How We Lived Under a State of Emergency: Chronicles of a Flood. Part 1

How We Lived Under a State of Emergency: Chronicles of a Flood. Part 1 28 May 2014 Photo: The “Dragon’s Teeth” rocks in the Katun riverbed Photo: The same rocks before the flood We’re living under a state of emergency.... Some people have gone to stay overnight with relatives; others have packed everything they need into waterproof bags and are preparing to head up into the mountains. In every house, by the light of a splinter, people are discussing the current situation... the electricity has been cut off, and we’re collecting rainwater. The forecast for the entire week is bleak: rain. After last night’s downpour, the river burst its banks and began raging as never before. Even the local old-timers can’t remember anything like it. The torrential rain coincided with the mountain snowmelt. On the Elekmonar River, ALL the bridges were swept away (there were 14 of them; one had stood for 100 years) except for one concrete bridge carrying the main road. Since morning, fences, someone’s firewood, gates and enormous logs have been floating down the river. From those very 14 bridges. Photo: there used to be a cowshed, a fence, five metres of road and a beach here A Fisherman’s Trophy—a Naked Man Yesterday, when the floodwaters were not yet so dangerous, Aunt Olya fished a man out of the river. She was hardly likely to take it as a sign of destiny, since the man was drunk, battered by rocks, covered in blood and naked. Well, these things happen: two drunk blokes were tearing across the bridge on a motorcycle, missed it and went flying into the water. One managed to get out and was now running along the bank, howling loudly and calling for help, while the other was swept away by a current so powerful that it tore off his trousers, underpants, boots and even his socks. How he survived is anyone’s guess. Anyway, our Aunt Olya and her neighbour grabbed some planks, lowered one end into the roaring torrent and clung to the other, while the hapless drunk pedestrian clambered onto them and reached out a helping hand to the drunken swimmer. After quite a struggle and several failed attempts, they finally managed to pull the ill-fated motorcyclist out—they got to him in time. Now we’re nominating her for a lifesaving medal. And Aunt Olya is probably swallowing Validol right now, because the water has reached her little house, the bridge is gone, and she is cut off from the main stretch of dry land together with her geese and chickens. And I’m afraid to imagine what has become of her livestock, which lived perilously close to the boggy bank. Friends and Neighbours A round of our friends’ and neighbours’ houses showed that so far everyone is all right, nobody has lost their sense of humour, the movements of the floating fences are being tracked, and everyone is ready for a siege. A friend with children, who also lives right on the riverbank with a view of the collapsed century-old bridge, bought a load of chocolate and came over to our place during the day so we could “be scared together.” We were scared for a while, then went back to our own homes. We’re exchanging text messages. If anything happens, we’ll swim over to rescue them, because their dad left yesterday, and in a war without a man around—well, you understand... Collecting water for drinking and other needs Preparing to take in refugees For now, this feels more like a dangerous adventure than a disaster. God willing, may it stay that way. By evening, beside Nadya’s flooded gate, people were even playing a game called “Guess Whose Fence Just Floated Past.” Spirits are high. Only the cow is panicking: half her pen is already under water. By evening, the cow finally broke through the cowshed wall and floated downstream to the lane, then galloped uphill along it. They milked her right there in the lane, then led her to a plateau called Barantal. Let’s hope we don’t all have to evacuate there soon. Our house stands on high ground; it won’t flood . So, just in case, we’re preparing to take in refugees. If the downpour doesn’t stop (and it has started up again with three times the force), it looks as though we’ll have to open a reception centre for flood victims. Personally, I’m afraid there will be casualties and destruction. Losses Half the village has already been cut off from the outside world because the so-called “Karelinsky” Bridge was swept away. Its twisted metal railings are dangling, caught on a new logjam between large trees. That half of the village can now be reached only by a goat track over the mountain... We have not been cut off yet, but the utility poles have already been knocked down and there is no electricity—so no radio, TV or internet either. The phones and computers are running on the last of their battery power. Our friends’ fence floated away, and so did their neighbours’. And three truckloads of firewood as well. Those are real losses, especially given the modest incomes of village residents. Some of the firewood floated down to the neighbour’s place downstream. A small bus is lying beside his house. Logs and chunks of firewood are drifting into the orange interior of the PAZ bus, bustling about, knocking against the walls and coming to rest, forming a new logjam. Andrei suggested to the neighbour, “Later, you should place an advert: ‘Busload of firewood for sale. Buyer to collect.’” Altai Mountains, 2014 To be continued— A Sailor Will Find the Sea Anywhere. How We Lived Under a State of Emergency: Chronicles of a Flood. Part 2