Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
At 4.30 a.m. I braved a frosty dawn to film the sunrise. The pale clouds that
hovered over silhouetted peaks were gradually transformed into a molten swirl.
The lake's surface turned to liquid glass and reflected with flawless symmetry. I
watched as the glow brightened like steel in a fire, until the sun burst over a saddle
and shed the first rays of warmth. For a long time I had wondered what could be so
special about a big lake. Now I understood that there was something unspeakably
beautiful and complete about the moody waters and haunting terrain. The calmness
induced a feeling of purity and permanence. It was not hard to understand why
many of the lake's features are of significance in the traditional shamanic religion
of the Buryatians.
Later I shared a bite of omul fish with the captain and a colleague. They had
been up all night chatting over a bottle of vodka. When it was light enough, the
captain blew out the hurricane lamp and crawled into bed. It was as if the magic of
night had vanished, chased away by the sun. I had the feeling that years on the sea
had turned the captain nocturnal.
The east shore was a surprise. Twisted pine trees, craggy with age, leaned from
the forest edge casting elegant shadows over a sandy cove. The water appeared
silky and inviting. After stepping off the boat we had lunch on a beach of fine yel-
low sand. Removing my tattered running shoes, the sand tickled and massaged my
feet. This was the kind of paradise I had dreamt of all through winter, when cold
toes had plagued my every moment.
We took a swim and washed away the mental anguish of the last weeks. Under
the crystal clear water, fragmented light needled its way to the sandy bottom in
slender, wobbly shafts. Later, I lay on the beach and felt the sun flatten my goose-
bumps and render my skin bone-dry. The little wooden village in the distance and a
sandy peninsula jutting out into the silvery-blue water reminded me of the tropical
coast in Queensland. It was hard to believe that in winter temperatures of minus
forty degrees Celsius were common in Siberia.
I was reluctant to say goodbye to Baikal, but once it was out of sight I just
wanted to ride. Our aim was the Buryatian capital of Ulan Ude, 350 kilometres to
the south-east. There we planned to dump the bikes for a month and travel by train
to the Altai Mountains for a hiking trip.
During the four days it took to cycle to Ulan Ude, the exhaustion that had
been masked by adrenaline came to the surface with a vengeance. I rode slowly,
without the spark to fly down hills and motor across flats. Time felt drawn out and
my stomach throbbed endlessly, even though I ate as much as humanly possible.
