Kamchatka - A Surreal Winterscape

Petropavlosk-Kamchatsky, Kamchatka Krai, January 2, 2020

My decision to go to Kamchatka for the first week of January was made after much deliberation as to where exactly I wanted to go.  The New Year vacation is the longest that I get during the school year, and with eight days to go wherever I please, I am naturally inclined to go somewhere far away in Russia.  For a couple months I had my sights set on a city which fascinates me called Yakutsk, which is in the far-northern and eastern part of Russia.  It is called the coldest city in the world, with temperatures reaching minus 60, or more.  I read about life in Yakutsk and watched videos of how people survive there, hurrying from building to building wearing thick fur coats to avoid the discomfort of extreme cold.  Tickets there were not so expensive, but they weren't exactly cheap either.  And the more I thought about it, the more I asked myself: what am I going to do for eight days in minus 60 degree weather? There were some points of interest, but I understood that the infrastructure there is not built around tourism.  I started to think of traveling to another city, a mouthful called Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky.  This city is farther from Moscow than Yakutsk, but the tickets were cheaper.  It is a flight all the way across Russia to the Kamchatka Peninsula, located on the Pacific Ocean.  It is kind of like Russia's Alaska before the Russians sold Alaska to the USA (remember that?) - a huge expanse of pristine wilderness, with boreal forests and rivers teaming with fish, and bears!  I had heard wonderful things about Kamchatka.  And so, I finally made my decision to fly to Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky and bought my plane ticket two months in advance.  The issue: I sprained my ankle very badly two weeks before my flight and was on crutches.

Prior to flying to Kamchatka, I wanted to have some excursions set up so that I could get outside the city and experience the nature of the region.  I found a company online which sent me an e-flier detailing all of the fantastic trips they had to offer.  I looked at some of their excursion and everything seemed very official- pay in advance, reserve your spot, read about our crew, etc.  But some ten days before I was to fly, I contacted them to follow up, and was informed that they couldn't offer me any excursions since they didn't have enough time to process some papers which would allow me to go to a certain region- at least that is what I was told.  I thought that they may have overbooked themselves, or perhaps there was another reason.  It isn't totally unbelievable though, as there are places in Russia, Kamchatka included, that are off limits to foreigners, or even non-resident Russians.  This is a concept that greatly interests me; closed cities.  Across the bay from Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky is a city called Vilyuchinsk, which is essentially a submarine base, and is of course closed to outsiders.  The city I live in, Dzerzinsky, was a closed city until as recently as the mid-2000s.  This phenomenon may not only apply to cities, but to wilderness regions as well.  Anyway, I decided to email-spam every single tour guide website I could find, and several responded.  A helicopter ride for $500 seemed a bit steep, but I got in contact with a couple companies which offered dog sledding, snowmobiling and more.  After confirming which excursions I wanted, I was at ease that I would be able to get outside the city once there.

On January 1st, 2020, I took a taxi to Sheremetyevo Airport.  I caught my flight, which was eight and-a-half hours long, and included two meals.  The small airplane tv screen in front of every passenger has an option to view the location of the plane on the globe; as the hours passed by, the plane passed over the never-ending taiga of Russia, with the occasional selo, or village, randomly dotting this remote region of Russia.  At one point, the plane flew slightly above the arctic circle. This part of Russia, with the mind-numbingly cold winters and mosquito-filled summers, is a world apart from Moscow.  Some of these villages are so incredibly far from a major city, so separated by civilization due to their location, that one can't help but wonder why people live there at all.  These isolated communities are, nonetheless, their home, and people stay in their home cities because it is what they know.  Russian people living in far northern and eastern cities are proud; their relatives, perhaps Cossacks, claimed these faraway Siberian lands for Russia- or were sent to there during Soviet times to work in GULAGs, literally building the city their children would inherit.  But many of the inhabitants of these far-flung Siberian towns belong to ethnic tribes that had lived there long before the arrival of Russian Cossacks almost 400 years ago- groups such as the Evenks and Sakha, Tungusic and Turkic people of far-northern Asia.  I think in the US we often talk about flyover states, but we really have no idea how 'flyover' a place can get.

