Nerpa Blog

Shockingly, no one in our group has written a full blog about nerpas, the famous freshwater Baikal seals. Given our fascination and adoration with these cute little creatures, a more comprehensive look at their remarkable properties and our interactions with them is required.
Nerpas are unique for being the only species of exclusively freshwater seal in the world. They live in the deep, cold waters of Lake Baikal, but it’s uncertain just how they arrived in this landlocked body of water. Some ecologists think nerpas swam south down the Yenisei-Angara River system, while others think they arrived much earlier, when Baikal was joined with an ancient inland sea.

That’s a long way for a little nerpa to swim. Photo from Wikimedia Commons.


Nerpas migrate within the lake’s banks every year. In the summer, they enjoy lounging on the rocky Ushkany Islands or on more southern shoreline. During winter, they migrate northward to find thicker ice, on which they give birth to their young.
Nerpas have unusually large eyes compared to other pinnapeds. They’re small, round, and ball-like, as we found out when visiting the Baikal Limnological Museum near Irkutsk. Nerpas appear to have no neck, and they’re almost entirely round when free floating. They stretch out a bit once they start swimming, but only about to the shape of a well-inflated football.

So round! Photo: http://wikifaunia.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/01/Foca-del-lago-Baikal.jpg


Seeing a mama and baby nerpa in the museum’s aquarium was great, because it offered us the chance to gaze upon their minute physiological details up close. The museum also featured a “Nerpa cam”, which we viewed upstairs after our tour. The footage streams from one of the nerpas’ favorite hangout spots, the Ushkany Islands, which I mentioned earlier. We turned into giggling children as we watched one lazy, fat nerpa lying on its side and seemingly hitting another seal with its flipper, over and over again.  Eventually he calmed down and resumed his nap.  Sadly, I can’t seem to find the stream online, but if I do, I’ll add the link here.
Little did we know, our encounters weren’t over yet. For the first time since this program has been in operation, the group saw a wild nerpa. High on a cliff overlooking the clear blue water, our guide excitedly pointed out a small speck in the distance. Everyone rushed over to the cliff’s edge to look. Bobbing in the gentle ripples was a little seal, watching us and listening to the excited squeal of our voices.
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What’s that in the distance?
Photo credit: Sahree Kasper


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Wait… could it be??
Photo credit: Sahree Kasper


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IT REALLY IS!!
Incredibly marvelous photo credit: Sahree Kasper


We all stayed that way for a couple minutes, until the nerpa decided he or she needed to get back to work. Even as the seal swam away, we could still see it for several seconds – such is the clarity of Baikal’s water. It was an honor to experience the nerpa’s company, and it was a highlight for many members of our group.
Interesting source and further reading: http://scienceblogs.com/tetrapodzoology/2010/06/15/most-inconvenient-seal/

The Other Side of War

When we first arrived in Ulan-Ude, one of the first things I noticed as we drove through town was a healthy display of Victory Day banners and billboards. I was a little surprised, to be honest – it didn’t occur to me that the Great Patriotic War could have possibly affected small-town Siberia.
Indeed, the battles of World War II never reached Buryatia – the Pacific Front, as it concerned the Soviet Union, consisted of a few land grabs. On Russia’s Western Front, the Nazis came within miles of Moscow, sieged Leningrad, and fought a horrific battle at Stalingrad, but Buryatia remained safe several time zones away.
Siberia became a safe haven for the Soviet Union during that time. Entire factories were picked up and transported eastwards across the rail lines to keep them out of Nazi hands. Wounded soldiers, too, found themselves in the safe embrace of the steppe. With this influx of new arrivals, even regular citizens were brought face to face with the war effort. In Ulan-Ude, for example, every school was converted to a temporary hospital. Imagine how startling and strange it would be as a young student to see your school overwhelmed by injured soldiers from far-flung places.
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This memorial, which we saw on our first day in town, commemorates the Great Patriotic War. Each pillar symbolizes a different year in the conflict. The first year, 1941, was marked by extreme difficulty, such as the near-capture of Moscow and the beginning of the Siege of Leningrad. As a testiment to the great hardships of this year, its pillar is leaning heavily, seemingly about to collapse. 1942 was also a very trying time, so it, too, tips sideways. But the tide began to turn as the war went on. The Nazis were eventually pushed back, and this is reflected in the straight, steadfast pillars that represent 1943 and 1944.
We encountered World War II again on our last evening in Ulan-Ude, when we found ourselves in the Philharmonie, a Soviet-era theater on the city’s main square. The building was beautiful inside, decorated with mouldings of hammers and sickles, bundles of grain, and other communist motifs.
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We came to view a (new) play, presented by local actors and featuring performers from around the area. The production told the story of a group of nurses at a Buryat military hospital during the war and showed how intimately the far-off battles affected these women’s lives. One struggles with the distance separating her from her lover on the front lines. Others meet and fall in love with wounded soldiers from far corners of the Soviet Union, people they would never otherwise have met.
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Seeing the war from the perspective of these nurses, it was much easier to understand the extreme scale of World War II and the Soviet Union. In this small city more than 2500 miles from Moscow, people of different races, cultures, and traditions were thrown together by the same war, as citizens of the same nation. It’s easy to see the differences between eastern and western Russia, but seeing the role of Ulan-Ude in the war was a good reminder of the strong ties that keep the people of Russia connected.
Other sources: Rada, our amazing Buryatia tour guide

