Don’t we look wide-awake in our “luxury” cabin, enjoying our morning coffee? Oh by the way Coulter, that is Starbucks Veranda instant coffee made with the boiling water from the Samovar at the end of our car. I might suggest it over Nescafe, which is available in every supermarket. Starbucks is missing a great opportunity of supplying Russia with some good instant coffee. Meanwhile, the coffee in Russia is fabulous. Each cup is made fresh, no sitting around in coffee pots.

We are on the number ONE train, the luxury train with “deluxe” first class cabins. If you had been on the Mongolia train, which had no first class and frankly a dubious second class, you would agree that this is deluxe. And if you have been on the trains in the U.S. you would also agree that it is deluxe. However, I imagine if you were on one of those Orient Express trips through Russia this would look like second-class or third. But I would not trade any of our cabins for that kind of tour. Even if you meet other people, you are not meeting the local people and having to figure out timetables, how long each stop is, when you get off and how to communicate with people.

Getting on the train, we were stopped by a severe, heavily made up train attendant in a uniform that seemed more fitting serving a Gulag than a train. Lots of back and forth with our ticket and passports, I am thinking that they have our record of “sneaking” into Russia and breaking the “Russian law.” Great, we will be stuck in Irkutsk sweeping the streets in front of Lenin’s sculpture. However, after several heated discussions, we were allowed on the train. They did not even look at Shap’s passport. I wonder why? Once in our cabin we agreed that we were not about to step out of line, not that we could in our few square feet. Ms. Gulag came in and with a slice of her hand pointed to the outlet, the sheets, the towels and with a nod that resembled a salute, she left. Only to be seen each day with the vacuum cleaner violently sweeping the carpet running over our toes if we did not get them out of the way. No recognition, no smile.

This trip was different from the rest. Everyone stayed in his or her cabins, no one conversed and dinner and lunch were brought to us. People did come by selling food, even ice cream but we had loaded up on salami and cheese, water and cookies so we were all set.

Two long days, two nights, this time with more of a cushioned seat and duvets to snuggle in. However, it did nothing to ease my aching hips by morning. Thank God I brought “My Pillow” with us. If you do not know the man with the gold chain around his neck and looking like someone left over from the sixties (think Neil Diamond in the 60’s) who sells “My Pillow” on TV and elsewhere, you have to find one. I bought ours at the craft fair and with it came a travel pillow. This has been our savior for a good nights sleep both at home and traveling. Everything they say about it is true. Shap decided to sleep without his one night on the train and the first thing he said in the morning is “Where is ‘My Pillow?” Ok, enough about the free advertising.

The countryside goes by at a rapid speed with plowed fields, lovely new green grass and acres of white birches. There is no undergrowth. We stop at some small towns and large cities. One town seemed to be underwater as we approached. There was a ditch around the area and when we came to a stop at the train station that portion was dry. After leaving the town area we again ran into the houses under water. I have no idea what that was all about? It is fun to look out the train window and imagine the lives of people. One of my favorite scenes was a little old lady coming out of a small wooden house pushing a cart. She looked just like a fairy tale character.

We are pulling into Ekaterinberg which is where the Romanov family were murdered. I am looking out the window at the stairs, again we have to carry these suitcases up and down. But who is this, the man I keep passing in the aisle every morning, offering to take my suitcase off the train? Wow, the only words we had was for him to show me the timetable and where we were getting off. You never know where small acts of kindness come from, but I was happy.

Getting off the train, we encounter our guide who is putting women on the train who I recognize from our previous train to Irkutsk. He quickly grabs our bags and off we go flying through the station and into his car. He speaks in broken English, and is definitely a bit hard to understand. Actually he shouts in broken English and gestures with both hands while driving and weaving through traffic. And I notice already, he has a tendency to repeat himself.

We stop by our Hilton Holiday Inn, which proves to be a wonderful sojourn with an actual elevator to take us to our room, instead of struggling up stairs with my suitcase. And even better, reliable hot water, hair dryers and BIG fluffy towels. It is nice to have a bit of American hotel treatment. Again the first thing on my mind after two days on the train is a shower and washing my hair. Oh the little comforts in life that we take for granted. It is also getting time to do a major laundry. I have worn everything. You may think with my complaints of how heavy my suitcase is means I have a lot of clothes, but the truth is I don’t. I think it is all the electronics, the camera, the tripod and shoes that are weighing me down.

The reason for the stop at Ekaterinburg is to see the site of the murder of Nicholas II and his family. I think everyone has a fascination with this story and the tragic end to the family. As a teenager I think I read every Russian novel, I actually enjoyed my required summer reading. Once I finished “War and Peace” I was hooked. But my fascination with the Romanov’s had to do with the possibility that Anastasia was alive. I think that ship has sailed after our visit here! Ok, so I knew that they found her bones but one can always hope.

Oleick, our guide, gave us 15 minutes to shower and get in the car because he was afraid that the museum would close and we had to go 27 kilometers away from Ekaterinburg to the site. We endure a half an hour of the story of the Bolisvicks and their revolt and numerous unpronounceable Russian names that were involved in the decision to arrest the Romanov’s, all being shouted from the front seat while he weaves in and out of traffic. We arrive at Ganina Yama(translated as Ganya’s pit hole), a Russian Orthodox monastery. The official name is Saint Royal Martyrs of Ganina Yama. Obviously the Royal Martyrs are the Romanov family, having been made saints in 1991.