Upon flying in, all I could see was a vast expanse of snow-covered mountains, and it felt like I was landing on the Star Wars snow-planet Hoth.  Kamchatka is one of the last great wilderness refuges and among the most remote places on Earth.  From the airplane window, snow-covered mountains and taiga stretched out as far as the eye could see, until in the distance the snowy landscape mixed with white clouds, both becoming indiscernible from one another.  To behold these great mountains, valleys, and rivers with no sign of human habitation from above leaves one in awe of our planet, and is one reason why I love to fly.

When you land at Yelizovo airport, the first thing you see is a massive volcano, one of many on the peninsula.  Yelizovo, which is a separate city but basically just a suburb of Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky, is just 30 minutes or so from the city.  I rode the shuttle bus into the city, found my hostel and checked in, hunkered down for a bit, and decided to go and see the city.

If Kamchatka feels like another planet, then Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky feels more like a planetary base than a city.  One long road winds through the entirety of the city in between hills and along a valley.  This means that there isn't really a 'down town' so to speak; there is a central square area, next to the port, but the whole city is very stretched out.   A very large hill obscures the view of Avacha Bay, where the port is located; but upon passing it, you get a glorious view of the bay.  At the central square, from one side you can see the bay, filled with harboring cargo ships and mountains in the distance on the other side; turn around, and behold the gargantuan Koryaksky volcano, looming above the city, and visible from almost anywhere.  There is no lack of restaurants or shops here, but food, especially fresh vegetables, is more expensive- most produce is imported and comes in by ship. There are no roads to Kamchatka, nothing linking it by land to the rest of Russia.  It seems like everyone drives a huge, lifted SUV of one type or another, with the steering column on the right- Japanese imports are especially popular in Russia's Far East.  This is necessary for life in Kamchatka, as there is a remarkable amount of snow and the roads, which can be quite bad, don't plow themselves.  Throughout the city, snow banks the size of semi trucks separate the road from the sidewalk, and workers on roofs routinely shovel off snow and smash icicles the size of young trees.  A network of half-trodden paths link building entrances with sidewalks, and drivers struggle in snow-filled parking spaces.  People wearing full-body camouflage snowsuits are a common sight, as well as fur coats and hats, of course.  The architecture can be strange, a mixture of typical utilitarian Soviet apartment blocks and futuristic-looking, almost brutalist glass-pane shopping complexes.  All of this makes Petropavlosk-Kamchatsky feel like a distant outpost whose sole mission is to exist, the mission of its inhabitants to keep up the fight against the elements- which, for all intents and purposes, is true.

A little history of the city and region.  The indigenous Koryak people had been living in Kamchatka for thousands of years.  Different clans lived either in permanent fishing communities, or were semi-nomadic hunters and reindeer herders.  Russian Cossacks visited the area in the middle to late 1600s, and attempted to introduce 'yasak'- tribute of furs demanded of conquered indigenous Siberians.  However, the Koryaks were much more unruly, resistant, and violent than many Siberian peoples the Russians had previously encountered, and many punitive expeditions were carried out to subjugate the Koryaks.  A back-and-forth bloody conflict gripped Kamchatka for many years; Koryak villages were subjugated with hostage taking or simply wiped out; Russian contingents with their indigenous auxiliaries were ambushed and annihilated; a vicious guerrilla war developed, during which Koryaks learned how to use captured firearms and Russian Cossacks struggled to fight a highly unconventional enemy on the hostile edge of the world.  In the end, the Koryaks were outnumbered, deprived of food and defeated.  These events understandably changed life for the Koryak people forever.  Years later, Danish explorer Vitus Bering, in service of Tsar Peter the Great, explored the area and decided that Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky, named after his ships St. Peter and St. Paul, be found in 1740.  A truly intrepid explorer, Bering sailed as far as Alaska, opening up that territory for the Russian Empire, but died on Bering island after a shipwreck; the Bering Straight also took his namesake.  A distant, insignificant town populated by Koryaks and Russians, the settlement grew as a fishing town.  During the Crimean War in the 1850s, French and British forces showed up in Avacha Bay and sieged the city, but the Russians repelled them; it is incredible to think that such an expedition was undertaken so very far from the main theater of that war.  Shortly after the Japanese surrendered to the U.S. during World War II, the U.S Naval Construction Force was allowed to build a naval base near the city, but was only under U.S. control for a short time.  The growth of the city and Kamchatka as a whole throughout its history has been largely attributed to the fishing industry, and is today an important source of salmon and crab.

