Up and ready to go at 7am, we ditched our large packs for day-packs and shelled out 600 Rubles per person for our transport. The minivan was at (over?) capacity with one driver, the five of us, two Brits, five French and one additional Russian for good measure. To say it was crowded is a laughable understatement.
Our first stop was at a market in town to stock up on snacks for the journey and our time on the island (there are no restaurants and only one small shop in Khuzir). Climbing back into the minivan, we settled in for a long day on the road.
Though the distance was less than 175 miles, the drive took over seven hours as the paved roads ran out after the first hour. From then on it was a bumpy, jarring, shaky ride that prevented anyone from even thinking about napping.
I took the opportunity to edit some photos, though it was a painfully slow process of hitting about a half dozen wrong keys before landing on the correct one. When we reached the first rest stop, I threw in the towel.
On solid ground, I felt a kind of vertigo, as though my body continued to vibrate even though the chaotic movement of the van had stopped.
While there, we stocked up on vodka and beer (we were warned that prices would be accordingly inflated on the island) and used the outdoor facilities.
Although the sun was shining brightly, it was a frigid day. It was so cold and windy in fact, that I seriously debated if going to the bathroom was worth enduring the glacial air on my bare ass. The uncertainty of not knowing when the next bathroom would be available forced me to sucked it up.
We piled back into the minivan and continued the drive in bone rattled silence. Several hours later, we got our first glimpse of Lake Baikal.
I’m pretty sure we were all grinning like five year olds presented with a giant chocolate cake, or our very own live pony, or a Tickle Me Elmo or a Furby or a cell phone whatever five year olds like these days.
However, our excitement was quickly stifled.
In what we deemed a (completely unfunny) Siberian joke, we were made to stand outside the minivan for the ferry crossing to the island, while our driver stayed nice and warm inside.
The wind attacked our faces and there was nothing in the way of shelter aside from huddling together.
That 15 minute boat ride was hands-down the coldest I had been on the trip to-date.
As soon as we docked on the island, it was a frenzied rush back into the minivan to warm up.
The island, with a total population of 1500, was desolate and silent save for the fierce wind and the clunking gargle of our vehicle’s engine.
From the warmth of my back-row seat I took in the expanses of gold and brown that popped brilliantly against the blue of the lake.
Hours later, we pulled into the barren streets of Khuzir where cows aimlessly wandered among houses and packs of stray dogs tormented feral cats.
The town was a grid of near hallways – where small, worn, wooden houses surrounded by high fences lined the streets.
We dropped off our sole Russian passenger at one such house before ambling up the dirt road to Nikita’s Homestead.
