So, yeah, I've been absolutely lousy at keeping up on this blog- especially seeing how I've been online much of the time while in Irkutsk. Not that it matters all that much...
I started this post a couple of days ago, but the meaning's pretty much the same at present. I just got back from two weeks on the trail- more specifically in "the Jungles of Khamar-Daban." While it was by no means the tropics, the title "jungle" wasn't entirely unfitting, either. It was definitely the most humid part of Lake Baikal I've been to, but I guess that's a bit redundant: it's the most humid part of the lake. period. Thus, I shouldn't have been surprised by the amount of rainfall we experienced, and on many levels, I wasn't. I guess in my mind's eye I hadn't factored in the rain as a major deterrent to our work progress or activity level. Put simply, it was, in a big way. Since we were breaking ground into the side of a rather steep hill, we were only allowed to work when the soil and sky were dry. As a result, the number of full days we were actually able to work was somewhat limited.
I've quipped to my foreign compatriots, as well as anyone else who could take an odd-ball joke that we were in essence mocking Stalin's brutal gulag legacy. To those who lost relatives to his wrath, as well as the few [delusional?] War Patriots who still worship the man, perhaps the comparison's a bit crass- oh well. What good is a generation butchered and forced into slave labor by torture, isolation and fear if you can't find any absurdly offensive humor from it?
Among other things, the trail-time served as a great two-week experiment in grossness--at least for me. Some of the Russians would make a habit of trudging down the slope to the water's edge--an ice cold, fast-running stream--and bathe, swim, or at least splash each other vigorously for awhile. As for me, I tried the ice-dips a few times, but pretty quickly common sense took hold and kept me from repeatedly engaging in such severe pain with such little gain to be derived from it--couldn't even get soap off in the icy water once you'd managed to lather it on. As it was, I just sponge-bathed with left overs from tea, and let my hair go to hell in a hot khachapuri...at it's worst, I figured I'd just grow dreadlocks all summer and chop my hair all off when I got back. While the idea seemed almost enticing at the time, I was somewhat glad not to require it when all's said & done. Granted, if there's ever a time to chop (shave?) it all off, it's now while I'm still in school, so it'd at least be at pixie-length when the serious job-hunt gets underway ::shiver::
Group dynamics were generally decent, but as the other foreigners pointed out, we were a bit coddled, over-protected, and herded around. I guess it's just an example of different cultures' understanding of group behavior and how to manage it. I'm not saying that all Russians value conformity over uniqueness, or that there's not a time/place for uniformity in my opinion. However, I'm much more inclined to appreciate individuals for their skill sets (on the trail, as well as in life), and try to utilize them efficiently and effectively. In comparison, our brigadier (a good friend & great guy, I should add) generally opted to fit us all into the same mold--management in bulk, if you will--and treat all deviation from that norm as a negative that impeded overall progress and productivity. I try not to claim my own cultural superiority in this matter, but the top-down approach didn't sit too well with my free-bird (bird-brain?) spirit.
My take? It was worth it, and two weeks in the Siberian wilderness without significant discomfort would be a waste of time & money, and fail to meet the only distinctive expectation I had before setting out! Sure, I learned about how to build a trail from scratch out of the side of a mountain, but the human aspect is what's stuck with me, and I'm the wiser a fool for it :D
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