Esso: Kamchatkan Oasis
August, 2004: I’d been in Petropavlosk-Kamchatsky for a week and felt somehow restless to get out
of town and explore the rest of Kamchatka. P-K is Kamchatka's one significant city, located on the SE
coast of the peninsula, a four hour flight from Anchorage, Alaska. I was in P-K making arrangements to
obtain a year-long commercial visa and explore my language and entrepreneurial skills. My friend Sveta,
a native of Anadyr, Chukotka Autonomous Republic, was taking a long break from her job as city
bookkeeper in Burnaul, Republic of Altai, also known for pristine nature, fast rivers, and tall mountains.
Like I, she had come to Kamchatka for a year-long adventure. As she was also restless, being a woman
of action cooped up in the city, I suggested we travel to Esso (ESS-ah) - I had no idea what was
there, but it was at the end of the road in central Kamchatka, and more than one source said it was
well worth the trip for the hot springs alone. Sveta was apparently on the verge of recommending just
the same thing, having just talked to the friends she was staying with. We considered “roughing it” in a
tent, but ended up making reservations for a small guest house (180 rubles/ $6 pp.) her hosts had
stayed in. We bought our one way tickets (520 r./$18.00), and learned we had to purchase return
tickets in Esso- a bit nerve wrecking, and in fact it turned out to be difficult to buy return tickets, as
seats were limited. The risk paid off, and this proved to be the first of four separate trips to town: I
was hooked.
As with many destinations, it is the journey that makes it all worthwhile (or vise-versa, I‘m never sure
which). The 10 hour, 500-kilometer northbound journey to central Kamchatka on mostly unpaved roads
aboard the tightly-seated, luggage-in-the-aisle 28-passenger Asia bus provided the perfect laborious
path to paradise. Frequent stops are included during these twice-daily trips, for smoking, eating (as
with most long haul Russian transportation, home-made piroshki and the like are always available
en-route), leg-stretching, and unplanned stops are reserved for flat tires (both on the bus or on
stranded cars), logging trucks stuck in their own ruts (the owner soon returned with a cable for his
winch, with which he proceeded to pull himself out of the ditch, and did not at all like the prospect of
being photographed during the process), and reportedly an occasional bear. The trip is a little easier in
winter on the hard snow pack, but in any case it's a rough road, perhaps comparable to an early
Alaska-Canada Highway.
Soon after arrival, Sveta and I toured town at sunset on this warm August evening, as the
mosquitoes and light gradually faded away. A bare-footed teen on an antique one-speed bike offered
us fresh picked strawberries from his basket- which we gladly purchased and consumed. We strolled
through town, wiping the juice as best we could as we ate, soon to see the young entrepreneur again.
He saw that we’d eaten most of the bag, and asked, “You washed them, right?“ Gulp. We hadn’t. Not
to worry, pesticides were simply not used here- but in any case the horse and pig manure and old
fashioned dirt that was used should of course be rinsed off. The result of these organic methods is
unmatchable produce: mmmm, those berries, tomatoes and cucumbers, the taste of which I will need to
remind myself of each time I find myself selecting produce in an American supermarket. All this, along
with fresh milk and other produce, can be readily found at outdoor markets, or via door-to-door delivery
by pedaling peddlers. The next spring, I found home grown free-range chicken eggs to be equally
tasty, and managed to note the transition from imported winter produce to the local spring crop. Off
season diets throughout Russia consist of so-called “Chinese tomatoes” (similar to those available year
round at the grocery store in the US: pretty, but firm and not-so-tasty). Russian vegetables, as with
fresh Russian food in general, tend to be much tastier than their US counterparts, due not in the least
to the fact that they are healthier- without preservatives, steroids, pesticides, without even the
benefit of Russia‘s own [] theories of genetic engineering. Russian carrots are not much to look at
(actually they‘re kind of cute next to uniform, genetically engineered US carrots), but they‘re sure
tasty. Locally produced organic meat provides an alternative, delicious taste to the imported variety-
mostly from Brazil and the US. I also discovered that the labor that goes into production adds
somewhat to food's taste: I had the opportunity to harvest and consume various produce (including
goat's milk) from my in-laws plot in Blagoveshchensk the next fall.
