These are the Diomede Islands in the centre of the Bering Strait.
Behind me is Greater Diomede - uninhabited, a Russian island -
and the one I'm on - Little Diomede - is American.
50 miles to the north is the Arctic Circle. Behind me runs the International Date Line.
On Greater Diomede it's already tomorrow.
From these straits, the Pacific 0cean stretches southwards
to cover one third of the Earth's surface.
0ur journey will take us all the way round this vast ocean.
50,000 miles of travel through 18 countries.
If all goes well, when we return here in a year,
we shall have been full circle.
A late August sun shines for our departure,
making light of the harsh life in this village,
battered by the elements for nine months a year.
The 180 inhabitants of this windswept rock live by fishing, and always have done.
- What? - (BOY) What are you doing?
Just making a film.
The oil-rich government of Alaska has done much to make life here comfortable.
There's a school, satellite TV, electricity and abundant fresh water.
And the island has voted itself alcohol-free.
But they still hunt beluga whales in boats of walrus skin
and it's in one of these that I shall begin my Pacific journey.
The locals are, frankly, unimpressed.
They've seen travellers trying to cross the ice bridge between Russia and America
or on their way to the Arctic.
This is just one more crazy departure
for a people who wouldn't exchange Diomede for anywhere else on Earth.
So we say, "Farewell, Diomede!"
See you in a year.
It's good to be on the move - out on the ocean on a wing and a prayer
and a walrus-skin boat.
What more could I ask for? Except a helicopter like the rest of the crew.
130 miles south of Diomede lies Nome -
a doughty, resilient community of 5,000, clinging to the shores of western Alaska.
The spirit of the last frontier survives in Nome.
They're proud of the fact that the nearest tree is 75 miles away.
In Nome, real men drive pickup trucks and never wash them.
90 years ago, these bleak beaches were called the "Golden Sands of Nome".
30,000 prospectors camped here in search of a fortune... and they still come.
Excuse me dropping in, but I was told I must see the Golden Sands of Nome.
- See if it's true. - Legendary!
That was three hours of work. Maybe $100.
- Three hours this afternoon? - Yeah. Maybe $100.
I'm gonna suck it right out.
- Are you together? - Yeah. This is my son.
Your son? Really? So is this a hobby?
This is a hobby. I invest all the gold money.
I don't have to live on it. I'm buying a new Corvette with this year's gold.
Last year... Two years ago I bought a Corvette.
Last year I bought a house. I've got five homes now.
With gold prices at $350 an ounce, there's still money to be made at the Bering Sea.
But everyone has his own way of making it.
Stan Cook is an Englishman.
Not for him the delicacy of the gold pan.
Stan is slowly and systematically washing away the beach.
- Why do you do this? - Why?
- Yeah. - So I don't die from lack of activity. It's fun.
Do you have to get special permission to pan on the beach?
No. Just from my wife. My wife is the only one I have to ask.
How much does she pay you?
I mean, how much do you have to pay her? Sorry. I goofed.
How pay much she her you do?
Pebble number 13. Bering Sea. Ocean. Sky.
Palin here. Very cold. Chill, chill. Nosey dribble and soon terrible temperature.
Flu-y. Fall over deady. No more Pacific Rimmy.
I'm deteriorating fast and it's only the second day.
This may be the frozen north, but no one leaves on a sled any more.
Thank you.
They know how to treat a star.
Thank you.
There are no roads from Nome to the rest of Alaska.
From here, there's only one quick way out.
0ur circle around the Pacific will follow the Asian side first.
So we must make our way across to Russia.
The US Coast Guard has offered to take us on their supply flight
from Kodiak down the Aleutian chain to the island of Attu.
They leave from their Kodiak base in two days.
(BELLS RING)
130 years ago, America bought Alaska from the Russians for $7 million -
less than two cents an acre.
But at the 0rthodox church, Kodiak still feels firmly Russian.
(CHOIR SINGS SOFTLY)
As we have two days before our plane leaves for Attu,
there's time to see the sights.
