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Published: September 14th 2009
Well hello. Sam here again, and you guessed it, Laura is snoozing
We've just got back from Olkhon Island on Lake Baikal, and I'm writing this entry stood up in a hostel in Irkutsk, the nearest city to the lake (70km or so I believe). Czech out the metric!
Right, when we last wrote we were about to head off into Yekaterinburg. I can report that we feel we saw some right proper Russia. It was marvellously grey, interspersed with glimmering gold (the churches must be adorned in gold otherwise God cannot see them - which is a mighty expensive way of doing things). The city is known as the capital of the Urals, and stands on the border between Asia and Europe, as I mentioned in the last blog. We were again blessed with some stunning weather, and wearing our hats Mother Gillett, we had a rather large wander round the city. The city hall was reminiscent of the Stalinist architecture in Moscow, and the entire city is built around a small lake, which in the sunshine gave this industrial city some deserved and undeniable charm.
We made our way to the death site of the Romanovs, and even had a look at a table leg from the room in which Tsar Nicholas II and his family were killed. The house in which the slaughter occurred was pulled down by the Soviets, and in its place a Cathedral has been built. After accidentally wandering into a wedding, we explored the grounds, which are dominated by large photographs of the Romanovs, and then went to see a memorial to the Russian dead killed in the 'original' Afghanistan war. It's known as the Black Rose, and lived up to the name. It was both striking and beautiful.
After some traditional Russian food, we made our way to the infamous Yellow Submarine. The bar was underground, narrow and small, and the decor was, oh yes, designed to imitate the insides of the Yellow Submarine. Inside were many a Russian in t-shirts displaying British musicians/bands and the walls were decorated with prints of rock bands from all over the world. After 3 hours, it was clear that the obsession with British music went beyond a tongue-in-cheek bar. Obsession is the only word for it. Absolutely insane obsession. There were no backpackers, only Yekaterinburg's 'alternative' community, and they were working their way through cover versions of songs by the Beatles, Kinks, Stones, and many more. The Hey Jude version was perhaps the worst 5 mins of music I have ever heard, but we laughed, they laughed, and much fun was had by all.
Our second day in Yekaterinburg was more relaxed, and from which I have little to report. We did, however, have a 6 hour wait until 4am in the train station for the train to Irkutsk, which was not ideal. We paid to stay in a waiting room in order to stay warm, and we had to witness the less fortunate of Yekaterinburg's elderly citizens be subjected to a barrage of aggression from the Dicatator of the waiting room, who was supposedly there just to take the fee off people.
Our train ride was more than 2 days long, and we met some fantastic people. First there was Ivan and Alexander, the Siberian oil pipeline layers, who work in temperatures below -50 degrees celcius!!! We drank vodka and cognac, watched some somewhat interesting Russian 'drag' comedy on their portable DVD player, then said goodbye to them after more than a day of company, only for them to be replaced by a 25 girl from Krasnoyarsk called Anna. Unlike Ivan and Alex, whose English was roughly level with our Russian, Anna spoke a little English, and by the end of our time together her English was superb (our Russian deteriorated). We discussed everything imaginable, from the Russian healthcare system to the consequences of selling alcohol in kiosks to be drunk in the streets, if England followed Russia's example.
We went for drinks in the restaurant car for the first time on the journey, and ended up meeting Swedes, Scots, and Andre, a Russian who loved Pink Floyd who joined me in singing the first few parts of Money much to Laura's amusement. He told us, with translation assistance from Anna, that he was pleased that we were seeing the real Russia and not just seeing Moscow or St Petersburg and getting a false impression as a result.
We departed the train early the next morning, and said our goodbyes to Anna, with a promise that she would one day leave Russia (she has never left its borders), and will visit us if she ever comes to England.
I have neglected to mention the elderly Danish tour group who were on our train. Needless to say, the bathrooms were permanently engaged. It was strange to be on a train with tourists after so many days without seeing a single one.
The departure from the train left us in Irkutsk, the gateway to Lake Baikal. Here there was little to do, despite it being a city of 600,000 people, and after a few wanderings, a shower and some hearty vegetables (after nearly 3 days of train food and no showering), we spent the evening chatting to fellow travellers in the hostel. In the morning we were to head to Olkhon Island to stay with Olga and her family, in the middle of the deepest lake in the world. Lake Baikal contains 1/5 of the world's fresh water, and in winter, the thing freezes!!
I now must discuss the bus journey... it took 10 hours... and only half of that was on tarmac. The rest, well... think Mars.
We have told the story so many times, and I will attempt to keep it brief, but it is nigh on impossible...
First we set off in a minibus, then we drove around for a bit, parked outside our hostel again. Were transferred to a proper coach, and headed off for Lake Baikal. There were a few of us from the hostel, and the rest already on the coach appeared to be from some tour group, and we were taken aback that so many people were going to this remote island, however, all would become clear...
A sudden stop to allow the driver to collect a dinner-table sized part of his bus from the road that had fallen off, was followed by a window falling out, then a missed ferry despite a one and a half hour wait (there was no room). The driver was having a fag and missed his spot. We then had to wait another hour for the ferry to come back and pick us up. However, this was complicated by the ferry destroying the harbour jetty (the harbour consisted of two tents selling fish) on its return, and then the bus crashing into the ferry because the ramp was too steep. To ironic cheers the bus was eventually propelled onto the ferry for the short crossing to the island, and we all boarded the bus for the 1hr drive to the main village on the island. Within sight of the village, the bus started to get a bit whiffy, and with a turn of the head, it became apparent that we had caught fire. The driver eventually decided it best to stop, and after a quick inspection, that the bus deserved the chance to deliver us to our destination.
It did eventually, but minus one passenger. He was last seen directing traffic onto the ferry with a bottle of vodka in one hand. We think that he got a lift with someone else, perhaps wisely.
The events of 3 nights on the island will follow in our next blog, for now I must eat and it is getting late. I promise to keep it short next time.
Apologies for any spelling mistakes - this keyboard is in Cyrillic and I'm having to somewhat guess...
Much love to you all
Sam and Laura
P.S. Photos to follow, hopefully...
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anne and Phil
non-member comment
Keep this coming
I am so enjoying your blog and considering you must be touch typing on a Cyrillic keyboard, you have done excellently. (This is praise indeed from a real, proper, touch typist!). This trip sounds totally wonderful and I'm following it all with great interest. Don't forget to keep all your blogs and put them together for a book! Our love to you both. Anne and Phil