I am tempted to say, that this may have been as case of saving the best for last...who could imagine anything but bleakness, subzero temperatures and sourly citizens when one thinks of Outer Siberia. The Gulag comes to mind, polluting factories and mines, a place where the most supposedly 'undesirables' where sent for punishment.
Kamchatka Peninsular is geographically part of Siberia, but practically cut off from the mainland. It is only accessible by air or by sea, no land,access at all.There are more than 300 volcanoes, of which about three dozen are active. Summer lasts from July to September, just like in Canadian Winnipeg, with relatively warm temperatures, lots of mosquitos and thousands of brown bears.
But, the local people in Petropavlosk apparently like it here (however some are only stationed here for a short period of time) and families live here for generations, enjoying the perfect skiing conditions, the plentiful salmon, the rich and varied berry harvest, and a life far away from hustle and bustle and urban pollution. They do however get extreme low temperatures and 12 METERS of snow during the long relentless winter, and sometimes have to dig themselves out of their houses to reach the surface (doors face inward to facilitate opening them when buried in snow) or they just exit their apartments from the second or third story windows.
The city itself is pretty ugly-utilitarian with box like five story houses (no higher because of frequent earthquakes), pretty rough roads, a few shops and museums, some foreign car distributorships, a fishing fleet, and many statues around Lenin Plaza. Lenin's is the largest, and Bering, Perouse and Clerke (sailed with James Cook) and the Monument of Glory a little smaller. Somewhere around here, the Russian Navy has a base, and Volcanic Research keeps the intelligentsia occupied.
Getting in and out of town is prohibitively expensive. But despite these constraints, Kamchatka is starting to make a mark on the map...International Cross Country Ski events, back country winter camping and International Sled Dog races.. . the world is discovering this remote corner little by little, and eco tourism and extreme sports are making pricey inroads.
We dropped anchor in Pertropavlosk Avancha Bay in a cold and frosty predawn. At breakfast time, when cloudless sky and bright sun illuminated the surrounding landscape, I went on deck to test the temperatures. Chilly, brisk with a tinge of warmth, as long as one stayed in the lee of the wind.
The scenery was splendid to say the least. A huge bay fringed by low snowcovered hills, backed by towering white mountains, which again were topped by even higher perfectly conically shaped volcanoes - all white. A blinding white rugged band of snow, ice and and faint shadows of vast dormant birchforests in the lower mountain regions, sandwiched between an azure sky and a glittering black blue sea - breathtaking!
Russian clearance processes promised to be lenthy, complicated and subject to change at a moment's notice. But, although painfully slow, we all got through with an hour or so delay. The young officials at the gang way even smiled! Tendering to shore was spotty, but again, we made it to Russian soil.
I had booked a tour into the back country to visit a remote village and Siberian sled dogs.
All Amsterdam travellers without a) Russian visas and b) official ship tours were constrained to city limits. So this tour was my ticket OUT of the collection of housing blocks.
No tour 'buses' for us, but arctic snow-vehicles on huge wheels with a small bus like cabin on top. Foot stools and ladder to climb up. This promised to be 'off-road' experience for sure! Elena, a local Petropavloskian, was our guide, and she spoke an absolute perfect idiomatic English. Bubbly and happy, she looked like a mature skibunny, and enthusiastically extolled the wonders of Siberia to us.
Once we left the somewhat dismal looking town (new onion domed Russian-Orthodox Cathedral in progress on a hilltop, a little higher than the Mosque on another mount...) we drove into the birch forests. Black and white slender trunks, still leafless branches reaching into the blue sky and casting soft blue shadows onto the endless clean snow. Not a track in sight, the bears were still asleep. HIgher and higher over winding narrow lanes into the foothills and then into a valley full of birch forest and a vista of three of the signature volcanoes of Petropavlosk, Avachinsky last eruppted in 1991, Koryaksky, and Kozelsky. They are perfectly shaped indeed, and one of them sent white plumes of steam into the cristalline sky. Georgeous!
We clambered off our monster trucks into the snow, which had begun to melt and left quite a bit of gumbo muck around. No wind, pleasantly warmish, picture perfectly clear...
A group of young girls looking strikingly similar to Canadian Haida/Innuit, dressed in traditional furs and beaded headdresses, greeted us with drumbeats, dancing and singing. Fresh-faced, smiling and wonderfully welcoming.
