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| In a small Siberian home called an Izba, I sit, curled up warm and comfortable, listing to the fire crackling just outside our rustic room, reflecting on these past few amazing days. We arrived on the overnight train to the Siberian city of Irkutsk. On the platform, we met up with two new comrades from the ger camp in Mongolia, Emily and Jennifer (American and Canadian English teachers who are on their way home from a five-year stint in Japan). A thin blond woman hurriedly walked over to greet us and announced dryly, “My name is Tatiana, your guide for today”. She whisked us off to the tiny village of Listvyanka and the wide rocky shores of Lake Baikal. From the lakeside, you can see the rocks clearly under the water, just as though you are looking through glass, but you cannot see the other side. The rocks disappear when the lake’s bottom falls away, leaving the water’s color a deep dark blue stretching out towards the horizon. It looks more like an ocean than a lake, as water rhythmically rolls up against the shore. Even now, in the spring, snow peaked mountain ridges rise up on all visible sides. The lake is 2000 km around, and 600 km in length. That means Baikal is big enough to stretch from San Francisco to Los Angeles. The water here is so pure from the unpolluted snow runoff that it is bottled and sold around the world. Lake Baikal is so vast, it holds 20% of the world’s fresh water supply. If its contents were poured out over Australia, it would flood the entire country under 22 feet of water. In winter, temperatures drop and the lake freezes, creating the world’s largest ice-skating rink, set in nature’s awesome arena. Ferries are parked, and people drive across the frozen ice to get from one town to another. People also drive onto the ice to have some fun spinning donuts in their cars and trucks. The ice freezes so clearly, even though it is one meter thick you can still see through the ice to the water below, people scuba diving in dry suits can be seen though the ice, crazy but true. It is 9:30 a.m. when we walk into our little bitty bare wood home, bedecked with white hand carved shutters on each of the Izba’s rectangular windows. A home cooked breakfast is laid out on the table awaiting our arrival; freshly baked bread still warm from our hostess Valentina’s oven, along with tea, coffee, water, custard, sausage and cheese. Valenintina is a very kind older babushka (grandmother), and she speaks no English. We lost our phrase book, so we are becoming very skilled at charades. Her home was moved in its entirety from the lake’s side, including the banya or bathhouse and the outhouse, to escape the slowly rising lake water. The home was moved 100 yards into the valley of Christofka so it would not be lost, along with a few others in the village. A new well was built for her to have water. It is a hard life here for her, especially in the –30 to –40-degree weather, having to cross slippery frozen ice and snow, as the outhouse is located 50 feet outside the door behind the house and banya. The well is just outside the front door with an electric pump that fills buckets through a hose, but she must haul the water into the house or back to the banya, because there is no indoor plumbing. She has to keep the fire going all day to keep warm and the wood is piled outside in the back yard. My Russian babushka may not speak any English, but that does not stop her from taking care of me. I had bathed in her Russian Banya, (a small separate house with hot stove that heats both the air and a pot of water for bathing) and shortly after, we were going out to a Russian pub with Jennifer and Emily. Babushka would not let me leave into the cold night air with damp hair. Valintina offered me one of her own scarves, but settled for me putting the hood of my jacket up over my head. The next day Chris and I were leaving for a day hike and she made us a nice picnic lunch to take along. She walked us to the porch, then insisted that I should not leave until I had the zipper on my fleece jacket all the way up to keep warm. It is really sweet that someone you hardly know cares about your well being. Alone, we went hiking in the wild animal laden Siberian forest today, except the only animals we saw were grazing horned cows and a ferocious little barking dog. Leaving the valley of Christofka behind, we walked along the lake, and the air was crisp and overcast. The snow-capped mountains that you could see only yesterday had vanished into the cloud cover. We wound our way from the lakeside into the next valley and off onto a gravel road, crossing thick grass that has been packed and soaked by snowmelt. It gave way under our feet, similar to the feeling of walking on sand. Over a creek and through some bog we went, quiet except for the sound of our rustling jackets. We climbed though an open field and up into the thick forest of white birch, still half deciduous from winter’s freeze, their white outer layer of bark molting. It was really a pretty and unusual sight to behold, a white forest. No snow, just silvery white Birch bark. The forest was thick and its floor crackled as branches snapped and leaves were crushed beneath our feet with each step as we climbed the steep mountainsides. As we climbed higher, the forest floor became carpeted with a large leafy ivy unlike any I have ever seen. I knelt down to inspect a leaf - it covered both my hands and flowed off the edges on both sides. It was shaped like a giant green Valentines Day heart. Stopping to rest, all that could be heard were the peaceful sounds of nature; wind blowing through the trees, birds singing, water flowing somewhere in the distance. After our hike, we returned to Babushka Valentina’s, where she had our Russian Banya (sauna bath) ready and waiting for us to cleanup and relax. I never dreamed I would be here in the Siberian forest, alone with my one true love, picnicking on the shores of Lake Baikal, having an adventure of a lifetime. I know how lucky I am, and it almost brings me tears of joy. |
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