Trans-Siberian Stage 5: Buryatia

Waking up in Ulan-Ude, (capital of the Republic of Buryatia), we were all well-rested after the bliss of an air-conditioned hotel room.  Good thing, as our tour guide led us off at a blistering pace that matched his flood of (very knowledgeable, but not entirely absorbable) information. 

He strode along without a backwards glance, assuming we were following, but we did manage to admire and photograph the colossal statue of Lenin’s head that towers over the main square. The government buildings fly both the Russian flag and the blue, white and yellow flag of Buryatia. Across the street, the opera house presides over a lovely square with a dancing musical fountain, and we loitered there before being ushered into the van.

Out of the city we drove, past a cacophony of slanted roofs in corrugated tin, wooden planks and splashes of blue, green, and red. Criss-crossing the river, we drove up and over a pass, down to a village in the valley, home to the Old Believers. The Old Believers broke with the Russian Orthodox church due to religious differences, and this is one of the areas they settled.  

The bearded priest shows us around his self-curated museum – full of items collected or donated in support of his effort to document the old way of life: fur-covered skis, a baby carriage and cradle, rusty irons, samovars with ornate handles, a ridiculously accurate hanging scale, clothing, dishes…an organized mess. Plus some dinosaur and mammoth bones in a pile in the corner. Seriously. 

Across the street stands the small whitewashed church, where we see icons from centuries ago, with our womanly heads covered by borrowed scarves. (Because of Original Sin, we are told.)

Down to the farmhouse museum, where we see a century-old barn and then enter a simply but brightly furnished farmhouse, where we sit down to a table laden with food. We pour a shot of the local moonshine and settle in, as cabbage soup is followed by meat and mashed potatoes, in addition to the table full of cucumbers, salad, pickled herring, ridiculously salty pork fat, and fresh bread.

Tea and sweets mix with more moonshine, and then it’s entertainment time, as four singers in shiny shirts regale us with upbeat acapella songs. Of course, we can’t understand the lyrics, but that does not diminish our enjoyment. 

Then it’s time for a ‘wedding,’ as Sue is dressed in traditional Old Believer wedding clothes. The final step, the wrapping of the headscarf, is accompanied by a song, this time with an accordion. The groom entered with a yellow flower tucked jauntily in his cap. After the kissing of the bride, shenanigans ensued, in which the bride was spirited away and the groom had to resist the temptation of another woman, before raising money to buy his bride back. 

 One last song and we are off, dozy with moonshine and the sun streaming in the van windows, as the warm air whips around us. I watch the scenery slide by as we retrace our steps to the outskirts of town and then head off towards Lake Baikal, through hills covered in birch and pine, flashing white-brown-green. Wide river valleys, grazing horses, towns scattered with deep brown houses; then the lake appears, stretching away to the horizon, no sign of the opposite shore.

Eager to see the lake, I head down to the sandy shore, as a storm is sweeping across the water.

A flash of lightning.

A gust of cold wind.

A hasty retreat.

A solid downpour.

Baikal Fun Facts: 

• The lake is 30km across at it’s narrowest point. 
• The lake freezes from about January – April, and every year people risk the drive across the frozen expanse at the narrow point... and some don’t make it.
• A paper mill was built on the south end of the lake, and caused a protest (apparently this is quite significant). A propaganda film entitled “The Paper Mill” portrayed a (fictional?) love affair between the owner of the paper mill and the daughter of the head protester.
• There are seals in the lake, in addition to the delicious white fish (which we ate twice a day), called omool (and according to my google search, a whole host of other water creatures). 

The rain clears after dinner, and  the sunset is spectacular, a molten ball sinking behind the hills, lines of cloud illuminated in gold and fuschia, colors that linger long after the main event.

The next morning dawns sunny and breezy, and I take off for a walk, striding the hard-packed sand where the waves lap the shore and occasionally splash my feet, loving the perfect balance of warm sun and cool wind. Pine trees are scattered next to the shore, camping families sending smoke into the air from morning fires, boats lie on the sand, blue bellies up, waiting.

A small river comes from a marshland, crossed by a wide board propped up on stones, as the brown river water bleeds into the blue of the lake.

Russian sauna (Banya)! Donning wool hats, and heading through a series of progressively hotter, smaller rooms before entering the sauna itself. Eucalyptus water is splashed on the hot rocks, hissing into scented steam. Sue and Shan are beat with soaked oak branches in the traditional manner, but I can’t stand the heat long enough to partake myself. 

We are playing cards after dinner when sunset draws us back to the beach. Tonight, it is a solid ball of fuchsia sliding down, followed by some Monet-esque pinks and purples – understated but beautiful. My feet ankle-deep in the cool water, I am grateful for the chance to relax for a few days and soak it all up.