This isn't a road, it's a direction

On Thursday, I took the bus to Barguzin, north of Ulan-Ude about 200 miles. While waiting for the bus to leave, I made friends (over beers at 9am, of course) with Sasha, a Russian who has been working in the ‘service’ for about 10 years and has three more years to go until he starts getting a pension. This surprised me, though the intricacies of the Russian pension system are beyond my comprehension; I just know that everyone wants one so they don’t have to work (another person I talked to told me that in the north, women can start receiving their pensions at 50). The bus ride was hot and rather unpleasant, given that for 150 of those 200 miles the road was being repaved (the other 50 miles, except for a short stretch near Lake Baikal, were not much better) and Sasha kept insisting that we have more beer. Russians are quite hard to convince that, no, I actually don’t want a third beer before lunch.

There were a couple of scenic highlights to the bus, however. The first was the lunch stop on the shore of Lake Baikal. I stuck my hand in the water and took out the camera to snap a photograph marking this momentous occasion (Lake Baikal is, after all, a World Heritage Site). It was then that I realized I’d left my battery back in Ulan-Ude. This was rather tragic; you’ll have to rely on my descriptions (or photos from the internet). The Lake, where we stopped, was wide (50 miles?) and the peaks on the western side were visible. The second highlight was the Svyatiy Nos (The Holy Nose) peninsula, visible from the lakeside town of Ust-Barguzin. It rises straight up, stretching like a wall to the north; the top of the peninsula is more than a mile about the Lake. I didn’t make the climb, but I imagine it’s quite impressive.

After taking the ferry across the Barguzin River, which consisted of a barge, pushed and pulled by a smoke-belching tug boat, we covered the last 40 miles or so to Barguzin in about an hour. Here Sasha proved his worth by helping me track down the town’s only functioning hotel. Barguzin is a fascinating place. It’s been inhabited since the mid-17th century, not long after Russians first explored Baikal’s eastern shore. It was also a popular place for external exile, with Jews and Poles both ‘resettled’ to the village. There were a number of tombstones in the old cemetery with Hebrew inscriptions. Also exiled here were some of the Decembrists, a group of military officers who protested the accession of Czar Nicholas I to power in 1825 by leading a 3000-soldier strong revolt. The most famous of this group to be sent to Barguzin was Mikhail Kuhel’beker. In true Soviet fashion (anti-Czarist, anti-Empire), there’s a monument to Kukel;beker and his brother, Wilhelm, sited prominently by the river. Despite all this exciting history, the real highlight of being in Barguzin was the friendliness of the people and the beauty of the surroundings: the wide river valley edged by two mountain ranges viewed in the late-evening northern light. (Sorry about the battery!)

Decompressing in Arshan

Midmorning on Friday I traveled from Kuiren to Arshan by bus. Arshan – also a generic word for sacred spring – is a resort town located in the northeast of the Tunka Valley, at the base of the Tunkinskiy Goltsy, the easternmost edge of the Sayan range (the same range that I traveled through on my way to Tuva at the end of March). It’s known, not surprisingly, for its spring waters, including a hot, sulfurous spring that bubbled up near my hotel; the outflow was usually full of people soaking their feet. In addition to soaking, people also drink the water. I tried it. It was slightly bubbly and salty. I can’t say that I notice any change in terms of blood pressure or mood, two things which the waters are supposed to help with. On the other hand, a week later I’m still here and still healthy…

My main aim during my two days in Arshan was to relax. In the west, people often take “active” vacations: two weeks’ diving or climbing a mountain. In Russia, when people vacation, they don’t do anything other than eat shashlik and drink a variety of alcoholic beverages. I can’t say that say that I’m opposed to this technique, given the right location (i.e. a Caribbean resort). However, the mountains in Arshan were just waiting to be explored. Here’s my expedition report:

