A Chilly Trip to Lake Baikal

In the last few days, I have discovered that -33 is not the ideal temperature for sightseeing. The traditional sightseeing pastimes of aimlessly wandering around outside, standing still for photographs and removing gloves to rummage in pockets for money and sustenance do not lend themselves to such windy, Siberian conditions. -33 is also not a fantastic temperature to discover that your fur-lined boots don’t work quite as well as promised, despite the salesman insisting that they would be suitable for -40. I suppose the clue was that they were going for £20… It is, however, a superb temperature to visit Lake Baikal. Sure, it is extremely cold, requiring constant movement, full-face coverage and an up-to-date knowledge of the nearest place with central heating, but the views are quite simply spectacular.

Outrageous sunset

Irkutsk's snowy trees

My week-long expedition, during which I would spend about 60 hours on the train, began at late in the evening at Tomsk station with a few other students. They haven’t seemed to find quite the right balance between the sweltering heat inside the train, which will all but melt a lump of cheese, and the bleak, snowy outdoor conditions, which may cause your French travelling companion to say: “It is a hard life for a Siberian train wagon.” Fortunately, despite the lack of a happy medium, I made it to Irkutsk in one piece. The day there was spent admiring ice sculptures and snow-covered trees, as well as seeing about a dozen churches and cathedrals. The following morning, after a look around the market, we boarded a bus to Listviyanka, a town snugly squeezed onto the banks of the lake.

I had visited Lake Baikal before, in the summer of 2010, but my first impressions were just as breathtaking, if not more so than before. The vast body of crystal clear water was covered with a layer of wispy smoke, skimming the surface in front of a backdrop of mountains far away on the horizon. We were extremely lucky to have such miraculously clear skies every evening to watch the sunset. The third time around was just as impressive as the first, the winter sun bathing the sky and waves in pinks and oranges before oozing out of sight. In strolling up into the mountains, we were presented with even more spectacular views, as well as plants and even rocks frozen into ice. Despite these marvellous sights, several Russians questioned our decision to travel to Baikal, either claiming that it is far too cold, or rather strangely, that there is nothing to see there. They seemed genuinely unable to understand why we had left our lives in Europe behind to come and visit a Siberian landmark.

Children play on the white beaches of Baikal

This reached its most ridiculous point on our third day by the lake. Our attempt to witness the sunrise in Port Baikal, a short ferry journey from Listviyanka, was foiled by a layer of low cloud, but our voyage across the water did not go unnoticed by either locals or my toes. One elderly woman was actually furious at our ‘stupidity’, repeatedly asking why we had gone there, laughing off my suggestion that the views were glorious, and offering no useful advice except for: “If you go outside, you will freeze and die.” Fortunately, she was wrong; none of us died. However, her description of the town was fairly accurate: “Cold.”

Sunrise over the frozen train

Cold is the first word that comes to mind when looking at a picture like that. In fact, it screams cold. You can begin to understand her bewilderment at our decision to go outside; being greeted with that sort of scene really is quite ominous. On the other side of the coin, there are many Siberians who really take the cold in their stride, normally older men, who have endured a lifetime of ridiculous temperatures. In fact, there is a widely known joke among Siberians that goes something like this:

Me: (at -33) Crikey blimey, it’s freezing!

Siberian Bloke: Ah it’s not too bad. -40 is cold! This is fiiiine. You know, back in Listviyanka it’s only -20! Practically summer!! (Laughs heartily, which becomes a wheezy cough, presumably brought about from a lifetime of temperature underestimation.)

Hilarious joking aside, I have never been that cold before. Your extremities go beyond their pain threshold, such that warming up again is even more painful, as if your bones are re-growing, forging a hole through throbbing layers of muscle and cartilage. Even without wind, the air bites and pinches your face, forcing you to raise a hand to cover everything. Of course, such temperatures make that hot cup of tea in front of the fire even more rewarding, when you eventually get inside and peel off layers.

Just don't peel them off for a victory shot in your Stoke shirt...

The Return of Sergei

That’s right, folks! He’s back and he means business! Sergei finally popped the question and asked me to meet his parents. This meant a 5-hour journey further north, to the charming town of Kalpashevo, sliced by the River Ob and surrounded by the Taiga, Siberia’s famously dense and enormous forest. To get an idea of where this is in the world, take a look at this link and zoom out… 

https://maps.google.co.uk/maps?q=kolpashevo&ie=UTF-8&ei=xKzBUr7sLOLn4QSTiIG4CQ&ved=0CAoQ_AUoAg

You may also be wondering just who this Sergei character is. Well, if the picture below doesn’t give you the measure of the man, flick back to my post from the 6^th October. (http://alexmarrow57.blogspot.ru/2013/10/we-need-to-talk-about-sergei.html)

Sergei's idea, I promise.

