190908 – Lake Baikal

190908 – Lake Baikal

Finally getting some sleep as daylight appeared and Deneshs snoring became marginally more managable, I was still suffering badly from my cold. I held off as late as I could until going for breakfast, I think I was the last one for the day. Nat and one or two of the others were finishing their porridge and pancakes just as I walked in, providing some company until my food arrived. Eat, straight back to bed for a bit.

When I finally got up properly, I joined Greg and Alice for their little walk through the town.

The construction of the town is all wood, badly weathered in most places. Predominantly single or dual story houses, the style was very similar to that in Irkurtsk just more rural. Throughout the village, all of the roads were particularly wide and made of gravel, undoubtedly converting to mud with a heavy rain. Apart from the obvious main road, each street was lined with wooden fences or house-fronts with no particularly discernable features. There were ancient vehicles and a handful of new, manufactured by extinct soviet factories or imported. We came across one soviet motorbike with side-car and more than a few tanks or trailers that were simply the back-half of a vehicle.

Having been into the little local craft shop, I had some postcards, beads and pendants for taking home. The lady dealt with us in the usual Russian manner of Cranky, almost angry when we gave her money. Still, we emerged victorious. Wandering the side-streets, we stopped in a little local store. The lady here served us smiling and trying very hard to communicate. She kindly produced soft-drinks and ice-creams on request, shifting trays of fruit to accommodate us. I managed to negotiate some cheap Russian pens, partly out of novelty of using them at home. Travelling seems to eat pens and pencils, I was hopeful that these cheap Ruskies would last a bit longer than the last set I got in Egypt. We moved on.

The main street was simply wider than any of the others, with worse ruts and guttering in places. There were a handful of shop-fronts, what looked like a local pub, a school and more non-descript fences and houses, and no particularly noticable footpath anywhere. One clothing store was open in the form of a long kiosk that looked more suited for serving fish and chips. The pub had stairs rising from street level to about shoulder-hieght, it had a porch that was acceptably wide and long. The doors looked like they could be easily barricaded, though Im not sure why that thought struck me, they were a little low and squat from where I stood. We didnt bother the locals who were waiting on the stairs or passing through the pub, choosing to move down the street rather than risk adventuring a little too far. The building in question could easily have been something other than a pub, a building of local government perhaps. The clothing store and pub were part of the same little building complex, surrounded by narrower side-streets that were littered with rubbish and plastic bags.

A little further along and on the other side of the street, the local school was ancient and eclectic in design. A mix of local wooden buildings and deteriorating concrete, it had rusting iron fencing with a turnstyle that looked more like a torture device. There were a series of quadrangles, one containing a handful of nightmarish climbing frames and playground equipment, the second had a small stage area and was obviously used for assemblies (hopefully not in winter...). A bright mural was painted on one flat surface, the colours starting to fade and appearing a little lonely in the stark surroundings. Seeing all of this, I thought of my old primary school back home and how it might appear to an outsider. I like to think that it is no where near as bleak.

Having seen this half of the town and exhausted our snacks, we set back to the home-stay. I found a table in the common-room and started to write post-cards. I was missing a heap of addresses and would have to get stamps at some point back in Irkustk. Being thoroughly ignored by the Russian girls who appeared to work here, I moved on from postcards to journal writing. I was desperately behind in my blog and persevered until the battery gave out. Im sure that there was lunch at some point.

Leaving behind the staff who were working so hard at ignoring my existance, I shut myself in the room and slept for almost the whole afternoon.

Others clattered in the room or my alarm got me up, it was time for dinner and then promises of a local cultural concert. Dinner was much the same as the other meals, a fish dish and a small bland soup with bits of chicken. We chatted and played cards until 3 local women and a gentleman with a piano-accordian appeared and sang songs from various regions of the former soviet union. The man playing was quite charismatic and talented, the women might not have wanted to be there. Not overly confident in their voice and taking some time to warm to each song, the audience was enthusiastic and supportive. I left about half-way through to have a bath.

Liam and I had booked the free Bayunya for late sessions that night. We had one session each, though it could accomidate two at a time. The plan was to enjoy the bath and give any left-over time to others in the group.

A Bayunya is a building and an activity. The building revolves around a small sauna with the stove located in the room adjoining the sauna. The stove has a large pot of water on top of it that is close to boiling, there is a large vat of cold water somewhere else in the room. Outside of these heated rooms is a changing room with stacks of towels and small stools. There is an antechamber to the outside world, assumedly for boots and jackets.

One will enter the antechamber after inspecting the roster, remove boots and jackets, before stepping into the changing room. Curtains drawn and the lights not working, it is up to ones flashlight to strip and adorn a towel (preferably from the dry pile). Entering the stove room, there is a large pan for each participant. The most pressing duty at this time is to place water in the pan, typically one will start with the cold water in order to make the pan cool enough to handle. Great ladels or small cooking pots are utilised for transporting water, hot from the stove and cold from the vat, into the pan in such a proportion that one might tolerate.
Preparations done, one will then step into their small sauna. Courage may result in a small ladel of water onto the rocks, prudence may dictate otherwise. Having been baked, steamed and roasted, it is time to exit the sauna. It is assumed that you will be in there for 10-15 minutes, though Im sure the average forienger will only last for about 3-5. Having spent some time transferring ones internal fluids out of the skin, it is now time to wash down. Provided one has adequately judge the volume and temperature mix of the pan of water, it is now time for splashing, washing, rinsing and dousing. The last of the pan is hoisted up and dumped over ones head.
Beginning to dry down with a series of dry towels, this process is begun in the stove room and completed in the changing room. Though not exposed to the outside world, the changing room is only just warm enough to be comfortable while drying oneself. It is best to be mostly free of surface water before you get to this stage.
Now dry and supposedly clean, it is back to using the flashlight to dress. Exiting the Buyanya is best done without catching your clothes on a loose nail.
An option that might be employed during the Bayunya, particularly the sauna stage, is to pugulate oneself with a swatch of birch-branches. Supposedly therapeutic rather than masacistic, it is reported to bring the blood to the surface of the skin. One can only suppose at the Russian thought process that added the idea of beatings to someone while also roasting them alive, basting the body to maintain moistness of the flesh while tenderising the meat... One did not indulge the activity.

Feeling suprisingly cleaner, and not at all like a roast seasoned with birch, I dropped gear off and met the others back in the common room. The concert had finished and most of the group had gotten down to playing cards. I got hand after hand of wrotten cards while a pretty russian girl made eyes with most of the boys in the group. Settling on Adam, she chatted with Anne and Andre. Anne had dominated in the afternoon ping-pong championship and had been flirting a great deal with a friend who worked in this part of the world.

People slowly left the game and headed to bed, the Russian girl seeming disappointed that Adam did not reappear. I called it a night when I finally got a good hand and won a round (well, didnt lose). I made a hasty retreat, in the hope that I would be asleep before Deneshs nocturnal act of summoning the voices of great dark and fell beings.

I was unsuccessful.