The Sun Also Rises

Olkhon. Have you ever heard of such a place? It is the largest island in Lake Baikal, with a combination of harsh, steep cliffs and rolling green hills. It is beautiful.

The view from our hotel.



 
When Russian explorers came to Baikal in the 17th century, Olkhon was the first place they visited. The island is considered the sacred center of Baikal, filled with legends, 143 archaelogical objects, and many holy places. It is certainly unlike any other place I’ve ever seen.
Although we were exhausted when we got there, we decided to wake up very early the next morning to see the sunrise over the island.



 

Kaylin on the rocks.



We sat on the rocks and watched the sun spill out over this sacred lake. I’m not sure if I’ll ever get to see Olkhon again, but it’s certainly got a special place in my memories.

Yanzhima's Rock

If you read Lily’s blog, then you’re already familiar with the beauty of the Barguzin Valley.

These snow-capped mountains are unforgettable.


Driving through this stretch of land, you might chance upon herds of horses, a winding stream or two, or, as we did, a newly-built datsun.

According to our guide, a few years ago, an image of the dancing goddess Yanzhima was discovered on a rock in this area (Yanzhima is the goddess of fertility in the Buryat Buddhist tradition). Childless couples began flocking to this area, praying for fertility. When the area saw an increase in child births, the area was declared sacred and a datsun was soon built.
Since then, Yanzhima’s rock has gained much attention and attracts thousands of hopeful couples. Countless toys have been placed on the rock as offerings to the goddess.

Visiting sacred places, I always get the feeling that they’ve always been there, perhaps for thousands of years. Seeing this datsun, however, shows that sacred places are still springing up, perhaps a result of a very active religious community.

Our Heroes Made of Clay

After getting back onto our bus after the tour of МЧС, Diane wouldn’t tell us where we were going next, only that it was a surprise. And it was! We were invited into a ceramic shop to make our own clay figurines.

The cabin-like entrance to the ceramics shop.

The cabin-like entrance to the ceramics shop.


First, we were given a brief demonstration of how a clay wheel works, shaping a lump into something symmetrical, such as a vase or the bases for our clay figurines. In high school, I took an art class that was exclusively about how to make ceramics using a clay wheel, and it was one of my favorites. Even during breaks from Carleton, I like to make little clay characters and animals. I would have loved a chance to try out their wheel (it was slightly different from the wheels I’ve used) but we had our clay heroes waiting to be born.
Making a vase has never seemed so easy!

Making a vase has never seemed so easy!


Next we were led over to the premade bases – or rather, bodies – for our clay heroes.
Getting started.

Getting started.


We were guided through the initial steps of making indents for the legs and head and attaching arms.
Gisell putting finishing touches on her Siberian girl.

Gisell putting finishing touches on her Siberian girl.


Before getting too engrossed, we were told to have a character in mind. I chose a dragon. I learned some neat techniques for detail work:  a metal tube bent at one end in the shape of a tear-drop was perfect for decorating my dragon with scales.
My dragon.

My dragon.


All of our heroes are unique:  we’ve got babushkas (Russian grandmas) and dedushkas (Russian grandpas), beautiful Russian girls, a shaman, a penguin and a nerpa (Baikal seal). Can you spot them all?
Here they are in all their glory.

Here they are in all their glory.


Clay is my favorite medium and this was one of the best surprises I could have asked for. Thank you to Diane and everyone who made this possible!

Sporting Around Ulan-Ude

In Russia, and particularly in Siberia, I have noticed sports facilities and locals dressed up in sporting outfits. Perhaps this simply isn’t something I’ve noticed at home, and this isn’t just a Russia/Siberia thing. However, I think it’s interesting and would like to mention a few places and things we’ve seen in Siberia.
During one of our tours through Ulan-Ude, we drove past a huge, red sports complex. It’s one of the largest sports complexes in Eastern Siberia.

The big, red sports complex in Ulan-Ude. Picture from http://survincity.com/2011/07/in-ulan-ude-opened-one-of-the-largest-sports/.


