The Boat to Lake Baikal + the Village of Listvyanka, rural Siberia

Lake Baikal is located in distant and rural Siberia, the city of Irkutsk offering the closest access point, still 65 kilometers away.
Not sure where I'm going, I walk into various shipyards along the river. Guard dogs emphatically communicate I've entered the wrong area, lunging at me, frothing at the mouth, held back only by the chains attached to a weak looking structure.
Eventually I locate the boat service to Baikal and purchase a ticket. It's an hour til departure, but I remain by the dock; there's really nowhere else to go.

the riverbank headed to Lake Baikal

The boat departs, quickly the surroundings morph into Siberian wilderness, thick forests lining the riverbanks.
 Two hours later we enter into the mouth of the giant lake, often referred to as the Sea of Baikal. How large is it? Baikal holds 20% of the world's supply of fresh water, and is in excess of 31,000 square kilometers. Let me put that in perspective for my fellow Americans, this "lake" is 10 times the area of Rhode Island, substantially larger than the entire state of New Jersey, and equal to the area of Maryland, and that's the just the surface of the water. Baikal is also the deepest lake in the world, extending to the depths of 1,642 meters (5,400 feet) ... try holding your breath and swimming to the bottom. I'm not sure I'd manage.
All the water in the Great Lakes combined approximates the amount of water held by Lake Baikal.

near the entrance to Baikal

 The boat drops us at the dock, via 10% intuition and 90% miracle, I find my lodgings not too far from the town's road (singular.) I shed my bags at "Olga's Guesthouse," a cabin behind an old, worn down wooden house where Olga and her family live, and set-off to explore.
An adventuresome Chinese couple and I agree to rent some bikes together for a couple hours. The quote at the second place is higher than the first so I ask if he'll match.
"Their bikes are inferior, made in China," he retorts.
"I'm, Chinese," deadpans my new friend. Clearly the vendor is never going to earn an A in salesmanship. Embarrassed, he quickly matches the price.

crystal clear water of Baikal- photo taken from road above

crystal waters of Lake Baikal

smoked fish sales by the road

We venture off together, stopping periodically to snap photos of the lake. Villagers sell smoked fish at various stands we pass, the natural asset in most plentiful supply.  The path abrupt end, mountainous forest taking over.  

me standing on a tiny pier

Thirsty? Just drink straight out of the lake. It's some of the cleanest water on earth, filtered by tiny crayfish who abound in the waters. I fill up my thermos for later, and take the plunge into Baikal and her icy waters.

swimming in freezing Lake Baikal

Recovering from the chill saps much of my energy. I walk up the hill to my lodgings, watch the sun set over the lake listening to the harmony of silence around me.
Sleep soon overtakes me and I dream of a perfectly cut stone which I skip over the lake. There are too many jumps to count, but it disappears into the horizon and I hear the echo of it hitting a rocky beach on the other side. Unfortunately, there was no one on the opposite beach to bear witness. The area is simply too remote for that, even for a dream.

Trekking around remote Lake Baikal 

Oddly Beautiful Moment in Grey + Remote Siberia

Babuska- lunchtime

The architecture is grey, shoddy, and without artistry. It's the height of summer, but the intermittent rain, chilled air, and feel of the people matches that of winter. The Hangover of Communism is etched across the disgruntled faces of the population of Irkutsk.
I munch on some black currants I purchase at a farmers market, my hands stained by their dark juice, for the moment sustaining me as I explore the streets.

Somewhere in the distance- the vibration of music. Though it sounds like an eerie lamentation, I'm drawn to it nonetheless.
In the middle of this city with a heavy negative energy, I witness the human spirit swimming upstream against the current.
A younger mustached man in a plaid shirt and an elderly Asian woman, seated, her cane resting between her knees, both semi-awkwardly sway their bodies to the music. It's not close to ballet, but this flow of expression draws my singular focus. My body tingles with the recognition of the blessing they're unconsciously offering others .
I film them for a minute, then pocket my camera and join them. For two minutes we sway and groove together, a smile spreading across their faces, Heads turn from those walking by, perhaps via our vibration, we'll help rouse and awaken the same energy of joy which exists inside each of them.
The song ends and I nod at my fellow dancers in thanks and acknowledgement. They beam smiles back to me and the old lady takes my hand and holds it dearly to her face. I offer them some currants, then watch as they eat the ripe fruit, the juice staining their hands, bonding us.
I walk away in gratitude for this beautiful moment shared.

