My trip to
Siberia was probably one of the most remarkable experiences of my life.
I’ll do my best to explain why in the coming paragraphs, but honestly I’m hoping to see most of you in the coming weeks, so a coffeeshop or a pub (more for my European friends… as pub culture isn’t exactly flourishing in the States) may be a more appropriate venue for these stories to be told.
So a few months back, my friend Boris asked if I would be interested in taking a backpacking trip to Lake Baikal, Russia with him and some other friends. Though I had been planning a few things in the back of my mind for that time, the opportunity to spend three weeks in Russia with a 5 Czechs fluent in Russian seemed like a once-in-a-lifetime chance. So I jumped on it. The group included (from the left): Pavla the university student, Myself, Martin the PhD candidate and history teacher, Tereza the university student and girlfriend to Boris, Ondrej the photographer, and Boris the Physics teacher.
Part One: Registration
Despite a recent airplane crash in Irkutsk, we decided to place our trust in Pulkovo Airlines, and land in this Siberian industrial town only a few days later. The adventure began almost immediately. By law, all foreigners must register with the police within three days of arrival. We had been given the contact information of a travel agency in Irkutsk which could apparently make a typically long registration process significantly shorter. However, after two hours of looking for the agency, we were told that it had closed a few months before. Frustrated, we opted to suck it up and stand in line at the foreign police station. Little did we know, however, that though the police station was open, Thursday was a day that foreign registration was not possible. It was Thursday. The woman at the counter, who would typically be the one to register us, suggested another travel agency. We called the agency and they sent a van to pick us up. We were then taken to this back-lot shack of a building, where a dark office on the second floor and a woman at a cluttered desk served as our travel agency. (Photo: Steps leading to the Travel Agency)
After an hour or so of paperwork, money exchanges and passport checks, we were again sent away by van. This time the van took us to a police station. But friends, this was not like any police station you’ve seen before. Situated in the middle of what seemed an endless field of cement block housing, this desolate facility, with boarded up windows and all, looked a though it should have been on someone’s “condemned” list. We walked through the doorway into an empty dark hallway, lit only by a single bare lightbulb. We turned a few corners and up a dark set of stairs to a heavy, locked metal door. Our guide/travel agent knocked loudly on the door, was asked to identify himself (in Russian of course) and we were allowed to enter. Behind said door was long dark corridor, again lit by a naked bulb, in which a dozen or so Mongolian men were sitting silently on benches, apparently awaiting their turn for something. We walked past them and into a small room full of cardboard boxes, technical equipment in various stages of disrepair, and one little old woman sitting behind a desk piled high with papers. One by one we gave our information and money to the lady, and one by one were given our registration papers. I’m still not entirely sure what that was all about, but I was thankful when we emerged alive and well from that building. (Photo: The Police Station)
Part Two: The Beginning
Post-registration, we headed to the Irkutsk train station, where we caught a 3-hour train to Sludyanka, a small fishing town on the boast of Baikal. Once there, no further connections were available so we set up our tents in a city park. The next morning we had a breakfast of pieroshki (fried bread stuffed with mashed potatoes) and smoked fish (sold from cardboard boxes by a dozen or so little old ladies at nearly every train station in the country… I know that sounds like an invitation for intestinal devastation, but they were actually quite good). Soon thereafter we hopped a taxi-van to our trailhead at the base of the mountains. And so it began.
I’ve never seen so many mosquitoes and flies in my life. Let’s just start there. Saturated in OFF, the six of us swam through a sea of insects that first day, slopped endlessly through ankle-deep mud and over miles of tree roots. By the end of the second day, we had emerged from our present-day plague of locusts into a beautiful expanse of Siberian mountains, lakes and rivers… but believe me when I say I was cursing my decision to come on the trip during those first 24 hours.
Each day in mountains consisted of routine. Because we were so far north, the sun didn’t go down until around midnight and then rose again 3 hours later. This allowed us to hike much later than we might have done in other parts of the world, and also allowed us to sleep a bit later. So each day, we rose around 9, breakfasted for an hour or so, then began our trek. Breakfast was typically tea, soup, and oatmeal. A lunch of dried meat, granola, crackers and cheese came around 3pm. Hiking ended around 8 each night. A bonfire or propane stove heated rice, pasta, instant mashed potatoes and dried meat each night for dinner.
As for weather, most days were 70F (21C)-ish and cloudy. It rained nearly every night. I don’t know if that’s typical Siberian weather, but it wasn’t so bad.