Once the Soviet Union broke up, religion has become acceptable again. Churches are being rebuilt in sites where they were taken down. The Russian Orthodox Church seems to have a commodity on the religious front here in Russia. Where they are getting all the money to rebuild their churches I have no idea, but those onion domes are dominating the landscape of the cities. By the way, I finally found out that the dome does not represent an onion, but instead a candle flame. Makes sense what religion worships the onions?

This monastery is really beautiful, enclosed by a wooden rail fence where you enter through a gate and are handed a wrap around skirt and a scarf, if you do not have one. Women have to have their heads covered and must wear a skirt. It was a great fashion statement, red skirt with jeans sticking out below and a ski hat.

There are 7 Churches to represent the 7 family members, all made from large heavy logs stained dark brown with golden onion domes at the top. One of the churches is built in memory of the family and the others represent saints that had particular meaning for Nicholas. Both he and Alexandria were very religious.

                     Icon of the holy family and the church dedicated to them

The museum featured many pictures of the family, taken by Nicholas II who was interested in photography. Some of these we had seen at an exhibit in the U.S. It is striking to see them in their daily life and think how brutally they were killed. Nicholas II was a progressive monarch according to the information in the museum. Yes, reading in Russian is my expertise. I am very good at translating pictures. Pictures of the room they were murdered in and the house where they were imprisoned were displayed. Oleick very emphatically saying with almost every sentence “And I tell you….” He does tell us about how the murders came to be. In short, the Bolshivicks in Moscow knew the White Russian army (being support of the czar) were advancing on Ekaterinburg and ordered the Romanov’s to be moved to Moscow with the underlying implication that they should meet their demise before they got there.

So why are we at this monastery? I am a bit confused why they chose to build this complex of buildings here but trying to ask the question was not happening with Olerick’s commentary going non-stop. He really is a wealth of knowledge, but he has repeated himself quite a bit. Shap can see I am getting a bit impatient.

“Now I tell you,” as he would say. After they shot the Romanovs in the cellar of the house they were staying in…”Yes, they had to go down 23 steps to the cellar, 23 steps I tell you.”… the Bolisvicks did not know what to do with the bodies. One of the soldiers suggested a mine that he knew about not far away, so they took their trucks and loaded the bodies up and headed out to the mine. (in a Ford truck apparently). They threw in the bodies of the family and four of the other people living with them in the mine, along with the family dog.

The next day they decided that the mine was not deep enough so they came back and here is where the story divides between the scientist and the Church. The Church says they were taken out and burned on the spot where they have now built a Church. But years later all that they found in the mine was the dog, glasses and some false teeth. No traces of bone fragment that would be left over if they burned the bodies. However, the Church is insistent that this is the place. I would be too if I had built 7 Churches in that location.

The site of the mine and statues of the children of the Romanov’s

The inside of these log Churches are exquisite, built by intertwining stacking logs to form a hexagon upward to a bell tower. Inside are icons, gold leaf and candles; just a feast for your eyes in beautiful colors of reds, gold, blue, yellow with carved oak doors and carved icon frames. You do not have to be religious to be awed at the beauty and serenity of these churches. If you look at them purely as an art form and an architectural feat, it is enough to appreciate their existence.

Olerick is telling us something about a report made by the Bolisvicks to Moscow regarding taking the bodies in a truck away from the mine. By this time I am so confused about who is who and all these Russian names and his rushed way of talking that I am tuning out. All I can figure out is we are going on some old road and “he will show us.” Whatever… he has the car and he is insisting, fine with us.

We leave the monastery, and careen down the one lane highway as he swerves into the mud and then plays chicken with the on coming car. Who has the right of way on this one lane road? I think I figured out it was the car heading out of the area or at least that is what our car seems to be indicating. Meanwhile Olerick is shouting about old roads, railroad ties and notebooks while turning down a dirt pathway, waving at a “piglet meadow” which looked like a swamp to me. New real estate term for a swamp!!

Finally we pull up to a wooden archway and I can see down a path to a cross. It finally becomes clear to me as we walk down the path… here is where the Romanovs’ were found. The scientist won out. From the notebooks in Moscow that have been under lock and key with the KGB it describes an old road, a bridge, and trucks getting stuck in the mud near a bridge. The account indicates they buried the bodies right there and covered the area with wooden ties. They also burned two of the bodies and poured acid on the bodies they buried. Somehow the word got out to a select few and those in the know searched for year but in secrecy. Finally in 1978 a man and his student who spent all of their holidays tramping this area found the site. The notes indicated that they only buried them in a shallow grave. So when the student picked up a board he found a skull. This was kept a secret until the Soviet Union was dissolved and in 1991 they excavated the site to find 9 bodies, but not two of the children, Mary and Alexis. Apparently there was fear of reprisal from the KGB if the site of the bodies were revealed.

