Making friends in Sukhbaatar

I get out of the taxi with the sun high above my head and blazing heat all around. I am in Sukhbaatar, the provincial capital named after the modern national Mongolian hero - a fighter for independence from the Chinese in the 1940s

-

After paying off the driver in rubels instead of tugriks, the Mongolian official currency, I feel good about myself for sealing a good deal. The grin doesn't lasts long though - on my way to the train station I enter a bank by accident only to find out that elementary maths is sometimes not so elementary after all.

As predicted by my very handy guidebook the train indeed leaves in the evening this very day so I have plenty time to kill before then. What to do, what to do.. The option to drop my backpack at the luggage office is not there to be taken so I back out the door in full gear and head for the city center. As it is clear in a few minutes this is as a city center as it gets. Main road surrounded by apartment blocks, a hotel, a row of short houses, a cafe or two and a grocery shop. It all becomes slightly hazed when the wind picks up and blows the almost invisibly thin dust that is the pavement into my eyes.

I am happy though. The few locals I meet consist mostly of pretty girls in their late teenage years eager to spend a smile on a lonesome foreigner such as myself. It might be my intensive gaze bringing love and friendship from across the world that brings it up in them but it's the response that counts, right? I remember the few early spring days in Paris wearing my eye-strikingly red ski jacket and the amount of eye contact there so I quickly scan through my outfit to confirm that this time I indeed don't look like a dick!

The happiness is slightly distorted when an intensely looking member of the male population walks by. The Altanbulag experience haven't worn out completely yet so I am very wary of taking out my camera and make shots of this interesting town. Thin, plain and definitely under-seasoned but quite exotic to my European eyes.

I consider having a lunch since the day has grown older since my poor breakfast in Russia. I pass by a few cafes, the equivalent of fast food restaurants anywhere else, but they all look as if the last customer left weeks ago. Feeling suddenly sociable I ask a pretty lady whether she speaks English. She doesn't get to know what I have planned with her when she says no and walks away but the next person along can in no way be reproached for the lack of interest. It is a male in his late twenties eager to spill his English vocab all over me.

I do not remember his name although we almost instantly become friends. Without any hints on my part he chooses the familiar Ladi from Ladislav as the appropriate way to greet his newly found best friend. There is not much in a way of politely refusing his services when he large-heartedly suggest to take me to the right restaurant. I am not surprised when we enter the exact places I have checked out before. I am very conscious of the fact that this will cost me dearly but am in no position to refuse his company being new in the country with its own cultural peculiarities and all.. So we walk and 'talk' and become more and more best friends.

I feel a sort of tension and anxiety in my guts for being dragged into this but as I remember the brilliant quote in my guide book regarding traveling - Whatever you do, leave your worries behind - I relax and start enjoying this new experience. After all he doesn't look mean or unfriendly and his built suggests I have a chance at taking him on if it ever comes to that. This thought makes me smile.

I am not exactly sure what is wrong when we exit the first cafe and head for another. But as we sit down in the next one and my friend tries to order beer for me I learn that today is the alcohol no-go day. Apparently there is a drinking problem in the country (not really a surprise) so the government decided to ban alcohol every first Tuesday (!) of the month. Since I am a foreigner this does not seem to particularly bother anyone and there are two beers in front of us in no time. My companion recommends a steak of some sort and although I think his culinary vocabulary starts and ends with this word I solemnly accept since no other options seem to present themselves.

I have already accepted that I am paying for our romantic dinner together and relax while I plunge into the plate of minced beef that is the steak I ordered. My friend does not seem to have ordered anything to eat but as if from nowhere two vodkas appear on the table after his short excursion to the bar. Ladi, is this ok? Ladi, my friend, I have little money. My wife beat me, no money.. Ok, Ladi? Poor little bastard, I think to myself, cheers to him and his poor miserable life as I shoot in the 10cl vodka. As a streak forms on my chin I realise that human mouth is not made to contain this amount of liquid at one time. I swallow and look up catching my friend's surprised gaze: Isn't this how the Mongolian's drink? I thought I'll show him that a white man can drink too. Not a Russian but a Slav after all. He drinks it in two halves while I pay attention to the texture of the minced material in my mouth.