Scenic Esso, listed by UNESCO as an international heritage site, is located in Northern Bystrynsky
Raion near the border between Kamchatkskaya Oblast and Koryakskiy Okrug (In Fall, 2005 a referendum
was overwhelmingly passed to approve the unification of these “states”- which, according to Esso's
local culture guru Evgeniy, were originally separated politically due to rivalries between native Koryak
and Even peoples). Esso is a village of 3000, with one commercial farm and numerous individual
gardens, producing the above-mentioned home-grown delicacies. Esso well deserves its nickname
“Kamchatka’s Switzerland”: stark volcanic mountains form the southern border of town, providing
majestic, snow-capped views (snow is present year round, save for a few weeks in July and August),
often complemented by the ever-churning skies and glorious sunsets. Many homes are nestled into
small hills between the town’s small valley and surrounding mountains, providing most residents with this
spectacular view. The landscape opens up into a larger valley 20 km. NE of town, back toward the
smaller village of Anavgai and the road southbound. The town's population is divided between quaint,
albeit weathered one or two family homes in the center of town, situated along a small but rapidly
flowing branch of the Bystrynsky River; and fairly primitive two story apartment buildings (the
predecessor to modern-day five to fourteen story behemoths that at least 80 percent of Russians live in
today) which dominate the northern and southern edges of town. The main branch of the Bystrynsky
flows south from town, through a mountain pass, and is the starting point for guided tours- via horse or
on foot- of the nearest volcano. I'm told conditions are ideal for parachuting on the gentle, wind-swept
hills that form the town's northern border, and helicopters make several drops a day of up to 20 brave
souls at a time on any given clear day, year round.
The first question often heard from tourists at the bus stop near the simple Rumashka (“Daisy”-
widely used as a medicinal plant in Russia) hotel is not “Do you have rooms available?”, but “Where are
the istochnie (hot springs)?” - a natural desire, expressed just as often after a long dusty summer bus
trip as after cold winter journey. Sveta and I decided to wait until after sundown for our fist soak,
attempting to avoid the mosquitoes. It's easier to find in winter: just look for the 50-foot high wall of
steam; while the trick in summer is to listen for the sounds of the splashes and the crowd enjoying
itself. Hot springs abound in volcanic Kamchatka. Esso's famous version consists of two large adjacent
pools on the edge of town, one hot and the other simmering, and is fed by three separate pipes,
containing water of various temperatures direct from thermal springs 50 meters below the surface, but
cooled to varying extents during the several kilometer journey. Originally built as a reservoir for fire
trucks, the pool was adopted immediately by locals and tourists alike as a favorite bathing and meeting
place. The pool is drained regularly for cleaning, although most people you ask can’t quite tell you the
schedule. “I think about once every three weeks or so.” After one long spring bus ride I arrived at the
pool to find it drained- at first disappointed, I then looked forward to a good night's sleep and a dip in
fresh thermal water the next morning.
Berengia 2005
In mid-March, 2005, after a month-long confinement inside due to a broken ankle, I accompanied a
bus load of Petropavlosk journalists to Esso for the festivities surrounding the start of the 15th annual
Berengia Dog Sled Race. The atmosphere on the chartered luxury bus (one and the same used by
touring rockers Nazareth, and notably more comfortable than the usual passenger buses) for the first
hour was quiet, but soon the clinking of the vodka bottles and aroma of the kielbasa zakuski woke
things up. I drew little attention on the northbound trip, as I was tired, due to a scheduled 10:00 PM
departure, sitting alone, resting my cast-bound foot in the aisle when it was free. As I learned later,
some of my travel companions had not even suspected my American nationality, and cameraman Tolik
was especially enamored of me when he found out on the way back from Esso- although I eventually
needed the assistance of my coach mates to remove him after he fell sound asleep on my shoulder.
The Berengia race premiered in 1990, with a 250-km route from Esso to Milkovo, midway to
Petropavlovsk. Alexander Pechen of P-K has organized the Berengia since the beginning, and despite an
abrasive personality, few would argue that the annual race would have been possible without his
dedicated effort. Pechen has been discouraged with previous outside press coverage, which is perhaps
he declines to be interviewed for my piece. “What for?” he asks, although he is visibly interested in
the prospect of another Berengia-related article. His small office near Komsomolskaya Ploshchad in P-K
is overflowing with journals containing articles about the race, videos, memorabilia, and awards
(including a certificate from Guinness Book of World Records naming the 1991 race of 1980-km as the
“longest dog sled race in the Soviet Union”- although by my calculation of 1237.5 miles, it actually
topped Alaska's annual Iditarod race by a hundred miles, and the race literature calls that course “the
longest mushing trail in the world”). The third race extended this record for a total of 2044-km, or
1277.5 miles. In the following years, the length and course of the race has varied from 62 - 650 km
and run in various locations in Kamchatka, but since 2001 has settled in on its current course of 950 km
- just under 600 miles- between Esso and Ossoro, Koryakskiy Okrug. This is of course still a very
impressive distance, considering the remoteness and less developed infrastructure of the race itself as
compared to the well financed Iditarod.
The course is challenging enough- climbing through elevations from 100 to 1200 meters (3600 ft.)
across three separate mountain passes. The race currently has 15 separate stages, ranging in length
from 20 to 93 kilometers per day- with the overall time determining the final winner. Pechen arranges to
have a Kamaz 6-wheel, all-terrain, 25 passenger truck follow the racers with needed supplies, and
helicopters at hand to transport teams and supplies as needed. I had had to reluctantly decline an
offer to follow along in the Kamaz for the 2-3 weeks of the race, due to my ankle injury. This indeed
was an expensive injury experience-wise, (more on the medical expenses in a subsequent article) for I
had also been forced to back out of a trip along with members of “Four Wheels”- a high adventure jeep
club, which departed P-K in late February, expecting to arrive in the Koryak capital of Palana 2-3 weeks
later. The jeeps stopped by Esso on the return from Palana during the Berengia festivities, as I chatted
with Genya, driver of the chartered Kamaz. All looked at the cast and agreed it would have been foolish
to attempt either journey. All also left unsaid any thoughts about “how on earth could this fill-in-
the-blank American survive either journey, even with two good legs” or some such.