This is them dancing as I first arrived

Russian band performs in a commercial center of Irkutsk- another example of breaking through the dark clouds

The Remote Siberian City of Irkutsk- a look + feel

Soviet architecture

I type into my browser, and turn the screen towards my kind host, Tatiana, who giggles in understanding. Her fingers glide over her keyboard, then rotate her laptop for my view across the table. It's a slow but enjoyable conversation; thank you Google Translate- bridging communication and cultural divide around the world.

I head out from the apartment walking in a random direction. A couple kilometers later, a very odd looking building prompts me to investigate.
I climb its stairs. Located above a small grocery store I discover a hotel of all things. In a comical exchange of words and gestures, I'm advised to take the bus to the town center.
Walk outside, look around for the bus-stop, I see nothing. A van pulls across the street. The hotel's manager, apparently with nothing else on his plate, has been watching me like a KGB guardian angel. He yells and motions from the balcony that this in fact the "bus" I should get on.

sculpture of a broken cello and empty hat I feel both fitting and oddly beautiful

I hustle to attract the driver's attention, board, and pay 12 rubles (33 cents) for the ride. He pulls away from the dusty stop onto the road pulling over every couple minutes to drop off/ pick-up new passengers.  
The chasm in language too wide to bridge, I merely guess when I feel we've arrived at the center of town; Correctly.
I spend the rest of the day avoiding sudden downpours and exploring the area.
Below you will find photos and videos meant to give you an image and feel for this distant and remote Siberian city.

Soviet style ugly ass buildings abound

commercial stands in the center of town 

a look at some of the faces of Irkutsk

downtown Irkutsk

a vegetable market downtown 

tilted old wooden house

downtown Irkutsk

catch a trolley

Playing cards on the street. Many Asians here, especially given relative proximity to Mongolia

bride cutout downtown unsmiling- why would she

Babuska having lunch

shopping area- the equivalent of 3rd St Promenade in Santa Monica

finally a little bit of color versus the normal grey Soviet city

it's the former Soviet Union alright

relatively well upkept hotel

not a fan, Vlad

4 AM, Middle of Siberia, Taxi Cold + Lost

My plane lands at 3:45 AM in the Siberian city of Irkutsk. The only person in town who speaks more than 5 words of English helps arrange a taxi; I'm paying a flat fee of 300 rubles ($9.)
I lug my bags from the small, dingy terminal. Outside it's cold and drizzling.

oddly beautiful statue in Irkutsk I feel
represents the feeling of the people, yet holding out hope

Faces here are hardened by the harsh winters and lack of opportunity, the Hangover of Communism, strong.
I have no idea how old my driver is, but I'm betting he's aged more quickly than the candles on his cake.
He lights up as we leave, "No, no, no," I protest. He rolls down his window, I'm hit by a blast of chilled Siberian air. Taking a large drag, he holds the smoke in his lungs, then blows it out into the night, tossing his lit cigarette behind us as he winds up the rusty, manual window crank.
Oncoming headlights, rare to begin with, are now are non-existent. Pulling to the curb, my driver motions for me to leave. The area feels abandoned, the housing decrepit. Instinctively I feel something is amiss, and quickly decide I won't relinquish the relative safety of the cab for streets too dark to be called shadowy.

similar to the area he tried to drop me

"No, no. Call, call," I state several times pointing to the number on my screen. Finally understanding, he reluctantly pulls out his cellular and dials.
Turns out we're a scant ten miles from the correct address. Muttering to himself, he presses the accelerator and pulls away from the curb like a Formula One driver, tires screeching, performing a sharp U-Turn, anxious to make up lost time.
The old, worn down taxi weaves its way around potholes as rain slickens the roads. 15 minutes later we pull into a parking lot amidst several Soviet style apartment buildings.
With a grunt he indicates our transaction is complete. "Call, call," I repeat firmly again. He sighs, obviously frustrated, and pulls out his phone.
Imagine being in the middle of an ocean and the skipper telling his only passenger to jump off the boat into darkness- not until I'm positive there's land underneath my feet, especially considering last time the command was barked there were only sharks.
His eyes roll to the back of his head as he stares out the window,
Three minutes later my AirBnB host emerges. To both our surprise I tip my skipper 100 rubles; it earns me a half-smile. My host leads me into the hollowed out barren halls of the building, the walls scraped up, ancient lead paint chipping away.
Elevator, 8th floor, door opens, "Spaciva, spaciva, (thank you)" Throw down my bag. Lay down, Sheets uncomfortable, but much warmer than the Siberian street. Instincts- trusted. Grateful. Sleep quickly overtakes me.