Finally in around 2005, figuring that the bodies were in the first car and judging the location of where the bodies were buried, it was assumed they burned them near the first truck and so they were able to find the site. There were fragments of bones. Although the other Romanov’s were buried in a family plot in St. Petersburg, the bones of the other two are still being held for analysis. And there is your story.

 

We rush back to Ekaterinburg to the site of the house where they were shot, which there stands, yes you are right, a church to commemorate the family. Going inside we were treated to a choir singing, and outside to a statue of the family including the “23 steps” they had to go down to the cellar. Boris Yeltson was responsible for bulldozing the house. Turns out ole Boris was from this region and was known as a “simple man who drank a lot.”

World Cup Soccer sign

Olerick then gave us a tour of the city, including a wonderful park with a huge sign that says “Russia 2018.” The World Cup soccer is going to be held here next year. Standing in the park with a river running through it, we are freezing to death and Olerick is expounding on all the factory buildings that used to be here. I want back in the car I am so cold. He repeats the story of this factory area, having just told us previously. Please let me get back in that car.

Is this about the ugliest house you have ever seen? Built by a wealthy gold mine owner who could not decide what style architecture he wanted other than he stated “I want them all.” He got them!

Next we find ourselves in front of the military museum with an example of the tanks and the missile that shot Gary Powers down. Ekaterinburg is known for all of its minerals as it is in the Urals, and is the center of where all of the bullets, missiles, tanks etc. are made because they feel they will not be attacked here. These factories started producing during WW I. I am feeling a bit on edge looking at these tanks and being told they have just developed another larger one.

We are now in the middle of a political discussion about how great Putin is and how he does not want war but wants to be on equal footing with the other world powers. “After all, we have everything here, minerals, oil, gas, everything that everyone in the world needs. So why shouldn’t we be recognized as an equal partner?” And I guess my retort to that is why shouldn’t they? Having grown up with air raid practices in grade school and lived through the Russian/U.S. missile crisis in Cuba, I still have lingering reservations and find it hard to think of them as “good guys.” I can remember in 1965 going across through Checkpoint Charlie into East Russia and wondering if I would be taken. Who would have thought that I would willingly want to go to Russia in 2017.

As he points out, they are no longer communists, they have a different way of governing but not that different and they are a strong country. This discussion goes on (one sided) for the rest of our tour and into the hotel. My head is about to explode from the intensity of our guide’s deliverances. All I can say is, he is so Russian.

Even Shap had had enough of his constant diatribe. He was so emphatic and dogmatic; however, after getting some distance from him, I appreciate the knowledge he tried to give us of his city and the Romanov’s history and realize how hard it must be to impart this knowledge in such a short period of time. And if he is “so Russian” that is what we came to experience. And as he said in the end, “Let’s talk about peace.”

 

 

 

This time arriving at the train station, we were able to roll our suitcases along with no problem. Helen met us and off we went into Moscow traffic. Construction everywhere. There are 9 train stations in Moscow and 296 metro stations. We are promised a tour of the Metro stations.

View from the dining room at the National Hotel

Our hotel, the National, is perfectly situated across a large park from the Kremlin. It is an old historic hotel, decorated inside, in what I consider “Russian” style, lots of red velvet with gold brocade chairs and sofas. There are huge dramatic paintings of peasants and scenery that are about one grade above velvet paintings, also heavy draperies everywhere. The bar is a pleasant room with lots of light where Shap has discovered the same women sitting there every night. He has determined that she is a “women of the night”, but he seems hesitant to approach her. Wonder why?

We take an evening stroll; it is amazing how clean these cities are. There is not a bit of trash to be seen anywhere, including the subways. It is disgusting when you compare our cities, especially New York to the Russian cities that we have seen. We have trash everywhere, people pissing in the subway; there is really no excuse for it. I don’t know what they are doing here but we could take a page out of the Russian’s book. I remember my “Austrian sister” (the family I lived with when on the Experiment of International Living) coming to the states and being appalled at all of the trash on the streets.

View across from our hotel

Although we were told that there was not much to see in Moscow and to spend more time in St. Petersburg, we were pleasantly surprised at how interesting it is. Besides the Kremlin, the architecture is from many different eras. The most interesting was during the Stalin period. He was very interested in style and his buildings have a hint of art deco. Most of the buildings have very straight columns with bas-reliefs of people or periods in Soviet history.

State building in Lenin style and National Hotel behind it

There are seven skyscrapers though out the city, which we could see from the St. Catherine’s Church. These were built during the Stalin period and are referred to as the “seven sisters.” The style resembles the Empire State Building in some respects.

Shap and Helen inside the Kremlin

Our guide, Helen, grew up in Moscow during the time of the Soviet Union. She was telling us her grandparents were Russian Orthodox and she was baptized in secret. Everyone was afraid to mention religion. Many of the churches were destroyed, but the ones in the Kremlin were closed up. St. Basil’s, the one with colorful onion domes, was also closed. However, St. Catherine’s (where we could observe the city from the top) was destroyed. All of the icons were destroyed except a priest hid one. There was a video of the destruction; you just wondered how such beautiful churches could be destroyed. But look at what ISIS is doing. So history repeats itself.

                            Kremlin walls with buildings inside the walls

We were offered a look- see at Lenin’s body, for me, this was a must miss. Shap thought it would be great to look at a 90 year old dead body. That is how many years since he died!