Ladi, my friend.. You know, I little money. Ladi, bad.. my wife beat me. You go home, Ladi. My wife not home.. Ladi, you go to me.. - Ladi, vodka?

Ladi no vodka, but you be my guest. I sip my beer while he continues to unfold his life's story while sipping the second 10cl vodka. I can only hope it is the lack of words because it seems to revolve along the wife-beats-me-up-no-money story with little else on top. His words seem to become mumbled and I am an awe at how quickly a man can became totally drunk. Just before he assumes the classic superman position he suggest we both leave. I am not going home with you you said little soul, forget it! I meet the barmaid's eyes and she looks worried. I excuse my self to got to the loo and without a word ask the barmaid to look over my stuff while I'm gone. I take my time and five minutes later arrive to the apparently next act; the play has seemed to pick up the pace, there is some turmoil at the back followed by a young man entering the scene and rapidly moving forward. As he walks to the table I left only five minutes ago my eyes find my compatriot hanging onto the chair with the last of his strength a thin string of sticky saliva coming off of his mouth. It seems I missed a lot during my little trip upstairs. When I am brought the bill I apologize for my companion. The barmaid understands and her eyes suggest I pack my bags and leave him while there's a chance. That's nice of her. I think of giving her a tip but on seeing the final figure on the bill I quickly change my mind. Feeling the vodka kick in I put my backpack on and leave my compatriot in the hands of rougher men in despite of his continuous requests to take his best friend home.

The pace has definitely picked up. I feel the vodka burning my senses as I walk out into the sun. Ah.. I can feel the adrenalin mixing in. I am grinning like mad at recent adventurous developments and am ready to take on the whole of Mongolia! Muahaha! Watch me come!

-

I dig out the camera and get into the streets full of confidence. I shoot almost everything that moves making a little trek up the near hill with magnificent views of the town..

-

Two hours later on my way back to the station I can still feel the effects of the vodka. My steps lead my along the incriminated restaurant. It is too late to turn around when I notice the caricature of a man that was my best friend lying on the ground in an unfamiliar position. I baldly walk along when he, recognizing the bulk of my backpack, tries to engage me with an unspellable muahehh..

And so the friendship ends! I walk up to the ticket window to pick myself a ticket still able to use my charming Russian. Half an hour and a big bag of biscuits later the train arrives. I can see some foreign faces and when one of them asks for time I cannot help but inquiry on the source of his journey. Irkutsk. We left last night at about ten o'clock.

Ah, the joys of good planning! It is the same train I took and left this morning at Ulan Ude. While these poor souls spend their day sitting on their arses waiting for kingdom come, I have been through a damn bloody good adventurous day!

Well done, Ladi, well done indeed!

Crossing into Mongolia

Unsure what the unconventional route out of the country brings I decided to leave the country with two days left in my VISA instead of pushing it to the limit. I guess one might say this is pushing it as well especially since my paperwork is not entirely in ordnung but with only 25 days for the whole of Russia experience this is as relaxed as I can make it.

There are a few options how to get across the border. There is a direct train from Irkutks to Ulaan Baatar but it is very expensive and slow for the distance it covers. On top of it it spends some 4 hours at the border. Why, don't ask me. Another way of getting out is take a minibus from Ulan Ude, a major town on the south of the Baikal Lake. This is faster on the border but super uncomfortable and boring. So I decide for the third, most adventurous variant:

I board a night train to Ulan Ude. It is only 350 km far from Irkutsk but since it takes the route around the mountainous Baikal shores it is very slow. So I manage to squeeze in some 6 hours of sleep before I am kicked out in Ulan Ude. It's not even seven in the morning as I'm arguing the price for the ride to the bus station with the local taxi driver. I manage to cut it to nearly a half but his semi-eager agreement makes me think I got screwed over anyway. Oh well, support the local community, eh?

The bus station architecture combines that of the stalls in any Slovak black market in with a hint of gypsy getto influence. As I find the empty marshrutka with the my destination written on it I sadly realize it is most likely to be a long day: these minibuses never leave before getting full.