Striving to live up to my discipline’s history, I undertook a geographic expedition to the nearest waterfall. My first venture was on Friday evening. The conditions were muddy and slick, a result of the heavy rains that morning. I encountered strange rock formations, built in all likelihood to house the river gods [cairns – pirimidi in Russian – built by passing tourists]. I also passed through a forest of trees with strings and pieces of neckerchief tied around them, most likely to indicate the numbers of individuals sacrificed to a vengeful deity [this is actually a local custom to mark the locations of the springs]. I, however, pressed on, undeterred. After initially contemplating turning back before achieving my goal, I pressed on thanks to the encouragement of a band the natives [a Russian family; a mother and daughter and the latter’s two sons]. Having successfully reached the falls, I returned to base camp to contemplate my strategy for the following day. On Saturday morning, I tried to go beyond this cataract to penetrate the wilds of the Tunkinsky range. However, lacking porters to help with my rucksack and wearing inadequate footwear [my black, laceless dress shoes; all I brought this trip] I was forced to turn back short of my goal. As such, I was unable to plant the club’s flag in the wilds of the deepest Siberia. I did, however, record a set of invaluable observations about the local indigenes, to be presented at the clubhouse Tuesday next.

And so forth. After this diversion, I returned to Arshan and had a shashlik and a coke (made with real sugar; Stanley was turning over in his grave). The rest of my time in the town was spent walking out to one of the villages newly constructed datsans, eating pine nuts out of a pine cone (now I know where they come from), and reading Thucydides’ The History of the Peloponnesian War. Now if only there had been a pool with a swim-up bar.

Photos:



A half-consumed pine cone











Pirimidi in the creek











At the waterfall






















Pieces of cloth tied to the trees to mark the spring










The weather on Saturday was glorious











The newly constructed datsan, about 20 minutes walk outside of Arshan

Real research is hard

The aim of this trip is to conduct a survey among 300 residents of Buryatia and Kalmykia. Sounds easy, right? Not so much. As a surveyor in Russia, there are a number of contingencies that have to be dealt with. These range from the inability to get into apartment buildings to dogs, drunks, and other forms of wild beast. Actually, it’s not that bad. I’ve primarily focused on finding respondents at workplaces or in public spaces in the evenings. This leads to an over-educated sample, but also helps in ensuring that the respondents will understand and answer the questions appropriately. In some ways, this process reminds me of the work Paul and I did on the Tony Sanchez for Texas Governor Campaign (2002; we lost); others have compared me to a missionary.

This past week, I traveled east to the small village of Kuiren, located in Tunkinskiy rayon (the Russian equivalent of a county, although the rayons in Buryatia are quite a bit larger). The physical geography of the district is defined by a wide river valley, which runs east-west between two mountain chains. The trip to Kuiren demanded an eight-hour trek in an infamous marshrutka. To describe: imagine if the entire Holland clan (spouses included; you’re not getting out of this one) revived the Econoline, piled in, and drove from DC to, say, Lake George on blue highways. Even then, we would need one or two people to fill out the van (there were fourteen of us) and about a decade of disregard to the roads. As we approached Kuiren, we experienced another novel site: camels in the road (though they were domesticated). At some point, there were also cattle and horses in our path to round out the menagerie.

Once in Kuiren, I was ably assisted by Ira and Sasha, two students who attend university in Ulan-Ude and Irkutsk, respectively. Having local help is invaluable; people are much more willing to fill out a survey for someone they know (or is with someone they know, at the least). As interesting were the conditions at the hotel. There was no indoor plumbing (though there were faucets), just outhouses; this is common practice in Siberia, as even in Ulan-Ude a number of resident live in such derevniye doma. The hotel doubled as the local taxi stand; the first night, I was lulled to sleep by the screeching of the proprietress as she arranged taxis in a combination of Buryat and Russian. Magical.

Some photos:


Kuiren










The view south over the village







North towards the Tunka Mountains








Ira sends me off at the bus station

Travels beyond Ulan-Ude

Since arriving in Ulan-Ude, I hadn’t managed to get out of the city until last Tuesday. In the company of Zhargal, my gracious host here, and two lamas, I traveled to in neighboring Zaigraevskiy rayon to visit Atsagatskiy Datsan. The Datsan is located near the village of Khara-Shibir, which was the birthplace of Agvan Dorzhiev. Dorzhiev is one of the better-known Russian Buddhist (relatively speaking); he served as Russia’s official emissary to Lhasa (Tibet’s capital) at the end of the 19th century and founded the Buddhist community in St. Petersburg (the basis for the subsequent adoption of Buddhism by ethnic Russians). He’s also the subject of John Snelling’s Buddhism in Russia, in case you’re interested...

