Report from Russia

June 27 2004, Baikal

Dear CCI friends,

We left Irkutsk behind and took unpaved and unmarked country roads through forests and mountains to reach a small Buryat village near the edge of Lake Baikal. Known here as Grandfather Baikal, the huge body of water almost has the respect of a deity. The largest and deepest lake in the world, Baikal's central gorge is supposed to reach the depths of one of the deepest gorges in the Pacific Ocean. It has over 300 rivers feeding into it and contains 20 percent of the planet's fresh water. The stillness is perfect around its edges.

Russians feel that their citizens, at least once in their lives, must visit this great jewel and national treasure in Siberia. We arrived at Baikal around dinner hour with a full sun still illuminating great vistas of mountains and forests in the distance behind us. The lake ahead looked endless.

The village we are visiting looks like any other Russian village: a completely unplanned assortment of 200 rough and aged-wood plank structures in all shapes and sizes, some with obviously recent repairs and others leaning or falling over. Dirt roads link the dwellings and give them some sense of order. This area has been in Buryat hands for centuries. Now developers are beginning to look at the lakefront with their own agendas. Locals fear that their self-sustaining lifestyles will soon be jeopardized. Already outsiders are buying up small parcels from administrators who have no allegiance to Buryat's indigenous people.

Why visit this village far away from anywhere? CCI's first volunteer, Hank Birnbaum, a 45-year-old American, lives here much of the year. Actually when Hank came to CCI, he was a 24-year-old with a strange passion to get to the USSR, not because of politics, but because of Lake Baikal. As mentioned in an earlier report, Hank ended up in nearby Irkutsk in the late 80s, fell in love (which was predictable), married a young Siberian woman, and moved back to the U.S. Eventually his Russian wife wanted to live in the U.S., and Hank wanted to live in Siberia. The marriage went by the wayside, with Hank returning to the region he'd grown to love. He became a Baikal forest ranger, contributes to Baikal's clean up, and is now an accepted member of the Buryat community.

His current Russian wife lives in Irkutsk most of the time, and they migrate back and forth to the village. While in Irkutsk, Hank is a Rotarian in good standing, and while at Baikal he works on local community issues, helps rebuild a tiny Russian Orthodox Church and works on additions to his wooden compound which consists of a main log cabin, a visitors cabin, a banya (heated bathhouse) and outdoor facilities. Although originally a Bay Area urban youth, he has become a dedicated village man, no doubt for life. The walls of his log home have paintings of remote Russian villages set among mountains and lakes. The interior is utterly simple and orderly. There's warmth about this cabin with a traditional Russian fireplace planted in the center of it. Recently electricity came to the village, but there are still no running water, no facilities, no telephone and no doctor; and yes, there are bears and wild animals in the forests behind the village. For this reason, Hank has a high fence around his compound. This is one of the few villages around these parts of Baikal. One has the feeling of being completely remote and, at the same time, completely safe.

This afternoon a drab-green 1930's flatbed truck showed up at Hank's home to take us to the giant lake for a picnic. Buryats' Fia and Misha, a picture-book couple (Fia an oversized, large-cheeked, jolly, Asian-faced woman and husband Misha of same ethnicity, half her size and near toothless), Betsy from New York, Melinda from Washington and Olga from Irkutsk were already on the flatbed. Misha followed over bumpy roads, driving his aging motorcycle with a sidecar. Finally arriving at this great spot, we spread blankets, pots, and an assortment of foods from plastic bags on a blanket. Fire was soon raging; potatoes were peeled in Baikal and boiled over the fire. Smoked fish, salads, breads, mushrooms, sweets and everything imaginable were soon ready for our ³table² on the ground.

Misha learned of PEP and, of course, wanted to participate immediately. His dream is to create a tour company to show foreigners the magic of Baikal. He is 52 years old and hasn't started his business yet. I didn't have the heart to tell him no, but also didn't hold out any hope. We sat by a tributary of the lake, ate dinner and watched the rapid waters fly by. The air was unbelievably fresh... the mountains so lovely to the rear...with the village resting peacefully in the distance. It all ended too soon.

Hank's Siberian "mama" dropped by this evening to bring fresh milk and curds from her cow. This Buryat woman, about four and a half feet tall with a deeply bronzed, wrinkled face complete with red bandana covering her white hair, has a smile that would warm the coldest of hearts. We took photos of this odd couple, both obviously pleased with their relationship.

Today is Hank's last day for a while in his adopted village. Tomorrow he, his wife and three children make their five-year pilgrimage to America where they will spend six months visiting his 84-year-old mom and other family members. Hank wishes to give his children a sense of his birthplace and culture and show them our countryıs monuments and natural wonders. Late in the evening he spoke about already missing his village and wondering how it would feel to be away for so long.

It's interesting to ponder this American-born man who is so at home in a radically different culture with its daily practices, foods (we had seal on the table last night which even Volodya couldn't eat), conversations and entertainment. Recently Hank is feeling more comfortable with local Russian Orthodox Christianity. He's like a fair-skinned saintly figure among these bronze-skinned wonderful round faces. They love and trust him. He's careful to acknowledge that he is the newcomer to their community and is still learning their native wisdom and ways.

All the best from what seems to me the end of the known world,

Sharon Tennison
President