Friday the 13th, Chapters One, Two & Three By: Thomas G. Tait © 2012

Chapter One

This is a story of Russia, Moscow and Siberia and of one of the latter’s cities whose inhabitants are accustomed to extremes, in climate, fortune and despair.  Yet, through challenge and adversity, a kinship with strangers can emerge without summons, binding neighbors, visitors and secular missionaries to the rugged descendants of the legendary fortress Sibir.   Siberia is also home to those progeny of political dissidents banished to the frozen east by polite Soviet-communist society.  While this story ends in Russia, it necessarily begins in Reno…

Dr. Carina Black, the Director of the Northern Nevada International Center at the University of Nevada in Reno invited me to lecture to twenty tourism professionals from Eastern Russia.  This experience-sharing activity was arranged through our State Department’s Community Connections Program.  

A‘hands-across-the-water’ undertaking, sponsored by the United States government with expectation that nations embracing a free-market tourism development strategy might benefit from Nevada’s technical expertise in hospitality, travel promotion, and infrastructure management – expertise that had propelled ‘Destination Nevada’ to appreciable heights in global tourism leadership.


The visiting tourism managers were from the Irkutsk region in Siberia, near the southwestern shore of Lake Baikal, translated ‘rich lake’, a sister loch to Lake Tahoe.  Native Ta-ho, or ‘big water’ is a magnificent glacial mere shared by both California and Nevada, and is photographed by maybe a gazillion people a day.  

I said 'Yes' to the lecture task, because I reasoned any lake worthy of sister status to Tahoe must be mightily impressive, and our visitors were likely proud of that fact.   Though I’m not a tree-hugger through and through, I do have some appreciation for things growing without our help and can be reflected off water that’s as clear as Waterford Crystal.  Baikal was one of those spectacular bodies of water.

The opening session was my assignment: a two day comprehensive tourism best-practices seminar the academic equivalent to a 300-level university course.  It shouldn’t be too demanding or too complex, I was cautioned, so I was likewise obliged to allocate sufficient time between sentences for translation into Russian of any sage advice I shared.

Unable to read, write or understand a Cyrillic language despite numerous trips to Russia,  Bulgaria and Ukraine, I did appreciate the individual cultures represented, and this fact preceded my presentation; Dr. Black sincerely introduced me to the audience as a friend of Russia.

It was at this now-friendly seminar that I met Ludmila Somiskova, also known as Lucy.  Lucy owned and operated with her husband, Atlas Travel in Irkutsk.  Atlas, a full-service tour agency not operational longer than Perestroika or Glasnost yet licensed in Russia’s emerging private sector.

My session went swimmingly; the students gave me a fond ovation at its conclusion, similar to the applause Russian passengers proffer to an airline pilot who lands the craft on which he or she travels – as long as the landed runway is connected to the proper airport – a germane observation you may appreciate in Chapter 2 of this tale.

That said, now fast forward to Saturday, June 07

Former Nevada Governor Bob Miller (my business partner and friend for several decades) and I were on board a Lufthansa 747 that had departed Denver’s international airport bound for Frankfurt, where we would connect with a flight to Sheremetyevo 2 Airport, just north of Moscow.  

We had been invited through our déjà vu-benevolent State Department’s Community Connections Program at the thoughtful instigation of Ms. Somiskova, to lecture before an even larger group of tourism executives she would assemble.  The gathering’s venue was the radiant Baikal Business Center in Irkutsk, Siberia, Russian Federation, commencing on Friday, June 13.


This would be Bob’s inaugural visit to Russia; I wanted all aspects of it to proceed without disappointment, for I had, time and again, spoken glowingly of my Russia travels.   

But if that recurrent obsequious commentary wasn’t enough to incent his participation, I had also scheduled the two of us, along with the Rector of the International Tourism College in Dobrich, Bulgaria (photo) to meet with former Soviet President Mikhail Gorbachev at the foundation offices that bear his name in Moscow.  

I didn’t know if my glowing commentary about Russia or the pending meeting with President Gorbachev persuaded Bob to lend his support to the Siberian effort, but one or the other did the trick.

Dr. Radev, the Bulgarian college president I introduced in the last paragraph was to link up with us at our hotel on June 09.  Our small party was booked at the Brezhnev-inspired Moscow Sheraton Hotel, a charming bar with hotel rooms above, at which I had been accommodated on several previous occasions.

Allow me to elaborate the introduction of Dr. Radev (photo). With some difficulty, I had secured approval from our State Department to include this distinguished and qualified foreign national to join our lecture presentation team, something that apparently was not a normal or recognized occurrence. Arriving at an approval took a great deal more time and effort to accomplish than I had anticipated. 

I explained to the supervisors at the State Department that Dr. Radev was our acceptable link to academia, having graduated cum laude from the prestigious St. Petersburg Economics University with a Ph.D. in its title field of study.  He was subsequently shunned by the established communist party in Bulgaria after he pointed out to its leadership that socialist economics was doomed to failure.  

This made Dr. Radev a valuable friend to capitalists everywhere!  Further, he spoke the language of tourism – and did so in Russian.  Thank goodness for glasnost, though, or we might have never met Dr. Radev, or perchance met him for the first time in Siberia where he could well have been serving a life sentence only for being astute.

We arrived in Frankfurt and hustled to our connecting gate in the bowels of FRA airport, where only bus transfers are allowed, connecting passengers to aircraft parked in Munich.  If you have never had the pleasure of traveling through Frankfurt to Eastern Europe, you don’t know the depths of FRA, nor the lingering and bitter German disdain for all things former-Soviet.  

At least the scenery in the Slavic and Balkan’s indecorous departure lounge was pleasant.  Eastern European women are beautiful to behold.  So, while awaiting our departure, we opted to read an abridged version of Russian Artistic Triumphs, 1703-1917, while glancing from time to time at the glorious female passengers.

