish was far too basic to intervene and try to explain the absurd scene that I was solely responsible for. Nor did I particularly feel like having to break out any Jiu Jitsu on a dirt, rocky road against a semi sleep walking, irrational meat head. Fortunately, the giant's gut weighed him down enough for the taxi guy's agility to prevail.

Some of the civilians finally managed to calm the situation somewhat, which I took as an opportunity to slip away into the dead of the night, like a spineless coward. I slowly edged away from the crowd, unbeknownst to anyone and began limping my way up to the main road to hail a taxi.

Up on the main drag, I impatiently stood for a good fifteen minutes, bearing the agony of what felt like a blade being inserted through my thigh, down to the bone.

Finally, to my relief, a lone moto taxi appeared in the distance and pulled to the side of the road when it reached me. However, my elation turned to shock, when I recognized the face of, none other than, the young taxi driver who had come to my aid only moments ago, after having been dragged into a situation by some dumb Gringo and almost getting his ass kicked for it. On top of that, the cravenly Gringo didn't even have the decency to stick around and offer as much as an apology. His face said as much, exhibiting a look of utter contempt.

"Oh, was that you who just helped me? I'm so sorry man...", I said, in awfully broken Spanish, cringing with awkwardness.

His face didn't change as he maintained a look of disgust, without saying a word.

"Ah, Jungle Hotel, please?...", I asked sheepishly, causing him to turn his head forward, which I took as an indication to get in the rickshaw.

In between awkward meetings of eye contact in the rear view mirror, not another word was exchanged until we arrived to the front door of my hotel.

I made one more attempt at a sincere apology when handing him the money for the ride, but he didn't so much as break his sour, forward gaze. As soon as money was in hand, with me mid sentence, the disgruntled taxi driver hit the throttle, speeding off and bellowing smoke into my face as I watched the rickshaw shrink into the distance.  

I limped my sorry ass up the hotel stairs to my room, racked with an emotional cocktail of shame, guilt and anger, before collapsing on my bed.

"Fuckin' hounds...", I muttered to myself, before passing out...  

[beardlessnomad]

Butt Naked In A Banya - My Experience In A Russian Bathhouse

On my last day in Moscow, after having spent a week in Russia's iconic capital, an immediate friendship was sealed with a bohemian Argentinian, named "Zal", as we literally broke bread in our hostel that morning. For the past several years Zal (Gonzalo) had been wandering throughout Eastern Europe supporting himself with his music. He was a fascinating guy and it didn't take me long to realise that there was something special about him. I knew in my gut that his invitation to meet him in St Petersburg the following day, if I decided to go, was not one to turn down. So, along with other factors taken into consideration, I took the night train to St Petersburg.  

When I messaged Zal the following evening to say that I had indeed come to St Petersburg, I was spammed with a dozen, incoherent Facebook messages from him, vaguely describing a live gig he was playing that night, in a Russian "Banya" - a traditional Russian spa house. I didn't quite understand what the deal was but I would be going regardless. I spoke to a Russian friend of his, Yana, on the phone soon there after, who spoke good English and attempted to give me the details of the night, before the phone line dropped. Still unsure of what exactly was happening, it sounded like Zal would just be playing somewhere near the address of said Banya, for some Russian friends of his who would be drinking and hanging out, I figured, which sounded like a good time. However, when she called me back just before Zal was supposedly beginning to play, asking where I was, the thing seemed a lot more formal and organised than I first anticipated. 

When I arrived to an empty courtyard of the address I was given, which was a run down, soviet era building on the outskirts of central St Petersburg, there was nobody in sight. 

*Surely he wouldn't be performing live music with an electrical audio system in the middle of a fucking wet, steaming spa house would he?...*, I thought to myself, as I climbed the stairs of the building.

But when I curiously opened the only door on the third storey, that had the sounds of a crowd of people behind it, that was exactly the scene I was met with. Except, when I opened the door, everybody, apart from Zal and the lady at the front desk, were completely naked; men and women, both young and old. Mostly men though.

*Nudity. Okay. Be cool. Just a sea of massive Russian cocks staring right at you. That's all...* I thought, remaining as stoic as one can in such a situation.

Thankfully, my eyes quickly found a fully clothed Zal only metres from me, adjusting his audio set up, seemingly in preparation for his set. That evening, he would be playing to twenty-seven naked folk, who were all standing around in a dressing room, drinking tea and speaking in a language I could not understand. The language wasn't the only thing I was struggling to comprehend in such an environment. A gaze around the small dressing room saw a young, naked mother with her two small children, also without clothes, as well as fifteen or so stark naked men, ranging from their twenties to sixties, along with a couple of other women.

