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