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.

Battle of the Erudites

For those who don’t know, for the last couple months Mackenzie and I have been part of a trivia team that competes Tuesday nights at a local sports bar, Harpo’s, in Boulder. It is run by a company called Geeks who Drink, which organizes trivia nights at bars in the Mountain West (Colorado, New Mexico, etc.) and, randomly, Virginia. The capstone to the Geek season was Geek Bowl IV, which was held the Saturday before I left for Russia. In general, we do pretty well at trivia, though our performance at the Geek Bowl was disappointing.

On Wednesday nights in Ulan-Ude at the local Spanish restaurant, Carlos VII, they now have trivia. If you ever happen to be here, stop by, although you’ll probably need to register beforehand. And remember, playing trivia in a foreign language is difficult. The first step, of course, is to make sure you understand the question. Next, figure out if you know the answer. Some questions were hopeless. For example, one question gave two lists of individuals and groups; list one included New York, Republicans, Richard Nixon, and Madonna, and a few more, while list two had Atlanta, Democrats, Nick Carter (no, not Jimmy Carter) and Grace Kelly. You had to answer how these two lists differed (give up? The first refers to Pepsi, and the second to Coke). Needless to say no one got this question right.

There is also the issue of translation. An example: one of the questions asked the name of the islands that are exactly opposite Greenwich, England. These are the Antipodes (a World Heritage Site!), one of a set of island groups belonging to New Zealand in the sub-Antarctic. Something that makes this even more tricky is that there are two ways to pronounce the name: the correct, American way (An-ti-podes) and the ‘proper’ British way (An-ti-po-des). When I said my answer, I said it the British way (trying to get in touch with my ancestors, perhaps), so our team captain wrote down the answer ‘Антипский’, which reads ‘Antipskii’. Unfortunately, we got this question wrong; they are sticklers on spelling here. It didn’t matter, though, as we ended up in second place regardless (see the photo of our captain’s hand collecting the winnings).

The folks at Geeks who Drink could pick up a few tips from the Siberian version, and vice versa. First, the quizmaster (who was a little too spiffed up for my tastes) went around the crowd and asked each team to introduce itself. This followed an impromptu solo from a special guest visiting for trivia from some far-off city in Siberia (Novosibirsk maybe, I forget). Thankfully, I was not asked to sing. Second, the between-round breaks featured more singing by a local talent who belted out Whitney Houston (And Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiii will always luv you!) and No Doubt (Don’t Stop, which was actually pretty well done). I kept waiting for her to sing Michael Jackson’s ‘PYT’, though it might have been a little over the top. Lastly is the question of money. I like our trivia set-up because the price is right, i.e. free. Here, it was around five dollars a head (R150), with the winning team taking home around R10K, divided among team members.

Ode to Buuzi

Dumplings are popular throughout Russia. The traditional Russian form are called pilmeny, and are small and circular, somewhat crown shaped in form. These can be found at practically any Russian cafeteria (called a stolovaya) or restaurant (the pecтopaн in its Cyrillic form). In Kalmykia, they were called berigi, and were bigger, similar to pot-stickers that can be found at Chinese restaurants in the states. I, however, prefer to call them ‘meat bombs’, as the filling was pure lamb. To help keep cholesterol levels in Kalmykia at extraordinarily high levels, they are served with a pat of butter.

Yet the Buryat buuza now has a special place in my heart. There are a couple of key characteristics that separate the buuza from other, more ordinary dumplings. The first is that you eat a buuza with your hands. It is improper form to use a knife and fork. To further complicate things for those among us who have pretentions to refinement, the buuza is packed with a meat broth that is the result of the cooking process (as you can see in the photo, the outer shell forms a convenient container for holding this broth). To eat a buuza properly, you make a small hole in the side and then suck out the broth. This works pretty well, though you have to be careful to make sure that the broth isn’t too hot.

Another culinary delicacy in Buryatia is the omul, a fish from Lake Baikal. For dinner on Sunday evening we had omul with potatoes. It’s a delicious fish, with a texture and taste similar to trout. And in Buryatia it’s everywhere; for example, smoked omul was available for purchase on the train from Irkutsk to Ulan-Ude. Those living around the Lake are in a bit of a fix, however, because while the omul makes up a large proportion of the Baikal fishery, and hence the local economy, and is considered a delicacy throughout Russia, it has also been listed as an endangered species by the Russian government.

