5.7.10
29.6.10
Bony fish and beautiful landscapes - Olkhoum Island
Irkutsk was really just a stopping off point for the main attraction - Lake Baikal and Olkhoum Island. Lake Baikal boasts some pretty impressive statistics; deepest lake in the whole wide world, the biggest reserve of fresh drinking water in the world (outside the frozen ones) and really really cold water throughout the year, freezing during the winter to the point that you drive a car across rather then catch a ferry.
I stayed in Nikita's guesthouse, which provided board and 3 hearty meals a day. Yes, 2 of the meals each day involved bony fish, but just try telling them that you are a vegetarian on your third day (because you can't handle anymore bony fish) and you will find yourself facing an unimpressed Russian woman and will go hungry for the evening. No dinner for you! (No, it wasn't me. I knew better then to try that shit on...anyways, after milk and rice in Mongolia....). Nikita is an ex olympic table tennis champion and provides guests with 'sports room' facilities....which consists of two table tennis tables....and nothing else.
Olkhoum proved a great place to chill out, take in scenery, brave a dip in the 3 degree lake waters (me - never) and sit about in the 'banya' - sauna, or watch the cows do laps through the dusty streets of the sleepy village
Back on the train - onwards to Siberia!
So. I scored myself a cabin of my own again, check this out....
Gold. Pretty swish, hey? "On my own again" proved to be a false assumption, the Mongolians didn't quite play it that way. The door was opened on average every 15 minutes, blank faces peering in at me and disappearing, touts trying to sell me lumber support belts, a kid deciding it would be a good place to hang out and the stewardess' were giving me an unnatural amount of attention. Their attention, I later realised, was them sizing me up as a decoy for smuggling goods through customs into Russia. Which they did. And the penny only dropped for me on this front once we were well over the border. Which was almost touch and go for me- getting over the border that is.
My faultless planning was not so faultless and half way through the night as I filled out the required paperwork for the crossing, I realised that I would be trying to enter the country 2 days before my visa kicked in..... and one thing clearly articulated in the bible for travelling the transmongolian is that you don't give the Russian border officials any reason to hassle you. Oops.
I thought about what I would do if they decided to turf me out in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night, I thought about explanations and excuses, hell - I even thought about bribing but instead resolved to go with my default in such situations- look dumb and innocent. The official with a big hat came back to my cabin and told me that my documents said '7' whilst it was in fact the 5th and using his thumb and forefinger demonstrated that "we have a lee-tle problem" (think Russian accent) before disappearing with my passport. During this exchange I affected a suitable expression and hoped for the best.
An hour and a half later a soldier fronted up at my door with a stern expression - and handed me my passport.
I didn't open my mouth throughout the whole process! Dumb and innocent - I stand by it. This is the third time I've used it with border officials, with a 100% success rate.
Siberia. In the form of a town called Irktusk. After the sun exposure on the Mongolian steppes, the grey skies and cool temperatures were welcome, even if they did add an air of grimness to my first taste of Russia.
Irkutsk was celebrating its 349th birthday the day after I arrived and I was told the the streets would be "filled with people". I headed out to see how Irktusk partied and found the remnants of a parade.... hare krishnas and a float advertising a local nightclub - doosh doosh DJ and barely clad young ladies dancing erotically.
It seemed that Irkutsk didn't have a population big enough to fill the streets. The streets are wide and empty, the buildings bedraggled yet imposing, collectively giving off a wild west, frontier town vibe. There was something really familiar about it and Glasgow came to mind. It took me awhile to figure this implausible parallel out - ex merchant city, seen better days of grandeur and prosperity, people doing it tough and the same hard ass looks on the faces of the men.
Apparently next year they will restore some of the beautiful old wooden buildings dotted throughout the city. I became fascinated by these buildings, mostly the signs of life in the windows of the seemingly uninhabited structures.
Gold. Pretty swish, hey? "On my own again" proved to be a false assumption, the Mongolians didn't quite play it that way. The door was opened on average every 15 minutes, blank faces peering in at me and disappearing, touts trying to sell me lumber support belts, a kid deciding it would be a good place to hang out and the stewardess' were giving me an unnatural amount of attention. Their attention, I later realised, was them sizing me up as a decoy for smuggling goods through customs into Russia. Which they did. And the penny only dropped for me on this front once we were well over the border. Which was almost touch and go for me- getting over the border that is.My faultless planning was not so faultless and half way through the night as I filled out the required paperwork for the crossing, I realised that I would be trying to enter the country 2 days before my visa kicked in..... and one thing clearly articulated in the bible for travelling the transmongolian is that you don't give the Russian border officials any reason to hassle you. Oops.
I thought about what I would do if they decided to turf me out in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night, I thought about explanations and excuses, hell - I even thought about bribing but instead resolved to go with my default in such situations- look dumb and innocent. The official with a big hat came back to my cabin and told me that my documents said '7' whilst it was in fact the 5th and using his thumb and forefinger demonstrated that "we have a lee-tle problem" (think Russian accent) before disappearing with my passport. During this exchange I affected a suitable expression and hoped for the best.
An hour and a half later a soldier fronted up at my door with a stern expression - and handed me my passport.
I didn't open my mouth throughout the whole process! Dumb and innocent - I stand by it. This is the third time I've used it with border officials, with a 100% success rate.
