My First Forays into the World of Tourism

I must apologize for the length of time it's been since my last post. I've spent the last few weeks moving into my apartment and continuing to set up my class schedule, among other things. I'm including two diary entries in this post, the first about my excursion with the Baikal International Tourism Forum and the other about my trip to Baikal with the Baikal Amazons and a group of German journalist.

Baikal International Tourism Forum

On the day that I participated in the Baikal International Tourism Forum, it was more as a tag-along than as an actual participant. I was picked up from the center of the city early in the morning and a Russian journalist who is the chief editor for a tourism magazine invited me to sit next to him. This journalist spent nearly the entirety of the trip picking my brain and correcting my Russian and attempting to teach me new words.

Our first stop was at the Ivolginsky Datsan. It was odd returning to a place that I’ve recalled so often, but never truly expected to return to. In fact, it accentuated how strongly I miss the 13 other students from my Moscow Program two years of go, and of course my professor, Diane. Fortunately, I was busy enough this time to keep my mind from dwelling on the past. We repeated the same guided path we took 2 years ago, in addition to seeing a building that was built in the past year. I chatted with some Korean journalists about my research and about their interest in Buryatia. As I was preparing to walk away, a young woman with a microphone grabbed my arm and said something about an interview. Immediately flustered, all knowledge that I had of Russian flew from my mind. The appearance of a television camera did nothing to calm my nerves. The woman began asking me questions about Minnesota; I think my disconcertion was visibly obvious. As I began to calm down, the cameraman pointed the lens at me and I began my first TV interview ever... in Russian. I was only asked three or four questions, mostly revolving around my research and interest in Buryatia. My interviewer took my number and told me that she’d let me know when it was going to air (it aired later that evening), but the entirety would not be on the Internet. I was informed by friends who watched the interview that it went well and they aired my statements about the cultural aspect of tourism in Buryatia.

Once we all returned to the vehicle, we set out for the old-believer village that we went to two years ago. We stopped at the outcrop of rocks overlooking the Selenga and climbed around and took pictures. We were met by some of the Old Believers this time, bearing kvass and samogon. We then made our way to the museum and the church. The museum just opened up a second floor, so they had several new things that I didn’t see last time.

We then made our way to a house, a different family than last time, where a delicious lunch was waiting for us. And lots of samogon. I had been getting to know several of the others in my group, so when we got to eating and drinking I found my glass being filled and refilled over and over. After lunch, we watched a wedding ceremony that was absolutely as funny as two years ago, but again, I felt pangs of nostalgia for Tigan and Shane’s wedding. After that, we set off for home. I received more than my share of business cards for the day and all in all enjoyed re-experiencing that that tourism trip through Buryatia.

Barguzin

This weekend was one of the biggest and most momentous weekends that I’ve ever had. I was invited to travel to Barguzin (on Baikal) for the weekend with the Baikal Amazons and a group of German television reporters who were making a short documentary on the Amazons. I opted out of going with them to Ivolginsky and Tarbogatai because I had been there literally three days prior. I met up with the group in the center of Ulan-Ude and after addling perhaps a little too long, I set off in a small Toyota driven by Masha. The first 3 hours or so of the drive were awesome. The sun was still up and we were driving through the mountains of Buryatia and talking pretty much incessantly. Then it got dark and the road got real. While the majority of the road was paved up to entrance of the Baikal Special Economic Zone, once we got beyond it, the road was one stop above impassable. The asphalt changed levels abruptly and without warning. The road was covered in small molehills of asphalt that occasionally scraped against the underside of the car. And Masha was getting tired of driving. So with about an hour left to go, Masha decided that I should drive. The driver’s side was on the right side of the car (not the left). And it was a road in Siberia. And the last hour was definitely the worst stretch of the road that there was. Fortunately, I didn’t wreck the car and survived the trip. Upon our arrival at 12:30, we ate dinner at the hotel and quickly crashed.

We got up at 7 and ate breakfast. We then got on the road and met up with Alex and his wife, we would be escorting us and preparing food for us along the road. We crossed a river on a ferry pulled by a tugboat, and we were on our way through the Barguzin valley. I rode with Alex and the German reporters (who consisted of one German woman who was the Moscow correspondent for a German news agency and two Russian technicians). Alex and I talked about the growth of tourism in Barguzin, and I spoke with the German woman about her life in Moscow. Our first stop was at an orphanage in a small town in the valley. The orphanage was actually extremely nice, had a little museum that the children put together, and an extraordinarily nice shower. The children read us speeches that were prepared Pioneer style (the Soviet version of Scouts). I talked with the director of the orphanage and a few of the children. The director asked me one of my first hard questions here in Russia: “Why do Americans have to come to Russia to adopt children?” I honestly told him that I do not know, and he said that he’s never met anyone who could answer that question. The children I talked to wanted to be lawyers and drivers. Some things are universal.