In which I land in a pot of jam

Ulan-Ude is the second stop on my trip through Russia studying Buddhism and national identity in the Buddhist republics. As I previously wrote, it’s an attractive city; I’ve included some more pictures, of something other than Lenin’s head, to prove it (although that pesky noggin does sneak into the first of these photos, of the aptly named Lenin Square). A little more information about Ulan-Ude: its population is approximately 350,000, meaning that one in three residents of the Buryat Republic lives here; one of the most well-known business based in the city is the Baikal Farm, which produces vodka and other spirits; and, like in other Siberian cities, there are a number of derevniye doma scattered throughout the city (meaning there’s no running water inside the house and that the toilet is a communal outhouse).

I’m staying here in the apartment of a local scholar, Zhargal, and her son, Arsalan, who in currently studying at one of the local universities. The location is marvelous (it's the building with the blue porches in the center of the picture at right). I’m maybe three minutes from Lenin’s head, which besides being a landmark is also the center of the city. The excellent national library is just a little further, and there are good restaurants for lunch and such close by. And I've had ample opportunity to practice my Russian, too, as Zhargal's research is on Buddhist holy sites in Buryatia.

As for my own research, so far my stay in Buryatia has been productive. After getting oriented, I met with Vladimir Iusifovich Antonov, a local Doctor Nauk(which, to simplify things, means he has two PhDs), who works as an advisor on questions of identity in the regional parliament (the Khural). Antonov is a close fried of Valeriy, of Kalmykia fame, and well connected in the local academic community. On Thursday, I took the tram to the Institute for Mongolian, Buddhist, and Tibetan Studies, where I introduced myself and my project to other local academics. Since this is a preliminary trip, and since it’s short (only two weeks total here in Buryatia), it has been important to meet as many people as possible. Highlights that are arranged for this coming week include a trip to Ivolginsky Datsan, one of the key religious sites here in Buryatia, located about 40 kilometers outside of Ulan-Ude, and focus groups with student and believers on Wednesday and Friday, respectively.

Look at the size of that noggin!

Irkutsk is the nearest big city to Lake Baikal, and as such has become a hub for travelers to the lake. The city is sited on the Angara River, another of those large, north-flowing rivers in the region, and the only one to drain Lake Baikal. On Friday night, I stayed in a hostel in the center of the city, where the Russian hostess was surprised to have a visitor who spoke the local language. I haven’t really done the hostel thing since I was in New Zealand about 10 years ago. I’ll say this: the worst thing about hostels is that I keep getting older and the kids staying there stay the same age.

The next morning I took the day train from Irkutsk to Ulan-Ude, which travels along the southern shore of Lake Baikal. Baikal is one of the natural wonders of the world and one of the most important sites in the Russian national consciousness. It holds 80 percent of Russia’s freshwater and twenty percent of the world’s supply. This is primarily a result of its depth; at roughly 5400 feet, it is by far the world’s deepest (you can read about the recent expedition to the bottom here). In comparison, it holds more water than all of the Great Lakes combined. The lake is also home to the one of two freshwater seal species on the planet, known as nerpa, which evolved after the lake was cut off from the sea. Moreover, Baikal was one of the first sites of importance for the nascent Soviet environmental movement, associated specifically with the construction of a cellulose processing plant lakeside in the 1960s (I wrote my junior paper during undergrad on this topic). After all that, I have to say I wasn’t very impressed. I’m willing to give it a second chance, however, given the overcast weather and the fact that I was traveling along the south shore, which is the most developed part of the lake, and looking out a rather dirty window. One program that I'm interested in is the Great Baikal Trail, which is working on developing eco-tourism in the region through the construction of a hiking trail that circles the lake.

On Saturday night, I arrived in Ulan-Ude, the capital of the Buryat Republic. It’s an attractive city, situated in the Selenga River valley (the river is one of the major inflows into Baikal, and unfortunately caries much of Mongolia’s untreated wastewater), and boasts the world’s largest Lenin head. The locals say that Lenin’s head has its own weather system (this is more than a joke; the head has not developed any guano reserves since it was installed in 1970 for Lenin’s 100th birthday).

To Siberia

After leaving Elista on Monday, I traveled by bus back to Volgograd. I wanted to see the memorial to the Battle of Stalingrad, which includes a complex about three kilometers to the north of the central downtown area, as well as a set of memorials along the Volga River. I ended the day with dinner at Yelki-Palki, which is kind of like the Russian version of Sizzler, if Sizzler served Russian food. I’m in the process of creating another tour of the city, though the internet functionalities I have access to right now are a little limited.