The greatest of these is the Kodiak brown bear
which can be seen in the wild on an overnight trip from the capital.
The only way there is by floatplane.
These workhorses - this one is 33 years old -
are the equivalent of cars on a rugged island like Kodiak.
The weather is good as we land 60 miles away on Karluk Lake,
so we set off straight away with Scott the ranger,
Siggi and Rosie - two enthusiastic Germans -
and a few thousand blackflies.
We're in luck. Somewhere beyond the flies is a bear.
This is one of her cubs right here. He's OK.
- He's a year old? - A year and a half old this one.
Are they aware of us now?
That little cub... His mom picked up on that when he made a few sounds there.
So what are they thinking now?
She's more interested in pushing this other bear out of the area.
(INCESSANT BUZZING)
Shelly and Olga have these disputes all the time. Usually neither one of them gives in.
The bears scour the river for migrating red salmon.
A full-grown female will eat 30 fish a day.
- Where are the males? - That's a good question.
They come through in the evenings or late at night.
We see a few, but we don't see a high population of males here.
They're scattered around.
- Are they much bigger? - Yes. Sometimes 300-400 pounds more.
Finding somewhere to put the flies would help.
You can hardly see the bears for the flies.
That one up there has hunkered down. Looks like a huge boulder.
Next morning the weather has turned. We're packed and ready to go.
All we need now is an aeroplane.
When it doesn't come, we resign ourselves to a second evening here.
That's very nice. Lucky you. So where are you going to next?
Maybe Kenai.
Look at this. What a feast!
Rosie and Siggi are relaxed about the delay,
but they do not have to worry about circumnavigating the Pacific.
Has this happened before, people being stuck here?
We've had a few people this year that have spent up to four extra days here.
But that's where the town was fogged in solid. It's mainly fog conditions in Kodiak.
It's now 24 hours since we should have been airlifted from Karluk Lake
back to Kodiak and off to Attu, but we're still here.
I can see the mountains over which the plane should come, but there's no sign of it.
We've heard there's fog in Kodiak, so we're still stranded.
There's nothing we can do but sit and wait.
The day passes with no sight of the plane.
There is a real chance that we will miss our Coast Guard flight to Attu
and we can't tell the Coast Guard what's happened.
Scott's proud of the fact that there's no phone on the island.
In some desperation, I ask him if there is any other way out.
You could walk to Larsen Bay.
It'd be around five miles of walking and six miles of floating.
How do we get down the Karluk River?
I know of an old raft. I'm not sure about its condition. We'd have to check it out.
Are there bears down there?
Not as thick, but there's one point along the river on this corner
where they're doing lots of feeding - catching king salmon, red salmon.
You will encounter bears, I'm sure, along the river.
There may be one female with three spring cubs that might stay there.
There is one, as Scott warned, and it's quite large.
Suddenly, the idea of walking out loses its appeal.
It comes right out of the blue... or the grey.
For a moment, I don't believe what I'm seeing.
Then I'm running out to welcome our saviour.
Impenetrable fog had grounded all flights out of Kodiak City for three days,
but no one's complaining - we've been rescued.
Ah, down to the last pair of underpants!
The bad news is that the Coast Guard flight has left.
The good news is that we've got on the last flight of the season
on the only scheduled service between Alaska and Russia.
- Morning. - Good morning.
Petropavlovsk, please. I have trouble saying that. You know where I mean?
We know where you mean. And it is how it's pronounced.
- How many passengers are travelling? - There's seven of us.
- How many bags will you be checking? - 43.
- 43?! - We're going on somewhere.
- We have 43 tags here. - Good.
If you could set your bags up here, we'd appreciate that.
- Do we have comfortable seats? - Very.
If there's nobody in first class, we could go there. We won't bother anybody.
Just give us a glass of champagne and some bags of nuts and we'll sit there quietly.
Flight 203 from Anchorage to Petropavlovsk.
From America's last frontier to Russia's last frontier.
Kamchatka lies 2,000 miles away. The contrast is stark.