Monday, June 09

If we had spent an additional $300 when making our flight reservations, we would have been greeted warmly at the arrivals gate in Shermetyevo 2 by hostesses with our names printed on a piece of paper underneath an elegant gold-embossed heading “VIP”.  Then we would have been whisked away quietly and inconspicuously to a sumptuous lounge to be served beverages with alcohol, snacks and smokes by more Russian hostesses (see above reference to Russian women).  There also we would have graciously awaited border control to stamp our passports followed by the delivery of our luggage.  Who cared for how long that process would take? 

But, we didn’t do that.  Instead, we trudged through about a mile of tunnels in the arrivals zone to arrive at a pyramid-shaped mass of humanity – about a thousand-plus travelers converging mob-style upon one tiny point where two border guards were inspecting, evaluating and stamping passports; a stamp placed neatly atop the certified, requisite and unambiguous tourist visa we had pasted into our passport for $100 at the Russian Embassy in Washington D.C.

Two hours later, we made it through border control and into baggage claim – and what to my bleary eyes did I see?  Our luggage on the carousel!  Who said Russian efficiency was lacking?  I’ve waited longer than two hours for my bags at O’Hare.

With luggage in tow, we passed through Customs without so much as a nod we were in a Soviet-built Lada taxicab en route to the Sheraton hotel on Tverskaya Avenue.  This happens also to be the main route out of Moscow to St. Petersburg.

Our meeting with the former President of the Soviet Union was scheduled for Wednesday, June 11. This being Monday night, June 09, we relaxed in the company of our colleague Dr. Radev; prepared to show Bob the sights of Moscow the following day.  We consumed plentiful quantities of sturgeon eggs on buttered rye toast (photo) accompanied by occasional small glasses of Russian Standard Vodka.

The following day, June 10, we visited all the requisite cultural sites including Red Square, the Bolshoi, Metropole Hotel, the Kremlin (photos below), and saw the remaking of a building where the Hard Rock Cafe (final picture below) would be opening in just a few months.  We made a mental note to return to this location when next in Moscow.   We had a perfect touristic day in an amazing historical city.

The following day, Bob and I were to meet with former President Gorbachev because he had said yes to our invitation to become a co-chairman with Governor Miller of an organization I had instigated called the Russian Heritage Highway Foundation (RHHF).  The inspiration for that assembly took root after I had fulfilled several consultations in western Russia.  

During those times it came into focus that many of the Russia's noteworthy cultural or artistic achievements, scientific accomplishments, or historic constructs had emerged in Moscow, St. Petersburg, or on the road that connected those two quite different, magnificent cities.  

Each historically notable person, place or object was near certain to have resided, worked or lain near to Russia's Route 10 – which I penned as 'the most significant cultural passageway of the past three centuries.'  It was ironic that St. Petersburg celebrated its 300th anniversary the same year as our visit.

In two of those three centuries the works of Dostoyevsky, Pushkin, Rachmaninoff, Tchaikovsky, Chekhov, Stravinsky, Tolstoy, Chagall (his formative years) and hundreds of other respected cultural luminaries were brought to life and indelibly etched into our collective memories.  Russia was, and will become again, a beloved leader in the visual, audible and performance art forms.

About a year before our visit to Russia, I wrote a white paper proposing dedication of the Russian Heritage Highway, illuminating my conviction to the route’s significance; President Gorbachev was presented a copy of this paper by a distinguished academic institution in Tver, north of Moscow, and to my surprise, he read it.  Subsequently, he said that the road was sufficiently important to be memorialized and presented in a positive light.  

In tourism, we also use the vernacular ‘positive exploitation,' a two words used to justify, while at the same time apologize, for the actions we often take to magnetize an attraction.  Apologize for, because in this process we may inadvertent despoiling of an ecosystem, havoc to be wreaked upon historic icons, or footprints left indelibly etched where tourists tread.


Wednesday, June 11

At our meeting at the Gorbachev Foundation (photo below), Bob and I welcomed H.E. President Gorbachev as co-leader of the Russian Heritage Highway Foundation and reviewed his schedule to attend a meeting of its board the following year.   

The venue for that meeting was to be Las Vegas, our home community.  Bob suggested before the meeting that we ask the President if would be possible to have a picture taken with him.  I thought it was an excellent idea.  

Dr. Radev, ever the proper professor of economics and all things touristic, decreed that after such a prestigious meeting of four multinational dignitaries, it would be acceptable for President Gorbachev to pose for portraits with us, and he (Todor) had his camera ready for that eventuality – whereupon he provided both Bob and I exacting instructions on how to operate it. 

Later that night, Bob and I were scheduled to depart via Aeroflot Russian Airlines on a Soviet-constructed Tupolev 154 jet (photo).  This aircraft type entered service sometime after 1968.  Its mission was to take us to Irkutsk, Siberia.   The Tupolev 154 was the fastest civilian airliner ever constructed, yet, it would take seven hours while crossing four time zones; traversing only two-thirds the length of the Russian Federation.

 

Chapter Two

Wednesday, June 11, 2003

Bob Miller, out of gubernatorial office in Nevada for about three and a half years, and I were commissioned by the State Department (at the invitation of Lucy Somiskova, a travel professional in the Russian Federation) to present a two-day seminar on best practices in tourism to a group of her associates in Irkutsk, Siberia.

I met Lucy at the University of Nevada in Reno where she and 20-plus colleagues, through sponsorship by our State Department, received three weeks of intensive technical assistance training.  The training focused upon how tourism managers in the Western World used infrastructure, marketing and synergy to inspire foreign and domestic travelers into first-time visitation leading to multiple return visits and positive word-of-mouth discussion among friends and family members.

My assignment: to provide the introductory seminar; two days of 'best practices' discussion based upon study and impression gathering over several years of tourism marketing in the United States and abroad on behalf of Nevada's resort businesses and attractions.

Irkutsk is best known as the community most proximate to Lake Baikal, the largest body of fresh-water in the world – and a sister lake to Nevada and California's Lake Tahoe.  Tahoe is a spectacular glacial lake, but in comparison to Baikal, it would be a drop measured to a bucket full.  Baikal hosts one-fifth of the world’s visible fresh water in a container that is 395 miles in length and averages thirty miles wide.  Its mean depth is just over one-half mile but extends to a depth of one mile, making it the deepest lake on the planet.

