The German Nutter

Listvyanka, Lake Baikal

I wish I could write an amusing tale here about some other German tourist doing stupid things. Make some good-humoured fun of other people. I can't. Can't mock anyone but myself.
Evidently, two weeks into my trip I still have a lot to learn. I can almost hear Yoda say: "much to learn this one has." Let me give account. I set off for Listvyanka yesterday from Irkutsk not really knowing what to expect. I only had the vague plan to hike from here to the next village called Bolshoy Koty, a trip that was about 7 to 8 km - on the map. On a path that people at the hostel told me about no problem for an afternoon stroll. Then take a ship back and cruise across the lake. The first surprise came here when the local tourist information office told me it was not 8 but 20 km. Maybe I could make it before nightfall but I wouldn't be able to get back this day. I weighed my chances.
I hadn't brought a towel nor supplies. Despite planning a dip in the lake I had forgotten my swimming trunks. I wasn't even wearing socks and was now painfully discovering how rough the inside of my damn hiking shoes was. I hadn't even started and blisters were already forming. Not really good conditions for a 20-kilometer hike you say?
Being who I am and none else I thought: "fuck it, I'm here now. Let's do it." So, with a bottle of water, a packet of cookies and two apples I set off. Two plastic bags doubled as cushions for my now aching feet which were now already quite sore. I would have to re-adjust the bags every 10 minutes and do a lot of swearing and cursing about my damn shoes.
The next surprise was that what had been described as a path was really just that. Back home a path means a simple, not paved but perfectly walkable track through the woods (maybe). Here a path is still a path: A narrow barely trodden track leading through the wilderness. Near Listvyanka there's an entire network of them. Wasn't easy finding the right one: After a lot of searching and climbing up and down the cliff side in vain I came upon a group of hikers and asked the way. Yes, they spoke English and, yes, it was the path to Bolshey Koty and, yes, they were also going there. So, I just started following them.
Soon, I was impressed with their pace. After a few stops for photos and adjusting the "pads" they were already out of sight. And they were carrying way more baggage than me - big backpacks with tents as I later learned. I tried to follow their trail and after another scramble through a deep valley I met them again on the other side. They were resting. Of course, they had taken the easy way around. Nuts!
There were six Russians, three guys, three girls, and one guy from Bosnia who was visiting one of the girls. After introductions I continued to follow them until they decided to camp for the night. Camp? How far was Bolshey Koty from here? Another six hours at least. Was I planning to get there today? Err ... yes. Should have asked earlier! "Crazy plan!" Lena was the group's guide and had done this trip before. Not entirely safe after dark either.
Since I suppose I looked a bit lost one guy offered me a place in his tent. I should have dinner with them. I hesitated, not wanting to be any more trouble. But in the end I had to admit that Lena was right - going on was not realistic. So, I gladly accepted. They bestowed on me more of the Russian hospitality that I had encountered on the train. They shared all their food and later one of the girls even offered me her sleeping bag. She would share with her boyfriend. In return for all these blessings I offered to share what little I had with me and help where I could.
I ended up gathering firewood. This turned out to be more exciting than it sounds because it made me realise what the side effects of camping on a lake side are. Water + warm summer = mosquitoes. And we were camping in mosquito-county! I've never found myself in a cloud of the damn blood suckers! Like a hydra you swatted one and ten other took it's place. The bites were beyond count.
What followed was actually an amazing experience. Swimming in Lake Baikal is said to add 25 years to your life (while dipping a hand in gives you 5 and a foot 10), so you can't go there and skip the dip in the lake. Neither did we. And since I had forgotten to bring my swimming trunks I waded in in my underwear. Never have I swam in water that cold! I was out again in a minute feeling like every shrivelable part of my body had indeed shriveled. Respect to the Russians, they spent at least ten minutes in the water and came back for more later. I didn't even see them shiver!
Later we ate a simple dinner and played a ball game that seems very popular here. It reminds me of a game seen in China where you have to keep a little sack/ball in the air by kicking it between players. Then there was more swimming but I chickened out this time. After dark it was just too cold. All the while I was fighting a loosing battle against the swarms of mosquitoes. Now I know why people become vampire hunters! Only in the tent I was safe in the end.
The tent itself was technically only a one-person issue. It was an interesting way to get to know Mita, the generous guy who and offered and also spoke some English. He was a programmer like myself. So, I met him. Really up close and personal. I'm even more grateful to him for offering and making the sacrifice.
The next morning I was ready to go on. Now Lena explained the rest of the way to me. At least 6 more hours. I would not make the ship back since there was only one per day. It would be a real forced march. Nuts! Finally I gave in. My feet were killing me and the I was itching all over from the mosquito bites. Sore and scratched and stung all over I wouldn't make it. So, my pride was ultimately defeated. I said my grateful good-byes and turned back. By noon I reached Listvyanka again.
Here, the last (and only) Baikal tour of the day had just been cancelled because of a broken ship engine. Is that Karma? I smell bullshit!
So, what did your German nutter do instead? More walking, of course! Climb a mountain even. With three more hours to go the last bus I decided to do a 12 kilometer walk. Maybe I could make it before the last hydrofoil went. That would be fun, right? I think I made it in record time. Raced up despite raw feet, even had some spare time to enjoy the view and check out another pretty Russian girl. Raced down again.
I reached the harbour just in time to learn that the last hydrofoil had left an hour earlier than expected. Had I misunderstood again? So, I caught the last minibus instead.
The last nod from Karma (as I call it now) was that the clouds and mist that had obscured the view all of this and the previous day cleared the moment the damn bus set off. One day I'll know who to complain to about this. For now enough insanity - one more day of simple city sight-seeing. Geschichten, die das Leben so schreibt.