Alaska is the land of opportunity,
and Kamchatka, until six years ago, was closed to all foreigners.
But that's changed, and I'm welcomed with a traditional offering of bread and salt.
Oh. Thank you. Oh, dear.
Unfortunately it's not for me at all,
although some of the press half recognise a star when they see one.
The real celebrities are an Alaskan delegation from Homer, led by the mayor.
The way he tucks in makes me strangely envious
of the new cordiality in Russian-American relations.
(INDISTINCT INTRODUCTIONS)
Greetings over, the Alaskan delegation is swept away in the official limousine.
But the offerings from the people of Petropavlovsk don't go unappreciated.
I was given it by a friend. It was a bit of a mistake.
They weren't for me. They were for some Alaskan-Kamchatkan friendship society.
But they left me with the cake. I didn't get the flowers, but I got the cake.
Very nice. We'll share it. It should last us a week.
Next morning we meet the team who are to show us the wilder side of Kamchatka.
- Director of the Kronotsky Reserve. - Hello, Sergei.
- Cook, Svetlana. - Svetlana. Excellent.
- My assistant, Alexander. - Alexander.
- And interpreter Konstantin. - Konstantin.
And for those who may not know, this is Igor Nosov, who is the big man here,
who's going to guide us through Kamchatka and all the way down the Russian Pacific.
So we're all ready. Igor, we are in your hands. Let's get aboard.
Thank you. Please.
Svetlana. Sergei...
And me.
Kretchet - the name on the aircraft -
is one of the myriad private companies running these old military helicopters.
The word means "falcon", but this mighty beast feels more like an elephant.
For one moment, I thought we'd decided to go by road instead.
There are no roads across Kamchatka and very few people.
Those that brave the weather and the rough terrain are mostly nomads.
We're looking for a tribe called the Evenks, who live off great herds of reindeer.
We locate one of their encampments. It seems remarkably reindeer-free.
Can he tell us where are the reindeer herds?
(TRANSLATES)
- Do you see the mist over there? - Yeah! I don't see anything in the mist!
- He said that they are there. - In the mist?
- Not far from here. About two kilometres. - Two kilometres.
How many reindeer does he have up there?
(KONSTANTIN TRANSLATES)
- One thousand. - One thousand?!
Well, I think we should try and see them if we can.
So the bird labours into the air again, threatening to blow away the Evenks.
I missed the Kodiak bears in a cloud of flies. I missed the Coast Guard flight to Attu.
This time I'm determined not to miss the reindeer.
By now, the entire crew, including the pilot's son, are on full reindeer alert.
But there's not an antler to be seen.
Then the weather clears, the landscape changes,
and we're over some of the most spectacular scenery in the world.
Tourism is not yet established here and it's doubtful it ever will be.
This part of Kamchatka is protected.
The 6,000 square miles below us is known as the Kronotsky Reserve.
This is the crater of the Uzon volcano.
There are 25 volcanoes on the reserve - 12 are still active.
This is a truly amazing place - the Kronotsky Reserve.
I haven't seen this much steam since I gave up trainspotting.
It is just the size of the place -
not only what you see on the surface, like the volcanoes, but what is underneath.
I've never anywhere else felt the sense of the earth bubbling and pulsing beneath me,
energy just pouring out.
And it is in the middle of nowhere. We're extraordinarily privileged to be here.
This is inaccessible, remote land of Kamchatka.
The geysers erupt with clockwork precision.
This one - the Giant - blasts 100 feet in the air every three hours.
I persuade Sergei and Konstantin to take me closer.
- Be careful because of very hot steam. - Yeah. How hot is that?
257 degrees above zero.
Wind, blow that way, please. Come on, God, you've been on our side today so far.
Attention, please. Slowly.
- Slowly. - Yes.
I'm going to keep under the water to avoid being bitten to death.
After this water... too young. Possible 20 years ago.
I feel 52 already, Igor. I am 52!
It looks rather nice up there by the lake.
Is it my imagination or has this fish soup got vodka in it?