"С кем Вы? С кем Вы?..." asked the girl at a desk by the door, confused by my vacant stare, as I stood there frozen, completely stifled by the moment.

When I regained composure I called out to Zal.

"Ryan! Cómo estás?!", he said, greeting me with a hug and refusing to address the elephant in the room.

"So ah, getting ready to play then, huh?". I uttered, managing to find words.

"Yaaaah. Iz gon be Oooh-soohhhmmm...", interrupted a Russian hippie, who had dread locks and an almost skeletal face, indicating a severely lacking caloric intake. He was already dancing to the vague music in the background, with a possessed, trauma-ridden look in his eyes that elicited only a frown from me.

"Yeah man, I playing soon. I just have trouble with speakers." Zal replied.

Yana, Zal's free-spirited Russian friend I spoke with on the phone earlier, who appeared to be the organiser of the event, greeted me with typical Russian stoicism, after she verified me to the lady at the desk. She was a petite and exotic looking Russian hippie with olive skin, around my age and quite attractive. She made me feel as welcome as she possibly could, for the fully clothed buffoon who had just come through the door in military boots and winter clothes, empty-handed and obviously unprepared for a session in a Banya.  

"Ah, okay, I find you seat." She said, looking at me awkwardly. "Hmm, tea up here and Banya in there." She informed, pointing towards a doorway to the main bathing room, as she found a vacant seat for my clothes.

To my relief, she also found me a towel. Seeing that Zal was still adjusting his sound system and wouldn't be playing for a moment, I stripped down and headed for the bathing hall, with my towel wrapped tightly around my waist.

The large, tiled bathing hall, almost ten by twenty metres, found another dozen butt naked Russians, chatting under showers, submerged in a plunge pool or laying across benches in the middle of the room, some being lathered from head to toe with mud or being struck with fistfuls of herbal leaves. Some just laid next to each other, talking, as if it were any other normal day. Nobody seemed phased. It was a bizarre thing to witness. I'd vaguely read about the Banya experience before coming to Russia but had no idea it would be something as free as this. Even though it felt like I had barely been noticed as I walked in, I felt utterly uncomfortable and self conscious and I consider myself pretty casual when it comes to these sorts of things. As to not be seen awkwardly glancing around the hall like some creep, I ducked into a small sauna at the back of the hall. Upon entry to the sauna, I jolted, when I was met with the sight of a middle-aged Russian man, spread naked on his back across the middle bench of the tiny space, with his penis strewn lazily across his thigh, pointed in my direction and in a posture almost as if to taunt me. I sheepishly shuffled to the end of the front bench, attempting to mask my trauma. Several minutes later I reemerged to the main hall and scanned the room for my next move. I tried to seem like I knew what I was doing but the mere fact that I was the only one with a towel wrapped conservatively around my body, indicated otherwise. I became anxious the more I awkwardly pottered around the hall with an air of indecisiveness. It didn't help that a young Russian girl with enormous breasts was now openly showering across the way.

*Stop staring and retreat back to the sauna you fool!*, ordered my brain.

Thankfully when I did so, the sauna was empty and I chilled there for another moment, until a couple of Russian guys around my age and in good shape, strolled on through, stark naked and took a seat.  My discomfort grew even more so, especially when I returned to the main hall, being the only one covering myself. It wasn't the nudity that was making me uncomfortable anymore, I got used to it surprisingly quick, it was the fact that I was the only one who was not naked. The more time went on, the more my discomfort grew. Ultimately, if I was to remain in the bathing hall and actually feel some sense of relaxation, I knew what had to be done. 

So, eventually, I succumbed to the mounting pressure and I dropped the towel. A subtle breeze of anxiety brushed over me like a gust of wind, but then I felt good. I felt calm; comfortable and one with the surrounding community. I took a strangely confident stride toward the raised metal bucket on a pivot in a corner of the hall, pulled down on the chain, dumping the containment of icy water over my naked body and chuckling to myself at the utter absurdity of the situation.

After several rotations of the mini sauna and the plunge pool, I returned to the change room to where Zal had begun his set. Accompanied by his Argentinian friend on percussion box and back up vocals, they played an incredibly unique style of reggae/jazz/rock, to a couple dozen naked human beings, including the naked dancing hippies in the vacant space at the front. I was blown away by how talented Zal was, from his singing to his pedal steel guitar playing and how much I liked his music, all the while being overcome by a euphoric state of ecstatic confusion due to the effects of the sauna and the scene I was witnessing. (^Cue the music^). I couldn't wrap my head around how I ended up in such an absurd but incredible scenario. Here I was, some foreign, 27 year old Australian guy, sitting naked in a Russian bath house, among a sea of others, drinking tea and bobbing heads to some truly authentic music, in a context it should't have been playing in. I couldn't contain my laughter every time I scanned the room, observing the amount of bare flesh, for my eyes to eventually return to the sheer juxtaposition of a fully-clothed Zal, passionately playing live music in a fucking bathroom. It was amazing.

