The next morning we got up to another wonderful breakfast of crispy blini (thin pancakes kind of like crepes) with more warm, runny jam, hot tea, and water with honest-to-god ice cubes in it. (You’d think Siberia would be the one place in the world with no shortage of ice cubes, but you’d be wrong. My guess is that the Soviets decided ice-cube manufacturing should take place in Azerbaijan or something.) We met two Australian girls at breakfast about five years older than we were, and we talked and exchanged stories. I think they were the only foreigners we met on the trip until we got to Vladivostok.A nice gentleman who was heading into town dropped us off at the White House of Irkutsk, and we ate lunch at a cafe nearby and then walked down to the riverside. The middle of the mighty Angara River was a deep, clear blue. It’s one of the few rivers in Siberia deep and fast enough not to be frozen over by this time. It was only partially frozen, and we skated on the shallow parts, made little paths in the snow, and talked about things. We walked over a little bridge to Youth Island, a snow-covered park in the middle of the river.
We walked down Ulitsa Karla Marksa (Karl Marx Street) and saw the shops and banners and Novy God (New Year’s) decorations. Christmas takes place around January 7 in Russia, and it isn’t a very big deal. But New Year’s there kind of like Christmas here, with trees and gifts and family visits. We walked along the snow-and-ice-covered sidewalks and watched people. Now and then the snow was ground down to a little ice-path, and sometimes people would take a break from walking and slide along. It was fun to see men in suits with briefcases expertly skating downhill on their shoes or a boyfriend holding his girlfriend’s hand as he pulled her along. We also saw a bigger-than-life Santa Claus mannequin in a store window boogying to some English-language Christmas carols. Tiny children bundled up with fur-lined hoods would stop and stare at it, transfixed and slightly terrified.
We went to a Decembrist house where some revolutionary thinkers spent their exiles, but nothing was in English and by now we were too tired for a history lesson. We headed to the cathedral district and then back down to the riverside. Looking across the river, the colors were pale and hazy, pink and purple and grey, and you could see faint outlines of apartment blocks and smokestacks and cranes. It looked serene and hazy and surreal between the river and the sky. As Liz pointed out, it looked very much like a Monet painting.
As we crossed the bridge we lingered once again to watch the deep, dark aquamarine of the Angara rush smoothly past. The sun was setting, and it was getting colder, so we hurried back to the House to get our baggage.
Our train left around 10:00 p.m. that night, and we had about eight hours until we would get off in Ulan Ude (OO-lan oo-DEH). I slept fitfully because I knew Lake Baikal was passing by and I was missing all the mountains and scenery. I tried sometimes to get up and look outside, but all I saw was darkness.
Day 7--Ulan Ude