I make an attempt to find a coffee since the hectic last four days and the miles covered on foot have quite heavily worn me out but I fail. At least I see the bus getting full now - too full I might add - and I have to rush in with my elbows spread wide to secure a place. Fifteen minutes later, with every little crease of the van filled with stuff of my fellow passengers we ride out.

The scenery changes dramatically. The Russian taiga gives way to the bare steppe half an hour into the journey. We make a quick 'cigarette' stop in a picturesque little village with an apparent non-Slavic feel. Wooden huts rather then proper concrete houses. Dirt roads with no pavements. Very organic looking cute little place.

I stretch my legs and breath in the cold morning air. I am just about to dig out the camera out of my rucksack to take a few snaps when the driver rams the door behind him, starts the engine, steps on the pedal and off he goes direction we came from. With all my belongings that is. Shit! My eyes follow him out of the line of sight and there is nothing I can do. This is the first time I left my valuables in the car and this is what I get. Surely god wouldn't punish me for a first minor slip?

Ten long minutes later the driver appears with a smile. A thought crosses my mind that this is the smile of a man who just sold my camera for 1500$. I peek into the cabin as he gets out to light a smoke and fortunately find everything intact. Thank you Mr. Driver for the lack of curiosity!

Two hours later with ubersore thighs from holding my 15 kilo worth of backpack in my lap - courtesy of my impatience to wait by the minibus at the bus station - we are stopped at some sort of a checkpoint. The two uniformed officers demand papers from all of us. Surely this cannot be the border I think as I hand the passport to the tall good looking man in his early twenties. He glances thought it without much surprise to see a foreigner in this part of the world. No fines to pay here. We continue rolling down the hill to find a military base with a fair selection of MIGs and army vehicles at its foot. So that's why the checkpoint..

Finally we arrive to the border town of Kyakhta. It used to be a key town on the tea route from China to England. A very prosperous one too until in the final sections of the Transsiberian were finished and the town faded into insignificance almost overnight.

Since it is not even eleven and I am in no hurry to get to the border - some four kilometers south of town - I turn down an offer by a local man to drive me down there for free. I stroll around to find some pastry for breakfast, the worst coffee ever but at least with toilet facilities and end up in the local museum. I expect a thorough exposition on the tea trade history but instead find rows of jars of cow fetuses with two heads, no heads and other missing or superfluous body parts. Next on the menu are stuffed animals from rodents through eagles to deer and bears. Nice. The last room is finally filled with the tea trade trivia but of course with everything in Russian Cyrillic. I couldn't honestly disagree with the right to charge the foreigners five times what the locals pay for the privilege of looking at this jibberish. (Yes, I am being sarcastic.) But at least there are pictures to look at - so I end up checking out the pretty ladies of the nineteen twenties. Not bad I tell you.

It's time to leave the town behind and head for the border. I choose to walk since the day is still young. Four kilometers later I arrive to the border where cars are stacking up in no particular order. Remembering my guidebook's advice I seek for a car closest to the front to arrange a ride. It is a bus in the end and since the first one is full I get in the following one. I exchange a few words with two Polish couples who have been waiting there for over three hours. Ouch. I don't think my patience is cut out for that..

The gate opens to let the first bus in. We wait.. Ten minutes later the gate opens again but the officer signals us to back off and let the other cars behind us move ahead. I sigh. This process is repeated a couple of times with trucks and cars of various sizes moving ahead of us when I run out of patience. I grab my backpack, say goodbye to the driver and find the first car that looks like it could accommodate me for those few minutes. Few words exchanged with the driver and I'm in. With three other slightly chubby Mongolian women so there goes the comfort. But at least we're moving through the entry gate in next five minutes.

It is not until now that I realize our driver is completely and utterly wasted. The hick-ups are a first sign followed by his inability to light up a cigarette with the car's lighter. Oh well, at least we're moving forward. I can always get out right after the crossing.

The process takes an hour. Don't ask me why cause I honestly don't know. Everything is checked. The documents by at least three people on each side. Stamps, forms to fill.. I almost forget about my VISA registration issues when I hand my passport to the first Russian official. She is of female species at least so I put on a big smile. When she asks me about whether I registered my VISA I acknowledge with a loud da and a deep nod. She demands registration slips and I tell her I returned them when I was leaving the hotels in the particular cities (just as I read it in this very insightful article on the internet). She doesn't look convinced but when another female officer sets in asking where I stayed and I supply a made up list of a few cities along the Transsiberian she seems satisfied. I am handed back my passport and off to the next checkpoint we go.