Esso was certainly alive on March 12, with clear sunny skies, mild temperatures just below freezing,
and the excitement of all the visitors, dogs and humans alike. The activity center of town is a small
square nestled between the Ethnographic Museum, a branch of the Bystrynsky River, a few shops, the
Minutka cafe, a small hall used for children’s movies and the weekly Saturday Disco, and Evgeniy's
private yurt museum, in which he stores a collection of native and Russian antiques, and personal
artifacts. (Don't forget to sign his guest book, and do sample his excellent cognac!) With the river and
distant volcanoes as a backdrop, the town's small outdoor stage was the location for the days
festivities. The local native dance, drum, and vocal group Nulgur (“Nomads” in Even native language)
which celebrated its 20th anniversary in August 2005, began its performance promptly at noon. As a
one-good-footed, bulky-jacketed and seal-hatted budding multi-media journalist (two film cameras and
a video recorder dangling from my neck, digital camera in my pocket), I think I did fairly well to keep up
(not to mention attract attention) with the excellent performance- reminding myself to occasionally sit
back and enjoy the show myself. As my angles and ability to run back and forth for the best shots
were limited, I stayed front and center to catch the smiling, singing artists, clad in beaded reindeer
leather. I tried my best to convince a young boy who had admired my cameras to take a picture from
his closer, more unobstructed vantage point, but just before he took the award-winning shot, mom
decided it was time to move on.
The performance took a break to honor the racers. Pechen and regional administrators spoke with
warm gratitude to the crowd and the event organizers and sponsors. The racers were treated to the
traditional Russian practice of breaking a braided bread offered by a traditionally-clad woman in reds and
oranges, providing a pleasant contrast to the browns and blues of the dancers.
In addition to the performance, food and craft vendors kept busy, selling everything from a
sweetened tea made form local varieties of mint to decorated fur hats- which I would have considered
had I not already been wearing my cozy Eskimo sealskin. The Minutka Caf? (decent meals here for 30
r./ $1.20 a plate) offered Kamchatka Beer on draft- a luxury I just didn’t get around to in the midst of
the excitement. Dog teams scattered around the square offered photo-ops and lots of excited
dog-chatter.
The ceremonial start to the race took place around 3, and the dog teams prepared themselves as the
last of the dancers finished the show. Teams assembled on the square and were to cross the narrow,
20-meter long footbridge over the Bystrynskaya. After allowing the crowd a few moments to cross the
bridge and assume positions along the raceway, five deep on either side for 50 m., the first of the
teams sprang through- at which point it became “cross as you dare”. Each racer was festively
cheered on, as they began the day's short 10-k journey to provide the ceremonial start and also
reassure the teams' drivers that all was okay before the next day's official start.
The beautiful day came to a gradual close on the bank of the Bystrynskaya, with a warm fire, a
bottomless pot of Reindeer stew (just as tasty as the moose brisket I once had back in Kotzebue, AK)
and the usual assortment of vodkas. Race organizers, fans, and racers slowly gathered by the river as
they completed their runs. I rested on the stage while watching the fun, and soon enough received an
invitation to come join the party- which I gladly did. The mountain view in the evening pre-sundown
light was especially astounding, even though this year the snow took on a slightly gray hue, due to a
recent eruption of a local volcano and the resulting mixture of ash into falling snow. The party went on,
as town natives greeted friends and relatives and newcomers related their “Why I moved to Esso”
stories- which I more than once thought I might repeat. I would not be the first American immigrant- a
father and son duo moved here several years ago to build a home and start a new family. Meanwhile
twilight hues of deep blue sky and sunset provided a changing backdrop. Sunsets in northern winter
climates, with their deep pink glows reflected in snowy landscapes, are simply unmatched as natural
beautiful wonders- and to be outside enjoying it all in such festive company was a treat indeed.
Locals assured me that the clear weather in the easterly mountain range gap promised clear weather for
the next day, and we were not to be disappointed. It turned out to be someone’s birthday, and with
the last of the light we soon retreated (I will the help of the on-duty police officer’s jeep) to a party
with some marinated moose shashlik and the usual assortment of home made salads and spirits. Sure
wasn’t difficult to “do like the Romans do” with delicacies (and intoxicants...) like these.