Siberia. In the form of a town called Irktusk. After the sun exposure on the Mongolian steppes, the grey skies and cool temperatures were welcome, even if they did add an air of grimness to my first taste of Russia.
Irkutsk was celebrating its 349th birthday the day after I arrived and I was told the the streets would be "filled with people". I headed out to see how Irktusk partied and found the remnants of a parade.... hare krishnas and a float advertising a local nightclub - doosh doosh DJ and barely clad young ladies dancing erotically.It seemed that Irkutsk didn't have a population big enough to fill the streets. The streets are wide and empty, the buildings bedraggled yet imposing, collectively giving off a wild west, frontier town vibe. There was something really familiar about it and Glasgow came to mind. It took me awhile to figure this implausible parallel out - ex merchant city, seen better days of grandeur and prosperity, people doing it tough and the same hard ass looks on the faces of the men.
Apparently next year they will restore some of the beautiful old wooden buildings dotted throughout the city. I became fascinated by these buildings, mostly the signs of life in the windows of the seemingly uninhabited structures.
5.6.10
The horse champion and his wife
Our next hosts were an older couple and their 19 year old son. They were horse people and owned a whole posse. Bold was a champion rider and trainer in his time and very much a man about the steppes, alpha through and through. His wife was lovely and tried very hard with her english. For the third time in two days I was served milk and boiled white rice as a meal. I had to stop myself from a) gagging b) weeping. I don't eat either of these products. But, as a veggo, they seem to think this was a good option. On top of this, you get a bowl of milk tea (diluted milk, really) every time you enter the ger. Urgh. There are lots of do's and don'ts when it comes to being in a ger, engaging with the locals and we were briefed on them before we left. But. Still managed to transgress now and then.
Here's what the inside of a ger is typically like.
After a spot of archery and a very tense game of ankle bone horse racing, we turned in. The second family was quite prosperous and had a spare ger for us to sleep in. It was substantially warmer then our nights in the tent and a good nights rest was had by all.
The next day we joined in the seasonal ger moving. We were visiting the family in their winter pasture. Summer had ticked over and the ger had to be moved to the summer pastures. Handy having an extra 6 pairs of hands at such a time, eh?
So we helped dismantle it and load up the ox cart and then were transported to the new place ourselves. Putting up a ger is actually quite complicated- the tension of the central structure and the surrounding poles that make up the roof had to be just right. We were more of a hindrance then a help on this front so spent alot of time hanging about in the sun, getting burnt and dehydrated. The nomads use the river as a water source, but, not being nomads ourselves, we could only drink this if it had been boiled. At one point three of us were sent inside the ger to fix up some aesthetics. Finished, we sat down to enjoy the shade. At some point Bold remembered us and with a "hey hey!" flung open the door to find us sitting in a row, immobile. He had great fun recounting our laziness to his wife later that evening.
On a smoko break, Bold uncovered a wrestlers outfit (small "underpants" and vest) and decided one of the guys should try it on. No, not over your clothes. He practically undressed a somewhat distressed young englishman, slapping on the wrestlers garb, tucking in underwear here and there. It is hard to say no to this man. He took great pleasure in demonstrating to the guys that his wrists were the same size as their ankles.
Job done, we returned to winter pastures and had a brilliant feed (no milk!) that ma had prepared for us whilst we were erm, hard at work. A little rest for us and the oxcart was loaded and some horses saddled for our return journey to the Terelj bus stop, where we would catch a crowded ride to Ulan Bataar.
Here's what the inside of a ger is typically like.
After a spot of archery and a very tense game of ankle bone horse racing, we turned in. The second family was quite prosperous and had a spare ger for us to sleep in. It was substantially warmer then our nights in the tent and a good nights rest was had by all.
The next day we joined in the seasonal ger moving. We were visiting the family in their winter pasture. Summer had ticked over and the ger had to be moved to the summer pastures. Handy having an extra 6 pairs of hands at such a time, eh?So we helped dismantle it and load up the ox cart and then were transported to the new place ourselves. Putting up a ger is actually quite complicated- the tension of the central structure and the surrounding poles that make up the roof had to be just right. We were more of a hindrance then a help on this front so spent alot of time hanging about in the sun, getting burnt and dehydrated. The nomads use the river as a water source, but, not being nomads ourselves, we could only drink this if it had been boiled. At one point three of us were sent inside the ger to fix up some aesthetics. Finished, we sat down to enjoy the shade. At some point Bold remembered us and with a "hey hey!" flung open the door to find us sitting in a row, immobile. He had great fun recounting our laziness to his wife later that evening.
On a smoko break, Bold uncovered a wrestlers outfit (small "underpants" and vest) and decided one of the guys should try it on. No, not over your clothes. He practically undressed a somewhat distressed young englishman, slapping on the wrestlers garb, tucking in underwear here and there. It is hard to say no to this man. He took great pleasure in demonstrating to the guys that his wrists were the same size as their ankles.
Job done, we returned to winter pastures and had a brilliant feed (no milk!) that ma had prepared for us whilst we were erm, hard at work. A little rest for us and the oxcart was loaded and some horses saddled for our return journey to the Terelj bus stop, where we would catch a crowded ride to Ulan Bataar.
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