                    Inside the Kremlin

The Kremlin wall and the inside of the Kremlin are quite impressive. Beautiful gardens, churches, buildings with a lot of open courtyards and guard towers. I had no expectations of how it would look, except that I thought Red Square was in the middle of the Kremlin walls. We were a bit disappointed that Putin did not come out to welcome us, but then neither did Trump when we were at the White House in April. Guess we just don’t have enough prestige. We did get to see the changing of the guards at the tomb of the Unknown Soldier. That makes it twice for us, one at Arlington cemetery and once at the Kremlin.

Changing of the guards

If you have not read “A Gentleman in Moscow,” I highly recommend it. It is a story of a man who is imprisoned in the Metropol Hotel in Moscow. Shap and I were curious to see it, so we walked down to the hotel, passing the Bolshoi Theater which is quite grand. I tried to get tickets to a ballet but there were none while we were here.

Bolshoi theater

The Metropol is a historic hotel, definitely unimpressive from the outside but quite impressive inside. It was fun to try to identify areas in the book.

Metropol Hotel and inside

We have seen a difference with our guides since we left Iskutuk. As we have gotten closer to Moscow, our guides have more of what I consider the Russian personality. I remember from our visiting teachers back in the 90’s when we did our Russian exchange program that there was a definite lack of interest in our culture, a lack of a sense of humor and a strict adherent to the schedule. I know that Helen had a bit of trouble understanding our questions and she definitely did not get Shap’s sense of humor, but we had to march to her timetable. She was not happy when I wanted to stop by our hotel to get some warmer clothes.

                      Inside the subway and view of my favorite station

After the Kremlin, and the view from St. Catherine’s Church, we did a tour of the subway. The subway stations are beautiful. Each one is different and designed by different architects. They also represent different periods, and different themes. Khrushchev came from Ukraine and one of the stations had mosaics depicting Ukrainian way of life. My favorite was a UNESCO landmark with an art deco look about it. Still I was amazed at the cleanliness of the stations, not a spec of dirt, litter or homeless people. Of course they probably send the homeless to a place far away from downtown Moscow.

                     Outside and inside of the GUM department store. Now it is a huge high end shopping mall, just like those in the States.

We are off on the high-speed train to St. Petersburg today. The train is crowded but comfortable and FAST. Wish we had trains like this in the U.S.

Irkutsk is basically in the center of Russia. It was an outpost in Siberia where mostly nomad people lived and took weeks to get to from Moscow by horse and carriage over horrible roads. At the end of the nineteenth century the merchants waited patiently hoping that the Trans-Siberian railroad would come through Irkutsk. By this time, the village had grown to a much larger town and it was becoming a center of trade. The decision of where the railroad would be built would determine the fate of Irkutsk. Alexander the II decided on Irkutsk despite the difficulties building through the mountains and close to the lake. Irkutsk became a booming city.

But this was later and we need to go back into the time of the Czar, Alexander I. A group of Russian aristocrats were in France fighting in the Napoleonic Wars with an army of Russian peasants. Russia was still in a state of serfdom and the aristocrats observed that the peasants from other countries, who were fighting, were free. These peasants would be going home to their own land, while the Russian peasants were expected to go back to their homes, with or without limbs, and work the soil for their lord.

Once they were back home these aristocrats formed a secret society. One was in Moscow and the other Kiev. They wrote a manifesto to present to the czar giving freedom to the peasants, freedom of speech etc. but circumstances prevented them from presenting this manifesto and they decided to stage a revolution. The czar got wind of this and defeated them.

This is a simple version of the history to explain how the Decembrists came to be. Some of the men were hanged or shot and others were sent to Siberia for twenty years of hard labor. Most of them were young and not married, but those that were had to leave their children and wives behind. They were not allowed to speak French (the language of the Russian aristocrats) and they were scattered in different areas in Siberia.

Some of the wives followed, some had to leave their children behind. If the wives followed they were not allowed to take very much money, no longer allowed to return, and their only contact to the outside world was through letters or the occasional visitor. These women were brought up to entertain, paint, etc, found themselves relying on the local peasants to help them establish a small hut and learn how to grow food in order to survive. They were allowed to visit their husbands twice a week.

Meanwhile, the Decembrists, using their education and individual strengths would gather at night in dark, after working in the mines and teach each other English, astrology or other sciences. There were doctors, geologist, artists, and linguist among them so they kept their minds sharp in this way. Children were born, some survived but none would ever be able to take the title that had been their birth right. They would be peasant children.

The Decembrist and their wives started schools in the villages and when they were finally allowed to leave, having served only 8 to 10 years, the village people were upset because they had never imagined that their children would have been able to be educated as they had been and this would no longer be available to them. Slowly the Decembrist were allowed to move into Irkutsk because of pressure from relatives in Moscow and sympathetic people. Their homes became gathering places for intellects. Irkutsk became a stopping point for many travellers such as Chekhov. He remarked that Irkutsk was the “Paris of Siberia.”

Irkutsk is a city of diverse architecture, from the Russian orthodox churches to the wooden homes painted in bright colors and elaborate shutters and window trim.

