Beaten by drunk Russians at Lake Baikal

[My photos from around Lake Baikal are here. Some are shot from a bouncing van. Sorry.]

“So here I am at midnight in a wooden hut just feet from the world’s largest lake, with a blazing fire, surrounded by 5 Russian guys I just met, and everybody’s naked. And then they start lashing me with birch branches.”

Irkutsk, the main train stop for Lake Baikal, is actually 60 kilometers from the lake. The guidebooks mention hydrofoil service that runs on varying schedules from Irkutsk to Olkhon Island, which was where I wanted to go. So I made my way around Irkutsk with all my gear. I arrived a sweating mess at a completely vacant boat dock. No boat today. So from there I humped it over to the town’s tourist information office, where I found out that there was a final bus heading to Olkhon in about an hour. Tired of schlepping my gear, I opted for a taxi to the bus station. I managed to buy the right ticket, but the ticket contained zero information about where to get on the bus. The attendant pointed me to stand 5, for bus 221, leaving at 12:30. By 12:20 there was still no sign of bus 221, but minibus 632 was loading up. As I stood there confused, a nice local man asked me if I spoke French, and then helped me discover that the bus number really didn’t matter, and that I should get on number 632.

Minibus 632 to Olkhon was more like a clown funny car. We ended up with 3 more people than seats. And the Russians don’t believe in seat belts. I ended up with a seat facing backward, with a large Russian man in my face. For the first time on this trip I had found someone who sweat as much as me! Over the next 6 hours on our painful trek to Olkhon, Maxim and I would chat in broken English. Max had studied English in university, but hadn’t used it in 10 years. We’d exchange a few words, and then an hour would pass. “I have question: what is your profession?” Max would ask. Another agonizing hour of washboard dirt roads, and another question. He was getting warmed up.

We finally made it to Lake Baikal, and boarded the ferry to the island. After paying the 25 Rubles per-day usage fees, we reboarded the bus, heading to the main, small village, Khuzir. Max decided he wanted to join me at Nikita’s Guest House. Reception informed us that there weren’t any single rooms left, but they had a double room we could share. Sure, what the heck. We checked into our cozy penthouse cabin room.

And I had my first shower in almost 5 days. Oh so nice. The pit toilet was less nice, but at least Nikita’s supplied wood shavings to help freshen things up.

After a tasty dinner, Max informed me that he was going to meet his friends for “Real Russian banya!”, and that I should come. Banya is basically a sauna, with some birch-branch lashings and cool water dips mixed in. Sure, what the heck, “Ok, I’ll join”. We wandered into the village to find a shop to pick up some supplies (whiskey for Max, vodka for me), and we set off to find Max’s friends. And we wandered. And wandered. Finally after scaring several locals by asking directions, we made our way to a small forest atop a hilltop overlooking Baikal. We could see the silhoutte of a small hut near the water. “DIMA!!!!” Max shouted repeatedly, while dark figures near the hut would alternately yell “NYET!” or various other things. Sure that this wasn’t them, and that I was probably about to meet my maker out here in the middle of nowhere, I had a few moments of panic. Max was sure this was his crew though, so we headed down the hill to the beach. And sure enough, it was them. His buddy from Moscow, Dima, had made some friends that day. Denis and Andre, also from Moscow had joined the banya fun.

So here I am at midnight in a 6×10 wooden hut 15 feet from the world’s largest lake, with a roaring fire, with 5 Russian guys I just met, I can’t understand anything that’s being said, and everybody’s naked. And then they start lashing me with birch branches. “It tradition! Good for skin!” I learned. It’s also traditional to stoke the fire up so hot that you can barely breathe (”Good for health!”). I also learned several other rules of Russian banya that I now can’t recall, but I remember that each of them started with “Mike, Mike, you must…” and Dima would lose focus. And then the rule would follow a minute later (one of the rules was something about not drinking vodka during banya, but that didn’t seem to stop us a bit later…). After about 15 minutes of cranked heat and lashings, it was time for our first dip. So out into the night we dashed, into the icy waters of Lake Baikal. Wow, what a rush. Full moon, midnight, and no lights around for miles, other than a few campfires and a forest fire off in the distance. The process was repeated several times over the next hour, and then we were done. We polished off any remaining booze on our way back to the shack that Dima and the guys were staying in. And then I had another brief moment of panic when Denis busted out a gigantic knife to cut up some sausage and cheese. But of course, it was all just for good health.   Max and I stumbled our way back to Nikita’s to crash. I awoke Sunday morning with a mild hangover but a very fresh-feeling face. The banya experience was definitely a highlight of the trip so far.