Gradually, the gender ratio improved, though, only slightly, with a couple of beautiful young Russian girls who joined the party, one being an absolute knock out. She remained in a bikini but, of course, when she made a move for the bathing hall with two of her guy friends, half of the men in the dressing room followed suit.

During Zal's interval, Yana stopped by to see how I was doing and I expressed my enjoyment.

"Russian's are simple." She said with a smile, as we began to build some rapport.

When she asked me what I thought of the big main Banya, I didn't know what she was talking about, saying that I had only been in the mini sauna towards the back.

"Oh nooo, you need to go in the back..." She informed, indicating that I had been missing the main attraction the whole time. "Come with me...”.

“You need to go inside and wait until you sweat, then come out and go in the ice pool. That's how you get the full effects of the Banya.", she explained, as she led me through the bathing hall to a short closed-door to another room, hidden away in the back that I had not noticed.

From behind the main Banya door, I could already feel the heat and hear the sounds of voices, between the slaps of leaf bunches whipping flesh. I ventured in. When I opened the door, I was punched in the face with a force of humid heat that I had never felt before. I walked down a small corridor to the main area, that was similar to that of a large wine cellar, where a dozen or so people were congregated. A small stair case lead up to a wooden deck where men and women sat, stood or laid down to have their bodies bludgeoned with vegetation all the while sweating profusely to the point of near death. Atop the deck, I felt the full force of the heat. It must have been at least 30% hotter than the average sauna and within seconds I began to persperate. To the left of the raised deck, was a closed off area that contained the source of heat which took up half the cellar space. Most people wore woolen hats to prevent their brains from frying which was the wiser idea. Less than a minute in, I felt like my nose and ears were going to melt off and couldn't stand it any longer. I darted out of the sauna, leapt into the ice cold plunge pool and was met with immediate relief. I repeated the process several times more, each time staying longer in the sauna and the plunge pool and began to feel the full affects of both. It was addictive. I could feel my lungs expanding wider than normal, allowing me to take in large, soothing breaths, due to the fragrance from the abundance of eucalyptus leaves people where being whipped with. I became further intoxicated with euphoric lightheadedness, the more rotations of the sauna and plunge pool I made. It became obvious why such a historic traditional was so popular.

However refreshing the sauna was, it still took me some time to get past how ridiculous I felt, standing naked in the dimly lit furnace with my genitals on display for the dozen other Russians that did the same. It was amazing how these people remained so calm and unaffected by the context, but I guess that's just what it was. Context. It was nudity in a non sexual context. Well, mostly.

By this time there were now young girls around my age, stepping in and out of the small plunge pool where I'd be sitting, their massive Russian breasts passing by inches from my face. One of the beautiful girls lay on a bench on her side facing her boyfriend, directly outside the path of the main Banya, legs scissored open and completely exposing herself to the many that walked by. With flawless tits that seemed to defy gravity, it became a little much at times, so I’d have to return to the sauna.

Eventually, the others I had interacted with over the course of the evening where now all naked in front of me. The girl at the front desk was now naked and in the sauna next to me. I noticed that Yana had also joined the party and was having her heavily inked back, violently whipped by herbal shrub.

The more time went on, the more I became at ease in the situation. When we all basked in the sauna and pool together, the only dynamic that had changed was that we no longer had arbitrary pieces of fabric covering our bodies. A social barrier had been dissolved. It was a beautiful thing.

Although a little sexually frustrating at times, fundamentally, it was a very liberating feeling to have such a primal experience and to be apart of something on the opposite side of an acceptable social norm. The most surprising thing was how quickly it just felt natural and normal, leaving you wondering why such a thing is so taboo in most contemporary cultures. It was nice to see that there were small subcultures throughout the world that seemed to be transcending ideas such as nudity and the way that their societies perceive it. I was extremely grateful for having such a pure experience, something I feel every person should not hesitate to try.  

And so, as I stood butt naked in that banya that evening, slapping my bare skin with herbal leaves, along side dozens of other Russian men and women, in their strange, far away land, serenaded by the sounds of Zal's incredible tunes echoing throughout the hall, I knew my decision to come to Russia, was the right one.