I am surprised nobody comments on the drunkenness of our driver. It is so explicit that a blind man couldn't possibly oversee it. When he starts honking the horn for a minute straight all the fellow Mongolian passengers try to shut him up. But no one seems to care. This is Mongolia :)

The Mongolian side of things goes a bit faster and soon we're out in the not-so-picturesque border town of Altanbulag. Yep, there goes the civilisation. I am definitely no longer in Europe. None of the pictures I made do it justice - the the town is a filthy mix of dust, garbage, falling-apart buildings and generally not-very-nice looking people. A thought enters my mind how long will I be able to survive here with all my possessions intact. And my health too.

I pay off the drunken driver for the privilege of spending time with him and find a taxi to the nearest provincial capital. I share it with three other people so it's fairly cheap. I wouldn't mind any discomfort at this stage as long as I am out of there. It does take another 20 minutes however before we take off, making a short tour around the town first to pick up yet another person. So the final number is six, including the driver, when our packed standard sedan sets for the road towards Sukhbaatar.

Novouralsk

.. or how I didn't get married in Russia!

It's been dark for two hours. The clock says it is past midnight as the tires of our ancient Lada change the tar for the mud and water of the country roads.

We have left the main road from Yekaterinburg about half an hour ago taking small roads to get us around the main official entry points into the closed city. For half an hour there have been no signs of life, no people, no cars, just the deep forest around us.

I can see the shapes of buildings popping out against the sky as we make a left turn to an allotment district. It is very dark and my eyes catch a row of tall poles carrying cables of high voltage electricity into what looks like a deserted half torn down industrial site. I feel like in Tarakovsky's Stalker! Trespassing on forbidden land.. With terrible consequences if caught.

Finally we arrive to our destination. We get out of the car and I breath in the cold dark night. No lights soak through from the nearby city as there are no clouds in the sky. I spot a the light of another crossing about a kilometer away as I am directed onto a narrow path into the woods by Irina's mother. I anxiously await instructions: Take this path. Walk about 7 minutes straight ahead, don't turn away. If you have to use the spotlight keep it low. We shall meet you on the other side.

And so I go. Trying to be quick and quiet. I turn the spot light off as the trees thin out and the light of the crossing post shines through. It's dark, cold and wet. It must have been raining for hours. I'm watching out for slippery rocks and deep puddles of mud as I make my way through. Two more minutes of this effort and I should be out on the other side. -
I cannot avoid thinking why I felt the need to do this. I have to leave the city the following morning anyway.. but I would not miss on an adventure like this, who would? -
Few more steps.. as I separate a column of birch branches to step through and am rewarded with a shower my foot finds a hard surface of a paved road. I am on the other side! I am in the closed city.

I spot an unfamiliar car standing dark and still about 500 meters towards where I remember the crossing post was and freeze. How will I explain myself to the Russian police if it would indeed be them? I do not know where I am going, I have no idea how I got here and I certainly cannot be picking berries at this hour!

The car starts up and slowly makes its way towards me. As it approaches closer I recognize a familiar shape: I did not think there is a time in man's life when he is glad to see an ancient Lada! As the car pulls over I quickly slide myself into the seat, greet my accessories with a big smile and off we take into the suburbs of Novouralsk!

-

It is quite an odd experience finding yourself in a foreign city in a foreign country where no one should know of your existence. The fact that you are a guest at someone house does not particularly ease the feeling if of the four people that know about you you hardly know one of them.

-

Irina pretty much insisted that we go to Novouralsk, to see her mother, her father, her brother and the things and places she used to grow up around. With the very limited time together on our hands it took us long five hours of planing and re-planing to come to a conclusion that we are going. In a way it was decided by Irina's mother who has called, while we were having a lovely chat over pints of lager in one of the few Yekaterinburg pubs I had the chance of visiting, to inform us that she is on her way to pick us up. Since it was past ten o'clock at night there was no way of refusing such a gesture.

