“Oh, the kids here do one of those every year” someone shrugged by way of explanation. I continued to gawp, utterly horrified, at the giant papier-mâché edifice hanging only a few meters above my disbelieving head.
As my kamikaze driver bombed down the one lane highway from Irkutsk, I marvelled at the distinct lack of snow chains, breaks and general caution utilised by other road users.