(Please back date to 2/17/13)
I woke up this morning feeling more refreshed, more relaxed than I have throughout my entire trip so far. I awoke in a comfortable bed within a cabin retreat deep in the Siberian taiga, deep in the forest, a few kilometers in the hills from the shores of Lake Baikal. I’m staying at what is advertised, and correctly so, as an eco lodge connected with the hostel I stayed at in Irkutsk. You can’t imagine a more serene, peaceful location. I think perhaps its seclusion and location outside the city (and away from the main train station along the Trans-Siberian) discourages visitors in the wintertime. I and an English woman from Newcastle, Sarah, were the only occupants. So we each had a small dormitory room to ourselves. When we said good night last night and turned off the lights, there was absolute silence. Lovely.
I left the hostel in Irkutsk fairly early, left some things behind (like my big bag and some much, much needed laundry - Jane helped me out with that), and set off for the minibus that runs hourly from the main market in the city to about an hour’s distance along the river to a small resort village called Listvyanka on the southern shores of Lake Baikal. Lake Baikal is the largest freshwater lake in the world and its water is so clean that (when unfrozen) you can drink the water straight from the lake. The lake is shaped like a banana where the long stretch runs north to south. During summer, you can go swimming and look beneath you down to 40 meters clearly and see fish, the bottom, whatever. 40 meters! And in winter, the entire lake freezes over, the ice at least one meter thick. They build a temporary highway that cars can use to drive across the lake and access tiny Siberian villages that are normally only accessible by boat. Even when the lake freezes over, the ice is so clear that you can see right through, maybe 10 meters or so. This is an incredible place.
After a wild, suicidal drive down the snowy forest highway, my life in the hands of a very large Russian man, to the lake from the city, I hopped off at the last stop on the one main road in Listvyanka, and walked inland in between two small mountains up a small village road overrun with big, local, and angry, Siberian dogs. Walking quickly and without making eye contact, I walked the kilometer up the snowy road to the lodge deep in the trees. I walked with Jack, the owner of this and the hostel in the city, a Russian and great guy from Irkutsk who speaks perfect English. He was taking a couple of days off to spend with friends in the village, but was walking with me up to the lodge first. He introduced me to Natasha, a Russian woman, originally from Irkutsk, who has lived the last 12 years in Auckland, New Zealand but has returned home for a while to take care of family. She is a life coach and yoga instructor by trade in the land of the kiwis, and naturally her English was perfect. We chatted awhile and eventually Sarah, the English woman, checked in as well.
I wanted to spend my first day absorbing the atmosphere of the village, exploring the main street, and walking out onto the ice. I walked down the main street first. The village gets busy with Russian tourists who want to see the lake and try their hand at some winter activities. Their is a small section of the lake, near the main road, that is reserved for such activities. Snowmobiling on the lake, walking around an ice sculpture garden, ice skating, etc. are all possible. This area was lively and good for people watching. There was an outdoor market, small, with stalls that sold smoked omul, a local fish from the lake. I read about this fish before I arrived. It’s famous for the region. I walked up to a round Russian lady behind a counter of smoked fish and in my best Russian said, “odin omul, prazhalsta” or one fish, please. She obliged, taking humor in my butchered pronunciation (but I was happy she understood me - improvement!). I was handed an entire fish, splayed from its belly in two halves connected along the spine, kept splayed by toothpicks. I walked down to the lake, sat on a bench, and munched away as if it was a large turkey leg, carefully avoiding bones and eyes and weird fish stuff.
The village has some points of interest on its own: boats frozen into the lake, abandoned factory buildings graffitied in impressive artistic detail, I think there’s a museum but I skipped it. I walked out onto the lake. This was a surreal experience. Imagine being shrunk down to microscopic size and then dropped on top of an ice cube. A massive, crystal clear ice cube. The lake is like this. It is windy and it snows a lot here, so the wind kicks up the snow into small dunes leaving most of the ice visible. There are cracks, humongous, three dimensional cracks that are a result of shifting temperatures (always below freezing so not dangerous) that relieve and build up pressure along fozen points of the surface. In a quiet location, you can hear the thunderous pops of cracking ice in the distance. But these cracks don’t expose the water. They just create giant lightning bolts across and down into the meter thick ice that create these incredible, chaotic patterns. I walked north for a few hours along the shoreline consisting of steep cliffs, evergreens, and taiga, and no people or buildings. This was the Siberian experience I was hoping to receive.