After leaving the car in the parking lot and pushing my tired body up the stairs to meet Irina's father I cannot prevent feeling a certain chill in my bones. I am going to meet the girl's father. After a week of acquaintance. Two weeks into my travels.. How on earth will this turn out?

Irina's father is rather a quiet fellow and I can immediately see it is Irina's mother who runs the business. I introduce myself, offer my hand in a handshake and after a few mumbled words from his side our introduction ends. And with it all of our communication for my time there.

Irina's mother offers us food and being past two o'clock in the morning the next thing on the agenda is the feared who sleeps where dilemma - one of the reasons I was considering staying in Yekaterinburg for our last days together. When I am offered to sleep on cushions in her brother's bedroom I am not trying to hide my discontent. I am sure my facial expression in this situation cannot be misunderstood but I am wrong when I'm offered to sleep in his bed instead. After the mother wanders off in search of pillows and blankets I turn to Irina, me eyes filled with horror. She is compassionate. That however does not seem to change anything because it is her father who does not wish us staying in one room together!

As it seems the time does solve some problems. Half an hour later with the father asleep and Irina's firm intervention into the matter we are finally allowed to share the space of one room. A couch for her, cushions on the ground for me and of course a lot of space in between.

After we wish good night to the departing mother and wave off the brother who will probably play computer games till the morning light we finally have time to ourselves. A few kissed in the dark and quiet of the night. I feel scared like a little boy when Irina suggests a shower together. But I am too old to feel like that. And she is too old to be treated so. Nevertheless as I walk the distance between the bathroom and our bedroom I judge every step on the creaky floor carefully. With a fresh taste of mint in my mouth laying my body next to hers in the narrow space of a couch I cannot help but smile. I feel like a teenager again.

-

After waking up into a day that is already late I shove down some tea and biscuits since it feels too early for my stomach to accept the offered lunch. I try not to engage the passing-by father with more then a quick nod to prevent any potential discomfort as we leave for the 'tour' around the city. A quick stop at the train station to secure the tickets for the way back. Irina's old elementary school. The places she used to walk. The official building and sights. Views of the lake and the deep Russian taiga. This is Ural.

We have quite conversations as we stroll along the thinly populated streets. I fall quiet when a local passes by. There are no foreigners here except for the few engineers from abroad once in a while that come to work in the uranium enrichment plant. The first one in Russia, the only one that ever produced weapon-grade highly enriched uranium. But no one seems to mind a mildly foreign looking person with a clearly Russian girl on his side. I do look Russian, I am told by Irina. May be. We are all Slavs after all.
Suddenly we change course as Irina pulls me to the right, away from the military officer walking towards us. The sudden rush of adrenalin however quickly fades as I look into Irina's eyes. He is not following us. She is very confident. It is her city after all. She is a citizen. But still she is at risk here too, although maybe not as much as I am.

I offer her hand in marriage for being so courageous. I kept joking about taking her for my wife in the past week. It was clear teasing and it was fun. That's what women like. A fun confident man that can push boundaries without being a dick - on most occasions anyway.
She laughs and continues speaking about her mother. How happy she is for the both of us to come. Well obviously, she has driven down an hour an a half to pick us up. But it is not that what catches my attention. It is that she has taken two days off of work to clean up her house in preparations for our arrival. That is slightly worrying but nothing prepares me for what comes next - in response to her colleagues' questions about the reason for the days off she divulges that her daughter is coming for a visit with her fiancee! I swallow a hard lump as I realize the state of things:

I am in a foreign city where no one knows I exist. I do not know how I got here nor how to get out of here. None of the people back home know where I am. None of the people back home know this place exists. I am pretty much screwed if I will be asked to marry this lovely girl. There wouldn't be a way out. Not involving the state officials and embassies.

But I am sure we all know this is just good fun, right? I am too young to get married, there are still things to be done on my own. And Irina.. she is mighty lovely, but no one can expect a marriage to come out of this?! Can they?

