August 18, 2020
Arriving at Ulan-Ude station at 6:30 in the morning, I was returning to familiar territory. I had flown to this city with a girlfriend (an American) during the first week of January 2019. In a way, it was sad to return there alone, as I had such fond memories of traveling there with her. Yet I had connected with the city of Ulan-Ude in a special way. It was the first city I visited outside of Moscow. Not St. Petersburg, not Volgograd, not any of the charming and archetypically Russian cities on the Golden Ring, but Ulan-Ude, the far-away and sunny capital of one of Russia's most distant and unique republics.
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| The Selenge River outside of the city |
From the train station I took a taxi to the same hotel where I had stayed before. At the hotel there was also a restaurant, where I had eaten before, featuring local Buryat cuisine- in my opinion, among the tastiest in the world. The food is heavy, hearty, and reflective of the animal-based lifestyle which has dominated the region for centuries- being a vegan here must be difficult. On the menu are the classic buuzi, large steamed dumplings with meat, 'Chinghis Khan' soup with sheep meat, Khushuur or fried mutton pies, and a multitude of different dishes made from fried animal guts, such as intestines, liver and heart… absolutely delicious!
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| The confluence of the Uda and Selenge Rivers |
I walked along the banks of the Uda River, an offshoot of the much larger Selenge River which flows through the city, by the one or two-storey wooden cabins with ornate Asian shutters. I had walked along this riverside path with my girlfriend more than two years ago, albeit in minus thirty-something degree weather. I was overcome by a massive feeling of nostalgia as I rediscovered this city, a city which I sometimes found myself daydreaming of moving to long after my first visit. But why? Sometimes a place can make such a strong impression on us, not because it is incredibly impressive, but perhaps because it is so different, so unique.
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| A traditional wood cabin |
During my first winter in Russia, after months of living in the gray exurbs of Moscow, everything about the vastly disparate capital of Buryatia -the buildings, the food, the people, the weather- shocked me in a positive way. I remember very well how flying here the very first time seemed like a monumental task, with technicalities like buying tickets, getting to the airport, and reserving a hotel room seeming more difficult than they really were. Yet, it was the mental aspect that was the most daunting, that my girlfriend and I were flying very far away, that I, still in the beginning phase of learning the Russian language, would have to do most of the speaking for us, and that we had no idea what it would be like.
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| The old residential area of Ulan-Ude |
There have been times when I told Muscovites about my trip to Ulan-Ude and they looked at me puzzled, perhaps wondering if it was even a part of Russia. What makes Ulan-Ude so unique is that it is the first city in Russia where you suddenly feel like you are in Asia, even though Asia starts geographically after Yekaterinburg. Thirty percent of Buryatia's population is made up of ethnic Buryats, while the rest are Russian with small minorities such as Ukrainians and Tatars. Yet, Buryatia truly is for the Buryats; their food is everywhere, their clothing is celebrated, their buildings an indistinguishable mixture of Russian and Buryat style. One of the strangest things that I have ever heard during my time in Russia is that some twenty thousand ethnic Russians are fluent in the Buryat language, the result of growing up in villages with Buryat neighbours. You'll be hard pressed to find any Americans of European or other non-indigenous descent who can speak Navajo. Sadly, the Buryat language was heavily repressed by the Soviets, and many Buryats in the city can only speak basic Buryat.
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| The largest statue of Lenin's head |
I made my way into the city center, where the largest statue of Lenin's head looks emotionlessly across his square at the opposing neoclassical buildings, seemingly lost in thought. I had heard a rumor that this statue accentuated Lenin's Asiatic features (he was, after all, part Kalmyk, a Mongolic ethnic group living north of Kavkasia) so as to convince the Buryats that everyone, including them, was in the great socialist experiment together. Nearby is the beautiful opera house, its roof adorned by two heroic horsemen, and a courtyard boasting a beautiful fountain and a statue of dancers. Here, young guys were skateboarding in the plaza while a violin concerto was blasting from loudspeakers. Not far away is a small arch over the roadway on which is written the old name of Ulan-Ude, Verkhneudinsk.