I bought some things at the local shop and walked back into the small valley to the lodge. I stayed up late in conversation with Sarah and Natasha, sharing stories and experiences. Sarah cooked us a dinner of local potato dumplings, stewed tomatoes, and green peas. I love free food. I had a couple local beers (not great but better than China’s). There is no wifi, no cell phone service, and no possible distractions. It was nice to escape the city and end the night in conversation.
This led to my deep, peaceful sleep and my fresh start to this morning. Today was Siberian adventure day. There are loads of winter activities here. Some are unique because of the lake. You can go snowmobiling on the lake or in the taiga, mess around with the Russian tourists in the festivities area (where Russian techno pop blares from speakers - Russians listen to this stuff all day long, mornings included, and often are accompanied by very, very sexy music videos. It’s like a club atmosphere everywhere you turn), or go cross country skiing in the back country, stuff like that. But I wanted to go dog sledding through the taiga and ice cycling on the lake. I rented the bike from Jack early in the morning. It is a serious mountain bike with tires outfitted with small spikes that are designed to grip the ice. And I had a reservation with Sarah to go dog sledding in the early afternoon. So after a pleasant morning and some good coffee, I took the bike out onto the lake. It was very cool. The bike did indeed grip the ice (but was still a little slippery - pure, unadulterated ice is very slippery) and I spent an hour or two having a go at the bike and taking some clever photos and film clips. I was planning a longer trek up to a small village about 15 kilometers up the coastline later that afternoon.
But then I met Sarah for dogsledding. If there is one thing you should experience if you ever find yourself in the Arctic tundra, it is dogsledding. The place we found is a small farm, deep in another valley up from the village, that is home to over 40 beautiful dogs most of which are from Alaska or Finland (because they are smaller and faster I was told). Sarah and I walked up to the farm to dozens of super excited, yelping dogs. We were led into the farmhouse by a few young Russians and outfitted in a special suit to keep us warm. We were then led out to the dogs as they were being prepared, prepped with harnesses, and attached to a small sleigh. Each of us had our own sleigh and our own dogs. Each sleigh had a bucket seat in front where the guide sat (so he could properly control the dogs, make sure they were headed in the right direction, etc.), and two skis in the back where I stood and could control the direction of the sleigh. We were briefly instructed with body language from a large Russian man with a thick, black mustache how to control the sleigh, and quickly afterwards we were off. The dogs wanted nothing more than to sprint away, down the snowy trail into the forest, and when allowed, they snapped off and jolted the sleigh to a start. And they were fast! We did a 10 kilometer trail through thick forest deep in the valley, my Russian guide shouting Russian words to the dogs which clearly understood him. I took some photos and videos, trying not to be flung from my sleigh. It started snowing about halfway into the 45 minute adventure and it was cold. But it was one of the coolest things I have ever done. Our two sleighs pulled back into the farm, we said our, “spaceba!”, and were off, beaming with childish excitement.
We ate a Russian lunch at a nearby cafe, mine a soup of dumplings and hers an omul soup, we parted ways, and I hopped back onto the bike. I immediately headed for the the ice. After about 10 minutes of cycling I took a turn a little too sharply and the ice, unforgiving in its beauty, threw me from my bike and I took a bad blow to my left shoulder. I’m pretty sure it’s not broken because I can still move it, but it hurts like hell. I can just tell it will take a while to heal and will be far more sore tomorrow. After that, I was more cautious in my subtle turns along the slick ice. I cycled for a little under an hour north along the shoreline when I ran into Jack. He was cycling too and was just returning from the village in the north. He told me that at least once a week he comes out to Listvyanka to do this route (about 4 hours down and back) and is trying to build up his fitness to do a longer trip further north up the lake (which involves camping out on the lake overnight, pretty cool). I began to drink some water when he said to me, “Nyet, not a good idea. Eet will lower your body temperature. Dreenk this.” He handed me hot tea from a thermos. I was glad for the advice. He also shared with me an adventure that he helped coordinate for a couple of German guys a couple of days ago (a plan that he thought was crazy) in which he drove them to the very northern edge of the lake, several hundred kilometers north of Listvyanka, supplied them with some superb gear, and planned to pick them up (hopefully, he said with a shrug) two weeks later at the southern shore. Apparently, they had raised money to walk (and at times cross country ski and parachuting(?)) and camp out each night on the ice, dragging a sled of supplies with them. The money was raised as a collection for an immigration system through an organization they worked for to support a community known as “the driest place on earth” in Kenya. Pretty neat, but a little crazy.