After returning to Moscow early Tuesday, I flew out early Wednesday morning to Krasnoyarsk. Krasnoyarsk is a vibrant, youthful city located on the Yenisey River (one of the great Siberian Rivers, which Khrushchev had visions of reversing/diverting). It has a couple of main streets, named after Lenin and Marx respectively, and sandwiched between is Prospect Mir (which means peace), the main shopping strip for the city. The weather was improving (it has been a brutal winter even for Siberians, with temperature consistently at -40, leading to an increase in global warming doubters out here) and there were a number of people out during the day Wednesday. That night, I met Vadim, who lives in Krasnoyarsk and works at the local branch of Sberbank (Russia’s oldest, since 1841) and is a friend of a friend in Boulder.

Thursday night, I got my first taste of a long-distance Russian train trip, riding the rails from Krasnoyarsk to the historic city of Irkutsk. I traveled platskart (third-, or ‘hard’, class), and rode with a soldier returning home from western Siberia for his mother’s funeral (Sergey) and a university student from the city of Perm, in European Russia (Maxim). Sergey was particularly interested that I was an American, I think because he had never met one. I traded him a tee-shirt from a local burrito joint in Boulder, Santiago’s, for a belt and a military scarf. The shirt was a couple sizes too big, but he wasn’t deterred. Max spoke some English, and had worked as a life guard in Atlantic City on the Jersey Shore. He is going back this summer with his girlfriend. He is a big fan of Zenit, which is based in St. Petersburg and is one of Russia’s premier soccer teams; they won the UEFA Cup in 2008.

After a good 18 hours on the train, we arrived in Irkutsk. I snapped a photo of the sunrise from our compartment.

So Long, Kalmykia; Next stop, Siberia.

After just under a month in Elista, I will say goodbye to Kalmykia tomorrow and return to Volgograd. The last couple of days in Kalmykia were exciting and very productive. On Friday night (the 5th), I attended the 50th birthday party of one of Valeriy’s friends, Dorzhi. Dorzhi is a martial artist and runs an industrial complex in Elista, the one that had the karaoke set-up in the sauna. This was unlike any birthday party I’d ever been to. Dorzhi’s high school classmates were there, as well as guests from his home village (his zemlaki). This was a parade of well-wishers who sang songs, read poems, danced the Kalmyk national dance, or simply gave a toast in honor of Dorzhi. As the guest from America, I gave a toast (in Russian) and then predictably warbled ‘Happy Birthday’ in my signature off-key style. I was also dragged out on the dance-floor to dance the Kalmyk national dance, which, according to Valeriy, I did very well. Alas, I have no pictures, as I conveniently forgot my camera. When I return in the summer or fall, wedding season here in Kalmykia, Valeriy is going to show what a real Kalmyk party is all about.

On Saturday, we made a final trip to the sauna, another Kalmyk/Russian tradition to recognize those who have achieved (or will achieve in the future) great things, like the defense of a dissertation. I was presented with a sauna hat as a going-away present. It reads: ‘I sweat like a king’.

I have been accomplishing some of my research goals here, too. This weekend, I held two more focus groups, building off of the first two that I previously discussed in the blog. The first was with Kalmyks who actively practice Buddhism, and was held in the khurul’s library. The second was with students, again, to serve as a sort of comparison with the first focus group we conducted last week; in particular, I wanted to see if I myself could conduct the group, as I’m unsure if I’ll have the type of consistent support in Tuva and Buryatia that I’ve had here. The real benefit of these groups is that they’ve allowed me to identify a couple of the central questions/thoughts that I want to ask about further in the survey: whether there is such a thing as Kalmyk Buddhism, or there is only Buddhism as a world religion; the role of the Dalai Lama and the import of his presence in Kalmykia for Buddhists; and the ‘hidden’ nature of Buddhist practice during the Soviet period, among other topics.

I meet with a compatriot

As I mentioned in my last post, one of the benefits of being an American in Kalmykia is that I'm a bit of a rarity. People are interested in why I'm interested in their little corner of the world, how I first came to hear of Kalmykia, and especially what my impressions of Elista and the Kalmyk people are. That said, I'm not the only American here in Kalmykia. In fact, I'm not the only Coloradan, or even the only Boulderite (by the way, is there any other town of 100k people that has its own noun...that should tell you something right there).