I shouldn't go any further without discussing life in the hostel.  I almost always stay in hostels as it is a cheap way to travel, and meeting people can be fun, interesting, and open up more opportunities while traveling.  The hostel, perhaps the only one in the area, was very small but cozy, with a men's room, women's room, and one single bedroom for couples.  It was quiet most of the time, even with the television constantly gibbering away in the background.

The receptionist, Andrey, was an uncommunicative man about my age whose face showed not a single sign of any emotion whatsoever- with such a demeanor, he would do well in Moscow, but he did help me by answering any questions I had.  He would stray in and out of the hostel, sometimes there, often not.

Then there were the other travelers staying at the hostel.  Dima was a basketball fan from Vladivostok who had been stuck in the hostel for sometime, unable to procure the funds to buy a plane ticket home and slowly losing money with every day spent at the hostel.  He was amicable, and we chatted here and there, but I would hear him talking to his friends with a tone of frustration and desperation in his voice, cursing his luck.  The good news is that he did get his ticket in the end.

Tatiana was a chatterbox perhaps in her late forties who would strike up a conversation with anyone unfortunate enough to pass by, which was everyone as the hostel was so small.  She would ensnare listeners with a relentless bombardment of seemingly interminable jibber-jabber, making it difficult to leave the conversation- the only real option, I quickly learned, was to interject and excuse oneself.  She was actually quite kind, but the exact opposite of what one might think of the Russian stereotype; she even admitted that if not stopped, she would talk forever.  She also claimed to be a member of an exclusive travel club run by a rich American who paid for anyone to go on year-long cruises with his entourage, eating only the finest seafood and drinking the finest alcohol money can buy- and you can join this club at no cost!  Some conditions may apply (scam, anyone?).

Lastly there was Lyosha, who arrived a few days after me.  He was a well-spoken Muscovite who had traveled a decent amount, and with whom I had most in common.  He had the look of an intellectual and explained that he worked in Moscow at a banking firm that dealt specifically with travel bloggers.  He spoke English, but we stayed in Russian almost the entire time we were in company.  He ended up being helpful and good company during my time in Kamchatka.

On my first day in Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky, I thought it would be best to get into the city right away and see what it was all about.  The local bus system is very affordable, costing something like 33 cents to ride anywhere in the city.  I asked the driver to let me know where the central area of the city was, and when he told me, I almost didn't believe him.  The city doesn't really have any high rises which aren't apartment complexes or any other sort of building that sticks out and tells you 'this is the center'- at least not by their looks.  It was the Christmas tree in a public square with funfare activities and kiosks, not the city theater, statue of Lenin, or the government building, which told me that this is the center, for every Russian city of reasonable size has a 'yolka' (Christmas tree) in a public square, with free ice slides and cheap pony rides for all.  I sat next to the beach, dipping my hands into the frigid water- my first time meeting the sea since I was in Maine the previous summer.

The second day, I went into the city again for a repeat, but this time, I mustered up the courage to take a pony ride even though they are generally reserved for 8 year old girls.  I think that my beard and ushanka (fur hat) contrast sharply with the pony's lovely silver decorations; everything about the horse said 'adorable' while everything about the rider says something else... perhaps 'barbarian'.  I also sat by the bay and listened to the sounds of the ocean and smelled the salty air, which even in sub zero temperatures is, for me, relaxing.

The situation of setting up excursions online seemed pretty straightforward, but once there, going on the excursion as planned was random and relied much upon chance, as well as my ability to speak Russian over the phone, which, for me, is hardmode (basically, you just have to ask a lot of yes or no questions; you may sound like an idiot, but it gets the job done).  Maybe not enough people had shown interest in an excursion, so it was canceled; maybe it was changed to a different excursion altogether. The biggest factor, however, proved to be the weather.  In Kamchatka, the forecast seems to be unpredictable; mornings can be sunny and clear, while the afternoon brings a heavy snowstorm.  Excursions to the wilderness can be delayed or canceled due to dangerous weather conditions, as happened for me.  Yet, I can't complain, since I had strokes of both good and bad luck.