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| The opera house and central plaza |
The wandering continued, past panel buildings of Asian style and through an underground market, to the local museum where I was hoping to find the Buryat teenager, Anton, who had so eagerly shown me and my girlfriend the museum and the city during my previous visit, using what English he knew. I didn't find him, but I went through the small but cozy museum, reading about the history and absorbing all that I could.
The territory of Buryatia has been inhabited by many groups throughout the ages. The ancient Xiongnu Empire once dominated the Mongolian steppe and Buryatia. They terrorized ancient China, but around the 1st century A.D. disappeared. Many believe that the Xiongnu are the precursors to the Huns, and that they migrated west and showed up on Europe's doorstep 300 years later. Why they left and headed west, nobody truly knows, but there is quite a lot of evidence showing that the Huns and the Xiongnu are the same people.
The Evenks lived around the Baikal area, and some still do, but were most likely pushed north with the arrival of the Buryat Mongols. While the Evenks still rely predominantly on fishing and reindeer herding, the Buryats were successful pastoralists and cattle breeders, but today rely more on agriculture and less on traditional pastoralism; this shift in lifestyle was the result of the arrival of the Russians. Cossack explorers built a fort on the territory of Ulan-Ude, but the focus quickly shifted from defence to trade. Ulan-Ude was an important link for Russia with Mongolia and China, and became a trading city. Unlike in other regions of Russia, such as Kamchatka or Khabarovsky Krai, the arrival of the Russians was not marked by long, bloody conflicts, although there were a couple of anti-Russian uprisings in the late 1600s. When the trans-Siberian railway arrived in Ulan-Ude in 1900, the population began to sharply increase.
Buryats fought on both sides during the Russian Civil War, yet many joined the anti-Bolshevik forces. During World War 2, many Buryats fought on the Eastern Front, and gained a reputation as good snipers. Siberians, Russian or non-Russian, grew up in a harsh environment where encounters with wild animals could be a case of life or death, where one can't afford to make mistakes such as missing a shot. In a sense, once can think of this region of Siberia as Russia's Wild West, as banditry was also a major problem in the 1800s and early 1900s, so it wasn't just wild animals that people had to be weary of. These factors, along with the general harshness of Siberia, is what made Siberians such effective snipers and soldiers.
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| The gates of Ulan-Ude |
Today, Buryatia is a beacon of indigenous culture in Siberia. Their national sports, such as wrestling, archery, and horseback riding, are practiced and celebrated by many. There is an effort to revitalize the Buryat language, which has its own newspaper. Yet, Buryatia has many cultures- the ancestors of Cossacks, Russian Old Believers, and others have lived side by side with the Buryats for hundreds of years in relative peace, an experiment which has failed in so many other parts of the world.
I passed by the market where I had bought my unty or reindeer fur boots, wondering if I would meet the woman who sold me them, and impulsively thinking of buying myself another pair. These fur boots are perhaps my most prized possesion from Russia, as they have allowed me to explore some fridged regions of the country with warm feet. I didn't meet the lady whose name I had long forgotten, but instead met a salesman named Erkhdem, who eagerly chatted with me and was fascinated that an American had wandered into his store. We talked for a bit, but when a customer walked in, I understood that business comes first, and I took my leave.
I had done some wandering alone, at night, in the freezing cold during my last stay, and had stumbled upon a small monument with some benches, as well as a prayer wheel. I had no idea that this monument was for victims of political repression, for those who were sent to the Gulags, but discovered this my second time round. It is a strange phenomenon where the government continues to glorify the Soviet Union nationwide, Lenin continues to look down on passersby in his squares across the country, yet in the republics, people have set up their own small monuments, as they remember the way things were for them.
