LAKE BAIKAL AND OLKHON ISLAND
by Juliet Golz , September 2002

Day 1:

I met Jack our tour guide and the couple, Ilana (Lithuanian) and Kamul (Canadian) who were also taking the trip with me to Olkhon Island.

We left the industrious grey of Irkutsk behind and ventured further into Eastern Siberia towards the Lake. We had seen the route Jack was taking and knew that the drive would take us through vast countryside and forestland making up part of the Buryat Autonomous Region.

Part of our trip was to meet a Shaman, which was what I had been looking forward to most during my time in Russia. I had read extensive literature prior to learn more about their culture and ideologies. I had now been given the opportunity to discover for myself the magic of the Siberian Shaman!

As we pulled into a little village called Elanzy, we discovered that we were visiting Valentin, a practicing Shaman for over 12 years in the region. He had been initiated into this role when he was 30 years old after doing his PHD in Eastern Philosophy. We sat there absorbed as he explained what Shamanism is and what role it plays amongst his people today.

Valentin wanted to show us his sacred sites that for decades have been part to rituals and refuge by the Buryats. The first place we visited was a prayer site situated in a valley near Elanzy. It was clearly visible from the road as the three highly erected posts were grouped together by a myriad of coloured ribbons. We learn that the Buryats tie ribbons on the pole to respect the spirits - one knot for the material world and the second knot for the spiritual world.

We are then taken to the place where Valentin was initiated. This had to be the place where he was born (and where his mother's placenta was buried) as it is considered the rebirth of the soul. He explains that this area is part of Mother Earth and home to the natural spirits. Each mountain that we see in front and behind us has its own name and legend. We follow a path up to a tree in the stone (the tree in Shamanism is considered to be the centre of the world, where time, place and possibilities all meet) and then to the place where his 5 brothers and father were buried. We hear poignant tales of Communist invasions in the Buryat region and see for ourselves the stamp of the nation engraved on the hillside nearby.

As time was running out to get to the island, we regrettably had to leave Valentin and his beautiful stories of his roots. I feel very honoured that I had this chance to meet him and can not thank him enough for giving us an insight into Shaman legends and traditions.

We continued our journey and caught the last ferry to the island. The village we were staying at was a further hour's drive. Although the distance wasn't so far the roads were made of sand and rocks (man-made paths) which meant we could only go about 50km. Also night time had set in which also slowed us down.

Eventually we arrived and were greeted by the Fisherman and his wife, then shown to our rooms. After relaxing for about half and hour we rejoined in the lounge for our evening meal which had been already made by the wife. We had a remaining 40 minutes before the generators turned off and used this time to unpack and get ready for bed.

Day 2:

When we woke with daylight around, the house had taken on a different persona - it was alive with many of the village women preparing us lunch and later dinner.

After breakfast we ventured out into the village, which was built on sand. All around us were scattered wooden huts, surrounded by wooden fencing. The best way I could describe this was a cross between the Wild West and an Amish community. The free roaming cows drifted across our path, complacent with our presence.

We take a walk along the cliffs and take a steep route down to the shores, which are sandy and pebbly. Today there are prominent reminders of the Buryat culture such as the Burkhan stone, which is still regarded sacred. Jack tells us that the Shaman had to wear special shoes so as not to disturb the Olkhon spirit. Their ceremonies used to take place in the cave centered in the stone. Today it is impossible to get to as the less than frequent earthquakes decrease the cave in size.

We learn that in 1974/75 an archeological project was carried out by an American and Russian team to learn more about the island. They found 2 graves, one of a man, the other of an eagle next to each other. They were puzzled as to why an eagle was given a burial but used the human skull to compare it to other skulls from another area and saw it was similar to a tribe who emigrated from Central Asia up to North America. We can only guess that the grave of the eagle was there as part of a ritual based on the Buryat legend. A master wanted his son to see the Yellow Country (we think this could be either Mongolia or China). He changed him into an eagle in order to fly away to this destination. On his return journey the son in the eagle form was hungry and killed a horse to feed his hunger. This was against Shaman tradition to eat another animal and for punishment the father kept him as an eagle.

We then walked down to Australia Beach - it is called this as is has golden sand positioned off the turquoise blue waters. We then headed back to the village. We see a sign post which read: -

'Burkhan is one of the 9 sacred places in Asia (however no one knows where the other 8 are)
It is earth created
Lower of the Oldest of the 13 Spirits
Everyone who visits this will wish the happiness of the spirits.

Jack has arranged for us all to have a massage later on and we have free time to explore the island. Ilana, Kumul and I take a walk down to the fish factory to see if we could go on a boat ride. I was reluctant to go after see the bloody, desecrated parts of fish in the boat. We instead went back to the top of the hill to enjoy half an hour of beautiful sunshine. We get back in time for our full body massage, which was incredible. The burly Russian masseur left not one bone in my hand or foot un-cracked and my back was free from stress. Just when I thought it couldn't get any better, I was introduced me to a Russian Banya…..

