The 18th of September, I am pleased to remark, began with pancakes. And they were delivered.
The lady who owned the apartment bought everything up at 7.30, set up the table, and uncovered our hot breakfast to much joy on our behalf. Even more importantly, she shrugged her shoulders and said ‘C’est la Vie’ when Alice showed her the broken shower head and motioned how it had broken, instead of promptly presenting us with a bill for several hundred roubles. Then she disappeared to deliver breakfast to the other apartment in that building and we stuffed ourselves full to bursting with pancakes and two kinds of filling; one was a sour cherry syrup and the second we weren’t sure about; it crunched like sugar crystals but tasted kind of like gooseberries.
Then everyone got in the minivan for the four hour trip, during which the driver did stop for a bathroom break and even for an urgent photography intermission, but also decided it would be a good idea to play mind-evacuatingly repetitive Techno music at medium volume. Thankfully we were exhausted and everyone slept at least half the way.
It was only once we got within 100kms of Lake Baikal that the scenery started to change, and to look far more remote from any type of civilisation – and this was actually what we expected of Siberia.
We needed to put the van in a ferry over to Olkhon Island at 2pm, but it turned out there was no rush as we arrived not much after 1 and had time for everyone to go for a stroll up the hill, have a look at the monument to I forget what, and enjoy the view of the very edge of the lake. Once the ferry arrived the fun really started, and we saw one of the more frustrating but hilarious spectacles we had (or would) encounter in Russia.
There are two lanes at the ferry point for vehicles to get on and off; both had padlocked chains pulled across them. Having arrived second or third of the line of cars now waiting we might have thought we were safe. But once other cars started driving around the gates, over the dirt and back up onto the ferry point from the side, with gleeful abandon, we started to wonder how things were going to be worked out. Surely these Borgniners weren’t going to be allowed to join the queue?
No. Wrong. They did not join the queue. Now they were the queue. And combined with the fact a large tour bus drove on the ferry first, our minivan was the first of the line of cars which had arrived early and now did not fit on the ferry. We were stunned but also couldn’t stifle the giggles at the craziness of what we’d just seen.
There was another ferry coming at 3pm, and our van (as first loser) was allowed to wait inside the ferry point (which now had the chains up again), so we just went into the small kiosk restaurant to play cards for an hour and get a snack. Then our local guide came in and announced that because the van had missed the ferry and we had to wait an hour he would pay for everyone to get something to eat. A round of fried pastries later we’d all basically had lunch and were fairy happy with how things had gone, but didn’t have time to finish our second round of cards before the next ferry arrived and we gathered together again to see if there was any possible way that we wouldn’t make it on this time.
Of course we did – being first in line helps – so everyone grabbed their bags and followed the van on. Unfortunately I was looking the other way at the time but I’m told there was a bit of a skirmish between two drivers trying to get on behind us, then one guy said something to the other guy’s wife, then that guy pulled out a big knife and waved it a bit!
Yes… who said catching a ferry is boring? After that we had an hour drive around the edge of the ridiculously beautiful island to out accommodation in the tiny town of Khuzhir. Some of the rooms and buildings in the hostel looked like they weren’t finished being built, and some of the houses in town looked like they needed rebuilding, and also the roads are all dirt and very rutted and it seems that cows, being in the majority over cars, have right of way.
No one was really all that interested in lunch, even though it was warm and quite hearty and tasty – potato and cabbage soup and a vegetable-tomato stir fry type thing, as well as loads of bread and hot tea – we were more interested in seeing some of the island and booking a time slot to go into the free traditional Russian steam bath. The Banya.
One short orientation walk later – this is the main street, this is the shop – we walked only a few hundred metres to a beautiful rock formation which is one of the sacred sites of Siberian shamanism. It’s called ‘The Teeth’ because it looks like a couple of teeth poking up out of the water. If one climbs to the top one is said to be able to feel the power surging out of the rocks. Turns out, though, that the tricky bit is the climb. Particularly in an icy wind and a group of less than experienced climbers. Most opted simply to turn back and sit on the grass. There were only two really difficult parts on what was actually only a 30m-40m climb, but tricky is relative. For the first part, you had to get both feet up and to your right to use them as a brace while clinging basically to the side of the rock, and for the second you had to shimmy up a narrow crack between two rocks without that many good handholds. As Adam pointed out, ‘This’ll be great when we get to downclimbing with some very inexperienced climbers,’
From the top of the rock things are actually quite special, and you can see why the shamans would have singled out this part of the island.
Turns out getting back down was surprisingly intricate – in fact it proved easier to take a different route, but we were pretty sensible about not following each other too closely or distantly, and explaining the route to the person behind, so that everyone who went up came back down instead of making the evening news after their cold cold limbs decided to let go.
One warm dinner later we hit the table tennis table and then settled into a courtyard outside one of the buildings for yet another game of cards.
Then it was bedtime.
Greg