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| A memorial to victims of political persecution |
While the Buryats are the largest indigenous group in Siberia, they faced the wrath of Stalin's purges; the Buryat language and culture was heavily suppressed while the Russian language and Soviet culture were promoted, and almost all Buddhist monks were either killed or sent to the Gulags. On top of that, part of the education system at the time was to otherize the Mongols to the south, even though Buryats are a northern branch of Mongols. This was done, much like how Lenin's massive head was sculpted, to convince the Buryats that they were Soviets who had nothing in common with their brethren to the south; many Buryats today have Russian names and surnames. Lastly, the Buryats resisted the collectivization of their herds, as they logically did not want their livelihood to be taken without recompense, yet it happened nonetheless; those who resisted were sent to the Gulags.
In the evening, I ate at the same restaurant- easily my favorite in the whole city. While I was dining, a short, desperate looking man wandered in, and sat at the table across from me. Here we go again, I thought. He asked me if he could use my phone, and I allowed him to make one call, watching him closely. I asked him what he needed, and he said he was hungry, so I had the waiter bring over a plate and fork for him. "Is there a problem?" the waiter asked me; I told him there wasn't any problem. But there could have been. The man said he was from Tuva, a neighbouring Asian republic. He also told me that I look like Jesus as he meagerly picked at the food I gave him- fried beef liver. He finally broached the subject and asked for money, so that he could buy a bottle. I told him that I would give him food, and let him use my phone, but that I couldn't give him any money. After a short time, he gave up and walked out of the restaurant. Strange things sometimes happen when you are in Russia.
I felt sorry for this man, who was clearly in the thralls of alcohol withdrawal. Vodka has devastated many families in Russia, but the Asian people of Siberia seem to have been hit harder than most. I remember wandering from bar to bar with my girlfriend, playing foosball with a bunch of Buryats while the taps were flowing plentifully, and having the time of my life. We later ran into a group of three Buryats outside a bar, one of whom was eager to speak some English but was so drunk that he could hardly stand, his friends carrying him along. I didn't know it at the time, but the people of this region, and of other regions in Siberia as well- Yakutia, Tuva, Altai and Khakassia- experience drunkeness in a different way, as do people from certain Central Asian countries like Kyrgyzstan. Apparently, they lack a chemical which allows the body to metabolise alcohol at a normal rate, which means when they drink heavily, they get extremely drunk and stay drunk, and a night of drinking can end with those involved falling face first onto the floor, or worse- with violence. Alcohol related incidents of domestic violence, murder, suicide, and other violent crimes are much higher in these regions, and I was recommended by a couple Buryat people not to drink alcohol with other Buryats. In the words of an acquaintance of mine named Dima, a half-Turk half-Buryat who you will hear much of in another post, "While drinking, it starts with a playful punch, but the next punch isn't so playful. And the next day they will have no clue that anything happened." I have run into my fair share of drunk Russians on the streets of Moscow and Podmoscovia, their sloppiness little more than a nuisance and easily avoidable, but the Buryats themselves told me that a drunken Buryat is apparently much more unpredictable. What is strange is that Buryats make their own alcoholic beverage called Tarasun, a kind of Kumis or fermented mare's milk, so alcohol isn't some kind of anomaly for them like it was to Native Americans. Tarasun is drunk like any other alcohol but is also used in religious ceremonies, and according to Wikipedia, a Buryat and his tarasun are akin to a Scotsman and his scotch. Yet, it doesn't seem to be Tarasun or beer which is the bane of their existence, but Vodka, the lifeblood of nearly every major social gathering in Russia for centuries, which was widely distributed in every corner of the Empire, Soviet Union, and Federation.
The following day I was on a mission: go to Lake Baikal. I have been there before, but in Irkutsk Oblast, and this time I wanted to experience Baikal from the Buryat side. While walking around the day before, I had asked people where the best place was to visit along the lake, and wrote down the names of some of the places I had heard of. I had seen a tour agency of sorts next to the Hotel Buryatia near the city center, so I made my way there. While they were at first a bit confused as to what I was doing in Ulan-Uda as a foreigner in the middle of a pandemic, one nice lady helped me out and told me of a telephone number that I could call to reserve a spot on the bus that would go to Lake Baikal. I reserved my spot over the phone, killed some time by eating at a restaurant and walking around the city center, and at 4:00 was on the bus to Enkhaluk, a Buryat village on Lake Baikal.