The official race got off the next morning around noon, on snowy a fairgrounds near the town of
Anavgai. Our “Nazareth special” encountered a few of the racers making their way to the start, making
last-minute alterations to their teams, with one more verification run. Anavgai’s dance ensemble
“Nurgenek”- with its adult and children’s components- entertained as the teams slowly gathered. The
course's start happened to be confusingly close to the training course of several of the local teams, to
the astonishment of the dogs- who had to be convinced by racers and spectators alike that the trail
really did go that way, not towards the main road- and your casted narrator had to jump single-leggedly
out of the way of a confused dog team more than once. The non-local teams had a much easier time
following what to the human eye was the logical trail- well marked by ropes and snow-machine treads-
although as time went on, the scents of the early, mistaken teams led even the visitors down the trail
more traveled. Ah- canine logic. The final team- led by the most senior of the racers- had the help of
the entire crowd, which cheered and jeered every right or wrong turn of the dogs. Finally, the racers
headed on, with only the support of the Kamaz and the stars, to Ossoro.
I returned to Esso again in late spring to visit friends and to witness yet another season. Esso in
spring is an eruption of pastels- many homes and buildings are painted in pinks, blues, and greens, and
this is accented by budding flowers in the window sills and budding trees and bushes. Snow and mud
are nearly gone, and the soft, low contrast sunlight under clear spring skies brings out colors unseen
under gray-white winter hues and bright, high-contrast summer sunlight. The town junkyard became an
easel: faded orange and red trucks (prettiest rust I've ever seen) resting on a carpet of low green
shrubs, punctuated by a light pink water tower and a brightly painted building exterior. On this trip, I
learned that Esso would soon celebrate one of the first “First Fish” holidays in Kamchatka - June 18-
celebrated by many Kamchatkan towns, including Elizivo and Petropavlovsk later in July, followed by the
Even New Year, celebrated on the evening of the June 21 summer solstice. Both events were to be
celebrated with the help of Esso’s and Anavgai’s respective dance ensembles. Of course I could not
miss the chance to make the trip on more time.
On the recommendation of a friend, this time I stayed at Anatoliy and Nadezhda Eremenko's bed and
breakfast (200 r./$7 pp. Lodging, 150-200 r. per meal) on a large property with rooms either in their
home or a separate guest house complete with banya (a Russian sauna), and a large garden home to a
wandering rooster and his 3-hen harem. The B&B is on the edge of town, on a gentle hill sloping up
from the hot springs (close enough to tempt me to press my luck a few times by not changing out of my
bathing suit prior to the brisk 5-minute walk back to the room), with a superb view of the nearest
volcano- still cradling a fair amount of snow in its a Mt. St. Helens-style crater. My hosts came to
Russia from the Ukraine during the Soviet era. After careers (Mining engineer and Chef respectively) in
Siberia, they retired to Esso about 6 years ago and opened the B&B. It's also easy to find- head
towards Esso's westernmost water tower above town and make a left – look for a gate in the fence on
the left and the friendly dog Gai will lead you home. The cooking (comprised of ingredients grown right
outside my bedroom window- now that is my definition of fresh!) was fantastic- a little bit more (in
terms of both portion and price) than I had hoped for- but well worth it. It was in this beautiful, serene
environment I seriously considered taking a respite from our importing business in P-K to relax and
write. My hosts introduced me to Eugenio, who invited us to his home and yurt museum before the
next day's First Fish celebration- where he shared his endless collection of native and Russian cultural
artifacts and his love of good brandy.
The holiday proved to be another beautiful sunny Esso day. Nulgur provided the first of the day's
entertainment in an opening in the forest not far from the Bystrynskaya, on a sloped natural
amphitheater. The warmth and space allowed for more elaborate renditions of the winter performance.
Fresh Uxha soup (presumable made from the season's first fish?) - a fish and potato soup in a lightly
seasoned broth was fabulous (I'm starting to think it may be the outdoor natural setting in such festive
company that adds to the taste). The rest of the day was devoted to fish themed competitions - my
favorite of which was a relay of teams of four, in a race to wiggle across the stage (as a fish swims)
adding a team member with each lap. Turned out it was also “Medical Workers Day” to add to the
celebrations, and the toasts.
As I have now had the chance to see them perform and several occasions, let me describe the two
local dance ensembles somewhat more in depth. I can speak from experience as a sort of connoisseur-
I've lived three years in Arctic Alaska, and have seen many Eskimo dance groups perform, and have
learned to appreciate the art form as a form of storytelling. Kamchatka's excellent ensembles play with
an admirable cohesion and precision, but most important of all is the extreme joy they display while
performing. Clearly years of dedicated practice is involved. Both groups travel extensively- throughout
Russia, Europe, and parts of the US and Canada. Nugerek from Anavgai has an adult and a children’s
component. The children- as young as four years old- have already learned well from the elders, and
perform just as flawlessly and knowledgeably as the adults. Costumes are stunning- in primarily brown,
white, and black leather and beaded headgear with beads of all sizes, colors emphasizing bright blues
and whites. If you, reader, are influential in organizing a cultural festival, please consider bringing these
folks to your community. I regret I missed seeing a Koryak group perform in Moscow, which had
performed the day before my arrival in November, to complete my Kamchatkan native dance group
experience.