Ilana being Latvian was more than familiar with these and demonstrated how it works.
1. Sit in the wooden hut and wait for the rocks heat up
2. Splash water onto them to create steam.
3. Grab the birch tree stick and whip ourselves senseless
4. Throw cold water from the basin outside the steam room onto ourselves…brrrr
5. Finally dry ourselves down

Ilana tells me this is better in winter as the contrast between the temperatures outside to that of the Banya creates a deep heat feeling that sinks nicely into the bones.

After dinner we are invited to join the fisherman and his wife to a party in the woods, which we eagerly accept. The husband loads us into his 4-wheel drive and starts to drive through the village. We leave the main sandy track and plummet deep into the woods. We eventually reach our destination - a small campsite with lighting all around. Our hosts explain that their friends are teachers who held a summer camp for the school children in Irkutsk. For the past three week the children's activities have been catching fish, learning to smoke them and surviving without the creature comforts that they are used to in the city. We hear stories of crying children not wanting to leave.

We are invited to sit down and join the 8 or so teachers for vodka. The bottle is opened, shots poured and I find myself toasting the well being of our visitors. Getting the hang of knocking the burning liquid down, I am ready for toast 2 - to our love of Russia. Once more my glass is empty and refilled for toast 3 - to peace and prosperity. I do not manage to finish the full shot and take sips to break up the hit of alcohol to my head. Kumul whispers to me that it is regarded rude to take sips out of the glass when shots are not toasted. I basically have to wait for the next toast to take my next gulp! My hosts want to refill my glass and I have to show them my pathetic efforts left from the previous toast. I am let off the hook and finish the small amount remaining. Soon enough the fourth toast comes around and this time it is to all good things. Again my glass is filled up and the fifth toast is given. I have the challenge of trying to get the vodka down my gullet. Feeling a bit intoxicated now, I felt now was an appropriate time to introduce them to my ritual... I stumbled around the table slurring 'Spasibo' (thank you in Russian.) and 'I love you'. Amazingly as we left I got an invite for the following night.

Day 3:

With a hangover from hell, I ventured into the dining room for breakfast. Feeling very delicate I was delighted to hear that we would have a calm day on the West side of the island. Jack had hired a mini-bus (of soviet design) for the day with a driver included. We all climbed in, girls in the back with Jack, driver and Kamul in the front. Within a minute of driving we were already out of the village and in the countryside. The land became baron and for miles we just see hills to our right and the lake to the left. We reached our first destination - a desolated fish factory. It had closed down after Stalin's death, which I thought was very coincidental. Jack explained that a number of prisoners were sentenced under Code 57 (political prisoners equal to the dissident difference) and was infamous during Stalin's reign. They were exiled to the island to work in the fish factory. When Stalin's reign came to an end the fish factory could not afford to pay them a salary.

We decided to head off to our next destination and Kamul noticing I was a shade greener, kindly offered me the front seat, which I took with pleasure. Just as we started to drive off, I learnt that I had no seatbelt. As confusion hit me on this fact, the semi-distinguishable road ahead faded and what I can only describe as falling into the core of the earth began! The path had been so worn away that it created ditches of between 3 - 4 feet in depth and filled with rocks and wood from the forest. The vodka that had nicely settled in my liver from the night before had re-tracked its steps back up to my stomach for a second encore. I could clearly see the 'fasten seat belt' sign blinking heavily in front of me. As I tried to rationalise the situation, a rush of adrenaline and alcohol took over my senses and moments later I was struggling to climb out of the window for an emergency landing. Bet the driver wished he had a seatbelt now!

With Plan A failing miserably, I resorted to Plan B - grabbing everything insight that had a vague resemblance to a handle (including the three gear sticks located by my legs! The driver noticing my distress tried to calm my nerves with music. Next thing I found myself bouncing up and down to Russian Rave music. The worst was to come...... our Soviet designed automobile that was the Comrades finest was falling apart at the seams. Each gigantic lunge into the ditch caused the suspension belt to loosen further and I am sure I saw bits of the bus fly off. By the time we got to the West of the Island, the bus and I were in a very bad way!

Although the journey was an escalator to hell, the views that we witnessed were outstanding and totally worth it.

We had reached the furthest most top of the island and took a hike to the top of the cliff. We learn more about the Buryats with Khoboi Cliff serving the role as a sacred site. Jack tells us the fable - if you look closely you can see a profile of a woman. She was a wife of a good spirit (at that time there were 55 good spirits and 45 bad ones). She was a very envious woman and many of the villagers warned her that if she carried on behaving in an appalling manner she would find herself in trouble. Ignoring their heeds she continued to upset more and more of the villagers. One day she behaved so badly the villagers turned her into a stone until she improved. We can see that she has still not learnt her lesson.

We return to the van and sit out in the sunshine for a lovely picnic by the cliffs. The fisherman and his wife join us for lunch and head off to prepare more food for later. We continue down the island towards the weather station where one of Jack's friends works. We have a tour of the place and I have to resist the temptation of pressing the numerous buttons on show. We thank the weatherman for his time and climb back in the van.

We head back to the village. We all agree to have an early night as tomorrow we are heading back to civilisation.