My partner Bob (former Nevada Governor Bob Miller) and I awaited boarding of an Aeroflot Russian Airlines aircraft en-route from Sheremetyevo-1 airport in Moscow direct to Irkutsk, Siberia.  Our departure time was to be 19:30, but the flight posting flashed ‘delayed’ without an announced cause.  

Curious to visit Irkutsk would be an understatement, for we had just concluded several days of sentient meetings and visualizing the icons in the capital of the Russian Federation, and, we had the great pleasure of spending time with the former President of the Soviet Union, Mikhail Gorbachev.

President Gorbachev had enlisted his name in support of a foundation named the Russian Heritage Highway, drawing the attention of the western world to the startling cultural, recreational, historic and scenic attractions found on and proximate to Russia Route 10 – the 450 mile road extending from Moscow to St. Petersburg.

Previously, I had visited Tchaikovsky’s home in Klin (photo below), Rachmaninoff’s birthplace in Veliky Novgorod Oblast, Pushkin’s academy at Catherine’s Palace in Czarskoe Selo, the Dostoevsky-inspired cult hangout (now known simply as the Idiot vegetarian restaurant) in St. Petersburg (to name but a few venues) and the ultra-fine collection of Kremlins, palaces, churches, monasteries and historical constructs buttered with delicacy along the route, I could testify to the significance these treasures should play in the global 
tourism marketplace.  
 

Having first persuaded Bob of my not-for-profit intentions, I reached out to a friend who is the rector of a post-secondary academic institution in Tver (about 100 miles north of Moscow, also along route 10), and prepared a White Paper for peer review.  

I subsequently learned from the institute that President Gorbachev had read my paper acknowledging its position.  He further committed his service with Mr. Miller as a co-chairman of the United States-based, 501(c)(3), Russian Heritage Highway Foundation, in turn aspiring to designate the road as “the Route of Russian Culture.”

But, I’m getting ahead of myself, so I will return you to Wednesday night, June 11, and the delayed Aeroflot departure from Moscow’s domestic airline terminal Sheremetyevo-1 (photo below). 

Inquiring with the Aeroflot 'Customer Service Representatives' (CSR) about every half-hour or so, we were consistently informed that, "When a decision to fly was made, we would be boarded and the plane would depart."  

Asking if the delay was based upon mechanical trouble, weather or other malady, we were informed that there was no additional information available, but "When a decision to depart was made, we would be boarded, and the plane would leave."  

We then inquired who made the decision to depart, we were told "When that person makes the decision to leave, we would be boarded and the plane would depart."   Perhaps 'CSR' is the wrong acronym.

About five hours later, we had consumed a few glasses of wine, water, vodka, and snacks and watched hundreds of planes arrive and depart.  We knew our way around Sheremetyevo-1 (below) as well as an old friend. 

I should point out that we had a third traveling companion, Dr. Todor Radev – although he was not exactly with us on this flight, for he had chosen to travel out of the newer terminal in Moscow, the so-called Domodedovo Airport.  Todor is the distinguished rector of the International University College in Dobrich, Bulgaria and we expected to link up with him in Irkutsk the following day (now today!).

Thursday, June 12 (Russia Day)

At about 01:45 we boarded a Tupelov TU-154 aircraft that would, faster than any other commercial aircraft, take us across four time zones in just over seven hours, and bring us to Irkutsk.  These aircraft, more powerful than a speeding locomotive, and likely capable of leaping over tall buildings in a single bound, were first introduced in 1967.  

When we boarded the aircraft, it became crystal clear to us that thirty-six years later, most of them were still operational.  It was fortunate to have been seated on one that had on-board luggage containers as opposed to overhead stainless steel bus racks, useful only for soft good storage, and found on many of this plane's sister aircraft.

We took our seats and fell asleep without hesitation, only to be awakened by the pressure of tires on tarmac, feather-bed smooth, yet without the customary passenger applause following a successful landing.  Curious.

We departed the plane from forward doors onto a ground-level ramp staircase.  The air was warm, but with a sky reminiscent of baby poop (puce colored I think); as thick as thieves eating pea soup. 

We walked across the ramp and saw Todor awaiting us near an antiquated terminal building; more reflective of a warehouse than a place to engage travel or enplane travelers.  Todor approached us looking a bit glum, an unusual expression for him.  He is one of the more erudite yet cheerful economics professors I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet. 

After the fall of communism in 1989, Todor hung up his dysfunctional Soviet-inspired Ph.D. in economics in favor of presiding over an academic institution for young European professionals, training them how to become effective tourism managers, suppliers, or advocates.  It was an expedient decision, for Dr. Radev was on record with the Bulgarian Communist Party officials that Marxist economics was going the way of the eight track tape and cathode ray tube.

Todor said “Happy Russia Day – you know, however, we are not in Irkutsk”.  We didn’t know that, but the reason for the lack of passenger applause became more apparent.  He added, “We are in Bratsk, Siberia (picture below), about 300 miles north of Irkutsk.  Something about forest fires around Irkutsk that have clouded the skies and made visibility too difficult for safe air travel.”

We entered the terminal, claimed our luggage and inquired of the Aeroflot representative about the company’s plan to assist the passengers on our flight.  The blank stare we received in return could have only been attributed to one of two things.  Either the Aeroflot CSR didn’t speak a word of English, or the question was so stupid as to not warrant an answer.  

Todor spoke fluent Russian, and we therefore concluded it was in fact a stupid question.  Aeroflot had planned to do nothing for its passengers – the airline had gotten all of us as close to the destination as they could, and it was up to us to find a means to eclipse the final 300 miles.

We sought help from the airport staff – and in a near-deserted office came across a charming, friendly, and understanding woman named Irena whose title was manager of communications for the  airport terminal.  She was without optimism that any plane would depart for Irkutsk because of uncontrolled forest fires between here and the capital city.  She further did not expect there would be rail or bus service between the cities for the same reason.

