My first trip to Siberia was in July 2000, when I was celebrating my 27th birthday and Saturn Return by going on a horseback mountain trek through a new ecotourism company that needed to experiment with a foreigner (they have since become a successful business).  I went up the mountain alone with a local guide.

I just discovered some old photos from that trip that I scanned years ago.




The Road to Biisk, between Barnaul and Chemal.

Our crappy car fell apart at the rate of about a part per 20 km.  The usual drive of 6 hours turned into 13 hours.  But the company was good- students a little younger than me working for the ecotourism company for the summer.





The first day, rain.

I was photographing this part of the trip with a crappy disposable camera that I kept in a pouch in my windbreaker.  Not bad, for that.






My guide (what was his name?  Sasha?), raised in the wilds there, half Altai and half Russian, was especially gifted at starting campfires in 10 minutes or less no matter whether it was hailing, raining, or blowing and gusty.

This was our last campfire (and warm lunch of canned meat) before galloping back to the main camp.








Our first day out we just did a day trip for six hours and then slept back at main camp.  I think they all wanted to see if I was crazy or if I really could ride in those conditions.

The second day we went out and the two of us slept in tents at a crest.  In the morning I took this photo looking south towards China and Kazakhstan, and then Pakistan.



This photo was taken at the crest we made on the first day.  The horse was named Red:  "Ryzhii" - and the guide sang him a little song - "Ryzhka, Ryzhka maya."  (Little Red, My Little Red.)  He worked very hard for me.  An honest little guy. The horse, I mean.  The guide was a little strange.



I was so sad to leave the main camp.  You see Ryzhii relaxing there, still tacked up after our last ride.

It's amazing how the two horses and me and the guide had become a unit, a team, over three days.  I never expected or expect to see any of them again (even having been back in the area once since then), but it still felt like a heartbreak to be driven away from there.  Like I was leaving a real part of me behind.


Yeah.  The guy I asked to take the picture didn't know what he was doing.  But you can sort of see three of the folks I hung out with on the hellacious car ride to Chemal and then each night back at main camp the few nights I was there.  They helped me celebrate my birthday in fine style the night before, complete with drinking and song.  This photo was taken right before I got in the SUV that drove me back to Barnaul, the day of my birthday proper.

I LOVE the color I had my hair that summer.  It was called "fiery eggplant." 



On the way out we stopped at one of the tourist traps along the way: an artesian well that is a sacred site to the Altai people.  They - and Russian tourists - tie bits of cloth on the branches around the spring.  Each is a tiny prayer.  I guess it must be an offshoot of the practice of prayer flags in Tibet.  A lot of Tibetan Buddhist influence can be seen around there.

A line of little kiosks with gifties of all kinds lined the parking lot.  I remember the outhouse was particularly foul there.

But the beribboned trees around the spring, here framing the Katun River in the background, were pretty.


I'm so glad I found these old scanned photos!  I should scan more of them.  There are some lovely shots-- I keep the prints on my kitchen cupboards to remind me of this little adventure-- the wildest thing I've ever done, probably.