The entire complex is 36,000 square meters, nearly nine square acres. It has multi-purpose stadiums, rooms for archery, martial arts, and even an Olympic-sized swimming pool.

The complex’s pool. Picture from http://survincity.com/2011/07/in-ulan-ude-opened-one-of-the-largest-sports/.


Not far from Ulan-Ude, we visited the Ivolginsky Datsan, a Buddhist university monastery that was opened in 1945 (see Dilara’s Three Faiths blog and Almeda’s Dog Blog). When we first arrived and then again later on, our attention was brought to the datsan’s outdoor stadium.
Colorful seats!

And the seats were colorful, trust me!


Unfortunately, I don’t have a better picture nor could I find one on the internet. I don’t know what the Buddhist monks do in their airy stadium, but it sure looks like it’d be fun!
Like in Moscow, even Ulan-Ude had citizens proudly donning their track suits. A few of us have considered buying matching track suits embroidered with “RUSSIA” until we noticed the price tags. But I still wouldn’t mind having the kurtka (light jacket) part of the track suit. Anyways, I mentioned earlier that even though we’ve noticed nice sports facilities and track suits around in Siberia and Russia, maybe we simply don’t notice our gyms and people at home. Either way, it’s fun to watch out for different types of sports complexes and track suits!

Giving to Baikal: The Good and the Not-So-Good

Lake Baikal is comprised of an amazing array of ecosystems – a freshwater sea, an island, and mountains. However, pollution threatens to disrupt these delicate relations. Tourists and local residents visit sacred sites, leaving garbage behind, whereas worshipers try to leave their mark in a more environmentally friendly manner.

 

One of the key ideas of shamanic ritual is to give back to nature. A modern circuit of the Baikal area will inevitably expose visitors to some of the most beautiful natural scenes in the world, along with special spiritual places marked by bright scarves, called ‘himurin’. These spiritual places receive gifts from those following shamanic customs of giving back to nature.  Passersby wishing to show respect frequently stop at the side of the road and sprinkle water or vodka on the ground of a spiritual place.  Alternatively, when we cook outdoors, we will give a portion of the food, whether leftovers or scraps, back to nature.
Ritual poles, called serge, decorated with himurin.

Ritual poles, called serge, decorated with himurin.

Like any area inhabited by humans, however, Baikal is in danger. Spending more time here exposes the issues threatening the lake, such as the open-air dumps, and the factories pumping out chemicals that can stream into the water. Where people once left offerings of food and milk, now the ground is littered with garbage. The lake cries out with a critical question: just what are we giving back to Baikal today?
The view from one of the many sacred cliffs on Olhon Island.

The view from one of the many sacred cliffs on Olhon Island.

The shamanic practice of leaving offerings represents the most basic concept of conservation: when we take something from nature, give back something that will contribute. Sprinkling water or leaving decomposable gifts will promote further growth on that spot, ensuring its beauty for future visitors.  While our modern movements for conservation are only decades old, these shamanic practices have lasted for thousands of years.

 

Along with the breathtaking views and hopeful rituals, though, we have noticed something sad. At overlooks, beaches, and picnic spots all around the lake, we found piles of litter ranging from empty vodka bottles to rusty wrenches and broken bricks.  Some residents and visitors here may continue shamanic rituals of giving back, but that conscientious attitude is not always shared by all people around Baikal.

 

Lake Baikal is renowned for its ability to cleanse itself, but how long can this last? No one knows exactly how much Baikal can handle, but everything we put into the lake or its watershed brings us closer to that limit. Open air dumps leave plastic bags blowing in the wind, and hardly a street can be found without empty bottles.  Even inside the Pribaikalsky National Park, signs of littering or abandoned construction accompany every scattered table or gazebo.  The mark of human habitation can be found almost everywhere with a close look.
Garbage on the shore of Baikal.

Garbage on the shore of Baikal.

But humans give back the worst indirectly, for most of the pollution in the lake itself comes from industrial waste.  The Baikalsk Paper Mill has attracted environmentalist attention for failing to keep up to water contamination limits.  Likewise, the many factories on the Selenga River, Baikal’s largest tributary, release a huge variety of harmful chemicals into the water.

 

Nearby residents and factories may be the main concern, but we realize that as visitors to the lake, we are also part of the problem. Since we come to appreciate Baikal’s magnificent beauty and learn about it, we want to make sure we can give back and keep it pristine for future visitors.

 

What can we, as tourists, do to fix this pollution problem?
  • Leave our picnic sites cleaner than we found them, making sure our candy wrappers don’t get taken by the wind
  • Make an effort to stay on established trails whenever possible
  • Collect only dead wood for fires, or even better, bring our own firewood
  • Avoid driving around when we can walk

A small group of Carleton students can’t possibly solve all the problems facing the lake, but we can do our best to minimize our impact.

