(Please back date to 2/15/13)
As the title of the post implies, my evening last night consisted of my first real taste of Siberian hospitality. My Mongolian compartment mates and my two Aussie companions, Sean and Karen, destroyed two bottles of Arkhi, authentic (and quite good) Mongolian vodka. As you can well imagine, train rides through this part of the world are long and nothing passes the time like a good drink. The tradition on these trains is of sharing with your buddies, and oh did they share. Once the vodka started flowing, so did the conversation, a mix of English, Mongolian, and hand gestures. The Mongolians were students in grad school in Irkutsk. I don’t remember their names (they were authentically Mongolian sounding, rest assured) but I do remember, through our vodka induced conversation, that the guy, 26, was studying architectural engineering and the girl, 25, was studying medicine, and both planned to use their studies to get jobs and help develop UB.
But I (well, all five of us) drank too much. When we pulled into the station at half past 6 in the AM, I was still sleeping and so were my two Mongolian friends. Our provodnista had to come knocking on our doors to get us moving. Dizzily, I gathered my belongings and stumbled off the train to the frigid Siberian air on the platform in Irkutsk. Russia! I’m here.
I was bundled up quite nicely apart from my very exposed face so the walk from the hostel made me forget all about my hangover. I knew where I was going. I had researched ahead of time how to get to the hostel in the middle of the city about 3 km away. But getting there required that I cross a bridge over the large, beautiful, and frigid Angara River, the river that flows west from the bottom of Lake Baikal. And it was 6:30 in the morning. By the time I got to the bridge the sun was just rising above the horizon over the river, the sky lit in purple and orange, and the moment I stepped onto the bridge I was immediately hit in the face with a wall of real, Siberian wind blowing in from the river. My body was fine (I bought some boots in Mongolia, my toes are now happy), but my face had never experienced something so naturally offensive. My nose was dripping, the steam from my breath collected on the pathetic excuse I have for a beard and froze in droplets, my eyes were tearing. But the river, through my tears, was remarkably beautiful. The river never freezes despite the temperature because it flows so quickly and in such volume. But huge pieces of ice, broken from the lake which does freeze upstream, flow along the surface of the river. It looks magical. But it was hard to appreciate the beauty of the scene, the sunrise, the ice in the powerful river, when you’re being hit with thirty knots of Siberian wind.
I did make it however. The hostel was easy to find. It is set in the downtown area of Irkutsk on Lenin Street (obviously) and I was greeted by a very friendly Russian girl with very good, accented English and was easily set up for the day.
I decided to spend the first day just walking around, seeing the sights of the city. I had my guidebook which helped me locate some beautiful churches, some museums, and a few statues (Russians love their statues). One of the more interesting places I visited was the Volkonsky House Museum, a large 19th century mansion near the center, constructed for a bougeios member of the original Decembrists, activists during the Tsar period, committed to exile in the Siberian far east. The house was really cool and the staff had done an excellent job maintaining the original house as it was back then. The Decembrist (and more famously, his wife that followed him into exile) threw elegant parties for the city’s VIPs and was very important within the developing city. There was loads of information about the history of the family members, the Decembrists, and the city in English. But I was the only visitor that day and the old women who make up the small staff of the museum were very excited I was there. They very quickly found out that I don’t speak any Russian and I very quickly figured out that they don’t speak any English. So it was odd when in each room I visited I was followed very closely by a small, eager, Russian babushka with reading glasses who supplemented my reading with loads of information in Russian. She didn’t care that I didn’t speak Russian. As long as I nodded in attention and interjected with things like, “Oh?” and ”Mm hmm” and “OK”, she was quite satisfied.
I visited a few other small museums and statues but mostly I got a feel for the city. I had been to Russia before. My ship (when I worked in the Navy) pulled into Vladivostok, a coastal city on the Pacific, near Japan, for a week so I got a sample of Russian culture there, but I was again reminded of how unique and interesting the people are in this country. Russians can’t speak English as a whole. That’s not unique but it is for a country of Caucasians. The women are stunning and wear fur and high heels - all of them. The people are mostly unfriendly and can be off putting (not all the time though as I am finding) but aren’t off putting if you engage them. In fact they are quite friendly and are very willing to help if asked. The city itself is unique, even as a Siberian city. Most buildings, houses, structures that date to the city’s founding in the mid-18th century are made of wood with very intricate patterns carved into the edges and siding. They are all unique. The houses are mostly plain colored, brown usually, but the edges and doors are painted vibrant colors. And most of these houses are the originals (except for a large portion of the city that was ravaged by a fire in the late 19th century) and are partly sunken below the surface of the ground. A lot of the houses are crooked or slanted with corners of the structures partly submerged into the earth. An interesting sight.
The highlight of the day though was my visit to the orthodox Bogoyavlensky Cathedral. It was late in the day and I was very tired and wanted to return to the hostel for a rest (my hangover was gone but I was still pretty exhausted from last night). I almost skipped it but decided at the last minute to duck in. When I first walked through the heavy wooden doors I was greeted with sweet, Russian choir music. A quartet of singers were rehearsing presumably for the weekend’s services. And they were so remarkably talented. The music hung in the air of the cathedral as I wandered around admiring the very beautiful paintings along every inch of wall and ceiling as well as the skillfully crafted statues of saints and the Holy Mother. Orthodox churches (apparently, from my noticing) are partitioned into various rooms with one a bit larger than the others. There is a pulpit but no pews, just a large standing area. Churchgoers were constantly coming in and out, genuflecting and praying in front of various statues and paintings, lighting candles. I walked slowly around the church, taking in the artwork, and then I stood in the back, observing the churchgoers in prayer and listening to the choir. It was a very peaceful end to a very busy day. I returned to the hostel in a very good mood.