A few snowmobiles with little trailers pulled up (pretty nifty modern machines) and we mounted up and where whisked through hardpacked snowcovered paths around a few bends and reached a small village, or better a collection of ramshackle habitations, a community hall and dozens and dozens of wooden flat-roofed doghouses.
Again a group of dancers, this time dressed in Russian traditional garb, awaited us and danced to accordeon music, somewhat enhanced by recorded music, which was expertly broadcast by two laptop operators sitting in the sun outside the hall. A lady made the rounds offering traditional welcoming bread and salt, and after that we could go wild with liberal servings of Russian Vodka and hard black bread topped with home smoked salmon - pretty good to say the least.
The dozens of dogs all had their private little dwelling and a chain that kept them at sufficient distance from the next dog-house so they would not get into any scuffles. They were all very people friendly and nuzzled and licked the visitors hands, started a dog howling chorus, lapped up their warmed water, slept, sat on their dog houses and generally behaved exactly the same as Non Russian dogs. All were well cared for, and extremely fit (not fat) as all were well loved racing dogs, bred to run and love it. Talking about breeding...the locals sometimes tie up a Husky bitch in heat to a tree in the woods, and have her covered by any male wolf who happens along. So most of these dogs are a good part wolf. All are very attractively marked and some have the typical blue eyes of the Husky breed.
We all were drawn into the happy Russian dancing (especially yours truly), admired the dogs, the costumes of the dancers, the inside of the Community Hall filled with mementos of International Dogsled Races, samovars, whalebones, furs and skis, the sightweight sleds and most of all the absolutely stunning scenery.
Four mushers harnessed their dogs to racing sleds, to great howling, barking, tailwagging and general canine eagerness to get going. Whilst being harnessed they were so ready to run, that they had to be pegged into place not to take off before they were all ready to start. Four dog-teams...we cleared the starting line, and one by one they raced off into the woods at blinding speed, with the mushers perched on the sleds leaning into the curves to keep them from flying off propelled by gravity. They had fifteen miles to run (I got a Njet to my request to race with them, and for good reason - most of the other visitors would have wanted to as well - what mayhem that would cause). The race would take about an hour before the teams would cross the finish line.
We filled the available time with more Vodka and salmon consumption, tugs of war, sack races, dancing, weight lifting..and everyone, even the mobility challenged, absolutely enjoyed this paradisic moment. Some were happily enjoying the sun sitting on simple wooden benches, some had some private moments with the many remaining dogs, now calmed again after the excitement of seeing their buddies run off. Most of us just got into the act.
It seemed like minutes before we cleared the track again, and the competitors returned, almost still at flat out speed, crossed the finish line, braked the sleds and let the dogs rest. They nibbled at the snow to quench their thirst or just laid quietly waiting to be unharnessed.
Nobody wanted to leave, but we needed to return to port. Lots of hugging, some tears, lots of waving. Most visitors made the ride back to the 'truck' by snowmobile, I walked through the Dr.Shivago like landscape casting a last look at the magnificient volcanoes, the silent birch forests and the pristine snow. During a winterstorm things would be somewhat different, but today - a frosty Eden.
In port, I walked along the 'beach', where Russians promenaded, taking photos, watching the Amsterdam anchored in the bay, and smiling at the visitors with goldplated teeth.
A fur-hatted Russian lady started to talk to me in her language, and I responded in mine...she dragged me to a kiosk where she bought a huge can of Carlsberg beer. She motioned for me to share it with her, and we both wandered )sort of) arm in arm along some of the dirty snowbanks bordering the streets, she drinking from the can and I faking it. Her male companions/family in tow. We hugged good bye at the dock, and I boarded an Amsterdam tender for the last time on this long eventful journey.
A fitting Farewell: all the snowy mountains still shining like white diamonds slowly faded away when we finally steamed towards the opening in Avancha Bay.
Back into the North Pacific, which showed itself in winter storm mood. We passed through the western limits of the Aleut Islands into the Bering Sea (last time I looked we were 55degrees north) cruising along a great northern circle route.
We crossed the dateline resulting in two Mondays and double birthdays for a few lucky people. But although we got 24 bonus hours back, we are still losing an hour a day for a few more days...plays havoc with the internal clock.
Rather sad....only a few more days and the whole unforgettable adventure will be over by the 25th April 2010.