She suggested we take a taxi into the center of her city and check into the Hotel Taiga, insuring we had accommodations if no transport became available.  She promised to keep us informed through the hotel and encouraged us to contact her at any time if we had questions.  We believed her to be an admirable representative for the Bratsk airport or for any organization in Russia.   Interesting, we thought, that she worked on Russia Day.

Russia Day is an occasion for many Russians to demonstrate national pride. Some people celebrate the country's economic and social achievements and pay tribute to famous people living or dead on June 12.  People attend concerts and fireworks displays that take place in most cities throughout the land. Prominent Russian writers, scientists and humanitarian workers receive a National Award from the President on this day. Yet many other people see Russia Day as nothing more than a day off from work.

Many Russians first refused to celebrate this holiday when it was introduced in 1994. For them, it was the day when their leadership acted to break-up the Soviet Union. The demise of which led to massive unemployment and impoverishment for many good workers.  People who oppose celebrating June 12 either spend time in their dachas (weekend retreat) or derive entertain themselves through outdoor activities.  Perhaps Irena's supervisors had her manage the office on their behalf.

We secured a taxi and went into central Bratsk (photo below).  We followed Irena's instructions to the letter, exiting the taxi at the Taiga (forest) Hotel (2nd photo below).

 

It was still before noon, so the traffic was light on this holiday Friday.  We were scheduled to greet our seminar audience in Irkutsk in a couple of hours.  We asked the receptionist at the hotel to connect us to Lucy’s home phone number.  Todor spoke with her and let her know of our difficulty in travel.  Ever the consummate professional, Lucy asked for and received the name of our saving angel (Irena) as well as her phone number.  Lucy wanted to establish direct communication with her as well.

 

About five minutes later, we received a call from Irena, who had heard from Lucy and learned of our mission.  She was even more determined to find a way for us to achieve our goal in the shortest amount of time.  She stated that if no flights became available, she would contact a colleague of hers who had a taxi, a Japanese car.  He would take us the remaining 300 miles, commencing the following morning.

The hotel receptionist had learned of our mission in Irkutsk and wanted to up-sell her western guests on the best accommodations the Taiga Hotel had to offer.  She recommended that we book the spa suite for a mere $20 (US) more than the price of a normal deluxe room.  We asked to see this special apartment.  It had modern appointments including a separate room with a Jacuzzi-type whirlpool tub in its center, and looked to be worthy of the additional price requested.

The receptionist then informed us that the spa suite is generally much more expensive, but because of central water heating system closure for maintenance throughout the city during the first two weeks of June, there was little demand for it.  We told her that we appreciated the look of the suite, but couldn’t see the luxury of a whirlpool filled with reservoir temperature water, even for a modest $20 surcharge.  Then we cringed at the thought of taking a cold shower!

In Russian cities, the provision of heat and hot water come from a central source rather than from individual hot water heating or furnace units. During the winter months, hot water is pumped into homes, offices and businesses to keep them warm.  In warm weather, this service is no longer required. After the heating service is canceled for the summer months, annual maintenance on the water lines takes place, during which time hot water is shut off for a couple of weeks.  Today, most hotels in Russia have their own water heating systems.

We went to our assigned rooms (above) and changed into clothes that had not worn for thirty-six consecutive hours; we then met at the street café for lunch and refreshments.  Upon arrival and being seated, we were surprised to see every table filled with women, dressed for church or other special function.  


In fact, everywhere we looked we saw women beautifully attired – and not a man in sight.  You may remember from chapter one the stunning nature of women from Eastern Europe; so too for Bratsk, Siberia.  And, the men were where?

Todor asked our server that same question.  She said that on Russia Day, all the men go to the forest or to the lake and celebrate the holiday with their colleagues by drinking vodka and beer throughout the day.  They would return to the city later that night.  It was Russia Day, after all.

We had lunch and called Irena to check in and inquire about flights.  No luck with an airline – the taxi looked like our most viable option.

We walked throughout the city, but didn’t stray too far because the air was thick with soot, the terrain unattractive given its puce tone.  We decided that it would be better to be on the inside an air conditioned building, so we retired to the confines of the Taiga for the balance of the evening and overnight. 


Friday, June 13 


When I awoke the next morning the sky was thick with smoke and grit.  Visibility seemed to be about three blocks, maybe four.  The aroma was not Elderberry wine. 


At breakfast, Todor announced to us that the taxi would be at the hotel within an hour.  It arrived on schedule, a four or five year old Toyota Corolla, right hand drive, interestingly.  Its owner, Ivan, said something to the effect: cars in Siberia not of Soviet origin were assembled in Japan, and therefore had right hand drive, the norm in that country.  We must have divined that information, however, because the driver only said to Todor, “This car is from Japan.”

We called Irena and thanked her for her kind thoughtfulness; we called Lucy and let her know we were on our way; we tried to call home and let everyone there know we were okay.  No luck on that one, though.We each had enough luggage for about two weeks in Russia.  Todor is of average size, while Bob is tall and I’m less tall than him, but taller than Todor.  The driver was of average height and above average weight – significantly beyond rotund.  


We packed the trunk with care, removing three packets of the Russian Twinkie equivalent, and placed two suitcases in the back seat where Todor and I were to sit.  Bob was up front for the first shift.  Ivan, told us that the drive would take about six hours en route.  Little did we know about what awaited us just a few minutes after departing Bratsk.  We commenced the journey from hell at 09:30.As we departed Bratsk we entered its surrounding taiga and the conflagration zone.  


Thick haze from the inferno reduced visibility in much of the Irkutsk Oblast (state) to no more than a few feet.  Smoke permeated all aspects of life and foreshadowed death.  Thick gray sooty clouds hung over the reservoir that adjoined the city, and the police barred hikers and campers into any part of the region.  According to Ivan, locals suggested that thieves harvesting trees for illegal export to China started the blaze to cover their tracks.  The fires represented a monumental healthcare and environmental catastrophe for the region.   And, we headed right into it.