The New Year (celebrated for the 16th time in Anavgai) was seen in to a day-long torrential
downfall. Rain fell, but spirits did not. Back at the site of the Anavgai fairgrounds, the day's events
took place in and around several yurts, food caches nestled in the trees, and an outdoor stage set amid
the forest. Sonja Bobrovsky, who moved to Esso from mainland Russia with her drum-making husband
Alexander (and who later offered to put me up for the night after my ride returned to Esso with a very
wet and cold daughter), explained that she had plans and a grant from President Putin's office to build
a living museum on this site, similar to the Ethnographic Museum in Esso. Nurgenek kept the energy
high with their performances. P-K journalists again charted the “Nazareth Special” to capture the
holiday, and perhaps my previous acquaintance with them led to them encouraging me to join the fun: I
added an English component to the multi-lingual opening ceremony, which was filmed. It turned out
that back in P-K, I was to be shown in three separate clips three days running on the evening Vesti
news program. (Tolik also captured me in P-K at the May 25 “Youth Day” festival, and Anastasiya much
later interviewed me for a newspaper article to round out my 15 minutes of Kamchatkan Fame. My
official FSB (Federal Security Service- the modern day KGB) contact Volodya didn't mention it, but I
wonder if any of this ever went into his monthly reports?)
This day's highlights (those not involving yours truly, anyway) were a competition to find the “most
culturally representative family” (which I think was the purpose of this odd but fun-to-watch contest)-
categories included best storytelling, best flower arrangement, greatest pan-generational
representation, and best pie. A four year old member of Nurgenek playing a hunted bear during his
family's turn brought the house down- and even stopped the rain for a bit. To keep warm and dry off a
bit, all were periodically invited inside the yurts, warm with fire and body temperature, with plentiful tea
and soup. The journalists' makeshift tent offered liquid heat (that is, vodka and cognac shots). Here I
found Alexander Pechen. “Where's my Berengia article?” he asks. “Work in Progress!” I answer.
In late evening, it was time for the annual “Marathon”- a partnered dance competition scheduled to
last several hours, until the New Year was ushered in as midnight approached. Just at the dance's
start, the skies cleared in a brief tease, before opening back up into a steady rainfall for the duration of
the dance. It turned out to be an exhausting three hours- and I wasn't even among the dancers. The
kids were given the relatively dry stage at first, with the adults creating a muddy swamp down below.
The kids were cheered off after the first hour, adults graduated to the stage, and settled in for another
couple hours of dance. Finally, we were called to the open fields, to participate in the New Year's
ceremony. This involved gathering two small bits of branch, proceeding in a circle, holding hands, and
leaping over two small bonfires. As we passed over the first fire, we were to drop one branch in to
symbolize something we wanted to leave behind in the old year- and on the second fire, we were to
drop a branch symbolizing something we wished for. Our host proceeded into the open, leading us into
a full circle, and by now the rain had fully stopped and allowed us to truly appreciate the new year. We
parted, with many planning to attend a late-night disco put on by P-K's Sport Bar. Your narrator
decided to call it a night- involving, of course another round or two of toasts with Sonja and Alexander-
which apparently outlasted the disco. So much for resting up before the long ride home.
This turned out to be my last visit to Esso- at least for a while. I met and married my wife Marina
while living in P-K, and we have since moved to the outskirts of Saint Petersburg, and Kamchatka is a
distant memory. As I write this, in February 2006, final preparations are perhaps being made there for
the 16th Berengia race (although Anastasia once asked if I agreed that “Pechen seems depressed-
maybe there won't be another?”) Perhaps one of the Kamchatkan groups will perform on tour in St.
Petersburg one day. Sveta long ago left Kamchatka and returned to her native Anadyr to plan her next
adventure, so I can only imagine that she would agree with me: that Esso will always remain an oasis
in the midst of a unique, often complicated, but always fascinating life in Russia.
August, 2004: I’d been in Petropavlosk-Kamchatsky for a week and felt somehow restless to get out
of town and explore the rest of Kamchatka. P-K is Kamchatka's one significant city, located on the SE
coast of the peninsula, a four hour flight from Anchorage, Alaska. I was in P-K making arrangements to
obtain a year-long commercial visa and explore my language and entrepreneurial skills. My friend Sveta,
a native of Anadyr, Chukotka Autonomous Republic, was taking a long break from her job as city
bookkeeper in Burnaul, Republic of Altai, also known for pristine nature, fast rivers, and tall mountains.