From large Russian style sculptures of Lenin, Alexander the Second, and the fierce tiger with an ermine in its mouth, the symbol of Irkutsk.

A river divides the city flowing north out of Lake Baikal eventually to the Atlantic Ocean. Our guesthouse was in the center of the city, built of logs inside and out. Charming and convenient, we were able to walk to many restaurants. This is not our guest house!!

Back to the train station with the realization that I would have to lug my suitcase down the same set of stairs that I had come up four days before and once again back to the platform. I figured there had to be a porter somewhere in the train station and our guide was able to locate one. Never have I been so happy to see this strapping young man carry both of our suitcases up and down the stairs like they were featherweights. Seriously, next long trip is going to be two pairs of pants and two shirts. Well maybe three so I can wash one. I would be fine if I did not have to have 6 different layers to stay warm. Yesterday I started with long underwear, warm ski pants, fleece, wool vest. Parka, raincoat, wool hat, mittens and a neck warmer and still could have used another layer.

I think spring is coming, there are budding trees everywhere.

Leaving early this morning from Olkhon Island we feel like veterans of the area. We pass the lone birch tree where lovers from different economic status fell in love, forbidden to marry and did so anyway. This was the legend told to us; the parents of the son went to the Shaman and asked him why he married them and he said if I was right a birch tree will grow here and if I am wrong it won’t. A tree grew and at least these lovers did not get turned to stone, like every other fable we have heard.

Colored ribbons are tied to the tree for prayers, and in fact, they are tied to many posts and trees in sacred areas. Blue for the endless sky, white for purity, red for earth, and yellow for wealth and happiness. I thought these were prayer flags but was corrected as they are just ribbons. It seems all the same to me, everyone sending prayers in some form. I know it sounds like I am being cynical, but I truly believe that these cultures are more attuned to our world than other religions. It is a belief in the universe, the sky, the fields, the lake… these are their gods and they have a deep respect for the earth.

Although we knew the archeologists believe that people from Siberian and Mongolia migrated across the Bering Straits, we can see so many similarities in these cultures, there does not seem to be any question. Early houses are similar to the teepee and the nomadic way of life and physical features all add up to this conclusion. After all, Alaska did belong to Russia.

It is “Victory Day” with grand parades in Moscow and the big cities. Everyone is off work. As we pass villages, we see small parades of school children with balloons and dressed in army clothes. The dress of the day has a military look with brown shirts, kaki pants, belt and a cap with a Soviet pin. Unlike our Veteran’s Day in November, this is the time that Moscow pulls out the military tanks etc. Our guide talks about what a terrible time it was for the Russians and how little food there was. She talks about how America, British, and French troops fought side by side in WW II with the Russians; how the Mongolians helped fight the Japanese at the Chinese border. It is so different to listen to the stories understanding now how surrounded Russia was by the enemies and how distant the U.S. was from the fear and the action.

Our guide says today there are people who are trying to defend going to war with the United States and how stupid these people are. We agree that war is not going to get any of us anything but heartaches. It is interesting to listen to attitudes that exist and not to comment or judge. We do however, stress how most Americans are like the Russians, they do not want war.

Enough about “Victory Day.” We roll into a town where we are told there it is a Buryak museum. We have a Buryat guide who speaks in Russian and Kristina translates. I cannot take my eyes off this women and want so badly to take a picture of her. Being a sculptor, I am trying to figure out her nose, which seems to come straight out of her face with no bridge connecting the upper forehead. Her cheeks are even with her nose and she has pert lips that also seems even with her nose. There seems to be no mussel, her face is so unusual. There was this space that was flat between the eyes. Oh, how I wish I had taken a picture of her, I think she would be so interesting to sculpt.

We got to see Wooly Mammoth bones, and teeth the size of a buffet dinner plate. The leg bone alone would be big enough to carve out a child’s cradle. Did you know that the Wooly Mammoth could grow back his teeth 4 times in his life? Apparently chomping on things, he wears them down. Let me tell you, these are awfully big teeth to be worn down. Now they have the DNA for him, having found some intact near this region. Will we clone Wooly Mammoths in the future? I hope not.

The highlight of the trip back to Irkutsk, was our visit with a Shaman after our tour. A large burly man with a long tunic and fur hat welcomed us and offered us a seat. He asked where we were from and we talked a bit of politics, and philosophy. Then he gave us instruction on how we should conduct ourselves to make sure that we eat the right things, sit correctly and stand so that the energy is not blocked. Guess I am going to have to practice not crossing my legs or arms. Prayers were said, some paper and herbs were burned, then we were dressed in traditional clothes, what is this obsession everyone has with dressing us up? Suddenly Shap finds himself in a huge bear hug by this Shaman who was twice his size. I am thinking, this guy better not be hugging me. Luckily, women do not get bear hugs. Walking clockwise around posts we chose a ribbon to tie on to them and give a wish. He asked for us to have a safe trip and for our family to be healthy. We left, the three of us, feeling a sense of peace and happiness.