Telo Tulku Rimpoche has been the leader of Kalmykia's Buddhists for the past 16 years. He was born in Philadelphia and at the age of seven was sent to a Tibetan monastery in India to begin his training as a monk. At some point (I'm not sure if it was before or after he went to India), he was recognized as the reincarnation of Telo Rimpoche. His family now lives in Colorado, and he divides his time between there and Elista, although from what I gather he also makes frequent trips to India. He suggested that we hold our next interview on the Pearl Street Mall, Boulder's main commercial pedestrian strip, and after the fact (as I enjoyed some dotur ["Immediately after the sheep’s carcass was carved, the Kalmyk used to cook all internal organs, including, liver, kidneys, heart and lungs. This dish (dotur) used to be a meal for a whole village."] at Valeriy's friend's birthday) I was thinking maybe at Chipotle. That would be both convenient and tasty; I don't think I've gone without a burrito for this long since my year-off trip to New Zealand.

I met with the Rimpoche in his office at the main khurul. He speaks English like the native speaker he is, though I'd be interested to know what other languages he knows. Without question Kalmyk and Tibetan, and I have heard him converse more than adequately in Russian, too. Our conversation was 'off the record', to borrow the terminology of the fourth estate, and was primarily about the revival and development of Buddhism in Kalmykia. I won't bore you with the details, though there are a couple of points worth mentioning. First, Telo Tulku Rimpoche, like others I've spoken to here in Kalmykia, emphasized the importance of the Dalai Lama's visits for Kalmyks. His last visit was in 2004 (he was also here twice in the early 1990s), and this trip played a central role in getting the khurul built. As the Dalai Lama ages, Buddhism is entering a period of uncertainly, and from what I gathered Kalmykia, being the only officially Buddhist territory in Europe, will play a key role in that future. The Rimpoche also railed against meditation, at least as it has been appropriated in western societies; in his view, it's become more like daydreaming, and not an mentally active reflection on one's existence. Here's a picture of the two zemlaki (Russian for compatriots, although it has a specific association with the land).

15 Minutes of Kalmyk Fame

The last couple of days have been a bit of a whirlwind, trying to finish off my preliminary research here in Kalmykia before I head off to Siberia. Last Friday, I attended a conference at the main khurul for local scholars. The main speaker was Geshe Lakhdor, who is the head of the Tibetan Library in Dharamsala, India. Dharamsala is the seat of the Tibetan government-in-exile and where the Dalai Lama makes his home. The theme of the conference was the relationship between Buddhism and science, with an emphasis on the compatibility between these two worldviews as ways of thinking. The conference was particularly interesting given the current debates going on in the United States, with science and religion positioned as mutually exclusive spheres.

Sunday was another full day. I was invited to Valeriy’s in-laws for lunch (again, the meal of the day), to celebrate the birthday of his youngest sister-in-law. She turned thirty, and is the youngest of five girls, which I thought was interesting symmetry given that that is my age and that I’m (virtually) the youngest of five boys. Birthdays and other gatherings in Kalmykia, and in Russia more generally, are marked by a series of toasts, with the well-wishers drinking their vodka do dnya, or ‘to the bottom’. Fortunately, Valeriy’s family didn’t keep too close of tabs on me (although his mother-in-law did check in from time to time...hmmm), so I got away with a sip of vodka for a couple of the toasts. After that, it was on to the local Sporting Academy, where one of Valeriy’s friends is a higher-up, and where Kalmykia was hosting the regional championships for wrestlers from southern Russia. Having never wrestled growing up in America, it was interesting to see how one of these events worked; there were two matches going on at the same time, with different weight classes (85, 100, and 120kgs) rotating through. Afterward, we went out to a Buryat restaurant, which provided me with a nice introduction to Buryat cuisine for my upcoming stop there. I'm looking forward to the encore of meat dumplings and mutton.

Yesterday evening I enjoyed, or at least laid the groundwork for, my fifteen minutes of fame in Kalmykia, as I was interviewed by a student at KSU for the local school newspaper. I talked about my project, gave my impressions of Kalmykia, and served as an academic consultant on the question of non-verbal hand gestures used by English-speakers. I made the drinky-drinky, hang-loose, and cuckoo signs for Ilyana, the student who interviewed me, as she is writing her senior thesis on these signs as used by Russian, German and English speakers. An erudite inter-cultural exchange if ever there was one.

The deportation memorial

One of the key events in Kalmyk national history was the nation's deportation, en masse, during World War II. Like a number of other groups in the Russian south, including the Chechens, the Kalmyks were accused of collaboration with the Nazis, and harshly punished. On December 28, 1943, the Kalmyks were herded into cattle cars and began the journey to Siberia and central Asia for "resettlement". There were no exception made; pregnant women, the elderly, and infants were all forced into the cars. Roughly half of those deported died en route.