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| The Selenge River |
The two-and-a-half-hour bus ride started off along the Selenge River, with great views of the forested hills on either side, passing villages here and there consisting of log-cabin style huts. A young boy was continually nodding off, falling asleep on my shoulder, until I offered him my bag as a pillow and then it was lights out. Breaking away from the road along the Selenge, the path to Lake Baikal became much bumpier, as the road hasn't been paved in who knows how long. With the lake occasionally in view, horses roamed about near sleepy huts with baled hay in the yards.
Arriving at the main street of Enkhaluk, I found some tourist information and made some phone calls, and told the owner of a guest house that I would be there shortly. Knocking on the gateway to their enclave, I was greeted by the owners, who were impossible to be distinguished from Russian or Buryat, but were more than likely both. The process wasn't like in a hostel in Western Russia, but quite informal- give some money and here's the key.
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| A street in Enkhaluk |
Enkhaluk is small village with sandy streets, yet tall Siberian pines provide shade wherever you go. It is a quiet place with little going on, a relaxing place where time feels like it has stopped. I made my way to Enkhaluk's sandy beach on Lake Baikal to lose myself, and swam there in the cold water.
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| The sandy shore of Laike Baikal |
Baikal is a special place, sacred to the Buryats. You can feel the energy there. I must have spent hours there on the beach. At long last I witnessed the breathtaking Baikal sunset. What more I have to say about this magnificent lake will be in another post, as the shores of Enkhaluk are so very beautiful but are in fact just a taste.
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| A Baikal sunset |
In the evening I went to a restaurant, and shortly after placing my order overheard a family nearby, a mother teaching her young daughter English. I didn't shy away from the chance to meet some locals and offered to help, and they were all thrilled and asked me to sit down. I learned that they were the owners of the restaurant, and this was evidenced by the many plates of delicious looking food on the huge table where they were sitting- salad, potatoes, pelmeni, and plates of Omul, a delicious fish endemic to Lake Baikal, and more. The matron of the family was Nadezhda, who prodded me along to try a bit of everything. We were soon joined by her husband, who proposed that we have a drink, to which I assented. Unexpectedly, he produced a bottle of... Chivas Regal. I suppose that it actually goes that a Buryat and his scotch are like a Scotsman and his scotch. I learned that he was a Buddhist, while his wife was an animist, or more concretely, a believer in something called Shamanism.
Shamanism in Siberia varies between the many groups of people, but can broadly be characterized by the belief in communication with natural spirits by a Shaman, who may be in an altered state of consciousness. Buddhism entered Buryatia through Mongolia hundreds of years ago, and is still the majority religion for Buryats. There is a type of Shamanism which incorporates elements of the Buddhist religion called Yellow Shamanism, while Black Shamanism and White Shamanism are strictly based on the deification of nature and the spiritual appeasement of bad or good spirits, respectively. Throughout Buryatia and the Baikal region, one can serges or ritual poles with ribbons of many colors, yet these ribbons represent prayers and are not to be fastened by any regular tourist. The serge is also associated with the horse cult, as these poles were used by riders to tie their horses, and frequently have 3 notches in them, signifying the heavenly world, the tangible world, and the underworld.
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| A serge with ribbons |
Nadezhda invited me to come to her small museum next to the restaurant the following day. I thanked them for allowing me to join them for the evening, and returned to my guest house, where I met a woman and her two sons who were there on vacation. We started chatting, and it was strange as even though they were not Russian, it seemed as though I could understand every single word that they were saying. A similar phenomenon has happened to me while travelling in Kavkasia, yet it may just be that these kind folks are dumbing it down so that I can better understand them.
