Martin vs. the Trip to Olkhon

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It was way too late to get out of a big city like Irkutsk. Especially because I could not even find my way out. The traffic was horrible for a biker not accustomed to Irkutsk traffic.

Decidedly I went out to Olkhon as my couchsurfer friend Stefan had recommended it. He told me that I in particular should stay in a hostel called Nikita's. I had a book I needed to swap, so I was going the 300 k out there to do that.

I took many a detour and when I was finally on the right course, it was really dark. Tatiana had been right. I should have waited until next day. I found a spot of forest between the noisy state road leading to Bayandai and some industry. I was actually not displeased with the traffic noise as it took some attention away from the choir of howling dogs, which was after all scarier.

I woke up at 11 am next morning even though I slept next to the cars roaring. Must have been tired. As I got out of the tent three tanks was driving on the road in front of me. Back in 'the real Russia' I guess. There was red berries everywhere around me. Those berries are also sold along the road to people who are too lazy to go out and find them for themselves. Along the roads you will at this time of year also find especially blackberries, mushroom and potatoes sold. Seems like half the population around here are mushroom collectors. Entire families are spending their holidays like this to generate some extra income, and I guess it works out well, since there are people sitting 50 meters apart at times selling what they found. I bought some vegetables at some place. In Russia in the summer tiny cucumbers are a stable snack and tastes of well yeah, something, compared to Danish ones. The babushka gave me some homegrown garlic, which blew me away with a triple or so strength in comparison with the regular stuff.

The indigenous people of this place in the world is called Buryati, and they are a Mongolian descend. Both Tatiana and Vaselina warned me about Buryati people, especially when they were drinking. My first experience with a buryati man called Valera who had been drinking a lot. When I had a break, cooking up some mashed potatoes, Valera wandered around between the merchants along the road bumming cigarettes whereever he could and finally he ended up where I was sitting.

His eyes brightened at the sight of a westerner. Since he already had a cigarette and a beer, he asked me for vodka. I offered him my food, which he accepted and greedily consumed. Valera told me that he was once a vet in this area, but now obviously unemployed. Upon finishing the food, he was ready to ask me all three of his habits. "Give me vodka! Give me beer! Give me Cigarettes!" He yelled as I turned down one after the other of his requests. Then he wanted me to come to stay in his house after a call in the local shop for alcohol. I politely rejected and drove away on my bike while Valera was yelling further requests after me.

When it comes to distances, never trust Russians. If they don't know, they'll guess. See I don't spend money on such things as maps, which means I have to ask a million or so times to get in the right directions. This means dubious guesses and certainly a chat about where you are going and where you come from, if you really intend to reach your goal by bike and if you are alone. Half of the people shake their heads in disbelief, while the other half encouragingly shouts 'mala diets!' before shaking their heads in disbelief.

First a doctor told me that I was only forty km from Bayandai, which was an answer that made me content. But thirty km down the stretch another guy tells me I have yet 40 kilometers before reaching this city, which made me really really annoyed. The last guy was right and as the sun descended I reached Bayandai after a 140 km flat stretch.

The morning after I hit the mountains. There is a reason why this side of the Bajkal does not have a lakeside road. The road to Bajkal from the main road is 130 kilometers of pain, when approaching by bike. Just outside Bayandai they started and as I finished the first mountain, a jeep camper wagon combo approached me. This was the Swiss couple travelling around the world, who would haunt me for the next time. "It looks like an up and down story," the woman said." She guessed right. They praised my efforts and laughed vigorously as they drove away. 'See you later', I thought.

The worst mountain being a 6,5 kilometer climb, but at least it was a steady climb. The rest of the way it was just up and down. maybe 15 kilometer was flat on this stretch. But I had to make it. Otherwise I would not be able to spend any time on the island before going home to Irkutsk to pick up the visa.

After this excruciating climb I sat down in a cafe which could serve me nothing more than a tea and some sunflower seeds, but the babushka running the place was great to speak to. She had some adoring grand children who found me very interesting.

The funny part of the challenge emerged after a city called Elentsi, which is the buryati capital of that area. Funny was it when the road changed from asphalt to gravel. Not that I dislike gravel in its existence as such, but when it's spread out in a groovy way with wholes all over on a 15 kilometer stretch I prefer the dirt track next to it. I changed a few times between the two and the dirt track always won even though it was more hilly than the gravel.

It was getting really dark when I caught the first glimpse of the Bajkal lake. And I still had an 11 kilometer downhill stretch before reaching the ferry port. As I made my way down a dirt track in darkness alongside the car traffic I gave some thought to as if I did this to impress someone, as the amount of danger involved was getting quite high. When I got to the bottom I made a sigh of relief as I could see that the ferry was still going. After confirming that I went down to see two motor homes and a jeep camper wagon. Yes, it was the Swiss. And they had met some Germans. Johan, the Swiss man was really exited to see me and introduced me to the Germans who already had heard of me. Then everybody started competing about giving me stuff, so I ended up with an awesome fish meal accompanied by vodka and beer. Yummy.

The ferry in the morning was a 10 minute story and then there was just 35 kilometer of the same gravel road that I felt was hell for 15 not too hilly kilometers. But this was extremely hilly. And the gravel road even more groovy than on the mainland. It took me half a day to complete those 35 kilometers with plenty of breaks and constant breathtaking views. Olkhon is apparently besides being a must-see backpacker destination also a place where a lot of Russian tourists go to. I met many different Russians there, young and old, all very friendly, open and giving.

When I reached the main city on the island, Khushir, I found Nikita's and I was amazed to see how beautiful a hostel, or what you would call it, can be. This was a place that you wanted to be, but I was not going to waste money on a bed there. The wooden houses that made up the facility were charming to say the least, but I just sat there in a cafe chilling and charging some battery.

Suddenly Justin, the couchsurfer from Tatiana's place dropped in. He had taken the bus and lodged here like all other sane persons. He was apparently a Dane magnet, because he came dragging with a guy called Mads from the northern parts of Copenhagen. We decided we all wanted to go to the banja on the beach there. As always a banja visit is a good decision and I ended this one high as an eagle after two sit-ins in the baking steam and two dips in the chilly lake.

The banja was taken care off by a young Israeli called Avi. He had taken the opportunity to make some money while chilling on the beach there. It was a very nice beach indeed and it was definitely the most popular place to camp on the entire island, not that it was anything near crowded. I stayed with Avi and his three Israeli friends with the characteristic names Rudi, Dudi and Odi and a cute French girl, whose name I forgot and another French hitchhiker called Olivier. The company was great and we had a constant campfire going, which constantly cooked on some food or some tea.

Meanwhile feeling very good on that beach, I was considering how to get back to Irkutsk and further on. It had been a rough ride to Olkhon and a bus was a tempting way to go back. Moreover I was recommended not to drive on a bike to Ulan Ude through Sludvyanka. I spent a lot of time thinking all this over. Train and bus ticket prices, Russian traffic, fatigue - this was among other negative factors swirling around in a down thumb flurry in my mind. But in the end I just thought "fuck it all - I am going to ride the whole damn way from here to China!"

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