The photos left and below are fairly representational of the scene we approached.  On both sides of the two-lane road, not more than twenty-five feet away from us on both the left and right, flames sprang from ground level to heights of sixty or seventy feet in the air.  The smoke on the roadway was thick, visibility was next to nil – the highway was pock-marked with pot holes, strewn with various forest debris, and our driver, Ivan, appeared as unconcerned as the ill-fated captain of the Titanic.  That’s okay, though; I was concerned enough for all of us.

We pressed on for what seemed like hours, trying simply to breathe – keeping the air conditioning system at full force to maximize air filtration, although we didn’t believe it became more consumable.  We hit bumps, debris and craters, but there were no other vehicles on the road.  There also was no evidence of police, firefighters or military keeping drivers off the route.  We hadn't seen another soul.

Not seeing any living thing in any direction gave definition to eerie – from the road to our limited horizon, all bereft of humanity or wildlife, just a constant all-consuming inferno engulfing tens of thousands, possibly even a million acres of mature forest land.

After being shaken by a few more obstacles on the road, I asked Todor to suggest that Ivan proceed with more care and less speed.  I reasoned that if, God forbid, we ruptured some mechanical part essential to the car’s operation, we would not be able to present a best practices seminar in Irkutsk or anywhere else, for that matter, ever.  Best practices, in my view, and at that moment, included staying alive.

The minutes ground on, the fire was broken by patches of clear land.  Here, our perpetually hacking lungs allowed the air to enter with less objection.  We would slow our forward momentum in these scraps of open field to allow the pollutants to exit the cabin and to encourage breathable air into Ivan's Toyota Corolla rocket sled.  The blaze, however, was blatantly just ahead or just behind us.

Bob, Todor and I stared at one another as if to ask, “Have we reached our point of no return – should we abandon this trek and head back to Bratsk?”   We wondered, I suspected, about whether it was too late to put our affairs in order.

As a revelation after about four hours, it became a sensible likelihood to us that we would survive this adventure – the fires had diminished and although the air was still puce-colored and awash with gunk at some altitude above us, a strong ground level breeze made it breathable at our elevation.  Ivan announced that we would reach Irkutsk in about two hours.  He then questioned us about at what location we wished to be deposited.  We thought he asked that question so he could be rid of us at the earliest opportunity and begin his six hour excursion back to Bratsk.  We hoped he would survive.

The Victory (also known as Victoria) Hotel was our destination; one of two new and comfortable rooming houses in the city.  Located in the center of the city and with full services, we had high expectations of its quality.  Lucy had confirmed our reservations; Bob and I were to share a two bedroom apartment and Todor had a separate deluxe room next door (hotel photos below).  We pulled up to the hotel and observed Lucy out front, her face a mixture of stunned relief and exhaustion.

 

 












              

Chapter Three

Friday, June 13, 2003 – Irkutsk, Siberia, Russian Federation

In the 16th and 17th centuries, the Cossacks settled in the Irkutsk region of Siberia to establish a trading hub for the highly-prized sable, black fox and marten furs trapped there and destined for Moscow.  One of the early investors in the lucrative fur trade was the prosperous family Stroganov, from which Beef Stroganov (ff) (pictured below) was introduced to Russian epicures and later to the world. 

In 1686, Fort Irkutsk had grown large enough to be pronounced a city, and its bountiful natural resources ultimately played an important role in the development of the Russian economy. Today, it is the only industrial city in Siberia that responsibly boasts of key advances in aircraft fabrication, environmental sciences education, timber management, furniture crafting, and agriculture. 

The city is home to respected scientific and technological institutes including the Irkutsk State University, the Siberian branch of the Russian Academy of Sciences, and the esteemed Lake Baikal Research Institute. Citizens enjoy cultural and artistic activities through uncomplicated access to numerous theaters, cinemas, libraries, and cultural activities.

Lucy Somiskova, our host in the city of her birth, was visibly relieved when she observed our arrival by taxi from Bratsk.  The 300-mile journey was memorable racing through a forest fire that engulfed flora on both highway shoulders extending outwards, and consuming what we came to learn was millions of pristine hectares of forest land - a blaze intentionally set by thugs to disguise their nefarious timber pilfering and highly profitable lumber export to China.

The sky in Irkutsk was awash with grunge, barely breathable, but an improvement over the air we had inhaled during most of our daunting six-hour journey.  We exited the cab and extended warm greetings to Lucy who was shyly wiping away tears from just above her mouth, now set with a generous smile.  We whisked her into the lobby of the hotel.

I had met Lucy in Reno through an academic program sponsored by the Northern Nevada International Center, a component of the University of Nevada.  In early 2002, I had lectured for two days to a group of tourism professionals from Irkutsk, Siberia.  Lucy, a participant, had spoken English skillfully, like several of her comrades, and frequently summoned plausible answers to daunting touristic questions. 

Following my lecture on 'best practices in global tourism,' Lucy asked if it were possible for me to visit Irkutsk, adjacent to Lake Baikal (sister lake to Lake Tahoe in Nevada / California) and provide a similar lecture to a larger group of her colleagues.
  

I told her that I would be happy to assist her in contacting our State Department for logistical support, and if she wished, I would also invite former Nevada Governor Bob Miller, my business partner, to present his views on public-private sector partnerships and leadership in tourism.  She was pleased at these suggestions.

Bob is considered, to many observers, a foremost tourism-policy chief executive in the United States.  His opinions on infrastructure development and sustainability of the environment, as well as creating sustainable tourism customer bases, earned him the respect and admiration of the Western and National Governors Associations throughout and beyond his ten-year service as governor of Nevada. This respect was shared by President Clinton and his cabinet. 

After leaving office in 1999, he opted to serve on the boards of several corporations, practice law and work with me on a number of tourism technical assistance projects around the world.  His governance background allowed us remarkably swift access to decision makers within foreign states — capturing the attention of senior leadership, a necessary component to assimilation and synergy within a profitable tourism model.