Shamans go back generations in families. It is difficult to become one and there are different levels of achievement. We asked if one of his children would be following him, and he said his middle son was the one that was interested and went to all the ceremonies with him. Apparently, women can also be Shaman. Amazing, someone thought we were smart back in the ages. Olkhon Island and the area around it, follow the traditional beliefs. I find it interesting that for the longest time religion was frowned on and now is accepted, with the Russian Orthodox Church gaining in popularity. Apparently, the church is railing against abortion with ardent supporters just like the U.S. It seems church and state cannot separate themselves.

We arrived back in Irkutsk, staying at a charming inn in the middle of the city with a tour tomorrow of the Decembrist houses and more.

 

 

 

 

We follow Lake Baikal as the sun rose, reflecting colors of pink and purple. We gather out belongings to get off at Irkutsk. Coming out of the train onto the platform, dragging our suitcases behind us, I came to the realization that we had to go down at least 30 steps and under the track. My suitcase weighs about 45 pounds and I think just for this trip down the stairs, it added another 100 pounds, or at least it felt like that. Much to my dismay we had to walk up just as many stairs to get to the main level. I was ready to throw everything away and wear jeans and my parka for the rest of the trip. I dread the reverse trip on the 11^th. I asked myself how many 72 year olds are dragging suitcases up stairs? I should be proud instead of being very grumpy.

Our guide Kristina apologizes for the inconvenience and rushes us off to a waiting car. Our driver Andre does not speak English but manages to find us a “Subway” open Sunday morning for a cup of coffee. Who would have thought our only option for coffee was “Subway.”

We are facing a 6-hour trip to Olkhon Island, the largest island on Lake Baikal. It is relatively uninhabited and is 70 kilometers long. It rises out of the lake and is known as the home of the Siberian Shamans. The landscape goes from barren prairie or steeps to forest. Kristina is a walking history and geography encyclopedia with excellent English. She loves this island and it is apparent in her enthusiasm for the landscape. She had just returned that day from the island in order to pick us up and was just as happy to be back.

Our accommodations’ at Nikita’s Guesthouse was a welcome change after the train. A comfortable bed, an ability to wash clothes, and bodies. Hot water would have been a treat but the bathroom was warm.

We toured around the beach to Shaman Rock , looking down on it from a bluff. The lake is still frozen in areas and if you are very still you can hear the ice shifting. Magpies flutter from tree to ground and the local dogs adopted us along the way. Shaman Rock is sacred to the Boryat people who were a fierce tribe of people who even fought off Ghanghis Kahn. The Buddhist also feel the rock has special powers.

The town could be a movie set for a western. Dirt streets, wooden houses, and wooden fences, some with elaborate windows but generally the village looks abandoned at this time of the year. Although it was a holiday on May 9^th (Victory Day), there were only a few tourists spending the weekend. Electricity did not come to the island until 2005 and we were mighty happy that it did, so we could recharge all of our devices. There was still no wifi available.

I feel so lucky that I read about this island and made arrangements to come here. Most people get off in Irkutsk and visit the lake on a day trip and never get to see this area. Shap and I have not stopped exclaiming at the beauty that enfolds us at every turn.

Scenery that cannot be described, with valleys stretching for miles, tiny purple flowers blooming in rocky soil, old stone walls built by ancient tribes, and sacrificial stones believed to sacrifice animals; all with a backdrop of Lake Baikal’s deep blue color. Lake Baikal was created by a riff in the earth and is said to widen 1 meter every year.

Our next day proved to be one of the most interesting drives through countryside that we have ever experienced. An off road vehicle arrived and we climbed into it with no expectation of what was to come. We were unable to go into the forest as it was dry and the local authorities were worried about forest fires, so we went south over the steepes. Immediately we turned off the main road, this was hardly a road having been built recently, not only was it not paved, but it was not smoothed either. Driving on old pathways we bounced from side to side and up and down over terrain that looked to be part dirt and mostly rock. Our local driver was full of folklore, which Kristina translated for us. In most cases it was a dreadful horse turned to stone, or lovers turned to stone – it seemed every story someone was turned to stone. We followed pathways up small mountains covered with dirt, rock, cow dung, and sometimes-small spring flowers. We watched the movement of the ice on the lake, and experienced the winds, snow, and sun.

Shap trying out for a job as a guide since he has the same hat as they are wearing. 

Two lovers turned to stone after they were told not to be together. They were allowed to be together but could not face each other so they now face away from each other on the stone.

Shap and Kristina on top of one of the Trident rocks

With no houses, or villages anywhere around we were surprised to pull over at a beach and watch our driver pull out from the back of the jeep (?) a table, camp stools, and cooking pot. We walked along the beach and up to a look out, then we came back to find a pot full of fish staring up at us.

I could feel Shap’s reaction without even looking at him. He does not like fish unless it comes fileted to him on his plate. Eyes, tail, and bones were all floating around ready for our consumption. Tin bowls were filled with steaming potatoes, rice, onions; and thank God the body of the fish and not the head. It was delicious, but how to attack the chunks of fish was the question. Finally I stabbed it with a spoon and got off a chunk and picked up the rest to extract the skeleton. What was that black tube in the middle of the skeleton? Oh no don’t look or think about it, just put it aside on the napkin and ignore it. It was a great lunch and so much better than any restaurant we could have stopped at, if there were any!

Six hours of the most amazing sights, something we are so happy to experienced.