Valeriy's grandmother was one of those deported, and his mother was born in Siberia, in Krasnoyarsk krai. When she was alive, his grandmother told him stories about the conditions in the cattle cars. Like those sent to concentration camps by the Nazis, next to nothing was provided for those who were deported. When people died, their bodies were simply dumped on the side of the train tracks. There was no partition for those who needed to use the bathroom; according to Valeriy, his grandmother told him a story of a woman who died because she couldn't bring herself to go in front of the other passengers.

The deportation has been commemorated with a sculpture and memorial. The sculpture is by Ernst Neizvestniy (whose name translates from Russian as 'unknown'), who has also done large-scale sculptures for the Aswan Dam in Egypt and in remembrance of those individuals who perished in the Gulag (specifically the Mask of Sorrow in Magadan). The memorial includes a cattle car, typical of the ones that transported the Kalmyks across the steppe, and a series of 14 stones marking each of the years that the Kalmyks were exiled. After Stalin's death in 1953, Khrushchev initiated his thaw, to rehabilitate those who had suffered under Stalinism. In 1956, the Kalmyks were finally allowed to return to Kalmykia.

The first two focus groups

One of the main goals of this trip in terms of research is to conduct focus groups in each of the three regions. The focus group is somewhat of a novel concept for Russian academics, and for Russian society more generally. In soliciting participants, I’ve tried to frame it as a sort of round-table discussion, where I’m asking the participants to serve as experts on Kalmyk national identity and Buddhism. Finding ways to relay to people why I’m interested in their opinions can be tricky. Remember, this is place where for 70 years the government controlled media outlets, shaped public opinion, and punished, or at its lowest point executed, those who dissented.

On Wednesday, we held a discussion among fifth-year students at Kalmyk State University (KGU). They ranged in age from twenty-two to forty-two. Some of the students are in training to become monks at the local temple (khurul); through an agreement between KGU and the khurul, they are receiving a “secular” undergraduate degree while at the same time taking classes at both places (such as Tibetan language at the temple). They were the most active in discussing the project’s main research themes: characterizing the changes that have take place in the religious sphere since 1991 and looking at the role of Buddhism in the formation of Kalmyk national self-consciousness. There were also some thoughtful answers, though, from some of the other participants about the personal nature of Buddhism as an identity. The broad consensus here was that Buddhism is not something that can be imposed on the individual from above, either in a theological or political sense.

I had originally planned to do two focus groups per region, one with students at the local universities and one among ‘believers’, a somewhat vague category that draws from people who are active at the Buddhist temples in each of the three republics (these categories are necessarily vague given potential inter-regional differences; it’s hard to know what I’m going to find in terms of Buddhist practices in Tuva and Buryatia). The second focus group, which was held on Thursday, instead was composed primarily of local academics who could be considered experts on Buddhism in Kalmykia. This was something that Valeriy suggested, and the group was very helpful for me in terms of developing the necessary background knowledge on Buddhism in the region, not to mention the value of having this information recorded digitally. That said, it still doesn’t get at the main concern of the project, which is the form of Buddhism’s revival in an everyday sense. While some other these academics were Buddhists, other took a more rationalistic approach to religious identity, arguing that it depends on context. Fortunately, I still have a week and a half to get a last focus group done that includes, as originally planned, active practitioners of Buddhism.

A walking tour of Elista

I've been waiting for the weather to get better to do a walking tour of downtown Elista. After a couple of days of rain, and strong winds yesterday (the Russian media reported the problems that this caused in Georgia, though I didn't see anything about similar problems just north of the Caucasus chain) I ventured out this afternoon. There have been a couple of requests for more pictures, so I've created a Google Map that traces my route, and have marked the pictures I took along the way. It's available here. I suggest turning on the satellite imagery at the top of the map for a little better idea of the urban geography.

Defenders of the Homeland

Today, February 23, is a country-wide holiday , the Day of the Defenders of the Homeland. That, at least, has been its name since 1991; it was formerly the holiday in honor of the Soviet army. The Russians do love their holidays, however, so after 1991 they just made a little revision to the name, and voila, a four-day weekend. At least this year, since it falls on a Tuesday.