The next morning I walked to the museum, and from a second-floor window Nadezhda called out to me, saying she would be there momentarily. The small museum was mostly a collection of every day items which belonged to Nadezhda's grandparents: traditional clothing, cooking utensils, agricultural equipment, and her grandmother's wooden bed. There were many traditional tools, things used for cleaning and stretching hides, small bags for food storage, wooden wash bins and the like. There were also some interesting photographs, one showing a group of four Buryat men dressed in suits wearing bowlers hats, a Buddhist delegation to Tibet who also traveled to London, Paris, and St. Petersburg in 1901, opening the world to their kinsmen and serving as representatives of Buryatia during an incredible time of cultural discussion. Another picture showed multiple photographs of mostly elderly Buryat men and women, who Nadezhda told me were her older relatives who had been sent to the Gulags or executed, "Just because". It was unsettling how she nonchalantly listed off their names and fates, remembering exactly what happened to each one.
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| Traditional Buryat household items |
After I saw what there was to see, I was invited to write something nice about the museum in the guest book, and wrote positive comments in both English and Russian. Nadezhda showed off the guest book to me, showing me that there were other foreigners who had come here- a German, perhaps, or a Dane- I can't quite remember. It would seem, though, that I was the first American in Enkhaluk!
The rest of the day was spent on the beach. There, young men participated in foot races, and a few brave souls submerged themselves in the cold water, as did I. It was a blessing to come to this place, with so few tourists and such kind people. In fact, that is what Enkhaluk means in the Buryat language- blessing. If you go there, you will understand why.
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| The sunset near Enkhaluk |
I reserved a spot on the bus to return to Ulan-Ude. At 7:00 it showed up, and I hopped on with a handful of young Buryats and Russians, and after passing endless herds of horses and Buryat villages, returned to the big city. There I had reserved a room in the Hotel Buryatia, a tall concrete monolith but with some local style. I had also reserved something for the following day- an excursion to the steppe, to a village called Atsegat.
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| The Buryat steppe |
In the morning I walked to the meeting point of the excursion, where I found a large bus waiting to be filled with Russian tourists. For an hour, the bus drove outside of Ulan-Ude, beyond the outskirts, through a long stretched-out valley with few trees except along the Uda River in the middle. Here on the steppe one can see herds of animals and men working in the fields, cutting grass and baling hay. Our first stop was at a Buddhist datsan, or temple. We were greeted by the head monk, who showed us around the territory and told us of the important monks who had studied and taught here many years ago, as well as of the most important events in this datsan's history, a visit by the Dalai Lama.
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| A Buddhist Datsan |
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| Buryats in traditional dress |
Leaving the datsan, we continued along the steppe and at last arrived in Atsegat, and drove beyond several hills to reach the location of this ethno-excursion. Greeted by singing Buryat women in traditional garb and a man playing a large hide drum, we filed out of the bus and walked through the tall wooden gate and separated into two groups.
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| The territory of Atsegat |
We walked into a yurt where we learned about traditional Buryat games, with one very similar to jax but using small polished animal bones instead. There we were invited to try on the traditional clothing and take photos, and this is something which I have always found to be very intriguing. In the USA, cultural appropriation has become some kind of unforgivable crime. I was directly asked to wear the Koryak fur costume in Kamchatka, the burka and papakha in Dagestan, and now the traditional costume of Buryat men, asked by the minorities themselves, who enthusiastically asked to take my photo, telling me that I must show these photos to my family and friends. It truly is a strange phenomenon, but this may be in part due to, oddly enough, the legacy of the Soviet Union and their attempt to make everyone the same- or, rather, to make everyone Russian. Here the non-Russians, or Rusyanen as some ethnic minorities call themselves, do not get offended, but rather feel a sense of pride, that Russian people (and this foreign tourist) find their national garb interesting enough to try on, even just for a moment. It seems that there is no cultural appropriation, but rather cultural appreciation.
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| Traditional men's clothing and yurts |
A separate yurt was set up in the traditional manner, this one complete with a stove and simple furnishings. We were told how Buryat men and women spent their time, men working with the animals and women performing household duties and raising the children. This was followed by a Buryat national pastime- archery, which I have always been fond of.
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| Archery, a national sport |
At last, our group met in a dining hall, where we tried Buryat food, which I was already well acquainted with but more than happy to try yet again. On the menu were buuzi and a traditional noodle soup, which we washed down with cognac.