Like I, she had come to Kamchatka for a year-long adventure. As she was also restless, being a woman
of action cooped up in the city, I suggested we travel to Esso (ESS-ah) - I had no idea what was
there, but it was at the end of the road in central Kamchatka, and more than one source said it was
well worth the trip for the hot springs alone. Sveta was apparently on the verge of recommending just
the same thing, having just talked to the friends she was staying with. We considered “roughing it” in a
tent, but ended up making reservations for a small guest house (180 rubles/ $6 pp.) her hosts had
stayed in. We bought our one way tickets (520 r./$18.00), and learned we had to purchase return
tickets in Esso- a bit nerve wrecking, and in fact it turned out to be difficult to buy return tickets, as
seats were limited. The risk paid off, and this proved to be the first of four separate trips to town: I
was hooked.
As with many destinations, it is the journey that makes it all worthwhile (or vise-versa, I‘m never sure
which). The 10 hour, 500-kilometer northbound journey to central Kamchatka on mostly unpaved roads
aboard the tightly-seated, luggage-in-the-aisle 28-passenger Asia bus provided the perfect laborious
path to paradise. Frequent stops are included during these twice-daily trips, for smoking, eating (as
with most long haul Russian transportation, home-made piroshki and the like are always available
en-route), leg-stretching, and unplanned stops are reserved for flat tires (both on the bus or on
stranded cars), logging trucks stuck in their own ruts (the owner soon returned with a cable for his
winch, with which he proceeded to pull himself out of the ditch, and did not at all like the prospect of
being photographed during the process), and reportedly an occasional bear. The trip is a little easier in
winter on the hard snow pack, but in any case it's a rough road, perhaps comparable to an early
Alaska-Canada Highway.
Soon after arrival, Sveta and I toured town at sunset on this warm August evening, as the
mosquitoes and light gradually faded away. A bare-footed teen on an antique one-speed bike offered
us fresh picked strawberries from his basket- which we gladly purchased and consumed. We strolled
through town, wiping the juice as best we could as we ate, soon to see the young entrepreneur again.
He saw that we’d eaten most of the bag, and asked, “You washed them, right?“ Gulp. We hadn’t. Not
to worry, pesticides were simply not used here- but in any case the horse and pig manure and old
fashioned dirt that was used should of course be rinsed off. The result of these organic methods is
unmatchable produce: mmmm, those berries, tomatoes and cucumbers, the taste of which I will need to
remind myself of each time I find myself selecting produce in an American supermarket. All this, along
with fresh milk and other produce, can be readily found at outdoor markets, or via door-to-door delivery
by pedaling peddlers. The next spring, I found home grown free-range chicken eggs to be equally
tasty, and managed to note the transition from imported winter produce to the local spring crop. Off
season diets throughout Russia consist of so-called “Chinese tomatoes” (similar to those available year
round at the grocery store in the US: pretty, but firm and not-so-tasty). Russian vegetables, as with
fresh Russian food in general, tend to be much tastier than their US counterparts, due not in the least
to the fact that they are healthier- without preservatives, steroids, pesticides, without even the
benefit of Russia‘s own [] theories of genetic engineering. Russian carrots are not much to look at
(actually they‘re kind of cute next to uniform, genetically engineered US carrots), but they‘re sure
tasty. Locally produced organic meat provides an alternative, delicious taste to the imported variety-
mostly from Brazil and the US. I also discovered that the labor that goes into production adds
somewhat to food's taste: I had the opportunity to harvest and consume various produce (including
goat's milk) from my in-laws plot in Blagoveshchensk the next fall.
Scenic Esso, listed by UNESCO as an international heritage site, is located in Northern Bystrynsky
Raion near the border between Kamchatkskaya Oblast and Koryakskiy Okrug (In Fall, 2005 a referendum
was overwhelmingly passed to approve the unification of these “states”- which, according to Esso's
local culture guru Evgeniy, were originally separated politically due to rivalries between native Koryak
and Even peoples). Esso is a village of 3000, with one commercial farm and numerous individual
gardens, producing the above-mentioned home-grown delicacies. Esso well deserves its nickname
“Kamchatka’s Switzerland”: stark volcanic mountains form the southern border of town, providing
majestic, snow-capped views (snow is present year round, save for a few weeks in July and August),
often complemented by the ever-churning skies and glorious sunsets. Many homes are nestled into
small hills between the town’s small valley and surrounding mountains, providing most residents with this
spectacular view. The landscape opens up into a larger valley 20 km. NE of town, back toward the
smaller village of Anavgai and the road southbound. The town's population is divided between quaint,
albeit weathered one or two family homes in the center of town, situated along a small but rapidly
flowing branch of the Bystrynsky River; and fairly primitive two story apartment buildings (the
predecessor to modern-day five to fourteen story behemoths that at least 80 percent of Russians live in
today) which dominate the northern and southern edges of town. The main branch of the Bystrynsky
flows south from town, through a mountain pass, and is the starting point for guided tours- via horse or
on foot- of the nearest volcano. I'm told conditions are ideal for parachuting on the gentle, wind-swept
hills that form the town's northern border, and helicopters make several drops a day of up to 20 brave
souls at a time on any given clear day, year round.