Bob and I introduced Lucy to the third member of our troupe — Dr. Todor Radev, the learned rector, founder and president of the International University College in Dobrich, Bulgaria.

Todor was an economist trained at the prestigious St. Petersburg State University of Economics and Finance – prestigious until the communist financial model tumbled into oblivion.  At that point, Todor, who had foretold the demise of the communist state in Bulgaria (and elsewhere), became a pariah among the party superintendence in Sofia, which at earlier times would have signaled his professional demise.

  

Apparently, Glasnost made former party officials more  accommodating of the entrepreneurial spirit rising up throughout Bulgaria.  Rather than being sent to the Balkan equivalent of Lubyanka Prison (below), Todor was allowed to launch a new university.  At its heart was the art and science of hospitality – its body was located near Bulgaria's impressive Black Sea coast, where many heavenly bodies were known to congregate. 

I first met Todor in 1997 during my inaugural visit to Bulgaria, five years after his academy was unveiled. On this day, Todor's institution was eleven years old and had garnered acclaim from tourism providers and academicians alike.  I introduced Todor to Bob in 1998; we have all been close colleagues since those trenchant meetings.

We three weary travelers and a genuinely relieved Lucy entered the Victory Hotel (below) and Lucy kindly checked us in.  Bob and I received a two-bedroom apartment including a large and functional parlor separating the two — Todor had a separate room down the hall.  We unpacked and then went to the lobby to visit with Lucy.  Over a glass of Siberian wine, we brought her up to the minute regarding our travels.  Her tears of embarrassed sadness returned.

Lucy presented to us our itinerary and carefully explained each assignment thereon.  She informed us that we had a free day on Saturday and Sunday morning to refresh ourselves, and on Sunday afternoon our first official function would be to attend a reception hosted by the program’s organizers.  

We would deliver our seminar on Monday and Tuesday and visit the southwest shore of Lake Baikal on Wednesday.    She mentioned that many attractions were closed because of the fires, so we would not likely be able to visit museums or attractions, but we could gain entrance to a few important buildings.

She had scheduled us to attend and participate in a press conference presented by the mayor of Irkutsk Thursday, and finally, call upon about a dozen local tourism firms on Friday.  Departure from Irkutsk to Moscow was scheduled for Saturday morning, but only if the fires were contained and the air was detoxified enough to support air travel.

We asked Lucy where we should eat lunch and dinner tomorrow. She told us of a little known restaurant that serves Korean food, located in the Intourist Hotel (below photo) on the river. 

Before privatization in 1992, Intourist as a brand was venerable in a grave way.  The official state travel agency of the Soviet Union, Intourist was founded in 1929 by Joseph Stalin and was staffed by KGB officials. 

Intourist was responsible for managing virtually all foreign access to and travel within the Soviet Union.   It grew into one of the largest tourism organizations in the world with a half-vast network that included banks, hotels, and change bureaus. 

It has been my experience with Intourist properties and management that staff indoctrination begins and ends with the utterance of the word "no."  The Soviet regime proffered the ability to say "yes" to a select few party favorites - and relegated its ubiquitous antonym to everyone else - to be used and reused as frequently, officiously and disdainfully as possible.  And, the influence that Intourist had on other properties was demonstrable.

I recalled earlier that year a colleague of mine from the U.S. who was traveling with me along the Russian Heritage Highway.   We were in Veliky Novgorod at a Best Eastern Hotel along the Volkhov River.  My traveling companion, Stephen, accidentally locked the door key to his room in his room, and I met him at the hotel reception desk where he sought to borrow a second key.   He explained his mistake and asked for another key to use in retrieving the first.

  

The receptionist asked, "You are by yourself in the room?"  The response from Stephen was "Yes."  He was then asked, "You have only one room?"  Again, "Yes."  To which the receptionist stated, "One person, one room, one key.  No 2nd key for you."  Hmm.  I seemed to remember the Aeroflot Airline's CSR in Moscow and again in Bratsk having exhibited a similar personality disorder just two days prior.

That night we sampled the food offerings of the Victory Hotel, along with its vodka, wine, salmon eggs, and traditional music — both live and recorded versions.  

The hotel was one of several favorite spots for locals to spend an evening drinking, dining, dancing, and enjoying each other’s company.   It was as if the fire and its power to protect this part of Russia from intrusion had suspended the hometown population into disbelief of the catastrophe that had befallen it.  Although tired and with lungs heavy with particulates, we embraced the traditional Russian fare with some joviality and an appreciable appetite.

It is customary for Russians to gather around the table for a large meal at the end of the day.  On Fridays and Saturdays local restaurants fill early with eager Russian diners.  The characteristic service is ageless, generally beginning with vodka served Grappa style in a shot glass or mini-flute container (water, soft drinks, and wine are also readily available).

Almost simultaneous to being seated, a striking display of appetizers is delivered which occupies virtually every speck of available table space.  More vodka is served and formal toasts by the host engender camaraderie, esprit d'corps, and laughter.  Borscht beet soup follows, to be complimented by a tad more vodka, black bread, butter, and salmon eggs.

Once a second round of toasts is concluded and at least one empty bottle of vodka is forwarded to the recycling bin, the main course is served.  Commonly placed in the middle of the table, this culinary piece de resistance typically includes potatoes merged with dill and mushrooms along with a meat specialty, such as lamb, shish kabob, beef stroganoff, chicken-Kiev, or cabbage leaves stuffed with ground meat.  

At the conclusion of the main course, strong black tea made from water boiled in a Samovar accompanies superbly sweet desserts. For couples and families, dancing can continue on until the wee hours of the night or morning, depending upon the dancers' perspectives.  From Vladivostok to Azerbaijan, from Murmansk to Ashgabat, the standard Russian dinner experience is essentially indistinguishable from one another.

We retired relatively early with a commitment to rise at an hour decent enough to walk about the center of the city and to visit the Angara’s riverfront attractions before the heat and pollution could take its toll on our soft American and Bulgarian constitutions.

