Hanging Out On Olkhon Island
Sunday, September 26th, 2004
After hanging out a couple days…glad to be off the train…Gregory, a former University teacher of German, drove Bob and I, three Germans and a Pole on a half-day excursion to the north of the 70km long island to visit various geological sites and views of the lake but most especially to see a world renowned Shaman ceremonial circle called Three Brothers that is sacred to two faiths practiced here, Buddhism and Shamanism. Two years ago almost 300 Shamans from the world-over came together here. We lay a one rouble coin at the foot of the prayer flag pole while the “Sarma” or east wind blows fiercely over us.
The Buryats are of Mongolian descent…nomads who spent time herding their flocks between the southern shores of the lake and what is now northern Mongolia. They lived in felt-covered yurts and practised a mixture of Buddhism and Shamanism.
Gregory is driving Nikita’s four wheel drive van…a Russian vehicle designed 30 years ago and that was so successful they used it as an ambulance. “There is only one reason Russians sent the first man into space,” says Gregory the Kamikazi driver thumping over mud hole roads at least 90km per hour…”is because of the roads!” Later he says “we at the moment are using two wheels…if it gets really complicated we will use four!” “Normally we sacrifice two persons…usually 50% survive this trip!” Any of our U.S. vehicles would have rolled over at the first turn but this one mysteriously keeps it’s four wheels on the ground.
We pass through beautiful valleys with sheep and cattle farms…two of which are rich and have beautiful houses “because they don’t drink,” Gregory says. We pass by one small house of an old woman who lives alone with her cow…the rest of the houses in the area appear empty. We are shown an area that was a gulag during the Stalin era and whose inmates produced cans of caviar from the lake sturgeon that was then sent to the Kremlin for the enjoyment of the party bigwigs). I see a straggly triangular three wooden stick affair on the top of a hill and ask Gregory what it used to be. “Local KGB headquarters,” he says throwing his head back in laughter. I ask if the Russians and Buryats intermarry. “Seldom,” he says.
Zoe