If nationalism has replaced religion as the common bond between members of multi-ethnic states, then Russia, like the United States, has entered a post-secular age (at least with respect to holidays). Here in Elista, there were no parades, and the town was empty when I took a late-afternoon walk. The only examples of celebrating were on television, where this morning there was a somewhat hokey variety show in honor of the military. One tradition that has held on is the laying of a wreath at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier; that is something that is usually done at Arlington National Cemetery on Memorial Day.

About my project, or, how did I get here?

For those of you wondering what it is I'm actually doing here in Mother Russia, here's a brief synopsis. My project, which has been funded by a National Science Foundation Doctoral Dissertation Research Improvement Grant (commonly, DDRI) and a couple of internal grants from CU, is about Buddhism in Russia. Buddhism is one of the four "traditional" religions of the Russian Federation (Russian Orthodoxy, Islam, and Judaism are the others), as defined by Russia's 1997 Law on Freedom of Conscience and Religious Associations. This Law in itself is fascinating, and its name utterly misleading. It was actually designed to target members of 'non-traditional faiths', notably Jehovah's Witnesses and Mormons, who flocked to Russia (with its ~150 million atheists) after the fall of Communism. Basically, the law made it difficult, if not impossible, for these groups to establish their own religious institutions (read: churches) without jumping through a number of bureaucratic hoops.


I suppose this still doesn't answer the question, why Buddhism? There are a couple of reasons, beyond a general fascination with Russia as a political and cultural space. First, this project is building off of my Master's Thesis, which, in part, dealt with the revival of Islam in Dagestan, which is a multi-ethnic republic just to the south of Kalmykia that has been affected by the two wars in Chechnya. I don't necessarily envision comparing Dagestan and, say, Buryatia, but the infrastructure in terms of resources, colleagues, regional knowledge, and (partial) comprehension of the Russian language is already in place. Second, not many people have studied the three regions where I'm working (though Buryatia is something of an exception to that), and I know of no comparative study that has collected survey data from these 'Buddhist' regions. This might mean a couple of things: 1) they're not worth studying because there isn't anything interesting happening there; 2) these regions are hard to get to, scholars can only stay in Russia for three months at a time, and most of those who visit prefer to party in Moscow and Petersburg (ok, that last point was somewhat of a cheap shot...); or 3) academics aren't all that interested in a minority religious population when there are much more interesting things (conflict, migration, AIDS, drug trafficking) happening in Russia and the former Soviet Union. I'm pretty sure 3 is off-base; academics love the obscure. And I've seen firsthand that there actually are some pretty interesting things happening here with respect to Buddhism; I talked to a couple of lamas at the khurul last week who characterized Kalmykia's religious revival as broad but not deep. The republic was basically moving forward from nothing, from 70 years of state-enforced atheism, so what's been achieved so far is commendable. It's superficial, however, with its emphasis on the construction of stupas and khuruls, but not sufficient in terms of widespread practice, knowledge of Buddhist customs and scholarship, and an un-self-centered approach to religion. So I'm going with 2, at least until I get back my first peer-reviews.


Having been in Kalmykia 12 days, the next two weeks will be spent conducting two focus groups here, one among students at KGU, and one among active practitioners of and believers in Buddhism. The first one will be Wednesday, and the next will be sometime during the first week of March. This is designed to serve as a test-site for questions to be included in a survey, the main component of the project, which will be carried out this summer and fall. I'll be sure to give a report on how they go.

Not your little sister's high school musical

Here's the video from the Tulpan performance that I had tried to post earlier. I have internet at my apartment now, so I don't feel bad about the ridiculously long upload time.

Mafia Wars and Par-tay at the Kvartir-ay

On Wednesday I was invited to KGU (Kalmyk State, as the local university is called) to speak to an English-language class and play a game called Mafia Wars. After making small-talk about the United States, Buddhism in Kalmykia, and Avatar (there’s no 3-D version here in Kalmykia; yeah, capitalism!), we got down to the order of the day. Mafia Wars is supposedly all the rage in Russia right now.

The premise is this. You get together a group of ten people or so, and pass out cards. Someone serves as a moderator of sorts. On the cards is an identity. There are four identity categories: mafia, sheriff, doctor, and citizen. The mafia, there are usually three or so, have the right to ‘kill’ someone at night. Night is followed by day, during which those who are still alive vote on who they think is part of the mafia. This is done by discussing anything that they might think is of relevance: movement during the night, nervous glance, fidgeting hands. The mafia has a vote, too, so you have to be observant in noticing who votes for and against whom during this part of the game. The sheriff, meanwhile, is able to ask the moderator who they think is part of the mafia, while the doctor is able to save someone who has been killed during the night. Usually, it makes the most sense to save yourself if you’re the doctor, since you don’t know who has been targeted by the mafia. The game goes on until either all the mafia has been killed or all the citizens (who don’t have a special role) have been.