-

As usually there is not enough time. That's our lot for the whole time together. Always late for everything. It is no different this time when Irina's mother meets us with our things already in the car to take us out of the city. Well, not entirely. We are taking a bus right through the checkpoints! To me it sounds insane and at the first mention of it I felt my gut shrink: Get in the bus, don't speak, look casual. Most of the times this bus does not get checked by the officials. Apparently because it carries people to their allotments outside of the city border. I cannot help but weigh my luck - what if this time is not of those most times?
Since I am not really offered any other option there is nothing I can do when the door of the bus opens in front of me some half an hour later and people start getting on. Oh well, you gotta do what you gotta do. So I make the few necessary steps and seal my fate!

The ride takes about 10 minutes before it takes us near to the checkpoint. 10 minutes of silence and a put-on face filled with boredom and disillusion. Just like the rest of our comrades on the bus. The closer we get to the checkpoint I can feel another emotion making it's way through..

I was told that after arrival to the checkpoint a door is to close behind us and for a moment we'll be trapped in a cage of steel and barbwire just before the front one opens to let us out of the city. I am preparing myself as I see the military building and three officials observing the approaching cars. This is the time. I brace myself as we are slowing down. I avert my eyes to avoid the military man's gaze as we slowly drive by. I hope they had a tough night. That they are old and tired to be bothered to check fifty plus people on this bus. We enter the cage and I can see it closing around us already.. but the bus does not seem to be stopping.

We go through the gate in one go as if there was no other alternative. As if this was the only possible outcome. As if it was any one of the other roads.

And then it comes: a sudden relief of senses, an immediate wave of happiness draws a wide smile across my face. I did not realize the tensions in my body until now, it all falling away. I wonder whether this is the taste of freedom or just the endorphins from making it out untouched.

As we the exit bus on the first bus stop I grin like a clown and cannot hold my impressions until we're out of the reach of the locals. I am quickly shushed by Irina but the one Russian who could hear the strange language is even more bored and disillusioned then the others to notice or care. -

Ah, back to being the master of my own destiny. It does taste sweet indeed.

-

We have over an hour to kill before our train departs so Irina's mum takes us to her allotment. To pick berries of all sorts and to have a walk in the lovely countryside.

With three kilos of locally grown produce we make our way to the train station. It is located on the outside of the city. The barb-wired concrete fence does not seem so unfriendly from the outside as we walk along it to get to the platform. Irina's mother, taking a quicker route through the city meets us there, but she is not alone. A man in his thirties is introduced to me as Irina's half brother. More family, nice. We attempt some small talk, third English, third Russian and third Slovak. Irina acts as the interpreter when our efforts seem to fail.

With 10 more minutes to the train's arrival we are met by two other women. One is introduced to me as Irina's aunt and the other one as her step grandmother. I cannot help but grin at this situation: I met more members of her family in these two days then in all my previous relationships combined. Irina notices my facial expression and deduces my thoughts. Then she turns to the others and speaks hastily in Russian. From my knowledge of the language I can hear she speaks of my fears of being trapped here and forced into marriage. I can see wide smiles growing on their faces as she speaks. When she reaches the punchline they all burst into laughter. Yeah, I guess it is a funny story. But somehow I cannot seem to join them. It is not as funny if you're the main character.

The train is here. Quick hand shakes, a hug for the mother and off into the real world.

As I sit in the carriage and watch the Urals pass I wonder what I've learned. What was all this about. I whole heartedly tried to avoid being disrespectful by coming there with no clear intentions with their daughter. Hopefully I succeeded. In anyway it was in a way more a wish of Irina and her mother so my conscience should be clear. Is it though?

Ah, who cares anyway. I'm off tomorrow to see the world. That travels are my destination! With that I turn to Irina, a smile on my face, kiss her on the cheek and dig into the big bowl of strawberries - my reward for coming to Novouralsk.

28/07/09 02:30

Circumbaikal Railway

The informative narrative

A railway stretching around a 100 kilometers along the south western coast of the lake Baikal. It has been a part of the Transiberian until a new modern two-lane track was build across the mountains between Irkutsk and the Baikal leaving this very scenic section as a tourist attraction only.

It starts in Port Baikal - a somewhat an industrial looking village. It is the new start of the Circumbaikal railway after the part from Irkutsk has been flooded due to a damn build on the river Angara. It is accessible via ferry from the touristy Listvianka.

The track is quite old but it has actually been updated since the times the tsar had it built. It is still very slow and the 100 kilometers take about 4 hours to do on a train - not counting the stops for the tourists to stretch their legs and 'breath in' the scenery. Some of the trains use the old still functioning steam engines.