Lucy had left a message for us stating that she and her husband would like to invite us to dine with them the following night at their favorite Siberian restaurant.  The Korean restaurant at the Intourist Hotel was necessarily downgraded to ‘late-luncheon’ status.

Saturday, June 14, 2003

The following morning we met Todor for breakfast, at the same table we had occupied at dinner the night before.   Afterward, we tested the clarity of the air outside, and decided we could chance an hour or two in the open.  Off we went!

Central Irkutsk could not glow in the noxious atmosphere that had settled onto western Siberia.  Word on the street was that the fires were running out of drive and should be contained within a short period of time.  That good news didn’t elevate our cheer to the exuberant level, but it did make us feel adequate in braving the contaminant-rich environment.

Central Irkutsk did however glow with history, culture, science, technology, left hand-drive Ladas, right hand-drive Toyotas, and thousands upon thousands of pedestrians busily going about their Saturday morning regimen, oblivious to the smoky atmosphere.  

Ask a Russian (or any former Soviet citizen) how long it will take to get from where you are to where you wish to be and they will respond in the measure of minutes.  This is decoded into the time it takes to walk briskly from point A to B, not by way of car, bus or tram.  If more than a 30 minute stroll, Russians may recommend alternatives to walking, but only if the weather is bitterly inclement!  

Walking is the favored conveyance in Russia, and in Irkutsk, on Saturday June 14, 2003, this form of transit was abundant.

We visited the prized Epiphany Cathedral, the academy of sciences, the drama theater, and an ethnographic site, eventually arriving at a bustling commercial section filled with beer bars on Konny Island (not kidding) that appeared to be part food court, part day club, amusement park, and picnic ground.  

Even at that hour the bass beat of the recorded music arising from several venues concurrently caused occasional ripples in the normally peaceful water of the Angara.   We made plans to revisit the site when the sun had descended in Irkutsk and brought mid-day warmth to Moscow, seven hours to the west.

                                                                               

From here we found our way to the Intourist Hotel, onto the first floor (which is actually one floor above ground level) and entered the Korean restaurant.  There were no other customers in view. We had some white wine brought to the table and perused the menu, which was only in Cyrillic text.  Thank goodness for Todor!  

He translated most of the items and a young waiter appeared to take our order.   Bob asked the waiter through Todor if he could bring us chilled white wine.  Whereupon the waiter took our wine bottle and ran cool tap water over it at the bar for about 30 seconds.  He returned with the bottle, likely about one degree colder.  

In many communities in Russia, white wine is served at the same temperature as red wine – room temperature.  Considering the import strength of Russia’s wine market, this was a mildly shocking revelation.  On a future assignment in the city of Tver, Russia, at a petite but delightful Greco-inspired restaurant called Fortuna; Bob took two bottles of white wine and buried them in the deep snow outside the café’s main entrance.

The waitress saw him get up with the bottles, leave the restaurant and then return to the table without them.  She was understandably perplexed about what Bob had done with the wine.  Todor, on that trip, explained to her that we appreciated our white wine chilled a bit, and she nodded in understanding if not approval.  In about 15 minutes, she exited the restaurant and returned with one of the bottles for our consumption.

  

Todor then ordered a Korean lunch for the three of us.  The waiter announced, “No,” to two of the appetizers and to two of the entrées Todor had requested.  He then asked for two different selections of both.  The waiter announced, “No,” to all once again.  Trying a third time, we received the identical response.  We noticed again that there were still no other guests in the restaurant.  Hmm.  We were inspired to inquire of the waiter, “What is available?”  He pointed to a chicken dish with cheese sauce.  I asked if I could have the chicken prepared without the sauce (an allergy to soured dairy). He responded, “No.”  

Feeling a bit like I was reenacting the memorable Jack Nicholson “Five Easy Pieces” coffee shop scene, I asked Todor to have the waiter ask the chef if he could prepare the dish and conveniently leave the cheese sauce off when plating it.  Again, his response was a firm, “No!”  I finally settled on a cucumber salad, buttered black bread, and some cashews.  Bob and Todor had the chicken with cheese sauce.

When Lucy arrived to escort us to dinner later that evening, we were thankful to be dining in a setting favored by her and her family.  Her eyes rolled upon hearing the story of our less than pleasing luncheon experience at the Intourist Hotel.  Fortunately, the traditional Russian fare we enjoyed that night was every bit as sumptuous as she had promised it would be.

Strolling back to our hotel after dinner, we tried to not lose our way when Todor recommended a route.  The three of us then reminisced about a well-known story recounting a visit I made to Bulgaria a few years back, during which time Todor’s driving ability was drawn into question, thus:

I had been a passenger with Todor at the wheel on three or four journeys across Bulgaria, although the odometer registered much more distance than was required for us to drive from points A to B.  This was due to the likelihood that Todor was stricken with one of the many forms of a malady known as Dyspraxia, or possession of a poor sense of direction.  Ten percent of the population suffers from this woe — and interestingly, 70 percent of those afflicted are male.  Unlike many other men who are directionally impaired, Todor does seek instructions from passerby, although it is questionable whether he regards their proffered routes as worthy of consideration.

At one point, I became so frustrated when traveling on a country road nowhere proximate to the path we should have been following, I asked Todor to let me drive.  I did have an international driver’s license (thank you AAA) and we were in a Toyota – no problems there.  The road signage in Bulgaria was pictographs or printed in the Cyrillic alphabet, one of about two thousand languages I don’t read, write, or speak.  So, when we entered a town and I unthinkingly passed a slower moving car, I shouldn’t have been blamed for ignoring the “No Passing in Town” sign when I was gestured to the curb by a local police officer.

The officer asked me for my driving license and passport.  Upon seeing a U.S.A. passport, he gasped and blurted out to Todor,“You have an American driver?”  Todor responded calmly, “Yes, I have an American driver, but I think I will fire him, because he does not follow the laws of our roads.”  The officer looked blankly at my traveling companion and stated with a sense of profound wisdom, “No, you should not fire him.  It is good to have an American driver in Bulgaria.”  The fine was about 75 cents.  