Part Three: The River
Our approach was simple. We had a map which showed a trail leading from our trailhead to the village of Arshan. We estimated the trip would take ten days, and so we prepared accordingly. The trouble is, occasionally the map wasn’t entirely accurate. The most memorable example of this is a river crossing which was marked on the map as having a bridge from one side to the other. When we arrived, however, only the foundations of a bridge remained. Fortunately, we met a man on the bank of the river who offered us a rope, if we promised to return it to his flat on our way back through Irkutsk. I guess I didn’t realize initially how crucial this rope was. The river was 20 yards wide, chest deep, and extremely fast and cold. We were 6 days into the trip so turning back wasn’t an option… so we made sure all of important stuff was in plastic bags inside our packs and one by one made our way across the river. After Ondra crossed first with the rope, the line was tied to boulders on both sides of the river. Even with the rope, crossing was treacherous, and Boris ended up with a wicked rope bur across his forearm when one hand nearly lost its grip. Providence came to our aid again, when two Russian men, Sasha and Yasha appeared on the opposite bank. We had met these two men earlier on the trail, and they had fortunately opted to spend a whole day camped by the river after their own treacherous crossing. Using a shorter length of rope and a carabiner, Sasha set up a harness system that allowed us to cross without absolute dependence on our hands. It took nearly three hours for all six of us to cross. Oh and it started raining an hour into the crossing. It was cold, wet, dangerous, and one of the most memorable things I’ve done in the last two years. (Photos: Panoramic of the river. Boris crossing for the second time.)
Shivering yet accomplished, we were then led to Sasha and Yasha’s camp, where these two men cooked us dinner, prepared liter after liter of tea, and hung a plastic tarp over our heads to keep us dry during the meal. There was speculation that maybe we had not in fact survived the river, and this camp was heaven. That was quickly ruled out by the presence of our soaked boots and bruised legs, but we were all feeling pretty great. (Photo: Yasha making dinner with spices found in the woods... notice the boots lined up for drying around the fire.)
The next morning we hiked again, our boots finally dry after a night next to a roaring fire. Sometime around lunchtime, we stumbled across a beautiful riverside beach. It was one of the only really hot sunny days we’d had, and the beach was sandy and empty. The decision to spend the afternoon relaxing there was not a difficult one.
The 12-day trip through the mountains ended in the village of Arshan. It rained the last 24 hours of our trip, so that last stretch was particularly muddy and dangerous as we balanced our way across a half dozen make-shift log bridges. We emerged from the forest around 3 in the afternoon, and were immediately greeted with loud Russian hip-hop music, and shop after shop selling bootleg movies and souvenir Buddha statues. I laughed my way through the most of the village. From Arshan we took a bus back to Sludyanka. After another night in the village park and a morning of smoked fish at the train station, he hopped a train along the coast of Baikal. (Photo: Sludyanka train station)
Part Four: The Railroad
The train we boarded was a tourist train which allowed passengers to stop every 30 minutes or so and walk around, take pictures, and learn the history of the former Trans-Siberian railroad which had once run along the same track. 25 miles (40 kilometers) before the end, we decided to get off the train with all of our stuff. We hiked the remaining distance on the railroad tracks over three days, and camped alongside the tunnels and aqueducts of the former train-line. It was relaxing and really beautiful. A nice end to our Siberian excursion.
Part Five: The Long Trip Home
When we reached the end of the trainline, we took a van back to Irkutsk, where we cleaned up, explored the city, and sipped a bit o’ Russian vodka. Strapped for Russian Rubles, we opted to sleep at the train station that night and head to the airport early the next morning. I don’t care how pretty a train station is, sleeping in such a place is never comfortable. But whatever. Squinty eyed and crabby, we arrived at the airport around 7am… only to find that because of the airports limited ability to only process one flight at a time, our plane would not be leaving until 1:30. So we sat and waited. (Photo: Ondra, Martin and I passing the time in Irkutsk)
Our flight to St. Petersburg was thankfully uneventful. A 15-hour layover meant that the airline put us up in a hotel for the evening, and we had some time to explore the city. With only a short-time to explore, we walked briskly through the city taking pictures of things we knew nothing about, and eating heaps of Russian baked goods with the knowledge that we wouldn’t have another opportunity. (Photos: St. Petersburg)
We returned to Prague bright and early on the morning of July 31st.
I don’t imagine I’ll ever forget this trip. The mountains, mosquitoes, and mud will remain forever etched in my mind. Unfortunately, I also know that I will likely not return to this part of the world in my life, and certainly not with 5 great Russian-speaking Czech friends. I can’t tell you how glad I am that I jumped on this opportunity when I did.
Top 5 Songs playing in my head during this 19 day adventure...
- High and Dry by Radiohead
- Vienna (There's Really No Way to Reach Me) by The Fray
- Wade in the Water as arranged by Eva Cassidy
- Ain't No Sunshine by Bill Withers
- Black River by Amos Lee
You’ve been reading for a while now… or at least skimming.
I’d love to hear your thoughts.
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