- Is there vodka in here? - Yes.
- Do you always put vodka in fish soup? - Russian fish soup always with vodka.
- It's really good. - Red wine.
Moldavian wine. It's fantastic.
- Welcome. - Cheers.
- Cheers. Cheers. - The fresh rustle of plastic!
(IGOR SINGS IN RUSSIAN)
Next morning, we're brought down to earth.
Rain sets in and we're confined to 0lga's hunting lodge in Petropavlovsk.
Perfect weather for learning a cheerful Russian song.
Can you do this into a tape recorder? Just a bit.
I don't think I can learn the whole thing. OK. We're on.
So in your own time. Igor with... What is it called? The song?
This is "Poliushko Pole". It's very traditional Russian song.
Composer... Knipper.
- Poliushko Pole... - Fantastic Russian. Repeat.
Two words I'm OK on. Three I'm rather foxed.
OK. Igor live in the studio.
(SINGS IN RUSSIAN)
# Poliushko Pole...
# Poliushko Pole... #
(HUMS)
- That is good! - So, big and then small.
Loud and then soft. Manic and then melancholy.
This is Russian character.
All this water reminds me that there is something absent from my traveller's kit
and from most Russian hotels as well.
Bath plugs. Bath plugs.
Don't see a plethora of bath plugs.
But one can but ask.
Ah. There's somebody over here.
(SPEAKS RUSSIAN)
...probka dlia vanni?
- Nyet. - Nyet?
- Here, nyet? Nowhere here? Nyet. - Nyet probka dlia vanni.
Nyet probka dlia vanni. Spasiba.
No bath plugs.
(SINGS TO "POLIUSHKO POLE" TAPE)
(DOG BARKS)
Igor?
Next morning, whilst 0lga makes potato cakes for breakfast,
Igor is negotiating transport to get us out of here.
(PHONE RINGS)
(SPEAKS RUSSIAN)
Thank you very much!
Igor's subtle techniques of persuasion worked.
We find ourselves back at Petropavlovsk airport.
0nce again we're on our way around the Pacific Rim.
0ur destination is the city of Magadan,
600 miles away on the shores of the Sea of 0khotsk
Magadan was built by slave labour in the 1930s.
It was the administration centre for the mineral mines of the Kolyma region.
Most of the inhabitants of this bleak city
are the sons, daughters and grandchildren of prisoners and prison officials.
This is where Stalin sent the "enemies of the people".
Writers, artists, lawyers - anyone on whom his suspicions fell.
In the heart of Magadan is the start of the long road that led to the camps.
It runs for hundreds of miles.
It, too, was built on slave labour, laid over the bodies of those who perished.
We're taking one of the survivors back to the gulag camps where he once worked.
His name is Ivan Yakovlev. He's not returned to this harsh wilderness for 50 years.
These are the old uranium mines where men worked in isolation
to extract the vital ingredients for Russia's first atomic bomb.
It was always officially denied that forced labour camps existed,
but Ivan Yakovlev shows us the remains of a cemetery 200 miles north of Magadan.
There is evidence to prove that someone knew
who was buried in these communal graves.
Each one is marked with an identification disc made from an old tin lid.
"F"? No, that's a Russian G. "24."
There's a bone there.
(THEY SPEAK RUSSIAN)
What would have been the main cause of death?
(THEY SPEAK RUSSIAN)
He told me that the main causes of death were overwork, radiation and terrible hunger.
These are the buildings where the labourers lived.
Ironically, the best preserved is the prison.
As if one were necessary. If you escaped from here, there was nowhere to go.
In the shadow of the mines,
there are poignant reminders of those forced to work them.
It's estimated that from 1933 until their closure in 1953,
three million Russians were sent to their deaths in camps like these.
I asked Tatiana, the interpreter, what Ivan Yakovlev's feelings are on returning here.
He says he's quite cheerful.
The generals and politicians who ran the gulags are all dead.
But despite everything that he's been through, he's alive.
And, as he himself says, "I'm smiling."