Here's the area I stayed in. Buildings- not so nice

Amazing Peterhof Palace- Russian Versailles in St. Petersburg,

There are certain places you'll see that are so beautiful and impressive that you're better off letting them speak for themselves. Peterhof Palace, often called "Russian Versailles," not far from the city of St. Petersburg, is such a place.
Originally built by Peter the Great in the early 1700's, each succeeding czar kept adding onto the palatial complex, today full of fountains, canals, and gardens.
Ravaged by German troops during the Second World War, thanks to the work of military engineers and over 1,000 volunteers, most of the Peterhof 's major structures had been fully restored by 1947. Interestingly, many of the valuables were buried on the grounds of Peterhof, and remained hidden from the Nazis, and were unearthed after the War.
Below you'll find photos and videos of the vast palace, gardens, and fountains which make up Peterhof.

The statues of Peterhof

canal behind me, decent distance to palace 

paths through a forested garden

The beautiful grounds, fountains and castle of Peterhof

Galina, Alice and myself

beautiful ornaments at Peterhof 

here you'll find fountains that seem to detect motion, and soak those trying to get through them

A palatial view of the fountains and gardens of Peterhof

Music plays to a crescendo as the Peterhof fountains shut down for the day

twas a fun day

Learning Russian + Teaching English via WOOFS in St. Petersburg. Russia

Aliska is all saddled up and
ready to ride her horsey

Her doting and loving parents gaze upon their four year old Aliska with profound pride and love.  She's cute, confident, and quite mischievous, loving the opportunity to taunt and wind up the large playful dog who's paid her family a visit for the week,
I'll be sitting, minding my own business, and I'll feel a scratch on my arm or leg.
"Woof," the dog (probably a Labrador) softly acknowledges he's being harassed.
Aliska retreats for a moment, then sneaks up again, trying to incite her new friend to play "Woof! Woof! Woof!" cries out the poor dog. The large dog curls back into a ball on the floor, or goes back to eating from his dish, or continues chatting with his lovely hosts, leaving a gentle growl lingering in the air as a warning.
Once again, Aliska momentarily shies away, then attacks with more ferocity, tickling the dog mercilessly. "WOOF! WOOF! WOOOOOOFFFFFFFFFFF!!!" responds the agitated pup while tickling Aliska to her great delight for upwards of 30 seconds, before slowly withdrawing, leaving the little girl with a huge smile etched across her face.
Wait two minutes ... repeat. The pup might growl, but he clearly has no bite.

We get along famously, but as our primary communication is in woofs and laughter, we invent a new a new game to teach other our respective languages. Sitting across from one another, I hold up various objects. "Appelsin," I'll announce in Russian as I roll the fruit to Aliska. "Orange," she'll state after a moments reminder, as she tosses it back to me. Repeat numerous times then switch to new items ranging from balls (myatch), to stuffed rabbits, to apples (yablacko for those scoring at home.)
I'm proud to be teaching Aliska a proper language.

here is Aliska's and Richie's language learning game

Believe it or not, I benefit as well.
Few Russians speak English, so my learnings came in handy when we went to the grocery store and an employee casually approached asking if he could help. "I don't speak Russ-- wait a second. Aplelsin! Appelsin!  Appelsin!!" I cry out excitedly pointing to the oranges attracting the attention of the entire store wondering what retard could get so excited over fruit. Even at the age of four, Aliska's face matches the shade of the nearby beets from all the extra attention I brought us. What a proud moment.
And finally, might I thank Aliska for being so awesome, playful, and even occasionally thoughtful and kind (a slippery slope for most 4 year olds.) I had so much fun with you, and I know there's an excellent chance my you've forgotten my English lessons, so let me express how much I miss you in the one way I'm certain you'll understand: "WOOF! WOOF! WOOOOOOFFFFFFFFFFF!!!"


St. Peter, the horse dragging Aliska's carriage, then yours truly playing airplane with her. She demanded so many flights you'll excuse me for having got quite dizzy

In Search of the Mythical Soviet Unicorn- fun in St. Petersburg

Flags fly high above goverment building

Highlights from my last visit to Russia included getting ripped off purchasing a train ticket and my brother's fiancee being nearly kidnapped. I imagine such a tourist experience, not untypical.

Don't get me wrong, it's not that I think Ruskies are inherently bad people, it's that their political systems and leaders have stifled basic freedoms, motivation, opportunity, and joy to the point that not only Russia, but all former Soviet Bloc countries suffer from what I call "The Hangover of Communism."
So when my dear friend St. Peter, whom St. Petersburg was named after (I looked up his claim, it's true) invited me to visit, he had his hands full in the persuasion department.
Shocked that I wouldn't succumb to a bribe (unheard of in his country,) Peter changed tactics as fluidly as Kasparov on a chess board. Playing upon my sensibilities as a dreamer, he promised me the chance of being the first Westerner to capture video evidence of the mythical Soviet Unicorn; otherwise known as a Smiling Russian.

