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!)
Monday, August 16, 2010
Thursday, August 5, 2010
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
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
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
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
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
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
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