Our next stop was a datsan a ways up the valley. A group of children at the datsan had raised money for one of the Amazons, whose son was struggling with cancer. The sum wasn’t high, but damn if those kids don’t have some initiative. They also gave us pioneer type speeches. On a side note, the Soviet Union hasn’t really left the Barguzin valley. The sign for entering the region still has a hammer and sickle, Lenin is still gesturing to the empty town squares of the valley, and people still refer to St. Petersburg as Leningrad. Returning to the story, we then made our way up a path through the woods. Apparently, this datsan is famous because it is near a stone that has a depiction of a Buddhist god in it. I can’t help but draw comparisons with Christians who see the Virgin Mary in a piece of toast. However, the area was completely beautiful and ribbons of all different colors embraced every tree and every stone in the area was part of a tower of stones. This is where we met Max, the American tourist who had been traveling from Karelia towards Ulan-Ude for almost four months. We invited him to tag along with us because he wanted to meet a shaman, and that was our plan for the next day.

We began making our way back out of the valley after the datsan. Alex stopped at all of the best views for the film crew, so I got some excellent pictures. We stopped near a stream for dinner. Alex is a fisherman and has a large garden, so he and his wife prepared one of the freshest meals that I’ve ever had. It was unbelievable. Then, Alex invited me to go along home with him to meet his son and go on a short hunt. I accepted.

As I drove back with Alex and his wife and sister, they told me that they were Russian Jews and had actually lived in Israel for a while. Upon our arrival at their home, they gave me some tea and geared me up for the hunt. I went with their son, Alyosha, and two of his friends. We hopped in the motor-boat and zoomed out towards Baikal. The sun was beginning to set and the view was, again, entirely breath-taking. We stopped in a march and set out. Alyosha was getting married soon. He also told me that he was rejected by the army because he was shot in the arm on a hunt when he was very young. As it began to get dark, we realized that we probably weren’t going to get anything because someone on the other side of the river was firing without stop. As I had never shot a gun before, Alyosha handed it to me and told me how. I fired it twice. As we were beginning to leave, a flock of ducks flew by and Alyosha managed to hit one. I got to carry it back.

When we got back to the house, Alex and his wife prepared dinner for me: eggs that were laid that very day and potatoes from the garden. They then drove me back to the hotel, insisting that I keep the duck. I had no idea what to do with it. I walked into the hotel dining room, where the rest of the group was, and was greeted like a returning war hero. They all thought that the duck was phenomenal, except for the German, who like me, was experiencing some moral qualms about the death of the duck. Alex and his wife finally agreed to take the duck off of my hands, and we all went to bed.

We got to sleep in a little bit, which was sorely needed after the previous day. We ate breakfast, and then the film crew spent about an hour taking video of the cars driving into the hotel. I talked politics with Max. We finally set off for Baikal, which was not far from the hotel by any means. We arrived and met with a shaman. The purpose of this meeting was to bless the mother with the ailing son. I was informed that this shaman specialized in stones, whereas other shamans specialize in other spheres of nature. The shaman’s assistant built a fire with aromatic wood and we presented the shaman with gifts. He placed several stones within the fire and filled a beaker with water from Baikal (I failed to mention that this all took place on a cliff overlooking Baikal, excellent choice of location). The ritual that the shaman would perform is as follows: The assistant would remove a stone from the fire with tongs. The shaman would call a member of the group to him, ask a question, lick the stone, take a swig of moonshine, and spit it in places that needed cleansing. Some of the women with back pain had him spit on their backs. He also unexpectedly spit down the pants of one of the men, and then the rest of the men requested the same treatment (the Amazons requested that I too take avail of the same treatment, but I declined. Samogon in the face was sufficient enough for me). The shaman would also whip those who requested lightly with a rope. He then blessed some ribbons and tied them to a tree (religion mixing at its finest). We then enjoyed another excellent meal, once again prepared by Alex and his wife.

After lunch, we drove down the beach (very unsuccessfully, but we made it) to find a spot with fewer rocks to go swimming. I donned my swimsuit and sprinted in and out of the lake. Max swam around for about ten minutes. Some people can just take the cold... I also saw my first mammal here in Siberia, I think it was an African black squirrel. When I first saw that it was black, I hoped that it was a sable, but no such luck.

After swimming, we hopped back in the cars and got on the road. Fall was in full swing on the drive home. It’s strange: half of the trees here have changed, the others haven’t (not including evergreens). When we got back to Ulan-Ude, we bid farewell to the journalists and I went home. It was a weekend to remember.

I also learned a lot about the potentials for tourism in the area that I will expand upon next time. For now, I think my experiences and first impressions will suffice.