The head lama at the Datsan was quite a character. When we arrived, he was seated at his desk, surrounding by texts in Tibetan and pictures of both the Dalai Lama and Dorzhiev, and wearing a captain’s hat. Actually, these seem to be all the rage here in Russia; I subsequently saw a number of them in the resort town of Arshan. Interestingly, when some visitors showed up to visit the Datsan and offer a prayer, the lama barred two young girls dressed in shorts from entering; he went in, however, without doffing his hat.

The aim of the trip was to plan a round-table that will be held near the datsan in the middle of September. For me, it was an opportunity to see what the country to the east of Ulan-Ude looks like, and to snap photos of the Datsan. It was also a nice break from the demands on the survey I’m currently conducting here, which you can read about in the next post. Here are some of the above-mentioned photos:


Atsagatskiy Datsan








Stupa at the Datsan

























Towards the hills to the north

Long time no blog

I returned to Russia Tuesday night, landing in sweltering Moscow ten hours late after being rerouted through London. I was just happy to get out of Atlanta, which was truly a madhouse, with the Delta employees handing out overnight kits for those who had to wait for a connection in the morning. The one downside of my escape was that my bag didn’t make it onto the British Airways flight with me, resulting in three days in Russia with no change of clothes and multiple trips back to the airport to check on, and finally retrieve, my bag.

The highlight of my time in Moscow was a visit to Lenin’s mausoleum. Like other luminaries throughout history, including Ho Chi Minh and Pizarro, Lenin has been preserved and is on display five days a week in his tomb outside of the Kremlin (his neighbors include Stalin and John Reed, the American author of Ten Days that Shook the World). He doesn’t have it too bad, aside from the chemical bath he endures every day; the interior of the mausoleum has some lovely mood lighting and is climate controlled. I was surprised at how short Lenin was (is?); he seemed more like a doll than anything else. Also, I think that his caretakers have had particular trouble preserving his hands. His right one is balled into a fist, and there were noticeable signs of decay on his left.

I’m back in Ulan-Ude now, the city of Lenin’s oversized head, which bears a striking resemblance to his real one, with the exception of the red hair. One of the wonderful aspects of Russian summers is the number of weddings, and it seems that every city has its requisite photo stop. In Ulan-Ude, that’s Lenin’s massive noggin. I will be here for about a month, with various side trips out of the city to conduct my survey planned, before traveling on to Kalmykia to conduct the survey there.

I still haven’t posted anything to the blog about my time in Tuva, mostly due to a lack of internet connectivity while there and a lack of motivation during my time in the States. I will. It was a fascinating place and I had a number of notable and diverting experiences, ranging from a concert by the throat singing group Huun-Huur-Tu to an encounter with the local authorities.

Goodbye Lenin's Head!

Foreigners are not the novelty they once were in today’s Ulan-Ude. Clearly, this has some advantages. There is no, shall we say, ‘bearded lady’ effect, with locals constantly coming over for meet-and-greets (although this was probably only true in the first couple of years after the breakup of the USSR). This is due to a couple of factors: there are a number of academics studying Buryatia in the States; exchange programs have been established for the environmental protection of Lake Baikal, including the Tahoe-Baikal Institute; and Buryats, as a fairly integrated and cosmopolitan member of the Russian House of Culture have travelled widely. I found that in Elista (and, so far, in Kyzyl, Tuva’s capital) an element of curiosity remains, and that this is helpful in terms of getting research done and establishing local contacts with other scholars.

In Buryatia, I was pleased with the research I got done in the short time I was there, even if I was no longer unique. Of course, there is always the feeling that there is more to do and things are being left undone. I held one focus group during the two weeks. Last Tuesday, I met with a group of English language students and their teacher after class, working through the focus group questions on religion, holidays, and the role of the Dalai Lama. One student told me that she goes to the Buddhist temple with some frequency (a couple of times a week), and this is especially true when she has a big exam coming up. This “finding” of faith in times of need is not surprising, though it was interesting that, when I asked her what religion she practiced, she responded that she is of two minds, by which she meant that she ascribes to both Buddhism and Christianity. The temple, however, is in her neighborhood, and is therefore convenient.

