September 10th, 2008 ~ Irkutsk, Siberia

Irkutsk Architecture

It's early morning and I'm sitting at the long wooden table in the narrow kitchen of the Great Baikal Trail Association hostel in Irkutsk. Last night this little room was the scene of a wonderful dinner of pasta and of blene (pronounced BLEE-nee)—a sort of pancake that we spread with jam and sour cream.

The hostel is on the ninth floor of a building so newly constructed that there is not yet an elevator, so we are learning to count to nine in Russian as we climb the stairs. There are two bedrooms, each with enough plywood and 2x4 bunk bed space to sleep eight people. The hostel is the energetic hub of activity for people coming and going to trail projects in the national parks near Lake Baikal. It is also occasional home to young Americans fluent in Russian and busy with fellowships and graduate studies in languages and environmental issues.

Julia

John Griffith, John Schubert, Suzanne Wilson and I spent all of yesterday afternoon walking around town with Julia. She grew up at the north end of Lake Baikal and now studies language arts at one of the many universities in Irkutsk. She has also been a volunteer with the Great Baikal Trail, and was gracious in being our guide to Irkutsk.

As we walked, Julia brilliantly unfolded the story of Irkutsk and its place in Russian history. Many who were exiled to Siberia from Moscow and St. Petersburg were artists, intellectuals, and writers, and they brought to Irkutsk a cultural richness here that continues to thrive. Of the half million residents, Julia told us, 80,000 are students at the universities.

"They say that Irkutsk is the Paris of Siberia," Julia explained. I told her that I had just been to Paris, and that I could report that Paris was the Irkutsk of France. Julia laughed about that for several blocks. Her joy and energy were infectious, and as we walked we kept gathering up friends of hers we happened to meet, our entourage growing through the afternoon.

The architecture of the city is astonishing. There are still very old wooden houses from deep in the times of the Czars, the log structures built to withstand Siberian winters. Old churches are a deep mix of European and Asian influences. And there are a few stark, featureless concrete buildings constructed during the Soviet era but overwhelmed by the beauty and liveliness of the older buildings that dominate them, if not in size, then certainly as examples of the human spirit.

Rollerblading at Epiphany Church

A continuing theme through the afternoon was John Griffith's search for a good cup of coffee. (Heads up to Howard Scultz—there's not a single Starbucks in Irkutsk.) John has been without the bean for nearly four days, having found little drinkable brew in Moscow, and his caffeine warning needle was deep in the red zone. Eventually Julia led us to a little coffee shop that had a real espresso machine. John ordered a tall double shot espresso, to go, which came in two paper cups, apparently one shot per cup. Near the Angara River that flows swiftly through the center of Irkutsk, we joined hundreds of people who had come down to enjoy the sunset. The scene was not unlike evenings I had experienced in Paris—people out walking, being with friends and visiting, the scene aglow with low-angle light of evening.

We bought sodas from a vendor on the street, and Julia taught is to say "Nazdorov'a!" as a cheer to good health.

I taught her to say, "Over the lips, around the gums, look out tummy, here it comes!" She laughed so hard that soda almost came out her nose. Then she asked, "What does it mean, tummy?" and when I told her she laughed some more and kept repeating the phrase to be sure she had it right.

When we got back to the hostel, the kitchen was packed with people cooking, laughing, all speaking Russian. I'm only beginning to understand the connections here—who is an American studying ecology at the lake, who is a Russian interested in studying Americans, etc. The evening felt very much like being in a college rooming house with too many people in too small a space, but that was just fine and it all worked.

Today we're heading out to the first of the trail projects. We may be camping for a few days or we may be back here this evening. One of the pleasures that delights me on this trip is that I'm not in charge of making itinerary decisions. Someone will tell me where to go next and what to do, and I will. Look out, tummy, here it comes.

Nzadorov'a!
Bob

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