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20 km Past Babushkin (on Lake Baikal)
Day 44 - June 29
Sundays are particularly quiet. Many places are closed and traffic is noticeably less. On most Sundays we see families and friends having picnics in parks or along picturesque streams (like the cold ones in which we bathe.) Today's morning rain was an exception, but by afternoon when the rain had stopped, the picnickers were out in force.
From the perspective of a sightseer, however, the weather remained rather finicky. As we cycled towards our first glimpse of Lake Baikal, holder of a quarter of the world's fresh water, clouds were pervasive. I had to smile at the thought of having cycled so far to see the much fabled Baikal and discover that I could not see it because it was covered in fog.
We struck camp along the lake, and as the fog lifted, we gained a view of the lake with a mountain backdrop; it was a beautiful place to stay. While we had come far for a night by the lake, a monument along the shore commemorated earlier Europeans, the Poles that had come to the same place. The granite monument with a Catholic cross and inscription in Russian and Polish marked the site as one where a number of Poles were either exiled or executed for their resistance to the Czar in the 1860s. That night, the only casualty was the fish we had for dinner. But as the wind roared across the rocky shore, there was a somber peace to the location that felt, in some ways, like an historical calm.
Kultak
Day 45 - June 30
As the sun rose over the lake, we breakfasted in contemplative silence amidst the vastness of the waters before us. We wanted another night at the lake, so we cycled along the southern part of the lake and found camp before following the road away from the lake towards Irkutsk.
The road around the lake continued to be hilly and densely forested, but with the sun out today we were able to catch frequent views of the lake. Standing proud at the southern most edge was a large factory which did little for the pristine vistas offered by the road.
Between 5 and 10 km north of the factory, we set camp, anxious to swim in the lake. We all forewent the cold plunge, though, because the waters were oily and too dirty to use for purposes of cleanliness or pleasure.
A friend and I went into town to inquire about buying fish for the group. We were surprised at how difficult it was to get fish at a coastal town and an older man lamented that we would have been better to have purchased fish a few villages earlier. He said that a few years ago, the price of fish was between 5-8 rubles/kg and now the price was closer to 25 rbls/kg. He said that there was a dearth of fish in the area and that the better fish came from the eastern part of the lake. As best as I could understand him, he believed the cause to be over fishing. No doubt the pollution did not help much. That evening, we returned without fish.
Day 46 - July 1 - Irkutsk
The road from camp was up, switch-backs that lasted a few km and an overall initial climb of around 10 km. The down hill sections were long with the top speed of the day reaching 75 km/hour. Such a down hill is exciting but stressful, giving it an edge over the up hill parts that are slow and arduous. The views, however, were spectacular.
About 25 km outside of Irkutsk, I saw what appeared to be a large military storage area. There were lines of tanks and trucks, but no people around. From a distance, the equipment appeared antiquated but my knowledge of such things is limited. I suppose that the main reason the equipment was there was in case of a threat from China. But as economic relations between the two counties become closer, such threats seem less relevant.
Day 47 - July 2 - Irkutsk
Like Chita, the growth of Irkutsk was influenced by the Decembrists. There is even a Roman Catholic Church built by the Poles.
A fair number of old wooden houses still exist throughout the city and while they have a certain historic charm, most lack indoor plumbing, which gives the adjacent concrete apartment buildings, with all of the architectural lackluster for which the Soviet Union was famous, a bit more appeal.
Walking around the center of town, economic disparity becomes clear. Only blocks from the districts with wooden houses and inexpensive shopping stalls, there were expensive stores with prices comparable to what would be found in the West. Both old and new architectural design is blended together, but the divide between those with and those without money are clear in the attitudes of the shoppers. Walking along the streets of the high-end stores, you see an atmosphere suggesting that that everything can be purchased and the customer should be served. Walking along the streets of the poorer part of town, there is a sense that people are scraping to get by, more of a survivalist approach to the acquisition and consumption of goods.
I mention that, not because such economic differences are unique to Irkutsk (certainly they are not), but because I spoke to one Jewish man who spoke of the harmony throughout Irkutsk. There is a synagogue and a mosque, as well as Orthodox and Catholic houses of worship. But like the economic divide where there is a thin facade of intermingling, I suspect the community is further divided along religious and ethnic lines that create a sense of false-togetherness, a reality of various sub-cultures with bonds of varying thickness.
For example the man told me about his childhood, his attendance at the synagogue, and his perception of the relationship between his Jewish community in Irkutsk and Israel. What was telling, however, was that when he went to open his glove compartment to get a paper to show me, I was an Orthdox icon of Jesus and Mary, not typical traveling fare for non-Christians. While I do not know with certainty, I suspect the explanation for the Christian icon in the car of a Jew is that it helps get out of traffic tickets or places passengers more at ease. The need for such a symbol, however, speaks less about acceptance and more about adaptation.
Shamaniyava
Day 48 - July 3
Leaving Irkutsk was quite a contrast to entering town. When we arrived, it was hot, sunny, and the roads had been filled with impressive ascents and descents. The departure, however, was rainy, a bit cold, and flat. What to the south-east were mountains and trees, the west held plains and agriculture.
As usual, we returned to spaces of openness and small villages that appear at periodic intervals. One thing that has always impressed me about these small villages, and similar villages throughout the former Soviet Union, is that they all have electricity. You can go to very remote places, and still you see power lines and someone who has a television.
While people can watch television and have access to Moscow news or a recent Hollywood film dubbed into Russian, these same villages do not have running water or indoor plumbing. Much can be said for a community that talks around a water pump (or drops a bucket down a well), walking to the outhouse when it is minus 40 in the winter puts it all into perspective.
I have talked with people before about this and they all say that under the Soviet Union it was believed that electricity was a right rather than a privilege. Thus, wires were run to places despite the fiscal imprudence of doing so, whereas water remained relatively un-modernized.
I do not know the official rational behind prioritizing electricity over indoor plumbing, probably a view that water was available and electricity was bringing luxury to the community. Cynically, I would add that electricity brings state controlled media, i.e. radio and television, into the home, where the propaganda machines work best.
Outside Kuytun
Day 49 - July 4
Though today was Independence Day in the U.S., none of my Dutch or Russian colleagues were interested in learning such patriotic gems as the "Pledge of Allegiance", the "Star Spangled Banner", or "God Bless America." Despite their lack of enthusiasm for American holidays, and my inability to pronounce Dutch words in a way conducive to singing any Dutch national standard, we have had some wonderful times cycling together. We have, after all, been co-participants in the primitive ritual of cycling that has led us to feelings of despondence and victory.
Today, however, is my last day cycling with the group until sometime in August. I leave on the 5th for work-related meetings in Bosnia and will return to Novosibirsk to start cycling again the morning of the 24th. I will be a few hundred km behind the group and thus will try to catch them before Moscow.
As far as last days to cycle, it was a beautiful day; the road was good and the pace was fast. Upon entering camp, I was overcome by melancholy knowing that tomorrow I will not be cycling. Despite how difficult some of the days have been, the overall time is enjoyable and rewarding.
Before leaving for the trip back in May, I was asked what I thought would be the most difficult part of the trip. There were two times that I thought would be difficult. The first was halfway through when we would had been cycling for a month or two and are still in Siberia, with a few more thousand kilometers to go before we can think of leaving Russia.
The second, and most difficult, is saying goodbye. Most people expect the answer to be some physical stretch of road, but as I prepare for my Bosnian intermission, my initial views were affirmed: saying goodbye is hard. I will look forward to the reunion celebration when I catch up with the group sometime in early August.
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