The Irkutsk Experience
Finally I’m in Siberia. In Irkutsk to be exact. It’s been called the “Paris of Siberia,” but as we make our way through the four-century-old city, I wonder why. We do pass some official looking buildings and a number of magnificent ornate gold-domed Russian churches. But what stands out most
prominently are the many handsome wooden cabins and houses that form the heart of many neighborhoods.
Julia, the statuesque blond blue-eyed young woman who is our guide tells us she is of Polish and Manchurian heritage—and shares some history of this picturesque remote Siberian capital. First settled in 1651 when a Cossack garrison was built to control the native Buryiat population, the village became the far-east Russian trading center of furs and ivory to Mongolia, China and Tibet.
It wasn’t until the early 19th century that the city inherited its unique Western European flavor, courtesy of the exiles from St. Petersburg banished to the prisons and labor camps of Siberia by Tzar Nicholas the First. These exiles were called Decembrists, named by the date of their unsuccessful rebellion to overthrow the tzar on December 26, 1825. When freed from the labor camps and prisons of this hostile land, they settled in nearby Irkutsk and were soon joined by wives and children. Shortly, in this vast, frozen wasteland this small, influential group of elite Russian aristocrats transformed a village situated in a remote forest thousands of miles from St. Petersberg, Russia into a civilized center of Western European culture complete with the music, literature, and education they had left behind.
On our first afternoon in this remote Siberian city, an afternoon of 85 degrees and brilliant sunshine, we were surprised and delighted to experience a moment in time that gave us a first hand knowledge of the civilized existence of the Decembrists. Julia had arranged for a visit to the Prince Volkon sky museum for our group. A substantial wooden building situated in the middle of a fenced courtyard, it was the 19th century home of the Volkon skys and architecturally, was an enlarged and grand example of the simpler wooden cabins with their carved louvered windows we had just seen lining many of the streets of the city.
What an unexpected experience we had that afternoon. We had a fascinating first-hand look with our private guide (with English translations by Julia) of the beautiful clothing, ornate toilet articles, many books, fascinating family photos and other memorabilia of the family. This brought the lives of
the Decembrist exiles into brilliant focus—but we hardly expected how directly!
Not long into the tour, the museum director, dressed in full tuxedo, greeted us. Sitting down at a beautiful antique piano imported by the family in the1840s, he played – beautifully--the first piece in what was to follow-- a two-hour classical music concert by six top flight professional musicians, outfitted in tuxedo or full length concert gown.
For the concert, we were ushered into the grand salon, much as guests had been seated in the time of the Decembrists. The concert included piano and vocal compositions of composers ranging from Tshaikovsky, Shubert, Chopin, and Mozart to operatic arias of Verdi and Puccini. The entire performance was worthy of a concert in Carnegie Hall and ended in a grand finale as they served us champagne and cake. And all this for just the ten of us! I couldn’t believe I was sitting in the middle of Siberia enjoying a concert that could have been staged at the Kennedy Center!
The next day went from the sublime to the totally bizarre in terms of contrasting cultures. But before that, we were hit by a change in weather that catapulted us from enjoying the last rites of summer into experiencing an onslaught of cold that gave us a chilling preview what a Siberian winter would be.
As we prepared for dinner that evening, I heard a strange howling sound out the window. Peering out, I couldn’t believe what I saw. The entire outside world had changed. I heard a fierce howling wind, saw overcast darkened skies, and couldn’t believe my eyes-- IT WAS SNOWING! The wind had suddenly changed directions and was now blowing down directly from the Arctic Circle, bringing with it a 50 degree drop in temperature over an hour’s time and SNOW. The Siberian winter had arrived!
It snowed all that night. In the morning we awoke to a city covered in several inches of snow and breathing air extremely more frigid than the day before.
Despite the change to freezing weather (that Julia simply labeled “fresh”), we headed off for a 130-kilometer journey to visit the Buryiat region of Siberia. We marveled over the beauty of the endless Siberian taiga, forests of brilliantly changing birch, larch, fir and spruce trees. Leaving the
forests, we encountered the traditional agriculture of the Siberian steppes, seeing many old women and men hunched over, harvesting fields of potatoes into huge burlap sacks. They were preparing for the long winter freeze where an average temperature of –31C was a good day, we heard.
Arriving at the Buryiat village, we found the inhabitants, descendants from the Mongolian region, dressed in their own unique style, resembling Mongolian nomads in appearance. Over the years the indigenous Buryiat people put up very strong resistance to Soviet controls and clung to their culture,
language, music, costumes and way of life. We spent that day immersed in the Buryiat culture and learning more about how this very different group of Siberian citizens live.
We were greeted by the shaman in full fur costume. He asked us to surround him in a circle as he blessed us by handing us one by one a traditional communal ceremonial bowl to sip what I believe was fermented yak’s milk. The had probably fed a thousand other lips before mine, I thought, and silently recalled the old adage: “Lips that touch liquor should never touch mine.”
I had no intention of “quaffing” from this bowl and tried to keep it far from my lips as he passed it around. But try as I could, I failed. He saw to it that a drop fell on my lips, and I paid dearly for this later on.
The Buryiat visit was fascinating---they entertained us with folk music on ancient instruments, danced, sang, and prayed to the gods. The performance concluded with a boisterous wrestling match of two samurai-sized men huffing and pushing and tugging and rolling over the dirt as we onlookers cheered them on and bet who would win. For lunch we were ushered into a simple Buryiat yurt, served vodka and an elaborate lengthy (pre-cooked) meal. After all this, we were more than ready to head back on the long ride to Irkutsk. But though it was a fascinating day, that night I was to pay dearly for the experience!
Back in town, several people wanted to be dropped off at the central market. I opted to return to the Sun Hotel partly because Julia said many pick pocket types hung around the market, and I was by then limping badly and didn’t need any chance encounter. I was right! At dinner that evening, a member of our group, Diane. told us her carry-all had been slashed without her even feeling it. Her camera, money and passport were in it, but luckily they had gotten away with very little!
So much for Siberian hospitality. But I only encountered smiling, pleasant people during my entire stay in Siberia. And given the unpleasant events of that night, I found one Siberian person more helpful than I could possibly imagine.
[Go to Mongolia Part Four]
