Arriving at Irkutsk railway station, I was met by guide Hergar. He showed me to the car that would take me to my hotel and explained that he would also arrange to get me to Listvyanka the following day. It was 19:30 and so already dark as the car made its way through the traffic to the Angara hotel - named after the river that flows out of Lake Baikel.
The hotel is right in the middle of the city and on one side of the main square, Kirova. As it is Christmas and winter and perpetually frozen, the park in the middle of the square is centred with a magnificently decorated fir tree that, I'm sure, would rival Trafalgar Square's, if only in height. About the base is 6' high ice wall complete with ornate carvings and throughout the park are ice sculptures, arches and a wonderful ice slide. There was even an ice carriage being pulled an ice horse. Vicky's voice inside me and encouragement from a friend at home meant, the following morning, I couldn't leave Irkutsk without a go on the 12' high ice slide, much the bemusement of the watching adults and amusement of their children.
Having signalled the arrival of a mad, old English tourist who wears his wife's ski-suit, I headed off away from the square to explore the city some more. Irkutsk was originally a Cossack tax collection garrison, that later became a trading post on the Silk Route and grew rich from the 1880's gold rush - The Great Klondikski (sorry just made that last bit up). There are still some timber and log building dating back to this time, but much of the city was destroyed by fire in 1879. Some of the architecture is pre-soviet, but much of the city is made up of grey, utilitarian block. Especially outside of the centre.
At mid-day, Hergar returned as promised and showed me to a waiting mini bus that was to take me out to Listvyanka and Lake Baikal. The 1.5hour drive was generally uneventfull as we made our way along a snowy highway, that follows the Angara river, unseen, as we are flanked by dense pine forests. When we reach the head of the river, the lake opens up in front of us. What I had hoped would be a breathtaking vista was, unfortunately, shrouded in a thick mist. We turned north onto the lakeside road and into the small town of Listvyanka.
Known as the 'Baikal Riviera', Listvyanka is a bit of a tourist magnet. However, this is December and it is cold and so the tourists, other than me, have stayed at home. Wise move many might say. The town is largely linear, following the shoreline, with branches that dive up the steep sided valleys. My lodging, The Green House, is in the last valley before the town comes to an end at a steep peninsula.
After unpacking, I take a walk back down the valley to see the lake and take in my surrounding. I feel comfortable and free. It is at this point I remember why I've never been a great fan of cities. Even though it is colder and there is less access to modern convenience, I have an overwhelming feeling of inner peace and tranquility. Already, I feel I'm where I should be...just like home, but with snow and the world's biggest lake.
The views across the lake are stunning. The shoreline is encrusted with snow and ice, however the lake's water flows free and easy. Baikal is so large that it portrays characteristics attributable to a sea. Is has currents, produces waves and, during the summer, attracts thousand of people who come to swim and eat ice cream. Now, the streets are quiet and the whole place has a sleepy, fishing village outlook. I find a nice little cafe for some dinner and a beer before making my way back up the valley, home. Apparently there is a spring at the top of the vale. Familiar?
After breakfast the next morning, I again walk to the lake shore. This time with the intention of getting the little local 'hoppa-bus' to take me the 5 kilometres to the Baikal museum at the other end of the town. Imagine my surprise to see that where there was a lake yesterday, there is now an immense sea of sheet ice stretching ad far as the eye can see. Lake Baikal has turned into the world's biggest skating rink overnight. I take some photos before catching the bus. When I get the the museum, I'm pleased to bump into Hergar, who met me from the station. He is showing some Australian tourists around the exhibits and they invite me to join them. I'm pleased as everything is in Cyrillic, so I wouldn't understand a thing otherwise.
I decided to walk the distance back to my hostel, as the weather was clear and crisp and there was little wind to speak off. After about 2km I saw a sign for a dive centre. I stopped to take a photo, thinking it was mildly humorous given the icy conditions, when image my surprise when the door opened and out came a guy in a dry suit with a chain saw. I watched him walk out onto the lake ice and, using the chainsaw, cut a large triangular hole in the ice. His colleague invited me out to see and so there I was, rather messianically, walking on the water to see these guys prepare a dive hole. As I watched, Alex, the first man and his friend cleared the hole of any ice and, once kitted out, dropped himself into the dark recess. The air temperature was about -25c and the water temperature -2c, so, I was assured, it was better below the ice than above.
Ask set out to continue my walk, two men in uniform were getting into a marked car at the roadside. One called across to me in Russian, I looked and said,
'Sorry! Angeleez!'
'Eez beautiful' replied the man, pointing to the scene in front of us
'Yes, very beautiful' I smiled and continued walking.
A few seconds later the car pulled along side of me and the driver signalled for me to get in and take a lift. With a certain amount of trepidation, I got in the back seat.
'Are you Polise?' I asked. The driver looked puzzled. 'Securritty?' I tried, in my best Russian accent.
'Da. Da.' He affirmed with a big grin and reaching down between the seat produced a 24" black baton.
'Yerz!'' Said his partner in the passenger seat with a beaming smile. 'End I hef gun!' As he produces an old looking revolver and starts spinning the chamber.
'It's at time like these I wish I'd listened to what my grandmother told me.' said Arthur Dent
'Why, what did she say?' Asked Ford.
'I don't know. I didn't listen!'
So that bit in the guide book about being wary of police and careful about getting into cars. Which bit didn't I think applied to me. My stomach began to twist and turn as I tried hard to maintain a cool, carm exterior. However, true to their offer, when we got back to the main square, they dropped me off and with an enthusiastic shaking of hands, they went on their merry way.
...and breath!
