-41.2°C, borscht, pirozhki

And in the morning it was raining again. So far my stay in Japan feels like an onsen. One day I'm drenched in sweat from the heat, the next I'm getting soaked in the rain.

I had 1200 yen left. You can't exchange dollars in the village, and the local bank spits out my card, explaining the reason in Japanese. At the grocery store I had to give up a thousand, since their register also doesn't accept my card. There's a chance it got demagnetized, in which case I have 200 yen and some food for two days. Not much. And then there's this annoying rain, as always at the worst time.

I left Bifuka only at ten, deciding to reach Asahikawa no matter what. I need to cover 120 kilometers on a forest road through the mountains. The road can become as routine as work. In a new place you look at everything with fresh eyes. Some worker comes and starts telling you what's what: this bitch, that fool, be friends with this one, not with that one. You look at him, kind of nod, but think to yourself: screw him, I'll talk to everyone and form my own opinion. You work for a week or two, and while everything is new to you, you don't notice the little things. But then a month passes, you settle in and for the first time get irritated that someone didn't close the door behind them, another one cracks his knuckles and brings some stinky cutlets for lunch. Before you didn't care, you looked at things globally, but now the unclosed door occupies all your thoughts.

I'm pushing my bike uphill on a forest road, a bee has latched onto me. I don't remember it bothering me before. Maybe it did, but then I was admiring the forest and listening to birds. Now it's buzzing and circling around me. It flies close to my face and buzzes right in my ear. I wave my hand, but it doesn't even think of flying away, just moves five centimeters to the side, flies around my hand and heads for my eyes again. I swat again and again, but it doesn't think of flying away, it lands on my head. I want it to explode, die a painful death. But instead I let go of the handlebar and hit myself on the head, the bike's handlebar twists, and it falls at my feet. That's it, I'm going to kill it. The bee, as if sensing the critical nature of the situation, flew away. I pick up the bike, and there it is again. I curse at it, talk to it. This continues for about half an hour. The final point in this confrontation was a pleasant smack — I sent the bee to the stands, wielding my pump like a baseball bat. Moshiri district, near Lake Syumarinai, is famous for having the lowest temperature ever recorded in Japan at -41.2 degrees Celsius. In honor of such a low temperature, monuments with the numbers -41.2 have been erected here. This district is also famous for special dust that sparkles in the sun, they grow wheat here and make Soba noodles, but they didn't build a park for those, like they did in honor of -41.1 degrees Celsius. The park is located in the middle of the forest. It has a large electronic thermometer display showing the current temperature. The park is empty, and birds are singing.

I went into the tourist information house. Behind glass in the reception area, a woman was sleeping with her head hanging on her chest. I needed a bathroom and possibly an outlet, I didn't want to disturb her. I found an outlet and set up a charging center for all my gadgets in the bathroom, also shaved and washed my clothes there. An hour later, when all procedures were finished, I came out of the bathroom, the woman had already woken up. We got to talking. — To Asahikawa today? Well, good luck to you. — It was already four o'clock in the afternoon. — Is it far? Nariko, with the Japanese trait of giving precise answers, started checking the distance in Google Maps. — 94 kilometers.

In mid-August it starts getting dark at seven already, reaching Asahikawa really would be tough, plus no one's waiting for me there, I still haven't managed to get a place through CS. Nariko spread out a map of the district in front of me and pointed to Lake Syumarinai. It's an artificial reservoir 30 kilometers from the park, there's camping there. I liked the idea of camping by the lake so much that I completely forgot I only had 200 yen. — I can't stay there, I need to exchange money. — I explained the simple math to her. — Maybe you could exchange some for me? Nariko laughed — there's nothing to do with dollars in Moshiri. The situation is complicated. I could buy bread and try to make it to Asahikawa 94 kilometers, for that I'd need to leave now, but I felt so good and warm in the soft chair, I wasn't in a hurry.

— You have a blog in Russian? — Yes, I was born in Russia on Sakhalin. Nariko laughed in surprise and, pressing her chin to her chest, looked at me. — On Sakhalin? — a new wave of delight washed over her. Then she thought and, reaching her hand toward me, blurted out in Russian: — Pirozhki, borsch, kasha. Now I laughed in surprise. — How do you know that? — I don't know, I remember from somewhere. Then she told me that on Hokkaido many elderly Japanese know Russian quite well, since they lived on Sakhalin before World War II. Nariko remembered a few more words, including, of course, matryoshka and balalaika. — My mother-in-law speaks Russian well.

We talked for another 20 minutes, then I left, just taking a chance: maybe to the lake, or maybe I'll make it even further. Half an hour later the road went downhill — a reward I enjoy after a long climb. The Offspring is playing in my player, I'm picking up speed 30 kilometers per hour, 35.. A small truck started passing me. Nariko was behind the wheel. Recognizing my face, she started to pull over...