Tomorrow back to Irkstuk.

 

 

 

 

 

“Sit quiet, don’t say a word, and pretend we do not know that our visa into Russia does not start until tomorrow.” I whispered to Shap as a Russian border guard appeared at out door and demanded our passport and visa.

“You have broken the law, you cannot come into Russia until tomorrow, why you break the law? “ commanded the border guard as he leafed through our passport pointing to the date on our visa. We did not have much luck convincing him that it was a mistake. He kept repeating the same sentence, then on the telephone, then on the radio, while other border guards peered in on us.

“What should we do, can we buy a day visa?” I figured that this must have happened to others. “Nyet, you have broken the law, you go back to Mongolia.” Having been warned by the Mongolian border guard we were to be prepared to be kicked off the train, we had packed up our bags. Our new Australian friends are peeking out from their cabin wondering if we will be in never-never land unable to get back into Mongolia without a visa. They did not know a visa was not required for U.S. citizens. The guard keeps vigil outside our cabin, there is more communication in Russian to an unknown entity. Shap and I sit looking at each other, waiting. I keep rolling over questions in my mind such as: if there is a place to stay, if there is a train back to Mongolia today or will we sleep in the train station until tomorrow. We are ready for an adventure no matter which way it goes we are remaining calm and figuring there is nothing we can do.

Finally our guard states that we can pay a fine, 2000 roubles apiece. We offer to pay and he says no, bank. Where are we even near a bank? He leaves, then another guard tells us to move out of the cabin and he checks every corner of it. He leaves; next a woman comes in and wants to go through our luggage,that seems to be ok. Another guard tells us that we have to go outside with our entire luggage, so we start to get it together.

We had managed to break the ice with our original guard by mentioning we could not call Trump to get us a visa because we did not vote for him. But now he was gone and sense of security was lost.  A woman came,she spoke better English and told us to leave our luggage but to get off the train because we had to fill out paperwork.. Relief ! Paperwork was like a word from heaven, never in my life have I been so happy to do paperwork.

In the station sits “our friend” the border guard, I exclaim “Our friend” and everyone laughs. The woman has us write a statement that we do not speak Russian, we made a mistake and came too early to Russia on the train, and we do not need a lawyer. There is fingerprinting and mountains of paper work and questions. It takes so long that the female guard has seen pictures of my family, of Stowe, of the ski area, and our male friend types away. After it is all over, I say “thank you from the stupid Americans”, and they laugh. We have become friends.

We must go to a bank within 60 days and pay the fine and then send the receipt to an address printed in Russian. No one wanted to be paid. I was worried that we were holding up the train, but as we come out our train sits on the track by itself, no engine, no other cars, and this is where we stay for 5 more hours waiting for an engine. No wonder it takes two nights to get to Irkutsk.

Miles of desert dotted with sheep, horses, goats and yak go by our window. A sleepless night and endless miles of desert do not deter the excitement of what is ahead. The pace of the train is perfect now; it slows down time and allows you to digest your travel and relax. When you give yourself over to the rhythm of the train, you become quiet and observant to the world around you.

Mongolia, I never thought of going to Mongolia. I knew that Ghangis Kahn had lived here and the scenery was spectacular, that people lived in Gers (yurts) and it was rich in minerals. The countryside was where we wanted to go, as cities do not interest us as much. Our guide, a young male Mongolian, met us with a smile and hurried us off to our jeep. Soon we left the city behind, driving across desert with a hint of green. Horses everywhere, we are told they are not wild but belong to the nomad families. It is a nomadic culture that is recently moving into the city. Ulaan Baatar has a population of 1.5 million people, Mongolia has 3 million people.

The land is free for people to build on, the apartments in the city are not. There are gers just outside the city, some with houses and a ger in the same enclosure. We are told people move to the ger in the winter because it is warmer and live in the house in the summer.

In Terelj National park we stop to visit a nomadic woman in her ger and choke down a sip of fermented mare’s milk, eat some pieces of cheese curd and ask her questions through our guide. She moved to the city to take over her parents’ property and animals. She has eight children that live in the city. Her ger is decorated with beautifully painted beds; a TV and refrigerator add a modern touch. She tends the sheep and goats and her horses roam free. I still cannot understand how they get their horses to come to them since they roam for miles around. They appear wild to me.

The ger camp sits under huge rocks that have been sculpted by the winds and the sand. Some rocks teeter precariously ready to topple over. Turtle rock is a famous rock that defies gravity.

Shap and I wake in the middle of the night and take our cameras outside to photograph the scenery and the moon. We disturb the horses and yaks that are grazing by our ger, they wonder who these strangers are ruining their late night snacking.

After the communist left Mongolia in the 1990’s, many of the Buddhist temples were rebuilt where the communist had destroyed during their tenure.. In the park a temple was erected in the same location as the original, among the amazing rock formation. I learned from the caretaker who spoke one English word “elephant” that the 108 stairs to the temple was like an elephants trunk, and the temple wings were its ears. He then took me by the arm and we walked together up the 108 stairs counting 1-10 in Mongolian.