My first excursion was to the foot of Koryaksky Volcano by snowmobile.  To get to the tour guide company's base of operations, I got a call in the morning telling me a taxi was waiting for me, and, thinking it was the shotgun seat, opened the driver's door; steering column is on the right.  After passing through a more commercial part of the city, the taxi turned onto a dirt road near the outskirts which took us into a birch forest, the start of the wilderness.  I got dropped off on the side of the road and waited until a snowmobile picked me up and took me to the camp.  After getting acquainted with one another and discussing the plans for the day, we hopped onto our sledges and were off.  With three snowmobiles, two of them pulling sledges, we sailed through an endless sea of birch trees to gradually make our way to the foot the volcano, stopping several times to enjoy the breathtaking sights.
In a valley flanked by rocky ridges, our drivers pushed upward towards the volcano, ascending the base with increasing difficulty and limited visibility as a blizzard enveloped the area.  We went as far up the side of the volcano as possible.  It was a strange sensation to be there, almost a foreboding; the Koryaks were said to be terrified of the volcanoes and hot springs of the region, seeing them as dangerous forces not to be trifled with.

From the side of Koryaksky Volcano, the summit was shrouded by tempestuous snowfall which seemed to withdraw and reappear on its own accord, never fully allowing us to see the peak of that looming giant.  And it became incredibly cold, so much so that my feet felt numb even in my reindeer-fur boots, and my fellow Russian adventurers noted how cold and uncomfortable they were- a rarity, but possible for anyone.  But being there filled me with both awe and fear, an oddly entertaining combination the likes of which I haven't felt before, caused by the unrelenting power of nature, which in this extreme part of the world demands reverence.

A couple tourists from Vladivostok had brought their snowboards along and rode down the side of the volcano, which looked pretty fun.  While jealous I couldn't do the same due to both lack of equipment and the fact that I was on crutches, it was fun to watch and I was just glad to have seen what I had seen.  We regrouped and reentered the birch sea and set a course back towards our camp.

Once there, we had blini (Russian pancakes) and ukha- a traditional Russian fish soup.  This ukha was unique to the region, as is was made with salmon, and not river or lake fish.  We chatted until it was dark, and I caught a ride back to the city with one of the guides who was heading there anyway.  I was eager for the next day's excursion: dog sledding!