Irkutsk and Listvyanka.
Arriving at Irkutsk railway station, I was met by guide Hergar. He showed me to the car that would take me to my hotel and explained that he would also arrange to get me to Listvyanka the following day. It was 19:30 and so already dark as the car made its way through the traffic to the Angara hotel - named after the river that flows out of Lake Baikel.
The hotel is right in the middle of the city and on one side of the main square, Kirova. As it is Christmas and winter and perpetually frozen, the park in the middle of the square is centred with a magnificently decorated fir tree that, I'm sure, would rival Trafalgar Square's, if only in height. About the base is 6' high ice wall complete with ornate carvings and throughout the park are ice sculptures, arches and a wonderful ice slide. There was even an ice carriage being pulled an ice horse. Vicky's voice inside me and encouragement from a friend at home meant, the following morning, I couldn't leave Irkutsk without a go on the 12' high ice slide, much the bemusement of the watching adults and amusement of their children.
Having signalled the arrival of a mad, old English tourist who wears his wife's ski-suit, I headed off away from the square to explore the city some more. Irkutsk was originally a Cossack tax collection garrison, that later became a trading post on the Silk Route and grew rich from the 1880's gold rush - The Great Klondikski (sorry just made that last bit up). There are still some timber and log building dating back to this time, but much of the city was destroyed by fire in 1879. Some of the architecture is pre-soviet, but much of the city is made up of grey, utilitarian block. Especially outside of the centre.
At mid-day, Hergar returned as promised and showed me to a waiting mini bus that was to take me out to Listvyanka and Lake Baikal. The 1.5hour drive was generally uneventfull as we made our way along a snowy highway, that follows the Angara river, unseen, as we are flanked by dense pine forests. When we reach the head of the river, the lake opens up in front of us. What I had hoped would be a breathtaking vista was, unfortunately, shrouded in a thick mist. We turned north onto the lakeside road and into the small town of Listvyanka.
Known as the 'Baikal Riviera', Listvyanka is a bit of a tourist magnet. However, this is December and it is cold and so the tourists, other than me, have stayed at home. Wise move many might say. The town is largely linear, following the shoreline, with branches that dive up the steep sided valleys. My lodging, The Green House, is in the last valley before the town comes to an end at a steep peninsula.
After unpacking, I take a walk back down the valley to see the lake and take in my surrounding. I feel comfortable and free. It is at this point I remember why I've never been a great fan of cities. Even though it is colder and there is less access to modern convenience, I have an overwhelming feeling of inner peace and tranquility. Already, I feel I'm where I should be...just like home, but with snow and the world's biggest lake.
The views across the lake are stunning. The shoreline is encrusted with snow and ice, however the lake's water flows free and easy. Baikal is so large that it portrays characteristics attributable to a sea. Is has currents, produces waves and, during the summer, attracts thousand of people who come to swim and eat ice cream. Now, the streets are quiet and the whole place has a sleepy, fishing village outlook. I find a nice little cafe for some dinner and a beer before making my way back up the valley, home. Apparently there is a spring at the top of the vale. Familiar?
After breakfast the next morning, I again walk to the lake shore. This time with the intention of getting the little local 'hoppa-bus' to take me the 5 kilometres to the Baikal museum at the other end of the town. Imagine my surprise to see that where there was a lake yesterday, there is now an immense sea of sheet ice stretching ad far as the eye can see. Lake Baikal has turned into the world's biggest skating rink overnight. I take some photos before catching the bus. When I get the the museum, I'm pleased to bump into Hergar, who met me from the station. He is showing some Australian tourists around the exhibits and they invite me to join them. I'm pleased as everything is in Cyrillic, so I wouldn't understand a thing otherwise.
I decided to walk the distance back to my hostel, as the weather was clear and crisp and there was little wind to speak off. After about 2km I saw a sign for a dive centre. I stopped to take a photo, thinking it was mildly humorous given the icy conditions, when image my surprise when the door opened and out came a guy in a dry suit with a chain saw. I watched him walk out onto the lake ice and, using the chainsaw, cut a large triangular hole in the ice. His colleague invited me out to see and so there I was, rather messianically, walking on the water to see these guys prepare a dive hole. As I watched, Alex, the first man and his friend cleared the hole of any ice and, once kitted out, dropped himself into the dark recess. The air temperature was about -25c and the water temperature -2c, so, I was assured, it was better below the ice than above.
Ask set out to continue my walk, two men in uniform were getting into a marked car at the roadside. One called across to me in Russian, I looked and said,
'Sorry! Angeleez!'
'Eez beautiful' replied the man, pointing to the scene in front of us
'Yes, very beautiful' I smiled and continued walking.
A few seconds later the car pulled along side of me and the driver signalled for me to get in and take a lift. With a certain amount of trepidation, I got in the back seat.
'Are you Polise?' I asked. The driver looked puzzled. 'Securritty?' I tried, in my best Russian accent.
'Da. Da.' He affirmed with a big grin and reaching down between the seat produced a 24" black baton.
'Yerz!'' Said his partner in the passenger seat with a beaming smile. 'End I hef gun!' As he produces an old looking revolver and starts spinning the chamber.
'It's at time like these I wish I'd listened to what my grandmother told me.' said Arthur Dent
'Why, what did she say?' Asked Ford.
'I don't know. I didn't listen!'
So that bit in the guide book about being wary of police and careful about getting into cars. Which bit didn't I think applied to me. My stomach began to twist and turn as I tried hard to maintain a cool, carm exterior. However, true to their offer, when we got back to the main square, they dropped me off and with an enthusiastic shaking of hands, they went on their merry way.
...and breath!
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