100 Chapter 3
tourists cited the obstacles thrown up by indifferent tourist base administra-
tors, who relegated independent tourists to third-class tent accommodations
and refused to honor their food coupons. A group of cycling tourists found
a cold reception in 1934 at the Novorossiisk tourist base, whose registrar
mistook them for local young people out to have a good time. The tourists
eventually convinced the offi cial that although they were dressed like locals,
they were touring cyclists who preferred light clothing to heavy tourist gear.^28
Truly bad trips, often publicized as “how not to travel,” served as a warn-
ing to the ill prepared and a further lesson in the need for tourist discipline.
A scientist on a solo trek across a Caucasian glacier failed to heed expert
advice and fell victim to an avalanche, lying injured six days before being
discovered and taken to a hospital. Poorly formed groups and inadequate
training led to a lack of harmony and cohesion on the trail. One activist de-
scribed a quarrel he witnessed in the Caucasus over who should carry a small
equipment bag: some argued they had carried more than their share, and in
the end the group broke apart, one side returning home and the other con-
tinuing on to Georgia. A group of Belorussian students decided at the last
minute to embark on a “production excursion” through the Caucasus, with
no idea of what they should see, cramming so many factory visits in Groznyi
into a single day that they learned nothing and remembered nothing. Here
too arguments led to the breakup of the group, and throughout the journey,
the fatigue and dissatisfaction produced by poor planning led to arguments
over every trifl e. “No one should follow our example.”^29 Proletarian tourism
required disciplined training and preparation.
Some bad trips ensued because tourists refused to submit to their group
leaders, others because they too lightly assumed they knew about mountain
travel. A novice group leader sent an even more inexperienced team to buy a
sheep for dinner; the group lost the trail, fell down a ravine, and had to spend
the night at an altitude of three thousand meters with no warm clothing.
Later during that same trip, the group decided to forge ahead without their
guide, but on a rainy and dangerous trail, their pack mule slipped over the
side to his death, taking their supplies—all their reserve food and clothing—
with him. A veteran alpinist woman ruefully shared a similar story of her
fi rst trip as a warning to others. She and three companions left their guided
group on a mountain hike for an alternate route that would be “more interest-
ing.” Unable to gauge their time, they dallied too long in the mountains, and
when they attempted a breakneck descent along slippery paths, they barely
managed to avoid plunging down a ravine to their deaths. As night fell, they
built a fi re and shared the last of their provisions: one cucumber and four- NSNM , nos. 17–18 (1930), inside back cover; no. 21 (1930): 16; no. 26 (1931): 8;
Turist-aktivist, no. 12 (1931): 44; NSNM, no. 9 (1932): 15; Turist-aktivist , nos. 8–9 (1932): 21,
42; NSNM , nos. 28–30 (1932): 31; Turist-aktivist, no. 1 (1933): 28; NSNM, no. 17 (1933): 13;
no. 17 (1934): 16; Trud , 4 June 1936; NSNM , no. 11 (1934): 4. - NSNM , no. 11 (1929), inside front cover; NSNM , no. 11 (1930): 16; Turist-aktivist ,
nos. 10–11 (1931): 47 (quote).