This time with a different tour guide company, my adventure for the day started in the morning when my guide, a lady named Daria, came to my hostel with a driver and picked me up.  There was an older couple from Moscow with us as well, and we once again left the city and were picked up by a snowmobile on the side of a dirt road close to the middle of nowhere.  At the camp we were greeted by the howling of a hundred huskies, all incredibly eager to go running.  This camp, while certainly a base of operations for excursions, had a timeless feeling to it and was clearly made to look like a Koryak village; it mostly consisted of old wooden shacks, some of them half-covered with animal hides, as well as a wood and hide yurt, where we gathered.  This excursion was not only for dog sledding, but also to learn about the Koryak people and their way of life.  Huddles together in the yurt around a wood stove, we listened to two Koryaks, a man and a woman, talk about how they grew up in the villages, about their language, culture and religion.  The woman spoke much about how their traditional clothing, still warmer than anything Patagonia has to offer, is made from animal hides, and about food and family life.  The man spoke more about traditional crafting and activities done in preparation for the winter such as fishing and hunting, and recounted a story of a time he faced a bear and stood his ground for two hours until it decided he wasn't interesting, leaving with exuberance about having survived.  He also performed a traditional Koryak song and dance.
After learning about the Koryaks, it was time to meet the dogs and get ready to go sledding.  There were several sled masters, including the Koryak man, who introduced us to the 50 something huskies, each unique in its own way, and howling incredibly loudly in anticipation of the sled ride.  Each dog was chained to a pole next to a box-shaped dog house, stuffed with some hay.  Huskies are incredibly adapted to the Siberian environment, and do just fine outside indefinitely in up to -30  degree temperatures or even colder.  We were invited to pet the dogs, but as every single one of them was baying in unison in a massive canine chorus, some were weary to do so.  But I understood that they were just excited, and I must have pet 30 dogs in 10 minutes.  They are truly lovely animals, with different-colored soft fur and sometimes different colored eyes.
We were divided into dog sledding teams.  The operation proceeded as follows; a snowmobile pulling a sledge with our team would lead the way, with the driver carefully watching the dog sled that followed behind, shouting and whistling at the dogs to urge them on ahead.  The trails were well patted-down, and every five minutes or so the snowmobile driver would stop so as to allow one of us to switch and try our hand at dog sledding.  In my team there was an older couple from Moscow and a local family.  At one point we had to stop after the Muscovite didn't go over a small hill and we lost sight of him; our driver, the Koryak, went to see what the issue was. Ten minutes later, he returned and the Muscovite continued to ride.  When I asked him what had happened and why we had stopped, he said "love happened." The local family on our sledge was very nice, and their daughter was more than willing to take a video of me when it was my turn to ride.  I imitated the guide and shouted at the dogs to urge them on, with moderate effect.
When we returned to the camp, we had a delicious lunch consisting of pickled vegetables and reindeer soup.  We stayed in our team and chatted, and I got to know my team a little better.  Afterwards, I spent some more time with the huskies, and we were all invited to try on the local clothing, take some photos, and explore the camp a little.

Daria offered to take me to a hot spring after the dog sledding excursion, and I was much obliged.  It was hard to understand exactly what this place would be like, but I understood that we weren't going out very far.  We first stopped at a popular sight, a large statue of bears with the words "here beings Russia" inscribed below.  However, I must mention that there is another region called Chukotka, a frozen tundra territory, which is even farther east than Kamchatka, right across from Alaska.  It is there that Russia begins from the east.

A 30 minute drive through Yelizovo took us to a health resort of sorts.  I was the only one who went to the spring, which ended up being more developed than I expected; there were about ten hot tub-sized pools with plastic tubes pouring hot volcanic spring water into them, all filled to the brim with Russian tourists from near and far.  It was an interesting experience.  Tattoos and gold chains were in abundance, but the funny thing was that I ran into Lyosha while I was there, so we hung out for a bit before he departed.  Outside a wooden door of this open-air bathhouse was an ice cold stream, where some daring folks would plunge into the bone-chilling water but not for very long.  When in Russia, do as the Russians do.  It was cold, very cold; almost painful, but exhilarating at the same time; after the freezing stream, you quickly want to get back into the volcanic hot tub.  This I did three times, but what it does to your central nervous system I have no idea.  It did, however, do wonders for my ankle.

Driving back to Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky, Daria told me that the weather may be too extreme to go on the excursion I had planned with her company the following day- a snowmobile trip to a volcano.  I was told that she would know in the morning.  That evening, I asked Lyosa if it might be possible to join him on his excursion the following day- a trip to a real hot spring in the middle of nowhere- in the event that my trip got canceled.  But I hoped the wayward weather would give me a break.

The following day, I got a call from Daria telling me my trip was canceled, and postponed to the following day.  Luckily for me, Lyosha called his guide for the day and I was able to join the excursion to the hot spring.  Our tour guide for the day, Andrey, showed up in the morning with three other Russians packed into his massive van-truck, and then we were off.  We drove out of the city and beyond Yelizovo, and it wasn't long before we were on the main road linking all towns on the peninsula, a road that plunged into the absolute wilderness of Kamchatka, flanked by snow-covered mountains and never-ending birch forests.  We made a stop at a town called Sokoch, an village of perhaps a thousand people that consisted of little more than a few buildings and a bakery where I had the pest perogies I've ever had in my life.  After leaving this outpost of a town,  the state of absolute remoteness could truly be felt. At times we didn't see another vehicle for thirty minutes, passing through valleys and by forests and fields with no sign of human habitation in sight, nothing to show that people had been there other than the open road. This was what I had come for.