I bid farewell to Jack and continued cycling. The ice changes depending on which portion of the lake you are traveling. Some is rough, some is covered in snow, some is crystal clear (and slippery) so the terrain was challenging. Keeping your balance and plowing through snow required a lot of energy. I passed by some cross country skiers and a guy with his van ice fishing. And the sun was setting. I made it within sight of the village but, still several kilometers away, I turned back. I was really tired. Cycling back was beautiful, with the setting sun to light the way ahead of me, but agonizingly exhausting. I guess I haven’t exercised in a while (it’s hard to do on the road) and the way back was slow going with the wind coming at me. I did make it back though before the sun dropped below the mountains. I stopped at the little market to buy some things for dinner and breakfast and walked the bike up the snowy village road to the lodge.
I’m typing this with my eyes half closed and my shoulder deeply sore, but these last few days have been the best so far of my entire trip. Siberia is a weird place. Unimaginably beautiful here at the lake and in the taiga, and the city of Irkutsk is full of history (mostly for its exiles and the Decembrists) and of course is full of hardened Russians who are certainly interesting people to meet and observe. There is not a place around with a culture like this (and I’ve never seen a place with so many beautiful, high-heel-in-the-snow-wearing girls - they are dedicated).
I’ll get another good rest tonight and sleep in tomorrow and slowly make my way back to the city. My train leaves tomorrow evening so I have plenty of time. I still want to get a Russian SIM for my phone and look for a power converter for this computer (the only way I am writing this now is because I was able to borrow a charger from a German here at the lodge (he just arrived)).
Next stop: Krasnoyarsk.
 |
| The eco-lodge I stayed at in Listvyanka, on Lake Baikal |
I left the hostel in Irkutsk fairly early, left some things behind (like my big bag and some much, much needed laundry - Jane helped me out with that), and set off for the minibus that runs hourly from the main market in the city to about an hour’s distance along the river to a small resort village called Listvyanka on the southern shores of Lake Baikal. Lake Baikal is the largest freshwater lake in the world and its water is so clean that (when unfrozen) you can drink the water straight from the lake. The lake is shaped like a banana where the long stretch runs north to south. During summer, you can go swimming and look beneath you down to 40 meters clearly and see fish, the bottom, whatever. 40 meters! And in winter, the entire lake freezes over, the ice at least one meter thick. They build a temporary highway that cars can use to drive across the lake and access tiny Siberian villages that are normally only accessible by boat. Even when the lake freezes over, the ice is so clear that you can see right through, maybe 10 meters or so. This is an incredible place.
 |
| A shoreline view from the ice of Lake Baikal |
I wanted to spend my first day absorbing the atmosphere of the village, exploring the main street, and walking out onto the ice. I walked down the main street first. The village gets busy with Russian tourists who want to see the lake and try their hand at some winter activities. Their is a small section of the lake, near the main road, that is reserved for such activities. Snowmobiling on the lake, walking around an ice sculpture garden, ice skating, etc. are all possible. This area was lively and good for people watching. There was an outdoor market, small, with stalls that sold smoked omul, a local fish from the lake. I read about this fish before I arrived. It’s famous for the region. I walked up to a round Russian lady behind a counter of smoked fish and in my best Russian said, “odin omul, prazhalsta” or one fish, please. She obliged, taking humor in my butchered pronunciation (but I was happy she understood me - improvement!). I was handed an entire fish, splayed from its belly in two halves connected along the spine, kept splayed by toothpicks. I walked down to the lake, sat on a bench, and munched away as if it was a large turkey leg, carefully avoiding bones and eyes and weird fish stuff.
