We Had It for Lunch - September 8, 2011

"It's not really a law," she says as she sends out another text message. "It's more like a rule."

It has been less than 24 hours since we met and already trust is an issue. I was only curious and the green eyes and the kind smile were just incentives. But now, sitting in the backseat, buried under baggage, I  have second thoughts about everything and everyone.

Our driver, a young doctor, stands by the driver side door. He smokes a cigarette and keeps his eye on the path.

"That's fine," I say in a calm and kind tone, "but there's a difference. His friends are Russian and they don't have visas to worry about. We can't just break rules." She shrugs off my concern with a limp wrist motion of her hand. I feel helpless. Out here in the middle of Siberia decisions are things I no longer make and whatever happens to me is up to them. If they host me, I am their guest. If they rob me, I am their mark. If they hurt me, I am their victim.

The sun is setting and the overcast sky is pink and gray. From the backseat, I can see the path leads into a dense forest of tall trees, think bushes, and tangled weeds. I wonder what is behind the green flora and the kind light that illuminates the terrain.

"Пора пойти." Time to go says the doctor. His cigarette is finished and the butt is smoldering in the gravel. I step over it as I exit the car.

The doctor takes us down towards the path. He stops us by a set of railroad tracks where Lucha is already waiting. He has been occupying his time by flicking open and snapping shut a three inch jack knife. His hands are strong and he has the stature of a wrestler. We all pause for a second and then Lucha nods. He doesn't speak English so he offers this silent gesture to ask Are you ready?

It takes 20 seconds to run from the tracks, to the path, and into the shrouded interior of the woods. I can not help but make a few remarks along they way.

"This is a bad idea... How far is it?.. Keep an eye on that knife?"

Lucha quickly shushes me and we continue to walk in silence until the path winds into an alley.

To one side, there is a fence. Plastic and sheet metal rooftops peak out from behind the planks of wood. I speculate that this is a shanty town and the people living here might be suspicious if they hear English. On the other side, there is an amalgamation of barbwire. It is a mess of rust, posts, and blades which correspond along the entire length of our bearing. It is not hard to identify the history of barbwire alongside of me. Some posts are wooden and others are aluminum. Some spots are shiny and other areas are dull. Some wire is straight with jacks and other is coiled in blade. Someone has been trying to keep somebody out of here for a very long time.

Lucha points down to 2x2 square foot opening at the bottom of the wire. Only a stick and a piece of wet particle board prop up and defy the tangle of carnage. Lucha ducks down and goes first. He moves with  quickness and confidence, and comes out clean on the other side. His hand makes a motion for me to get down and crawl. It still harbors the knife. I squat down and look at the opening. For a moment I consider how this will end. Will it be bloody? I move under the wire with caution. Then, the top of my hat gets snagged by a single blade. I start to panic when I can't get it free and I worry that the rest of my head will get snared. Lucha  reaches out, pinches the cloth on my hat, and pulls it free. A smiles appears on his face.

The doctor has driven our baggage and our new friend with green eyes to the rendezvous and I see that they are waiting for us when we come out of the woods.

"Welcome" she says, as we arrive at the car. Her hands now free from the cell phone.

"Thanks. And, thanks for having us," I say as I put the baggage back over my lap.

She smiles kindly. "Yes. Home sweet home."

*

My last days in Russia were as much the dream as they were a bonus. The days I had hoped to have were enriched by unexpected moments and new friends. Like a Matryoshka doll that keeps revealing itself until there is nothing left to reveal, so were my last days in Russia.

We bagan our last days with Yelena and Roman. I searched them out online because I had questions about climbing in Stolby National Reserve. Not only did they have answers, but they had a place for us to sleep, time to guide us, friends and family to join us, and an initiation of sorts that made us feel fortunate to know them. We couldn't have been happier to share our time with such awesome people.

We said a brief goodbye to Yelena and Roman as Ken and I decided to camp out at Stolby. It was awkward at first. Two Americans camping alongside 25 to 30 Russians, but it didn't take Ken long to make us some friends. That night we were welcomed to all the food, drink, and conversation we could handle - Ken speaking Russian and me saying "Cheers" an awful lot. This groups of weekend climbers and campers (Stolbyists) we're by far the coolest people we met in Russia. They love the rock, the nature, and the lifestyle.

A day or two later, we had a farewell dinner of sorts with our new friends in a Yurt. We drank teas, ate foods, and sang songs. It was the closest I will ever feel to being a part of a community in Russia.

Ken Johnson and our host

An 18 hour train ride later, and we were in Irkutsk with two goals: get the laundry done and get to Olkhon Island. Mission Accomplished.

Olkhon Island on Lake Baikal was an adventure. We bouldered around on the cliffs and ledges, hiked around the beaches, and rented Mountain bikes. The bikes were the best part of the trip. Flying through the steppe, the forests, and the valleys at speeds that test your reflexes was something I haven't experienced before. It was well worth the one wipe out.

Olkhon Island's view of Lake Baikal

Back in Irkutsk we met Michael, a local climber and he graciously offered to take us climbing on the cliffs of Lake Baikal. We accepted. He put us up for the night and took us out the next day. Sadly for him we were met with gray skies, wind, and rain upon arrival. And though he never got a climb in he never lost his optimism. "At least I get to practice my English with you." What a guy. Ken and I climbed for two days afterward and got to work on some more technical climbing problems in the comfort and beauty of Baikal.

Ken getting ready for a climb on Lake Baikal

Sadly our time had decidedly ended in Russia, so we packed it up and headed for our last train. Along the hike we met Andre, "The Guru" and his band of Yoga loving hippies. They invited us for tea and invited us to join them on the hike to the station. Again and unsurprisingly they were very kind. They gave me a present  and fed us fried fish for dinner. It only reinforced what I had already come to know about Russian people. They value friendship, sharing, and warm feelings.

*

Early on in the trip I overheard another tourist say "They had it for lunch. We had it with lunch." I don't know the context in which this phrase was said and I'd like to believe that he was in no way trying to distinguish himself  by whether someone eats something as an appetizer or a main course, but it's difficult to deny the brazen aspect in which it was said. I've thought about this tourist from time to time while we traveled. I don't expect that he would get much joy out of comparing which Borscht tastes the best, or that the Hermitage has more to offer in the way of Russian history than a few pieces from Da Vinci and Monet. Maybe he even traveled first class on the train - all shut off from everyone in a first class compartment never having shared a drink or some food with a stranger. This is of course a character in my mind, but I would have had a less satisfying experience in Russia if that had been mine. The few friends we made and the unique experience that rock climbing afforded us leaves me feeling full. We got in all the sights, history, and travels that most tourists can expect but when that ended we continued our experience through friendships, songs, and foods. I feel that that's how we had Russia. We had it for lunch.