When Ivan was released from the gulag in 1946,
he was given a medal for services to his country in the Great Patriotic War.
He treasures it.
(CHEERFUL HUMMING)
We leave Magadan later today. Still time for last-minute shopping.
The store is called "Things For The House". That reminds me - there IS something I need.
Tweezers, brushes, soap.
Corkscrews, bulbs.
Bath taps. That looks a bit like a probka.
Ah.
Excuse me?
Probka. Probka dlia vanni.
(IMITATES GURGLING WATER)
- No? Nyet? Nyet? - Nyet.
Nyet probka?
Got something like it, I think.
(SPEAKS RUSSIAN)
Like a cork?
What she offers me has holes in it.
I want something rubber. No. I think that would let the water through.
No. Spasiba.
There is still one Russian city left in which I can buy a plug.
1,400 miles due south is Vladivostock - the capital of the Russian Far East -
where the only railway line across Russia meets the Pacific.
This is a first for me. The last few miles of my journey to Vladivostock
are along the Trans-Siberian Railway line.
The 6,000-mile journey from Moscow takes six days and crosses seven time zones
before the train reaches the glorious extravaganza of Vladivostock station -
built in 1912 in the Bavarian Gothic style and freshly painted by an Italian film company.
Vladivostock is full of Japanese cars
and the midday bustle has an almost European feel.
It's hard to believe the city was closed to foreigners as recently as 1992.
It was closed because it was home to the mighty Russian Pacific Fleet.
The fleet now goes on joint manoeuvres with its old enemies America and China
and is no longer mighty.
My hotel in the leafy suburbs is called the Vlad Motor Inn.
It's a joint venture with a Canadian company. Could my search be over?
Do the baths have bath plugs here?
Er... probka dlia vanni here?
- Do the baths have bath plugs here? - Yeah. They're made of rubber.
You don't know how glad I am to hear that. It'll save me wandering around Vladivostock.
- You can take a deep bath! - I can bath! Thank you.
- Where's this? - It's the second floor.
- Thank you. - Have a good time here.
Ah, the pleasure of retained waterl
(SINGS "POLIUSHKO POLE")
(PIPED TINKLING MUSIC)
The navy wakes early. I do too.
The Pacific Fleet has agreed to be my host for the day.
(BELL CLANGS)
(SHOUTS ORDERS IN RUSSIAN)
(PIPED BUGLE CALL)
Where the hammer and sickle used to fly, the Russian navy now has a new flag.
0nce it's raised, the day's work begins.
I have been invited to join Vice-Admiral Chirkov,
deputy commander of the Pacific Fleet, aboard his launch called Typhoon.
I've one special favour to ask him.
We have an ensemble of dancing and song of Pacific Fleet.
Yes. That's what I'm talking about.
- And admiral chief of this ensemble. - Really?
This ensemble his son.
- Does the admiral himself enjoy singing? - Yes, yes.
(SPEAKS RUSSIAN)
- Because... - He likes a song?
# Poliushko Pole... #
(SINGS IN RUSSIAN)
He like hear. Not song. Only hear.
Anyway, I would like to, if he doesn't mind,
maybe he could give me the address of the choir
and if they're having a rehearsal, I could just pop along.
- It is not a problem. - No problem? Thank you very much.
(SPEAKS RUSSIAN)
As long as there are no auditions.
- Have you meet with ensemble? - No. I would like to.
- OK. - Thank you.
- I've been learning this song. - Poliushko Pole.
And will be Poliushko Pole special for you.
- With you together. - Please thank the admiral very much.
I hope I will do the song justice.
So it is that, with permission from the highest level,
I'm given temporary membership of the legendary, once mighty,
Pacific Fleet Ensemble.
(RHYTHMIC TAPPING)
A dream about to be fulfilled.
Breathe in.
Two fingers to the forehead. Ready to go. Oh, my gosh. There's more.
Do I need make-up?
(MUSICAL INTRODUCTION)
Thank you.
(CHOIR HUMS)
# Poliushko Pole...
# Poliush! #