The one hostel employee, Jane, is a local girl from Irkutsk and we stayed up late chatting in the common kitchen area. She invited some of her friends over and we, plus a German traveler, talked about a range of topics from politics (all Russians love this topic) to languages (Jane is fluent in Russian, English, and German) to travels. We shared a few beers (I opted out, I needed a break), and then the conversation moved to travel in Irkutsk. They were thrilled that we, me and the German, Ronny, wanted to spend some time in Irkutsk and see Lake Baikal and were disappointed that we intended to stay only for a few days. I get the feeling that Siberian Russians are fiercely proud of their home regions but are surprised that people want to visit. Irkutsk though, has gone a long way recently to encourage tourists to come. They said the city has recently spruced up its infrastructure and museums in an effort to attract visitors. I think its location along the famous railway and its proximity to the lake is enough attract travelers (like me). But these girls want people someday to come for the region and the people as well. I think they probably will.
So, my first day in Russia was a good one. Tomorrow, I’m on a bus to Listvyanka, a village on the shores of Lake Baikal, the largest freshwater lake in the world. It’s going to be good!
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| A distant view of the bridge over the Angara River |
But I (well, all five of us) drank too much. When we pulled into the station at half past 6 in the AM, I was still sleeping and so were my two Mongolian friends. Our provodnista had to come knocking on our doors to get us moving. Dizzily, I gathered my belongings and stumbled off the train to the frigid Siberian air on the platform in Irkutsk. Russia! I’m here.
I was bundled up quite nicely apart from my very exposed face so the walk from the hostel made me forget all about my hangover. I knew where I was going. I had researched ahead of time how to get to the hostel in the middle of the city about 3 km away. But getting there required that I cross a bridge over the large, beautiful, and frigid Angara River, the river that flows west from the bottom of Lake Baikal. And it was 6:30 in the morning. By the time I got to the bridge the sun was just rising above the horizon over the river, the sky lit in purple and orange, and the moment I stepped onto the bridge I was immediately hit in the face with a wall of real, Siberian wind blowing in from the river. My body was fine (I bought some boots in Mongolia, my toes are now happy), but my face had never experienced something so naturally offensive. My nose was dripping, the steam from my breath collected on the pathetic excuse I have for a beard and froze in droplets, my eyes were tearing. But the river, through my tears, was remarkably beautiful. The river never freezes despite the temperature because it flows so quickly and in such volume. But huge pieces of ice, broken from the lake which does freeze upstream, flow along the surface of the river. It looks magical. But it was hard to appreciate the beauty of the scene, the sunrise, the ice in the powerful river, when you’re being hit with thirty knots of Siberian wind.
I did make it however. The hostel was easy to find. It is set in the downtown area of Irkutsk on Lenin Street (obviously) and I was greeted by a very friendly Russian girl with very good, accented English and was easily set up for the day.
I decided to spend the first day just walking around, seeing the sights of the city. I had my guidebook which helped me locate some beautiful churches, some museums, and a few statues (Russians love their statues). One of the more interesting places I visited was the Volkonsky House Museum, a large 19th century mansion near the center, constructed for a bougeios member of the original Decembrists, activists during the Tsar period, committed to exile in the Siberian far east. The house was really cool and the staff had done an excellent job maintaining the original house as it was back then. The Decembrist (and more famously, his wife that followed him into exile) threw elegant parties for the city’s VIPs and was very important within the developing city. There was loads of information about the history of the family members, the Decembrists, and the city in English. But I was the only visitor that day and the old women who make up the small staff of the museum were very excited I was there. They very quickly found out that I don’t speak any Russian and I very quickly figured out that they don’t speak any English. So it was odd when in each room I visited I was followed very closely by a small, eager, Russian babushka with reading glasses who supplemented my reading with loads of information in Russian. She didn’t care that I didn’t speak Russian. As long as I nodded in attention and interjected with things like, “Oh?” and ”Mm hmm” and “OK”, she was quite satisfied.
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| The main hall of the Raising of the Cross Church in Irkutsk |
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| Irkutsk is famous for its Siberian style of wooden architecture, some of it sinking into the ground |
The one hostel employee, Jane, is a local girl from Irkutsk and we stayed up late chatting in the common kitchen area. She invited some of her friends over and we, plus a German traveler, talked about a range of topics from politics (all Russians love this topic) to languages (Jane is fluent in Russian, English, and German) to travels. We shared a few beers (I opted out, I needed a break), and then the conversation moved to travel in Irkutsk. They were thrilled that we, me and the German, Ronny, wanted to spend some time in Irkutsk and see Lake Baikal and were disappointed that we intended to stay only for a few days. I get the feeling that Siberian Russians are fiercely proud of their home regions but are surprised that people want to visit. Irkutsk though, has gone a long way recently to encourage tourists to come. They said the city has recently spruced up its infrastructure and museums in an effort to attract visitors. I think its location along the famous railway and its proximity to the lake is enough attract travelers (like me). But these girls want people someday to come for the region and the people as well. I think they probably will.
So, my first day in Russia was a good one. Tomorrow, I’m on a bus to Listvyanka, a village on the shores of Lake Baikal, the largest freshwater lake in the world. It’s going to be good!
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