Driving out here is a serious ordeal.  Sudden snowstorms come and go, reducing visibility.  I imagine that breaking down out there could be life threatening under certain circumstances.  But with the white-gray sky and the snow covered mountains, you truly get a sense that you are in a snowy world, on a different planet, and it is absolutely incredible.

We were brought back to reality when we arrived at the location of the hot spring.  After parking, we crossed a bridge over a small river which was bordered by strange snow-barren rocky patches, which Andrey explained was the result of geothermal activity underground.  Once we got to the hot spring, we were greeted by two bathers who said the water was perfect.  It was, however, an ordeal to get into our swimwear; it must have been 10 F, but the wind made it feel like -10.  Going from fully clothed in winter gear to your underwear (a common way of Russian bathing) in such a short time gives you a shock, but once you are in the hot spring, it feels wonderful.  With the spring being only about 7 inches deeps, you have no choice but to lie on your stomach or your back; any other way will leave you half in volcanic bathwater, half in the freezing wind and cold.  I did, however, brave the elements a couple times, rolling in the snow or submerging myself in the icy stream before immediately returning to the hot spring.
After enjoying the oasis of warmth in that cold, remote place, we got out of the hot spring and dried off as fast as possible to sooner get into our winter clothing.  We then had lunch, which included eggs boiled in an underground hot spring stream and pollock caviar; a strange but tasty combination.  Andrey called it Kamchatkan butterbrod, but it consisted of neither butter nor bread.  We chatted then and again on our way back to the city, but I spent a lot of time watching the scenery, the endless mountains and trees, pass by.
Back in Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky, Lyosha and I met another Russian tourist from Vladivostok.  No trip to a faraway place is complete without seeing some kind of museum, so the three of us set off to check out the volcano museum.  Very cool! I learned all about the geology of the region and why there are so many volcanoes in Kamchatka; in short, it is because Kamchatka is at the junction of three tectonic plates, so there is a lot of activity.  A taxi driver even told me the nearby volcano erupted no long ago; this is a seemingly common occurrence.

The following day, I was informed by Daria that the weather was, once again, too extreme and that the trip to the volcano was canceled that day.  It was unfortunate since it was my last full day in Kamchatka.  Lyosha couldn't help me this time.  I called the organizer from the first tour company I used, the one which took me to a volcano, and asked if they had any excursion for the day.  As luck would have it, they were going dog sledding that day, and I wasn't opposed to going again.  Better than staying at my hostel.

I once again hopped in a taxi and was dropped off on a dirt road far outside the city, and then picked up by a snowmobiler.  It was a similar kind of set up as the other dog sledding excursion, only without the cultural presentation.  We met the dogs, and were divided into groups, and I was once again in a group with a local family.  We also met some husky pups, which were very playful.

The dog sledding experience was once again a thrill, although at one point while I was riding, the dogs got quickly tangled up and a couple started fighting- an unexpected and unfortunate event, but outside of my control.  The sled master had to remove the unruly dogs and bring in some fresh, well-behaved dogs.  After the excursion was over, there was tea and butterbrod, and time to talk to the locals before they gave me a ride back to my hostel.

On my last day in Kamchatka, I didn't have too much time as I had a flight to catch early in the afternoon.  I still went into the city one last time though, and once again sat on the frozen beach, looking across the bay.  There, I reflected on my fantastic adventure.  In the hostel, I gathered my belongings and said farewell to those I had met.  I caught the shuttle bus which runs from the city to the Yelizovo Airport, where I quickly went through security and did some souvenir shopping.  I then hopped on my plane and after my eight hour flight was back in Moscow.

It is difficult to conjure up the words to describe how I felt about having visited Kamchatka, one of the last extremely remote places on earth.  There were times when it was overwhelming, times when it was awe-inspiring.  There was an even balance of silly fun and serious reflection.  I was sad to leave that magical place, with its breathtaking scenery and venerable nature.  The volcanoes, the taiga, the extreme weather- it was all just so sublime.  One thing I can say for sure, is that if I ever have another opportunity to return to this mystical place seemingly on the edge of the world, I will take it in a heartbeat.