On the way back to Ulaan Baatar, we were treated to the most amazing feat of engineering and sculpture I could ever imagine, a 40 meter high statue of Ghangis Kahn in stainless steel. Conceived by a wealthy businessman it took 500 engineers from all over to put this together. Words cannot begin to describe the grandeur of this sculpture sitting on his horse looking out to the countryside. Is it over the top? Yes! But whatever you think of it, the concept and execution of it is mind-boggling.

A look at the city center where the local ladies are gossiping on the bench in front of the government center, a stop at the huge mall for train food and then on to Lake Bikail and our next adventure.

(Train through Mongolia)

At the moment we are one lonely train car waiting to be connected to the Russian train on the border of Mongolia and Russia.

 

We have been on and off the train since May 3^rd with no wifi or cell service. We left Beijing on May 3^rd and arrived in Ulaan Baatar May 4^th. Last night (May 5^th) getting back on the train for two nights I have time to reflect and write about our trip knowing that I will be unable to send this out possibly for another four days. These blogs may be long but to get the flavor of the trip I have to be a bit descriptive.

Overnight train travel is so unique from other means of transportation, We have a two person berth, but many people find themselves co-habituating with two or three strangers, all speaking different languages. The space is tight, the luggage is stowed under the seats and privacy is limited or not at all. Everyone gets on the train with bags of food, water, and luggage, looking refugee-like. The boiling samovar at the end of the car is coal fired and provides an endless stream of hot water, which has proved necessary for everyone to prepare meals. Out of everyones bags come varieties of international dried food to be reconstituted into meals; freeze dried chili for us, pasta primavera for dinner or lunch today, even freeze dried raspberries, I am regretting forgetting the oatmeal.

(interruption from a rather severe looking Russian female border control, they seem to be all business and somewhat intimidating.)

What is unique by traveling this way, is the instant friendships you strike up. For a moment in time you connect with someone and share history, stories, and the excitement of the trip. You stand in the corridor swaying back and forth conversing in sign language or many people speak English. We met a couple who traveled all over Canada and the U.S. who lived in Beijing. At our stop in Ulaan Baatar we hugged and exchanged cards like old friends, hoping our paths will cross in Moscow. Last night we met some women from Australia, that remembered us from the Beijing train.

The first night on the train we knew that we were going to have a three hour wait at the border of China and Mongolia because, believe it or not, the train has to change wheels because China’s track is different from Mongolia and Russia. At midnight, we were jolted out of sleep by clanging and banging. Next came the Chinese border guards collecting passports, then the porter distributing exit cards to be filled out. Back to sleep, close the door, Shap is in the upper bunk so I am the one that gets up, fills out the cards and he peeks his head out for the guards to verify that the man in the bed is indeed the picture on the passport. They do this by turning on the bright overhead light to blind you out of darkness. They leave with the door open and the lights on.

 

Then more jolting and banging and the train moves. We are now about an hour of interrupted sleep every 10 minutes or so, just enough time to fall back to sleep. Back come the border guards with the passports. Then back to sleep. Next come the border guards to collect the paperwork. Shap is back to sleep, me, I am out in the corridor talking to our new found friends. Back in bed, did I mention that the “mattress” is one half inch thick, and there is no heat because all the doors are open at each end of the car for the constant flow of traffic. I am digging for my long underwear,Beijing was 80 degrees and now it is about 40.

After what seemed like eternity our train moves forward, I have no idea how many cars we have attached to us but I know there are several. I look out to see another sleeper car on the opposite track high up in the air being held up by hydraulic jacks. Somehow and I have no idea how, new wheels are being attached to the train. I don’t know how they got the old ones off the track and the new ones on. I wave to the people looking out the window on the other train and take pictures of the process.

Soon we are being jacked up and they are taking pictures of our process while being lowered down on the wheels. I give up and go back to sleep, now that I have seen this rather complicated process. Charlotte, my new found Chinese friend, talks about how ridiculous this is in our day and age.

 

Shap has been lounging in his upper bunk watching the process. I am convinced we are on our way and go back to sleep. Ten minutes later or so, the Mongolian border guards arrive at our car. Lights on, I have now decided to sleep in public and not close the door. We produce our passports and off they go. Shap had insisted that I did not have to fill out the cards but I of course did not listen to him. They do not want the cards. Back to sleep, the guards are back to get the cards. Ok, I get the Kindle out and read, I have given up on any sleep. Ten minutes later, we get the passports back. It is now 3 AM and the train begins to move again. I am awake and reading, then ,finally close the door, turn out the lights and close my eyes, awakening at 7 to stumble down to the samovar to make instant Starbucks coffee.

We go to find breakfast, walk into the dining car to find it has been transformed into a beautiful hand carved ceiling and walled Mongolian themed dining car. It turns out with each country you get a new dining car and a new menu. Lunch was ok but I think we will be sticking to freeze dried food as I understand that the Russian food is terrible on the train.

We get off at 2:30 pm in Ulaan Baatar.

 

 

Off to the Trans-Siberian Railroad. In today’s paper there seems to be a problem in the public toilets. People are stealing whole rolls of toilet paper! To prevent this problem, the government has put in each toilet a face recognition camera to ensure that you do not use too much paper. One women was arrested after the camera showed she had been in the toilet twice in too short a period of time. See article below.