 |
| Smoked omul, famous in Listvyanka |
 |
| Boats frozen into the lake for the winter |
 |
| A view of my feet standing on the clear ice of Lake Baikal |
This led to my deep, peaceful sleep and my fresh start to this morning. Today was Siberian adventure day. There are loads of winter activities here. Some are unique because of the lake. You can go snowmobiling on the lake or in the taiga, mess around with the Russian tourists in the festivities area (where Russian techno pop blares from speakers - Russians listen to this stuff all day long, mornings included, and often are accompanied by very, very sexy music videos. It’s like a club atmosphere everywhere you turn), or go cross country skiing in the back country, stuff like that. But I wanted to go dog sledding through the taiga and ice cycling on the lake. I rented the bike from Jack early in the morning. It is a serious mountain bike with tires outfitted with small spikes that are designed to grip the ice. And I had a reservation with Sarah to go dog sledding in the early afternoon. So after a pleasant morning and some good coffee, I took the bike out onto the lake. It was very cool. The bike did indeed grip the ice (but was still a little slippery - pure, unadulterated ice is very slippery) and I spent an hour or two having a go at the bike and taking some clever photos and film clips. I was planning a longer trek up to a small village about 15 kilometers up the coastline later that afternoon.
But then I met Sarah for dogsledding. If there is one thing you should experience if you ever find yourself in the Arctic tundra, it is dogsledding. The place we found is a small farm, deep in another valley up from the village, that is home to over 40 beautiful dogs most of which are from Alaska or Finland (because they are smaller and faster I was told). Sarah and I walked up to the farm to dozens of super excited, yelping dogs. We were led into the farmhouse by a few young Russians and outfitted in a special suit to keep us warm. We were then led out to the dogs as they were being prepared, prepped with harnesses, and attached to a small sleigh. Each of us had our own sleigh and our own dogs. Each sleigh had a bucket seat in front where the guide sat (so he could properly control the dogs, make sure they were headed in the right direction, etc.), and two skis in the back where I stood and could control the direction of the sleigh. We were briefly instructed with body language from a large Russian man with a thick, black mustache how to control the sleigh, and quickly afterwards we were off. The dogs wanted nothing more than to sprint away, down the snowy trail into the forest, and when allowed, they snapped off and jolted the sleigh to a start. And they were fast! We did a 10 kilometer trail through thick forest deep in the valley, my Russian guide shouting Russian words to the dogs which clearly understood him. I took some photos and videos, trying not to be flung from my sleigh. It started snowing about halfway into the 45 minute adventure and it was cold. But it was one of the coolest things I have ever done. Our two sleighs pulled back into the farm, we said our, “spaceba!”, and were off, beaming with childish excitement.
 |
| Dog sledding through the Taiga outside Lake Baikal |
 |
| My ice bike on Lake Baikal |
I bid farewell to Jack and continued cycling. The ice changes depending on which portion of the lake you are traveling. Some is rough, some is covered in snow, some is crystal clear (and slippery) so the terrain was challenging. Keeping your balance and plowing through snow required a lot of energy. I passed by some cross country skiers and a guy with his van ice fishing. And the sun was setting. I made it within sight of the village but, still several kilometers away, I turned back. I was really tired. Cycling back was beautiful, with the setting sun to light the way ahead of me, but agonizingly exhausting. I guess I haven’t exercised in a while (it’s hard to do on the road) and the way back was slow going with the wind coming at me. I did make it back though before the sun dropped below the mountains. I stopped at the little market to buy some things for dinner and breakfast and walked the bike up the snowy village road to the lodge.
 |
| Jack helped me out with this photo |
 |
| Can you read the ice? |
I’ll get another good rest tonight and sleep in tomorrow and slowly make my way back to the city. My train leaves tomorrow evening so I have plenty of time. I still want to get a Russian SIM for my phone and look for a power converter for this computer (the only way I am writing this now is because I was able to borrow a charger from a German here at the lodge (he just arrived)).
Next stop: Krasnoyarsk.
No comments:
Post a Comment