We played three rounds, and then Valeriy, his friend the bureaucrat Mergen, and Andrey, who is a graduate student in linguistics (and speak impeccable English) at KGU came over to my apartment (in Russian, kvartira) for a get-together. This is another Russian tradition, referred to as going v gosti. Mergen has shot a hare and made a stew, which was actually pretty delicious, and since it wasn’t lamb, I was game. Not sure if the pun is intended or not here, I haven’t decided. Anyways, we toasted to friendship, a productive month of work, to me getting a real job at an actual, accredited university at some point, and, rather touchingly, to my family. Valeriy is, thankfully, a bit of a teetotaler, since, like everyone else who has a car here, he serves a shuttle service for family and friends. This is was a chance to loosen his belt and enjoy some Dagestani cognac. I meant to take a couple of pictures during the gathering, but forget. Instead you get a lovely view of room one (the kitchen) of my Elista apartment, above. You have to keep watching the blog for a shot of the living/bedroom. Don’t worry, the sultan’s harem this is not.

Nothing like a good schvitz

One Russian (although I’m sure there are a number of others who would claim it as their own) tradition that I’ve been privileged to take part in is the sauna. The saunas (we’ve done this twice) are pretty much like any sauna we have in the US, with the exception of a dunking pool of cold, slightly murky water next to the steam room for those who enjoy a quick shift from steaming hot to icy cold.

Something novel in second sauna we went to (both of them have been attached to factories and are primarily designed to serve the workers there) was karaoke. Now, for those of you who think karaoke makes everything better, I won’t disappoint; it did make the sauna a bit more diverting. One of the other sauna-goers, a Greek-Russian named Pasha, put on his best impression of Okhudzhava, who sounds kind of like the Russian Bob Dylan, or even better, a male Patty or Selma from The Simpsons, when he sang.

Another interesting point is that the Russians have special sauna hats. They’re cone-shaped, with a dangly bit on top. I haven’t really figured out what they’re for; perhaps to keep the brain from sweating, or to remain fashionable despite sitting in the buff trying to exfoliate through scratching. I did ask. Valeriy said something along the lines of ‘to keep the sweat out of your eyes’. If that is the case, it didn’t really work. Here's a picture of a sauna hat: http://mha-net.org/graphics/wild07/DSC_4125.JPG (that's not me in the photo)

Цаган Сар

On Sunday, the Kalmyks celebrated their New Year. Tsagan Sar (I’ve provided the Cyrillic in the title of this post), or White Month, marks the beginning of spring after a long, cold winter. Like other cultures, the Kalmyks have integrated some of the traditions from when they were nomads roaming the great Eurasian steppe into their contemporary, sedentary, national identity. And besides, who doesn’t like having a reason to party…

I was invited to Valeriy’s apartment for a traditional Kalmyk meal. Lunch is the meal-of-the-day, as we used to call it in the Holland household, and this was no exception. I’ve included a photo as visual evidence. The key ingredient in Kalmyk cuisine is meat. This is usually mutton, though other forms are fine substitutes. For dinner, we had meatballs with gravy over mashed potatoes, lamb shank, bullion (the real thing, no cubes here), and cole slaw. This was supplemented by vodka (Russki Standart, very premium, and also a stand-in for kumis, or fermented mares’ milk, which is drunk in the summer), dzamba, or Kalmyk butter tea, and bortsigi, which is the Kalmyk take on the doughnut. I rather enjoy dunking them in the butter tea.

After dinner, we went to Friendship Park, near Elista’s downtown, and watched a rotation of cultural performances that included a dance troupe and singers. A video of the most amusing of the acts is below. At the concert, Valeriy ran into a friend, Gennadiy, who is the head of the local power plant. He was hosting the President of the Russian Martial Arts Federation. See photo below of me schmoozing with local dignitaries. Valeriy is to my right, Gennadiy to my left, and the martial artist two to my left. I’ll leave it to you to make conclusions about how he rose to that position. Nonetheless, we were invited by eat more food. I obliged, of course, as Gennadiy had in his gastronomic arsenal berigi, the Kalmyk take on the dumpling.