The first question often heard from tourists at the bus stop near the simple Rumashka (“Daisy”-
widely used as a medicinal plant in Russia) hotel is not “Do you have rooms available?”, but “Where are
the istochnie (hot springs)?” - a natural desire, expressed just as often after a long dusty summer bus
trip as after cold winter journey. Sveta and I decided to wait until after sundown for our fist soak,
attempting to avoid the mosquitoes. It's easier to find in winter: just look for the 50-foot high wall of
steam; while the trick in summer is to listen for the sounds of the splashes and the crowd enjoying
itself. Hot springs abound in volcanic Kamchatka. Esso's famous version consists of two large adjacent
pools on the edge of town, one hot and the other simmering, and is fed by three separate pipes,
containing water of various temperatures direct from thermal springs 50 meters below the surface, but
cooled to varying extents during the several kilometer journey. Originally built as a reservoir for fire
trucks, the pool was adopted immediately by locals and tourists alike as a favorite bathing and meeting
place. The pool is drained regularly for cleaning, although most people you ask can’t quite tell you the
schedule. “I think about once every three weeks or so.” After one long spring bus ride I arrived at the
pool to find it drained- at first disappointed, I then looked forward to a good night's sleep and a dip in
fresh thermal water the next morning.
Berengia 2005
In mid-March, 2005, after a month-long confinement inside due to a broken ankle, I accompanied a
bus load of Petropavlosk journalists to Esso for the festivities surrounding the start of the 15th annual
Berengia Dog Sled Race. The atmosphere on the chartered luxury bus (one and the same used by
touring rockers Nazareth, and notably more comfortable than the usual passenger buses) for the first
hour was quiet, but soon the clinking of the vodka bottles and aroma of the kielbasa zakuski woke
things up. I drew little attention on the northbound trip, as I was tired, due to a scheduled 10:00 PM
departure, sitting alone, resting my cast-bound foot in the aisle when it was free. As I learned later,
some of my travel companions had not even suspected my American nationality, and cameraman Tolik
was especially enamored of me when he found out on the way back from Esso- although I eventually
needed the assistance of my coach mates to remove him after he fell sound asleep on my shoulder.
The Berengia race premiered in 1990, with a 250-km route from Esso to Milkovo, midway to
Petropavlovsk. Alexander Pechen of P-K has organized the Berengia since the beginning, and despite an
abrasive personality, few would argue that the annual race would have been possible without his
dedicated effort. Pechen has been discouraged with previous outside press coverage, which is perhaps
he declines to be interviewed for my piece. “What for?” he asks, although he is visibly interested in
the prospect of another Berengia-related article. His small office near Komsomolskaya Ploshchad in P-K
is overflowing with journals containing articles about the race, videos, memorabilia, and awards
(including a certificate from Guinness Book of World Records naming the 1991 race of 1980-km as the
“longest dog sled race in the Soviet Union”- although by my calculation of 1237.5 miles, it actually
topped Alaska's annual Iditarod race by a hundred miles, and the race literature calls that course “the
longest mushing trail in the world”). The third race extended this record for a total of 2044-km, or
1277.5 miles. In the following years, the length and course of the race has varied from 62 - 650 km
and run in various locations in Kamchatka, but since 2001 has settled in on its current course of 950 km
- just under 600 miles- between Esso and Ossoro, Koryakskiy Okrug. This is of course still a very
impressive distance, considering the remoteness and less developed infrastructure of the race itself as
compared to the well financed Iditarod.
The course is challenging enough- climbing through elevations from 100 to 1200 meters (3600 ft.)
across three separate mountain passes. The race currently has 15 separate stages, ranging in length
from 20 to 93 kilometers per day- with the overall time determining the final winner. Pechen arranges to
have a Kamaz 6-wheel, all-terrain, 25 passenger truck follow the racers with needed supplies, and
helicopters at hand to transport teams and supplies as needed. I had had to reluctantly decline an
offer to follow along in the Kamaz for the 2-3 weeks of the race, due to my ankle injury. This indeed
was an expensive injury experience-wise, (more on the medical expenses in a subsequent article) for I
had also been forced to back out of a trip along with members of “Four Wheels”- a high adventure jeep
club, which departed P-K in late February, expecting to arrive in the Koryak capital of Palana 2-3 weeks
later. The jeeps stopped by Esso on the return from Palana during the Berengia festivities, as I chatted
with Genya, driver of the chartered Kamaz. All looked at the cast and agreed it would have been foolish
to attempt either journey. All also left unsaid any thoughts about “how on earth could this fill-in-
the-blank American survive either journey, even with two good legs” or some such.