St. Petersburg Airport
Frantically searching for my bag I finally locate it on the wrong carousel. I exit the terminal to find my gracious host wringing his hands, not because this prominent businessman wasted an hour of his valuable time, but rather because he feared my latest visit to his country would be greatly colored by this first event.

On the road we see a statue of Vladamir Lenin; I helpfully suggest we return after sundown to chop off the head. Peter pulls the car over.
Carefully and measuredly he explains, "Now Richie, you've teased me mercilessly the last few years for my choice of birth country, and a lot of what you say might be true, but it's polarizing and unhelpful. Russia has far far more than what you're focusing on. Please, please Richie, try to have an open mind."
He then shoves me out of the car at gunpoint and forces me to eat the proverbial Russian "apple of knowledge." Event shown in below video.

Eating the Russian Apple of Knowledge- penance for my anti-Ruskie views

The Truth

family portrait: St. Peter, Mischievous Aliska, Super Saint Olya, yours truly

I'm reunited with Peter's family, his wife Olya, and his confident and fun loving four year old daughter Aliska. They are warm, caring, kind, and fortunately for me, as promised, St. Peter is determined to show me the best of what Russia has to offer.
While there is traffic here as in any metropolis, we enjoy the ride teasing each other and playing games as a family on the way (yes, I felt like a member)
We enjoy our time at the local amusement park, go-cart racing, indoor sky-diving, and visiting Petrhof Palace. In the evening it's dinners, chats, and runs around the neighborhood. I can't deny it  ... "I had a great time."  (there, I said it Pete, willingly. I had a great time in St. Petersburg. Happy?)

check out the catapult ride Peter, myself, and friends went on and our reactions

Dancing in the amusement park to MC Hammer with the kids

at the Go-Cart track

along the canal

To boot, Peter's friends were generally warm and happy. They're also rather well to do, and I believe there is a strong correlation between these two facts as most Russians slave away for little reward financially or otherwise. In Putin's Russia, wealth is concentrated at the top, generally amongst those with political connections.
That said, to merely call the journey a "success" is an understatement, as, though exceedingly rare, I can confirm the existence of the Russian Unicorn, and I thank my host profusely for evidence this long hoped for scenario could in fact exist in reality. And though I can never again describe Russia as "hell," my dear St. Peter, it will be a long time before I describe the city gates you've so graciously held open for me as "pearly."
But being with your family was a little slice of heaven.   

St. Peter, Olya, and Rich ready to hit the air tunnel 

Real Estate in St. Petersburg, Russia MKElite- great serviceI

I step into the offices of MK Elite, probably the leading real estate firm for St. Petersburg high-end properties. As an American considering staying for some time in this beautiful city, I really want to find a place pretty quickly.
I know the owner Peter Voychinsky from a previous visit to this fair city. As he used to live in both Miami and Los Angeles, his English is excellent, which I'm incredibly grateful for, as it's not always easy for me to communicate in Russian considering the only words I know are "spaciva" and the word for "orange." ("apple-scene" as I pronounce it)

MK Elite listing

The office is neat and organized as Peter introduces me to his staff, a surprisingly friendly bunch who are celebrating a comrade's birthday. They offer me a glass of champagne, and ask me questions about America. With a touch of alcohol, there is laughter.
Now it's time to get down to business. Peter takes me into his office bringing one of his senior associates with him. They help determine my price range and tastes, along with where I'll need to travel while I'm in the city, which is great, as their local expertise which will save me TIME, which will be in short supply coming up. We discuss some of the possibilities, and having seen some of the places, Peter's associate weighs in. Her experience means I won't have to see all the places on the list, again saving me time, but where I'll be taken, she's pretty certain I'll enjoy.
She's correct, I really like four of the five places I see (the other was okay) and I found her to be personable, and spoke English pretty well.
All I can tell you is that I  felt well served, so if you're in the market for St. Petersburg real estate, and want to see what they have to offer- here is the contact info for MK Elite.

MK Elite Website- St. Petersburg Botique Real Estate

Phones:
+7 (812) 777-12-20 - Saint-Petersburg+7 (495) 212-06-17 - Moscow

Address:
Санкт-Петербург, Наб. реки Фонтанки, 13 БЦ «Оскар»

Disclosure: I am not getting paid a cent. for this recommendation. It was not asked to write this, nor did the firm have any idea I was going to do so. It's merely my reward to them for their friendliness  (rare in Russia) and their excellent service.