Siberia 3
September 3, 2024The Shaman and the Verger
Story from Olkhon, the sacred island on lake Baikal, Siberia
I travelled to Bailal lake on a completely frozen road. The temperature had plummeted far bellow zero weeks erlier and the water of the lake turned into a meter thick crust of ice, enveloping the island in the middle. We drove all the way across the ice to the shores of Olkhon. It took an hour to get from shore to shore and the smooth crossing left me feel uneasy… Baikal is the 7th largest lake in the world and the deepest of them all. All I could think of during the crossing was the dark void lurking beneath the ice.
When we arrived in Khuzir, the main settlement on Olkhon, I asked where I could stay in the village.
“You you can stay with me or the priest.” Laughed a rustic looking fellow passenger in his vodka infused voice. It was hard to pick, I thought both presented options promised a good but I was tired and chose the priest, it seemed safer. I liked the irony play of staying with a priest while on a quest to find a shaman.
I knocked on the wooden door of the small and well kept chapel and waited for a young looking woman to open the door. “Hello, I am looking for a priest, is he in?”
“Yes, my husband will be back shortly” said the woman.
“That must be a mistake, I am looking for a priest”
“Yes” said Anastasia with a smile “that’s my husband Sergei”
Sergei the priest:
Sergei had dark hair and dark bushy beard. Deep brown eyes. Kind and curious eyes with a hint of boyishness. Direct yet somewhat melodic voice. Sergei was charismatic, very charismatic. Born in the Soviet Union and growing up in Russia during the lawless 90’s Sergei left to study theology at Sorbonne in France and then spent years after studying living as a monk on mount Atlas in Greece. I forgot how he came to live in the only chapel on Olkhon island. But when he came the building was run down, almost derelict. He initiated the rebuild and did most of the work himself. Now he lives here as a verger with his family although the locals call him priest.
“Come on in” said Sergei “I was helping at the village hall with a Christmas play”
I asked Sergei if there would be any place I could stay for a while and he took me outside and showed me a 5x4m wooden cabin, standing on the grounds of the chapel. Inside, there was just room for a bed, small chair, table and a stove. It was still -20 outside but it was warming up by the day and the ice on the lake was melting. I thought I wait until the ice melted and the small ferry returned to its schedule. I thought I should be leaving an island by a boat. I stayed for weeks.
I found the weeks on Olkhon like a strange meditation. It was cold, the cold was dry and still with the snow and frost particles sparkling during the short time of daylight. I walked from sunrise to sunset most days, layers of clothes and borrowed furry coat on. I have been on this journey for nearly a year now and I felt tired. I enjoyed talking to Sergei in between his busyness with all the festivities in the village and his own family. He asked me to join in but I somehow just longed to roam in the sparkling snow. I envied Sergei though I envied him his purpose, belonging and his god.
When Sergei and his family invited me for a Christmas dinner I mentioned to Sergei that one of my reasons I came to Olkhon was to see the Shamans Rock and perhaps meet a Shaman practicing here in this very sacred place. I noticed a slight ammusement in Sergeis face not enough for me to feel embarrassed. He said he will ask in the village. In couple of days I met a man, maybe a kind of a middle man or shamans secretary I couldn’t tell. He’s asked for the purpose of my visit and my meeting with a shaman and after some more enquiries he presented me with an oral price list. I said I will be in touch and thanked for his time.
I spent Christmas and Orthodox New Year at Sergeis chapel house and the local village hall. I helped with the new year celebrations, setting up the hall and with cleaning afterwards. I felt very happy on this rock in the middle of Baikal lake, surrounded by the mass of melting ice. I didn’t want to leave but then the first ferry was about to depart and it would be soon time to leave.
I was fascinated to see Sergei’s energy in helping to run the local community. I loved the way he didn’t teach morals but showed by example. He did not divide people through an agenda. He had time for everyone and could talk passionately about almost anything. He never mentioned god while not directly asked. I wished all communities had a Sergei.
I never got in touch with the middle man and didn’t arrange the meeting with shaman after all. On one of my last wanders along the snowed-in coast I saw unusual commotion on the hill above the Shaman’s rock. And then there I saw a Shaman dressed in a long gown and regalia. The Shaman was talking to a young woman with a voice recorder. I tried to get a bit closer to hear the interview but the wind made all the words into one. That was my moment, I thought with a smile. I met my shaman.
The last night when I saw Sergei I mentioned my Shaman encounter. We spoke about animism and natural believes when he mentioned a magician from Canada once staying in the same small cabin on the chapel’s grounds I was occupying now. I said I also know a magician from Canada, from New Found Land. He answered with a question: “Is he called Peter?”
It was hard to believe that my friend Peter was staying in the 20 square meter cabin on the chapels ground on Olkhon, in the middle of Baikal lake and in the middle of Siberia. Sergei remembered Peter very fondly, Peter came here with a telescope to observe an orbit of.. I don’t know, distant planets. I just thought how small ours can be.
The ice on the lake have all melted now. The island was released from it’s grip and the boat returned to it’s schedule. On the morning of my leave, after I said my goodbyes, Sergei put his coat on and asked me to follow him to a clearing behind the chapel. There, in fresh layers of snow was standing a wooden structure for six church bells. Sergei took the ropes of the bells and started moving them in a coordinated motion. The bells, against the backdrop of the lake and the chapel, began to play a beautiful melody.
There is always a comedown after a strong life experience. I felt a little numb for a few days after leaving Olkhon. I had a regret I couldn’t shake off.. the day Sergei showed me the log cabin he asked if I could leave a donation or help with work. I chose donation because I felt tired and wanted to roam about the island without any obligations. I regretted that and thought I could have got involved more, leave a mark. But I have other regrets, it would be silly to claim otherwise.
I departed Buratia on the trans Siberian train for Moscow. Four days and nights and 5 time zones between Irkutsk and Moscow. Travelling in time, in economy class, with young conscripts and Asian construction workers. Smell of canned fish and cheap cigarettes. Strong tea from the carriage’s samovar. I usually enjoy such prospect but this time I sat the whole journey by the window and let the whiteness outside flow by, mix and align with my thoughts and memories.