Visions of a Journeying Soul

The Desyant brothers appeared almost out of a fairytale, intimidatingly friendly as I trudged by, waving their flag and electric currents of humanity, “Paratroops of Good Will” it read.

Anton was the first to take my notice, full-beard with a little twist of hair poking from his forehead - like a mini totem pole, greeting me with a laugh that I'll never forget. It was as though we'd been brothers in a past lifetime. By the Baikal beachside I climbed their dune and sat with them, sharing hot tea herbal and jamming music, extending an inter-language exchange that culminated more in a communication of hearts than information.

To Shamanica we roamed, mandalin music, Dobra flag and bare-footed, all of us, through the mud swamp rather than around it, passing the banya I been supposed to join, up to the hilltop to spread our love and sing over the waters of Baikal. There we jammed with the occupying Shaman and were joined by another couple from Estonia and Tobolsk respectively, striking blonde Ilar and little Asian Gulird. Our family now numbering ten, it was agreed that we would all hike to the north of the island the following day.

I returned to collect my things and say goodbye to the church, forsaking my warm bed in the hut to camp under the stars by the fire in the cold night by the lake with the Dobra. I had been accepted into them, although we'd only just met, a language barrier remained and I was an outsider - thus it became apparent that such things did not exist for them. I was human and so were they - and that's all that mattered, "brúske syértska" (brothers of heart).

The following day we rose in warm spirits and shared a great brunch of fire-cooked tomato & vegetable pasta, bread, milk, cookies, confetti and herbal tea. To the road we finally set, by early afternoon by now - but time did not matter. I resolved not to look at the time then, to be free of it's pull. We hiked along the sand and over fields, through forests and muddy roads, slipping and embracing, via villages to stock on supplies and were given ten Omul caught fresh by two local fishermen. In the evening we searched for our settlement ground by sunset, bone-sore from 20km of walking.

For 3 days we lived this way. Everything we had we shared in equal portions, if one person was tired, we all stopped to rest. Not once did anyone complain. Living on the brink of nature, it was here that I came to understand the 'Russian soul'.

Thank you Desyant Dobra, brothers of heart.