While it at times seemed a little forced, what with the pretty women in traditional garb playing instruments, I understood how this excursion was fitted for Russian travelers curious about their country. It was very interesting, and I got to see the endless steppe of Buryatia.
Upon returning to Ulan-Ude, I hastened to the stores which sell those fur boots which I am so fond of. Once there, I found the same salesman, Erkhdem, who was very happy to see me; he told me how he was glad to have met me, a bit disappointed that I had left while he was talking to a customer. I decided that I wanted a new pair of boots for the winter, which he sold to me. But I needed some cash and didn't know where the nearest ATM was, so he drove me there. Then something incredible happened- Erkhdem offered to drive me around the city and outside it. I unequivocally agreed, and the magic of travel and kindness of strangers continued.
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| Erkhdem, a salesman in his shop |
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| Ulan-Ude from above |
Our first stop was at a datsan within the city, the second of the day. It was up on a hill overlooking the city, and was under construction, but on the territory was a long circular boardwalk which went into the forest, in a large ring supposedly representing the circle of life. Along the boardwalk were pagodas with sculptures of zodiac animals. Here, I found mine, and explored the territory with its colorful sculptures and flags.
The next stop was quick, but at a rather unusual location- at an autoshop with an American cop car (or rather a car painted to look as such) which Erkhdem said he had always wanted to take a photo with. We then continued along the Selenge River, past homes, cafes and autoshops, heading towards Mongolia.
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| Special place outside of the city |
Continuing southwards, Erkhdem told me we were heading to a sacred place of sorts, and we crossed a bridge over the river, on the other side of which was a steep, rocky crag. In his sedan we drove up a dirt road, got out of the car, and hiked a bit to the top of this rocky hill, where there were two golden statues, one of a doe and another of stag. Nearby stood several serges, decorated in a manner similar to a Mongolian tug or circular war banner, and not far from there was a modern stone carving portraying a horse, a sword, a bow with arrows, and a Soyombo, a Mongolian symbol portraying fire, the sun and the moon.
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| A statue venerating the Khans of Mongolia |
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| Mongolian-style serges |
Driving in a loop which brought us back to the outskirts of the city, we stopped at the city of the Huns, a wooden reconstruction of a Hunnic/Xiongnu encampment with watch towers and a menacing palisade wall. I was thoroughly enjoying the tour Erkhdem was giving me, as I've been fascinated by Ghenghis Khan's Mongols and Attila's Huns for as long as I can remember.
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| A Hunnic encampment |
It was getting dark, and we stopped at a restuarant built in the shape of a very large yurt. It was a traditional Buryat restaurant named after the river Selenge. Here, we had buuzi- which, if you can't tell by now, is pretty much a must have at every meal. We also ate something which Erkhdem said was one of his favourite meals and popular among Buryats- raw horse liver. Never afraid of trying new food, I ate it and can say that it is unlike anything I have ever tried. I can only describe it as 'horsey'.
All the while Erkhdem was driving me around, we were talking about everything under the sun. He told me much about his family, his four children and his wife; about his life in Buryatia; about his desire to know what the world is like. It would seem that I was a lense through which he got a glimpse of the world, as he had never left his homeland. He was the same for me, telling me much about why things are the way they are in the Buryat Republic. He was a friendly, open soul who I seem to have met by chance, and am glad to have done so. He could see how much I was enjoying his republic, and said that perhaps my soul is Buryat. He seemed to be only half-joking. Erkhdem dropped me off at my hotel, and I unwinded and processed everything I had seen that day.
At 6:00 in the morning, I was awoken by a drunken dispute between and man and women in front of the hotel, an alarm of sorts. I called a taxi to the train station, got on my train, and said goodbye to the Buryat Republic. Since my first visit, I dreamed for more than a year about returning here, wondering if it would ever happen. And it did, and now I wonder when the next time will be, as I genuinely feel connected to this place in a way that I cannot explain, but only feel. Moving along the Selenge River and eventually along Lake Baikal, I looked out the window until I arrived at my next destination, the city of Irkutsk.
Have you ever felt connected to a place, perhaps far away and foreign, but don't quite know why?
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