One of these temples, which my local contact Vladimir Antonov referred to as the Rimpoche Center, is sited on top of one of the many hills surrounding Ulan-Ude. Think Los Angeles, only with the pollution coming from the coal plant rather than cars (although these contribute as well, no doubt). The view was fantastic through the smog, and I was able to snap a few photos of real derevni dom (though I did not use the outhouse). I also sat in on the afternoon prayer service at the datsan, and was the only male to do so. I wrapped up my time in Ulan-Ude on Friday with a visit to the city’s branch campus of the Eastern Siberian, where I spoke to two classes briefly about my research, and then about what life is like in America. Both groups were interested in race relations between blacks and whites in the States; I tried my best in my not-quite fluent Russian to explain the historical difficulties and contemporary nuances of this question. It’s harder than it sounds.

The Eternal Body of Khambo Lama Itigelov

Ivolginsky Datsan is the center of Buddhism in Buryatia. It was founded in 1946, and while it hardly made up for the hundreds of monks who were purged and the scores of datsans destroyed less than a decade earlier (in 1937), it did serve as a center of Buddhism in the Soviet Union following its construction. Whether it is still the center of Buddhism in the Russian Federation is up for debate; I would argue that there exists a geographic division, between Buddhism as practiced in Buryatia and as practiced in western Russia in Kalmykia, but also in St. Petersburg and Moscow, which each have their own Buddhist communities (the former has its own temple). There seems to be a power struggle going on between leading lamas both within Buryatia and between regions, at least this is the impression given by the academic literature.

While Buddhism’s internal politics remain to be sorted out, noticeable at Ivolginsky Datsan is the fact that Soviet ‘patronage’ has resulted in a more integrated and complete religious community. In addition to the main datsan (see photo right), the current version of which was built in the 1970s after the previous building burned, there are a number of smaller temples, and visitors make a clockwise circle of the edge of the complex. The photo at left shows prayer flags tied to trees outside the complex’s walls. There is also a Buddhist university, for novices entering the monastic order, and dormitories that house the monks and pilgrims who have made the trip to Ivolginsky.

The importance of the Datsan as a spiritual center was greatly enhanced in 2002, when, following a decree by the current Khambo Lama (the religious head of Buddhism in Buryatia), the body of Khambo Lama Itigelov (1852-1927) was exhumed from its sarcophagus. Prior to his death in 1927, Itigelov instructed his disciples to exhume his body both 30 years and 75 years after his death, with the latter exhumation being permanent. The Lama had been disinterred twice before, in 1955 (they didn’t quite make it to 30 years) and 1973, in order to check the condition of the body. Both times, it was unchanged, with the Lama still sitting in the lotus position; some claim that his hair, for example, continues to grow at an astonishingly slow rate.

Currently, the body is displayed to pilgrims eight times a year. Khambo Lama still sits in the lotus position, in a glass container (no photos are allowed, but a picture can be found here). The front of the container is open. Visitors are ushered quickly up to the Lama, where they bow their heads and touch his scarf, before being led away. It is important to both approach and move away from the Lama while facing forward; there was a monk in place to make sure visitors didn’t turn their backs. He was part of a retinue of lamas (about 15), who helped make sure that the pilgrims don’t dawdle, both in front of the lama and while praying to the statues and photos (for example, of the Dalai Lama) to the Lama’s side. At the same time, about forty lamas are seated in four rows, reading prayers written by visitors and chanting in Tibetan. There was also the more prosaic task of taking their morning tea while we were there, at around 10 am.

The experience of seeing the Lama was unique, and not totally explicable. Obviously, the body is of religious significance for Buddhists in Russia and elsewhere. At the same time, there remains a need, both within Russia and more broadly, to rationalize religious processes that are not easily explained. The scientific tests done here in Russia have not returned a verdict or offered a counter-explanation for the uncorrupted state of the body. At the same time, the lack of a definitive scientific statement enhances the sacredness of the body for pilgrims and believers. To paraphrase from the Simpsons, in the case of science vs. religion, perhaps a restraining order should be issued for science, to stay at least 500 feet away from religion at all times. This is a quite progressive idea; thanks, Matt Groening.