June 21, 2016 - Okunevo
A Full Russian Experience
It had been four long hours of bumping and bouncing on potholes, of breathing the warm dust rising from the road in the wake of our mini taxi-bus. It had been hot, crowded with passengers of all ages and sizes, cramped with heavy bags and backpacks containing tents, sleeping bags and victuals.
Okunevo had been where we were heading; a mere 300 km detour to the North on my Transsiberian route, the apex of a loop that would catapult me to Baikal and further.
I was travelling with Elena, whom I had met in the train from Yekaterinburg to Omsk, and her daughter Alina. Our closer fellow passengers had been in their twenties, a lone traveller, and a group of three; friend, sister and naively playful brother whose talent at French games were only matched by mine. Not counting Elena’s limited skills, Alina was the only person who spoke English. Nevertheless, Elena acting as binding, or as a worried mother duck fidgeting over her flock, we all more or less stuck together for the duration of the festival; four days of music and tradition on the fringe of the Taiga.
The first day had been spent finding our bearings, setting up camp, discovering mosquitoes’ size and viciousness, strolling around and listening to music while watching a dragonfly ballet in the fading light of day. When night came, camping neighbours pulled our small group towards a huge bonfire, the compelling of whom and which I quickly escaped to meet and play with my kin. The fire spinners went as far as putting me on display, introducing me as the Canadian guest, making me participate to my first official fire show ever. I even avoided burning myself; a feat in itself.
By the second day, I already felt I had lived a lifetime in the Taiga. Bad night, constant heat, and mosquito poison running thick in my veins were enough to make me want to scream at the first person I would run into, which would unavoidably be sweet Elena.
A cool long solitary swim in the river being the perfect solution to all these problems, I climbed down the unsteady ladder from the brink where our tent stood and threw myself in the blushing waters.
My plan had been to swim against the current all the way to the beach at the other side of the river’s elbow, but the reality was otherwise, and if I wasn’t retreating I wasn’t advancing much either. So, upon hearing the careful roar of a dwarfish motorboat approaching, I naturally raised my thumb in an attempt to hitchhike… It seemed to be the logical thing to do at that time.
Laughter and a dialogue of the deaf ensued, and a few seconds later I was lifted out of the water and placed into the inflatable vessel by two sturdy Russian men.
From their promontory, a few spectators had decided to turn their back to the stage to contemplate the river and the great expense of the Taiga. I can only imagine their mirth upon seeing a tiny dingy ridden at full speed out of the cover of the trees, an undersized container about to drown under the weight of men fully clad in the thick uniform of these part of the world, both army camouflage and mosquito net, and a half-naked foreign woman.
On our arrival on the almost deserted beach however, incredulity could easily be spotted on the faces of the chuckling welcoming party. Despite the surprise, I was soon seated on a lawn chair, a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, having to juggle with a glass of beer, beaver meat, a cup of tea, and biscuits. True to the Russian tradition I couldn’t refuse any of it, even if I had ever wanted to.
I was myself astonished at their generosity, and at the fact that I had thus found Helena, a fluent speaker of my language.
My dip in the water had been too short. Soon, mosquitoes attacked me again and I jumped back in with a quick farewell, promising to swing by their camp later on.
Swimming had been the best idea I had had in days. I felt clean and refreshed, my skin seemed to be too cold for the insects, the itch was gone, some peace had settled into my mind and body.
When I found my way back up the ladder, another stranger in mosquito uniform was standing there, waiting for me apparently. I couldn’t understand what Roman wanted, but after putting on some clothes for protection I followed him to his camp where his friend’s family welcomed me with more delicious food, drinks, questions, jokes and banter, mostly in Russian.
Evening trailed off, I was released to the fire spinners with a full belly and a wide grin. I ended the day nursing my slightly charred hair while exchanging life views over the coals of a dying fire with Evgeny, a befriended seller of beautiful embroidered shirts, a strong Siberian man believing in core family values and the military.
Despite the fact that many people had long left, Alina included, the last day of the festival was the most important for the true attendees, the more traditional, the reason why Okunevo had been chosen in the first place.
Indeed, this site isn’t merely beautiful and secluded as you’d wish for any gathering… It is mystical.
The village is surrounded by five lakes, one of which hides a buried temple devoted to Krishna’s glory, another one being so secret that no one was ever able to find it. To outbalance this minor loss, the Earth’s bellybutton was spotted a few miles off by the high energy it is diffusing. It is now marked to the benefit of less sensitive souls with various religious symbols, Slave, Hindu and Christian alike.
The transcendental characteristics of this region are undeniable. How else could I explain this everlasting battle of the air where evil hordes of mosquitoes hunted our bodies and souls, while glorious armies of dragonflies struggled to protect us?
This also shines a light on what had happened earlier: I had momentarily succumbed to the dark forces; mosquitoes had stolen my patience, without which my flaws stood out like diamonds reflecting the bright sunlight. I had to fight alongside the good spirits to regain my shield, and this had left me exhausted.
Talking with Helena, I learnt the purpose of the first evening of music and fire from which I had broken free to play with rolling flames: It had only been a rehearsal, a show for the weekenders. Tonight was the solstice. Tonight the gods were to be called upon.
The whole day had been taken up in preparations. Women had been weaving flower crowns and a disproportionate sham god to the glory of procreation; They had been incanting verses and shuffling bare feet to gain power from the nurturing Earth.
Men had been eavesdropping and trying to catch a glimpse of the well kept secrets, they had been chopping wood, building bonfires, and showing their strength.
Both were already drunk on dances and hunger, on chants and tiredness, on prayers and insect venom, on summer heat and merriment. Women were about to have their heart torn to pieces upon seeing their god stolen and their wish tree uprooted. Meanwhile, the men would rejoice over the victory pyre.
Both would soon be hypnotized by blazing flames, doused in dark river waters and choked on smoke from the welcome fiery heat in the cold night. Adrenaline would rush through them as they incanted the glory of the Slavic gods and jumped over the fires. All would be left exhausted but ripe for the traditional kissing games, for the forming and falling of couples, for… nothing more.
Nothing went further than gentle pecks, no pair was seen exiting the circle of light diffused by the dwindling flames. When morning came and the last ambers died, everyone dispersed to fall into Morpheus’ embrace… and I was left wondering.
This celebration had an unfinished feel to it. For my part I could understand: I was a foreigner, and as such an outsider… but what of the others? Wasn’t this whole day a massive setup? one of the reasons for puritan Christians to ban such wicked ceremonies? Weren’t participants supposed to find husband or wife, or at least give the gods a new generation to worship them? Was modern Russia so prude, so innocent?
Had it taken place in another country, such observance would have ended very differently. Or was my twisted mind playing tricks on me?
Whatever the answer to these questions, this festival had left me puzzled. The more I came to know Russia, the less I understood it.