And, we didn’t follow Todor’s suggested route back to our hotel!

Sunday, June 15, 2003

The following afternoon, we were transported to the Baikal Business Center, a beautiful new facility that possessed all the conveniences and technology found in a full-service convention hotel.  A reception was scheduled in one of the meeting rooms where we would greet the delegates to our seminar.

The center was impressive; even the sky, still wretched and despairing, looked more appealing in the blue reflective glass given after the hues of Lake Baikal.

As we entered the meeting suite, the party was in full bloom.  About forty guests mostly in business attire were awaiting our arrival to begin the serious consumption of a plethora of appetizers, as well as an assortment of hearty beers, chilled wine, icy vodka, and very smooth cognac.

We were greeted warmly and introduced to all the guests by Lucy. We were pleasantly surprised by the number of English-speaking Russians that were in attendance.  Interaction with this crowd was easy.  Receiving a number of dinner invitations (none to go back to the Korean restaurant, fortunately), we accepted the invitation of the owner of a large travel bureau who wanted to show us a bit of Irkutsk by night.  The air quality, however, was still abysmal, so after a very pleasant dinner, we retired early.

Monday and Tuesday, June 16 / 17, 2003

We arrived at the Baikal Business Center on both mornings early and fully prepared for the day.  The Center’s staff was technologically ept – all systems were ‘go’ for a smooth-running seminar.  We believed we were up to the academic challenge and leapt into our assigned tasks with enthusiasm.  The session, according to the delegate evaluation, was positively received and we obtained several dinner invitations from participants and their guests.

Wednesday, June 18, 2003

Wednesday was the day for an excursion to the Southwest shores of Lake Baikal.  Baikal is the largest and deepest body of fresh water in the world, containing one-fifth of the globe’s visible fresh water.  It is almost 300 miles long, averages 30 miles wide, and reaches a depth of one mile. (Trans Siberian Railway at Baikal below.)

It is a sister lake to Nevada / California glacial masterpiece Lake Tahoe, yet because of the enormity of its mass and shoreline, it possesses and supports several distinct ecosystems.  Truly a magnificent sight – at least I was told it might have been magnificent had the sky been any color but puce and had I not been severely impacted by the poor air quality. 

I was not able to attend that sojourn and have regretted it immensely.  On the road to Baikal is an ethnographic museum showcasing the wooden constructs of Russia’s past architectural glory (above photo).  The timbered buildings are perfectly maintained, yet Bob and Todor were certain that more than a fair amount of apprehension was leavened by the curator and his / her staff with forest fires observable to the north and west. (Irkutsk Railway station -- from where the Trans Siberian is boarded)

Thursday, June 19, 2003

Following our customary breakfast at the Victory Hotel, we embarked upon the ten-minute stroll to the office of the Mayor.  In her conference room, we were to greet the Irkutsk media outlets, and as is the case in most former Soviet nations, the number of media representatives in attendance can be very large.

The mayor expressed her appreciation for our visit and looked forward to hearing about our impressions of Russia in general, of Irkutsk and Lake Baikal, and any other tads and tidbits we wanted to throw in for good measure.  She stated categorically that the political leadership in Russia was very proud of its tourism presentation and she welcomed the “experts” from Nevada State and Bulgaria to comment on their experiences.

Bob had a few comments, commencing with the border inspection process entering Russia;  the total lack of information provided by the customer service representatives from Aeroflot Russian Airlines in both Sheremetyevo 1 airport and again at the terminal in Bratsk; the offer of an upgrade to a whirlpool suite at the Hotel Taiga in Bratsk for an additional $20 when there was no hot water to be found in the entire city; the Intourist Hotel’s ‘Korean’ restaurant service and ‘friendly accommodation.’

Apparently the stress of the forest fire, road, rail and airport closures finally caught up with the mayor, for she was demonstrably not pleased with Bob’s negative commentary.  She blustered, stuttered a bit and became defensive, protesting that the circumstances of the fire and its economic consequences had everyone a bit jumpy, confused, and generally not in top form.

Bob simply but pointedly replied that negative attitudes on the part of tourism suppliers and their employees will make Russia uncompetitive.  In order to demonstrate competitiveness, both the public and private sectors must be willing to embrace the customer with information, honesty, sincerity, and courtesy.  If these basic tenets cannot be delivered then, even with the most vibrant and rare attractions, tourism will not extend beyond the domestic market.  Todor and I signaled our wholehearted support of those comments; the mayor thanked us tersely and ended the press conference.

That night we had dinner with Lucy and her husband at their favorite restaurant.  It was delightful.

Friday, June 20, 2003

We spent the day visiting about twelve offices of the delegates who attended the seminar.  We answered specific questions related to their areas of business, interest and expertise.  It was a good interchange and we genuinely believed each was appreciative of our advice and counsel.   That night we had dinner at the hotel and walked to Konny Island under near clear skies.  The fires were almost out.  Our flight would depart in the morning.

Saturday, June 21, 2003

Bob and I had no choice but to fly Aeroflot back to Moscow’s Sheremetyevo 1 and then transferred to Sheremetyevo 2 for our Lufthansa legs to Frankfurt, New York,  and a United connection to Las Vegas.  Todor flew another carrier into Domodedovo Airport south of Moscow and on to Varna, Bulgaria.

A memorable trip for all of us.

© 2012 Thomas G. Tait

Acknowledgements:  Many thanks to Ludmilla Somiskova for recommending this story for inclusion in my blog.  It was a great trip because of her.  She dedicated much time and effort to the success of the venture and went to great personal expense to make it happen in a way that would be appreciable by the three of us.  I would like further to thank Dr. Carina Black at the University of Nevada in Reno's International Center for instigating the project through the Community Connections Program.  Lastly, to my friends Bob Miller and Todor Radev, thank you for being tolerant of the use of your names and circumstances.  Great care was taken to make this story come to life factually, and I truly believe that although from my point of view, it is a fair representation of what took place in June 2003.