Anyway, Sergei kindly invited me to the countryside with him, and what a weekend it would turn out to be. We arrived late in the evening on Friday night, amid a tremendous snowstorm. Biting cold and piercing snow welcomed us to Kolpashevo, a pleasant town of 30,000 inhabitants. The wait for the ferry to take us across the river was apparently too long, so we walked instead. Sergei passed this off as completely normal, but his mother’s shriek of horror when she hear what we’d done was probably a sign that even for Siberians, 16cm of ice isn’t quite enough for a man of my keeping. The experience was fantastic though. Being a river, there are of course no trees, so the landscape was a bleak, desolate wasteland, with crouching figures shuffling through the wind. I was given a brief tour of the town on the way to Sergei’s mother’s bungalow, before being plied with food and cognac and eventually a place to sleep.

A not fully frozen Ob.

The following morning I woke up late, much to my annoyance, especially as my hosts had waited to have breakfast with me. I felt rather embarrassed, but they insisted that this was absolutely fine. After a large breakfast of porridge and four eggs, we started preparing pelmeny, my favourite Russian dish, basically a small amount of mincemeat in a pocket of dough and boiled. Sergei was very keen to give me an authentic Siberian experience, which was most welcome. Pelmeny is fantastic. Homemade pelmeny is even better. It’s fair to say that that evening’s meal was most enjoyable.

Hard at work, a chef in the making?

However before I could enjoy the pelmeny, I had another banya experience to look forward to. I was slightly apprehensive beforehand, knowing that Sergei is both touchy-feely and not averse to wearing few clothes. As has happened countless times out here, I knew that the best course of action would be to just grin and bear it. And so, a few hours after lighting the banya, I yet again found myself lying on a wooden bench, very naked, being thrashed with the leaves of a silver birch tree. Three times I endured the treatment, Sergei’s whipping reaching such a climax that I have a few bruises on my side. After ninety minutes of lashes and chat, we washed and exited. Every time, the banya still takes me by surprise, but every time I understand that this really is a very normal, genuine tradition.

Sunday was simply marvellous. Fresh snow had fallen, covering everything in a layer of white gloriousness. Another trip round the town was sandwiched by more Siberian meals. The first was a breakfast of blinys, basically pancakes, dipped in sour cream, melted butter or honey. The taste was lovely, but the quantity was just too much. Russians believe that one should eat until they are full at breakfast, in order to have enough energy for the rest of the day. I of course embraced the challenge, but fifteen blinys in, I noticed that Sergei’s mother was preparing a fresh batch and declared myself unable to continue. For lunch, I tried akroshka, which really didn’t sit well in the stomach. Akroshka is salad, meat and potatoes boiled in kvass (an alcoholic beverage made from bread). I’ll be honest; I thought it was quite revolting, but am willing to suspend that judgement until summer because apparently it really comes into it’s own then.

After this lunch came the highlight of the weekend and arguably, one of the highlights of my life to date: driving a snowmobile through the Taiga forest. One of Sergei’s acquaintances was a “businessman” (outrageously fishy), who had bought a $10,000 snowmobile. His son gave me a 40 minute tour of the surrounding forest, which was just spectacular. We found ourselves in an enormous clearing and he revved it up, clocking speeds of 60km/h in waist-deep snow. How do I know it was waist-deep? Well… My guide bit off a little more than he could chew on a more intricate section, losing control of the machine and causing us to capsize. Indeed, the sensation was more similar to being on water than on land. It was alright for him, dressed in full waterproof snow gear, but I was wearing a pair of maroon chinos and long johns! And so, dressed poorly for both the conditions and fashion, I found myself waist-deep in snow.

My chance to drive the snowmobile was the realisation of a dream. I have driven some pretty cool things before, but this probably tops the list. It was made all the more wonderful by our discovering later on the news that a hibernating bear had woken form his slumber (no word of a lie) and was hungrily roaming the forest near Kolpashevo. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, I didn’t encounter said bear. But I did think that if there was ever a good time to meet a hungry bear in the Siberian forests, then it’s when you’re armed with a 10000 CC, bright yellow snowmobile.

Simply spectacular.