The adventure

I have set out yet again by myself since my 'date' was stuck at the hostel waiting for another staff member to come and replace her. He got drunk the night before so obviously had a little sleep in.

So I stock up on food - I didn't particularly want to repeat the scenario of Bolshoie Koty, where I ran out of food the first evening, so I bought about 3 kilos worth of stuff just in case. Putting my rucksack on made me instantly regret it but, being a Dittel, I munched through about half a kilo before even laying foot in Port Baikal and done similarily throughout the first 4 hours of the hike so it wasn't that bad in the end - and took a marshrutka (minibus) to Listvianka, a ferry to Port Baikal and off we go.

It was a bright sunny cloudless day and after hiking for couple of hours in the heat and passing some really lovely deserted beaches I ended up skinny dipping and chilling out as god made me on the pebbles admiring the blue of the sky. There are advantages to going by yourself.

I finished the day after 27 kilometers tired from the lack of sleep of three previous nights and the 35 kilometer hike to Bolshoie Koty two days ago in a little 'party' village where the fancy steam train from the pictures above stopped with a load of by-the-time-I-got-there very merry Russians barbecuing, drinking and dancing to some god-awful Russian folk-pop (nieco ako Senzus na Slovensku). I had a chat with a couple of them and been invited to join in but ended up asleep within minutes after setting up the tent and admiring the sunset for a bit.

The next day I was joined with Oksana and we took a train for some 50 kilometers. It was rather a different experience then the day before. The whole first class was full with Japanese tourists with their flashing Nikons and Canons. I couldn't feel a slight resentment when the train stopped at some random spot and whole of it's content poured out to take a picture or have picture taken of. It honestly does make a difference how you appreciate it when you put your own muscles to work.

Try to find one oddity on one of these four pictures.

We got out before our destination to have hike another 15 kilometers. And slept in an impromptu camp with a gorgeous view.

The art of kitsch - lesson 101

And a final picture to wrap it all up. To make it even prettier I cannot resist centering in on the page. So dig in, art lovers!

Bolshoie Koty

A 19th century mining village with no road access. Slightly run down since the mining has stopped a long ago but has a very distinct authentic character. It is only 20 kilometers away from the nearby Listvianka, which is the touristy center for Baikal access from the nearby (70 km away) Irkutsk, but it feels very remote and isolated.

Getting there was quite an adventure. I decided to set out at about four o'clock from Listvianka asking a Russian local for instructions. He told me off it is a stupid idea and there is no way I can reach it in one day. So I cursed, weighted my options and ended up strolling around Listvianka instead.

Two hours later I came across another Russian local who told me it's an easy trek for about 2.5 hours. Being an adventurous soul and an optimist I said f*** it and went for it. I head all the gear with me so could easily sleep in the forest.. And that I also ended up doing since the path lead along the cliffs and was very narrow with steep drops and slippery dusty surface. It took quite long to cover only a few kilometers and when I finally got down to a valley where there was place to sleep I met a Belgian couple sitting by a fire and being invited to share it I put up my tent and continued the trek the next morning.

I have had the pleasure of arriving there on the day there were no boats to or from Listvianka so I found it tourist deserted. On the other hand I ended up having to walk back the 20 kilometers the same day and parts of it in the heavy rain. (I needed to be in Irkutsk to apply for the Mongolian Visa the next day.)

Walking in the rain through the forest with no one around turned out to be quite fun in the end. And sleeping on the shore with a view like this made up for all the troubles..

Baikal

Lake Baikal. The deepest and oldest lake in the world. Holds about 20% of all unfrozen fresh water. It is so clean that you drink from it. It is some 650 km long and 80 km wide.



To see it all 'properly' would require probably a month but with really only 5 days I had focused on its closest south western tip. Thus I skipped the Olkhon Island and done two two-day treks instead. First of all led me to a very picturesque 19 century mining village with no road access called Bolshoie Koty.
For the other one I have hiked sections of the Circumbaikal railway which proved to be a bit less fun then anticipated - try walking 50 km on the tracks! But it led me to some nice places and I can in the end say I did it!