The Real Siberia

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DAY 296: The sun rose around six to burn off the morning mist of the Siberian countryside.  I was awake before my alarm clock set for seven—my internal body clock was all out of whack with the constant adjust of time zones every other day.

Seven thirty-three a.m., right on schedule.  My train arrived in Irkutsk on a cold morning, cold enough that it finally felt like my stereotypical conception of Siberia, just without snow.  I saw my breath in the air as a sign handwritten in bright orange magic marker stared me in the face:  “ERIK TRINIDAD.” Holding it was Martina, a Russian woman sent from the agency that didn’t speak any English.  She was friendly anyway, and escorted me to the taxi that took us over the frigid Angara River into town to my homestay for the next three nights.  We arrived at an apartment complex on the quieter end of the main strip of town.  On the third floor of one of the buildings I met Nina, an old woman living with her cat in a nice humble place with a lot of houseplants.

It’s always a hit-or-miss with a homestay, and so far I was two for two on hits.  Despite Julia’s (Novosibirsk) notion that it was a requirement for a homestay to have at least one English-speaking person, Nina only spoke Russian—and her cat didn’t say much at all, not even a “meow.”

No matter, we got by with body language, and my limited reading from my phrasebook.  In a way, it was almost exactly the way I imagined a homestay:  a cold day with an old woman and a language barrier in a humble little home.  I had finally found “The Real Siberia,” just without snow. 

I took a nap for the rest of the morning and awoke at eleven for a shower and breakfast.  Nina had prepared a spread of meat, cheese, bread, tomatoes and cucumbers for me, but wasn’t much of a conversationalist.  It seemed to me that she was doing the homestay service only as a means of additional income, and only performed her obligations as required by contract:  provide a private room and make breakfast.  The friendships I had made in Yekaterinburg and Novosibirsk were just a part of life’s little bonuses.

THAT WAS THE END OF “THE REAL SIBERIA” for the meantime.  The sun came out and warmed Irkutsk to a hot summer day, shorts weather almost.  Although not a big modern city like Yekaterinburg and Novosibirsk, Irkutsk still had a modern edge.  With a population of about 600,000, it was more like a modern suburban town.  Walking down its main strip Karl Marx Street, it felt like I was walking down Main Street, U.S.A. with all the familiar shops and stores selling shoes and clothes—there was even a bowling alley.  Once known as the “Paris of Siberia,” Irkutsk had many stores selling gold and imported goods during an 1880s gold rush, which as far as I could see, were long gone. 

I left my fleece jacket back at the house and went exploring the sights, starting with the Volkonsky House, one of the houses built by the Decembrists, a group of intellectual rebels who had staged a coup against Tsar Nicholas I in 1825, only to fail and to be banished to Siberia.  It was a prime example of Irkutsk’s distinct wooden houses (picture above)—some with intricate decorative wooden carvings known as “wooden lace”—found in all neighborhoods of town where modern construction hadn’t found its way to yet. 

I walked the entire strip of Karl Marx strip, passed a group of leftover war tanks on display in a parking lot, the Academic Drama Theater and to the obligatory statue of Lenin found in a main plaza.  Another statue, one of Alexanary was found at the end, near the Angara River.  In the center of the river was Youth Island, a sort of relaxation park accessible via a footbridge, which was a nice place to sit out for a while and watch the Angara River go by. 

In the Irkutsk Regional Museum (just $2 with my “student” discount), displays and exhibitions showed off artifacts of all the cultural aspects of the region throughout history, from the Ice Age to the nomadic tribes, to the southern Asian influence, the colonial influence and the Soviet one.  Across the street was the White House, the former home of the governors general of Eastern Siberia, now a university library. 

IRKUTSK DIDN’T LOOK LIKE it had more to offer for more than a day of sightseeing, so I went over to the only tour agency that was both mentioned in the Lonely Planet guidebook and on the map.  Why Lonely Planet didn’t mention the others on the map (even if off the map) I didn’t know, and I hated them for it.  No matter, I figured there would be a group of tourists like me at the one in town since it was on the map, only to find myself the only one there talking to the woman who spoke basic English.  I tried to get a tour to nearby Lake Baikal, and she offered me one where I’d have to go on a train for 12-hours.  I knew there was another way—it’s only an hour by bus—so I politely left and went to go look for another tour agency in the book.

After an internet session, I asked for directions to the Green Express agency, which was on the other side of the river somewhere.  I walked, and searched and searched, only to find out that Lonely Planet’s map had the streets mislabeled, costing me time.  (Damn you Lonely Planet!) I finally found the building, only to find it had closed for the day at five.  (The next day, I found out it didn’t matter because the agency had moved entirely since Lonely Planet’s publication date.)

I WALKED BACK OVER THE BRIDGE into town to see the other sights—there was still a good six hours of daylight left.  I wandered the Plaza Kirova, near the Church of the Savior, the Polish Catholic Church, and a new church bigger than both that wasn’t even mentioned in my Lonely Planet guidebook.  (I swear, Lonely Planet; I bought your latest edition too!  I understand that maybe you couldn’t put in every detailed in an abridged “Shoestring” book, but I was using your guidebook specifically for the Trans-Siberian Railway and the cities and sights on the way.)

Hungry, I went looking for a place to eat in town, but in this small time suburban place, all the cafes and cheap eateries seemed to shut down by seven, even with four more hours of daylight left.  I guess Irkutsk wasn’t the big city or town after all; perhaps I really was in a place as remote as Siberia. 

I went walking to try and find an open place, but was soon followed by a beggar woman who wouldn’t leave me alone, and just went back home.  I settled for one of my spare ramen noodle bowls—Nina boiled some water for me, although it seemed to me like she felt like was perhaps doing too much.  Her cat, who reminded me of Mr. Jinx in 2000’s Meet the Parents, visited me in my room often, even opening the door with his paws.  I thought in the daytime he might try and scratch up my stuff in my bags, but then I remembered he didn’t have any opposable thumbs.

THAT NIGHT I JUST WROTE on my laptop until I was all caught up on The Blog.  The weather outside got cold, and I was in The Real Siberia once again.


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This blog entry about the events of Tuesday, August 10, 2004 was originally posted on August 11, 2004 on the blog, "The Global Trip 2004: Sixteen Months Around The World (Or Until Money Runs Out, Whichever Comes First)," hosted by BootsnAll.com. It is one of over 500 entries that chronicled a trip around the world from October 2003 to March 2005, encompassing travel through thirty-seven countries in North America, South America, Africa, Europe, and Asia. It was this blog that "started it all," where Erik evolved and honed his style of travel blogging. (It starts to come into focus around the time he arrives in Africa.)

Praised and recommended by USA Today, RickSteves.com, and readers of BootsnAll and Lonely Planet's Thorn Tree, The Global Trip blog was selected by the editors of PC Magazine for the "Top 100 Sites You Didn't Know You Couldn't Live Without" (in the travel category) in 2005.





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