We love Baikal!

We love Baikal! Photo: Rada

Expectations

Once I arrived at our home stay, I really didn’t know what to expect. Our surrounding in Ulan Ude were not what I was expecting of Siberia, which seemed – before this trip – to have an ingrained image of snow-caped forests of evergreens and permafrost. As we stepped into our home stay with Ksenia and started to get a hold of our surroundings in their two bedroom apartment Polina, Ksenia’s five year old daughter, poked her head into the room where we were unpacking. She was naturally curious about the three really tall people that had entered her home. After a little bit of skittishness and some pushing by her mother, she introduced herself. After this we played a wonderful fairy tale board game with her, which she won, naturally.
 
A day later, when we headed to their dacha, Polina grabbed my hand and started leading me away towards the forest just outside their fences. I asked where we were headed, and she said we were going to find a dog. We noticed a older couple moseying along and Polina waved and said hello, and they did the same. However, after wandering around for a while it was fairly clear that we weren’t going to find a dog. To make matters worse, when I asked her if she knew the way back, she said that she had forgotten. Whoops.

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See that forest? We were lost in that. I was slightly concerned.


I, being fantastically awful with directions, needed to find our way home to the dacha that I had only seen once in my life for a few fleeting moments. For a second I was terrified, but then realized that we couldn’t have walked that far. After a bit of adventure, running through the forest, and a touch of, “Wait, is this the right way?”, we eventually climbed over the logs just outside the fence of the dacha and dashed back in.
 
Sometimes, all one needs is a leap of faith to get to know someone, and then there’s a bit of getting lost on the way, but it ends up being a pretty great ride. Getting the chance to do that on a trip to Siberia after a chance meeting in a home stay and then getting lost in the woods was the last thing I was expecting, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
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Dog Blog

On one of our first days in Siberia, we drove out to the Ivolginsk Datsan, a Buddhist monastery near Ulan-Ude. It was cold and windy in the grasslands outside of the city, but it was pleasant to spend some time outside.

One of the temples of the Ivolginsk Datsan.


The buildings in the complex were beautiful, of course, but I was even more interested in the dogs that wandered freely around the grounds of the monastery. I thought they could be strays, but I think the lamas at the monastery feed them: even though they were dirty, they seemed well-fed.
One particularly friendly dog followed us for almost the whole tour.

One particularly friendly dog followed us for almost the whole tour.


Ivolginsk Datsan is actually famous for its dogs; more specifically, the rare Hotosho breed the monks raise there. The Hotosho is an ancient breed that Buryat and Mongol nomads used for herding, and which doubled as a guard dog for their settlements. Hotosho are enormous, with long, shaggy fur to insulate them against the harsh Siberian winter.

Photo from Wikimedia Commons.


The Hotosho is often described as having four eyes because of the eye-like spots many of them sport on their foreheads. The Buryat traditionally believed that these “extra eyes” make for better watchdogs. At the monastery, we visited the row of kennels where the Hotosho live.
The dogs we saw at the Datsan.

The dogs we saw at the Datsan.


The dogs weren’t too pleased to be stared at by a group of strangers, and they barked like mad. They were very fluffy and I thought they were adorable from a distance, but all the same, I’m not sure I’d want to meet one up close.

An Abram in Buryatia

I had no idea what to expect from Siberia. All I could imagine was a massive lake, surrounding wilderness, and trappers hunting sable on hand-made skis. I knew I would encounter Shamanism, Buddhism, and Old Russian Orthodoxy. To my surprise, I also encountered a whole lot of Jewish names on our tours of Ulan-Ude and Barguzin, and even a Jewish cemetery.

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A gravestone with Hebrew lettering in the Barguzin cemetery (and a wake-up call for how rough my Hebrew has gotten)


My first reaction was, “Why? [would Jews decide to settle in Siberia]???”
The answer our tour guides gave us was, “Gold.”
The majority of Jews who ended up in Buryatia had actually been exiled there, some as early as the middle of the 17th-century from Poland during the Russo-Polish War, but once they arrived they began to establish themselves as successful merchants in the area. One such merchant was especially interesting to me, in part because he shares a somewhat rare first-name with my younger brother, Abram.
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Abram Novomeisky’s gravestone in Barguzin.


Abram Novomeisky was one of the two biggest gold-mine owners in Siberia. He was a businessman, a patron of the arts, and a proponent of advancing mining technologies, and was well-respected by the people of the Barguzin Valley. When he died in the early 20th century, villagers carried his body on their shoulders 7 whole kilometers to his burial-place in Barguzin.
An interesting article about Barguzin that includes information about some of the Jews who lived there.