The day was capped by another dance performance, this time at the National Theater. This was done by the national dance troupe, which has been highly decorated in competitions in the Russian Federation and has also toured Europe and the United States. They were quite good. I’ve tried to attach a clip, but the internet connection is excruciatingly slow. I'll give it another go later.

As for welcoming spring, there might be something to this whole Tsagan Sar thing. On Monday it was finally above freezing, and today it was around forty…

Elista - Our Beloved City

 After a week in Elista, Kalmykia’s capital, I feel relatively secure in offering a few observations about the town.  I had read before arriving that it was a “very drab” city.  Certain elements are mildly depressing: the roving groups of feral dogs, the dilapidated exteriors of the ubiquitous Soviet-era apartment blocks, and the layer of grime that has built up on the streets and sidewalks in unsuccessful attempts to combat the elements of winter.  In some ways, though, these are characteristics of all post-Soviet cities.  And Elista does have its attractive elements, including a small and manageable downtown, a number of parks and monuments, and the open steppe just beyond the edge of town (although this can take a little while to get to, thanks to a lack of urban planning).  A post-Soviet armpit on the order of Minsk this is not.   

 Day to day, much of my time has been spent in the khurul, or Buddhist temple.  Kalmyks take much pride in the fact that it is the largest Buddhist temple in Europe, and that its 11-m statue of the Buddha is the continents tallest.  Despite the temptation, I have not imparted my two cents about the myth of continents, particularly the Urals as the divisor between Europe and Asia. 

The khurul is also the social center of Buddhist life here in Kalmykia.  Morning prayers start at 8:30am.  I have yet to attend, but plan to sometime this week.  Twice when I’ve arrived around 10am the services have still been going on; the hall is packed with Kalmyks kneeling on the pads provided.      

There are also cultural events at the khurul.  This past weekend, I attended a film entitled Discovering Buddhism that was shown for students from the local university, Kalmyk State.  Richard Gere made his requisite appearance in the film, though it primarily featured teachers lecturing to audience at Buddhist workshops.  They also have a library with resources on Buddhism in Kalmykia and Russia more widely, internet, and soft couches.  The one drawback of the khurul is the lack of heat.  We were having temperatures in the low teens here last week, though now we’re having a bit of a heat wave. It was right around freezing yesterday and today a little above. 

Marshrutka Journeys

I left Moscow on Monday afternoon. The flight to Volgograd was about an hour and half, on DonAvia. This is one of the BabyFlots that have been spun off for regional service from the Soviet monopoly Aeroflot since the end of the Soviet Union. In general, the safety record of Russia’s domestic airlines is pretty poor (and that is understating things…), and it’s especially bad among the BabyFlots. After the most recent crash, outside of the Siberian city of Perm in September 2008, Aeroflot rebranded all of the BabyFlots, changing the names, for example, from Aeroflot-Don to DonAvia. It’s still basically Aeroflot (they codeshare almost all of their flights), but this way Aeroflot doesn’t get the poor press in the West in case something goes wrong.

I arrived in Volgograd at 6:30. To get from the airport to the center there are a couple of options: gypsy cabs (psst…meester, you need taxi, very cheep) or a marshrutka. For those not familiar with the post-Soviet wonder that is the marshrutka, they are basically mini-buses for the masses. They ply set routes, and have cost anywhere from 8-15R, which is a range from a quarter to a half-dollar. That’s in comparison to the $12 bus ride from Denver International to Boulder; plus, there is so much more ambience, not to mention the aromatic bouquets of your fellow passenger.


In Volgograd I stayed in the Hotel Volgograd, which is located in one of the few buildings that survived World War II. I didn’t get a chance to explore Volgograd much, given the length of the trip (again via marshrutka) to Elista, Kalmykia’s capital. This was a six-hour journey, covering 300km. If you do the math, we weren’t moving very fast. It is, however, better than the alternative of travelling across the steppe in the traditional fashion of Kalmyk nomads, via horse. The weather started off nice, and deteriorated into a ground blizzard by the end of trip. Fortunately, we had one of the few responsible drivers in the Russian Federation, and I only feared for my life a handful of occasions. This is well below the median of seven for the average long-distance marshrutka trip.


The first photo is of one of the main roundabouts in Volgograd. The sign reads: Glory to our City and our Victors. The other two photos are from the village of Ketcheneri, in Kalmykia proper, one of our stopping points on the way to Elista. The depth of the snow increased suddenly once we got to this town; we had to get out and push at one point to extract ourselves from a drift.