My time on Olkhon was like being at summer camp. We swam, rode bikes, played ping-pong, enjoyed nature, and relaxed. At night we were entertained by local musical talents, and we’d finish the night meeting other travellers around a fire pit. Nikita’s is a magnet for backpackers making their way through Siberia, so it’s a little “English is the primary language” oasis. It was a great break in the trip for me.

It turned out that Max is my Russian brother. We’re both big, sweaty men, both left-handed, geeks (he’s also a Web guy), good at ping-pong, photo nerds, and enjoy riding bikes. He’s the father of 2, and working on his second marriage.

Nikita, of Nikita’s Guest House, was a Russian table tennis champion several years ago. This means he was crazy good. This seems to attract other good players to his guest house. While Max and I rallied, a man played with his daughter. I could tell he was quite good. They left, and Max and I started to play a game. 10 minutes later, then man returned with another man and they started to rally. The most amazing ping-pong I’ve ever seen ensued. The second man turned out to be Nikita. While the first man was very good–a serious player–Nikita was ridiculous. He basically sat back and played defense against this guys who was just cranking every shot. And Nikita never missed. Well, except for the infrequent lob that would hit one of the random wires hanging from the roof of the shack. Every once in a while Nikita would crack an offensive shot, usually for a winner. Very fun to watch. Oh, and of course I won my game over Max, as I would all of our games (USA!!! USA!!! USA!!!).

On Monday, my final full day on the island, I took a van tour to the north end of the island with about 20 others. Bumping along over rough roads, we saw the burnt ruins of a real-life Gulag, Crocodile Rock, and some generally nice scenery, with sharp cliffs that dropped into the dramatic blue of Baikal.

And we got our first glimpse of “Big Baikal”, the main body of the lake, including the deepest spot in any lake in the world. I enjoyed hanging out with distinctive French brothers Antoinne and (doh, forgot), and their buddy Juan from Portugal (who spent a semester at Claremont Graduatelast year…).

Back at Nikita’s, Max and I scrambled up Shaman Rock for some fun photos.

Tuesday morning I got up early to catch the bus. I said my farewells to my new friends, and boarded the minibus. Same friggin backward-facing seat this time. And I even intentionally got to the bus 15 minutes early! Arg. Fortunately the trip back seemed smoother and faster than the trip in, despite the largely surly French occupants of this van. Coincidentally, Denis and Andre were on another bus at the same time, and we met up at the ferry landing station. I had been working on my Russian photo pose, but I just can’t muster the same look they strike.

Back in Irkutsk I spent 45 minutes in a taxi trying to find a functioning Internet connection (Lonely Planet let me down on this one…). After my Net fix, and a quick dinner with fellow traveller Alex, I made my way to the train station. Several minutes of confusion later, I finally gleaned from one of the agents that I shouldn’t worry, my train wasn’t listed yet but it would be soon. Not like plane travel. And 10 minutes later, I saw my German friends. We were all going to be in the same wagon together again. Yay! But the train that I thought was going to take 28 hours was going to take 40. Ow.

Random musings:

• Earlier I mused about the sexy look that all Russian women strike when posing for a photo. I got a good answer from a lovely young Russki at Nikita’s. She basically said it’s not them acting fake; they’re always told to try to look better, be better from when they’re very young. So they’re just doing what comes naturally, by training. I’ll buy that. I still don’t get the guys pose though.

Popularity: 40% [?]

No related posts.

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.