Esso was certainly alive on March 12, with clear sunny skies, mild temperatures just below freezing,
and the excitement of all the visitors, dogs and humans alike. The activity center of town is a small
square nestled between the Ethnographic Museum, a branch of the Bystrynsky River, a few shops, the
Minutka cafe, a small hall used for children’s movies and the weekly Saturday Disco, and Evgeniy's
private yurt museum, in which he stores a collection of native and Russian antiques, and personal
artifacts. (Don't forget to sign his guest book, and do sample his excellent cognac!) With the river and
distant volcanoes as a backdrop, the town's small outdoor stage was the location for the days
festivities. The local native dance, drum, and vocal group Nulgur (“Nomads” in Even native language)
which celebrated its 20th anniversary in August 2005, began its performance promptly at noon. As a
one-good-footed, bulky-jacketed and seal-hatted budding multi-media journalist (two film cameras and
a video recorder dangling from my neck, digital camera in my pocket), I think I did fairly well to keep up
(not to mention attract attention) with the excellent performance- reminding myself to occasionally sit
back and enjoy the show myself. As my angles and ability to run back and forth for the best shots
were limited, I stayed front and center to catch the smiling, singing artists, clad in beaded reindeer
leather. I tried my best to convince a young boy who had admired my cameras to take a picture from
his closer, more unobstructed vantage point, but just before he took the award-winning shot, mom
decided it was time to move on.
The performance took a break to honor the racers. Pechen and regional administrators spoke with
warm gratitude to the crowd and the event organizers and sponsors. The racers were treated to the
traditional Russian practice of breaking a braided bread offered by a traditionally-clad woman in reds and
oranges, providing a pleasant contrast to the browns and blues of the dancers.
In addition to the performance, food and craft vendors kept busy, selling everything from a
sweetened tea made form local varieties of mint to decorated fur hats- which I would have considered
had I not already been wearing my cozy Eskimo sealskin. The Minutka Caf? (decent meals here for 30
r./ $1.20 a plate) offered Kamchatka Beer on draft- a luxury I just didn’t get around to in the midst of
the excitement. Dog teams scattered around the square offered photo-ops and lots of excited
dog-chatter.
The ceremonial start to the race took place around 3, and the dog teams prepared themselves as the
last of the dancers finished the show. Teams assembled on the square and were to cross the narrow,
20-meter long footbridge over the Bystrynskaya. After allowing the crowd a few moments to cross the
bridge and assume positions along the raceway, five deep on either side for 50 m., the first of the
teams sprang through- at which point it became “cross as you dare”. Each racer was festively
cheered on, as they began the day's short 10-k journey to provide the ceremonial start and also
reassure the teams' drivers that all was okay before the next day's official start.
The beautiful day came to a gradual close on the bank of the Bystrynskaya, with a warm fire, a
bottomless pot of Reindeer stew (just as tasty as the moose brisket I once had back in Kotzebue, AK)
and the usual assortment of vodkas. Race organizers, fans, and racers slowly gathered by the river as
they completed their runs. I rested on the stage while watching the fun, and soon enough received an
invitation to come join the party- which I gladly did. The mountain view in the evening pre-sundown
light was especially astounding, even though this year the snow took on a slightly gray hue, due to a
recent eruption of a local volcano and the resulting mixture of ash into falling snow. The party went on,
as town natives greeted friends and relatives and newcomers related their “Why I moved to Esso”
stories- which I more than once thought I might repeat. I would not be the first American immigrant- a
father and son duo moved here several years ago to build a home and start a new family. Meanwhile
twilight hues of deep blue sky and sunset provided a changing backdrop. Sunsets in northern winter
climates, with their deep pink glows reflected in snowy landscapes, are simply unmatched as natural
beautiful wonders- and to be outside enjoying it all in such festive company was a treat indeed.
Locals assured me that the clear weather in the easterly mountain range gap promised clear weather for
the next day, and we were not to be disappointed. It turned out to be someone’s birthday, and with
the last of the light we soon retreated (I will the help of the on-duty police officer’s jeep) to a party
with some marinated moose shashlik and the usual assortment of home made salads and spirits. Sure
wasn’t difficult to “do like the Romans do” with delicacies (and intoxicants...) like these.
The official race got off the next morning around noon, on snowy a fairgrounds near the town of
Anavgai. Our “Nazareth special” encountered a few of the racers making their way to the start, making
last-minute alterations to their teams, with one more verification run. Anavgai’s dance ensemble
“Nurgenek”- with its adult and children’s components- entertained as the teams slowly gathered. The
course's start happened to be confusingly close to the training course of several of the local teams, to
the astonishment of the dogs- who had to be convinced by racers and spectators alike that the trail
really did go that way, not towards the main road- and your casted narrator had to jump single-leggedly
out of the way of a confused dog team more than once. The non-local teams had a much easier time
following what to the human eye was the logical trail- well marked by ropes and snow-machine treads-
although as time went on, the scents of the early, mistaken teams led even the visitors down the trail
more traveled. Ah- canine logic. The final team- led by the most senior of the racers- had the help of
the entire crowd, which cheered and jeered every right or wrong turn of the dogs. Finally, the racers
headed on, with only the support of the Kamaz and the stars, to Ossoro.
I returned to Esso again in late spring to visit friends and to witness yet another season. Esso in
spring is an eruption of pastels- many homes and buildings are painted in pinks, blues, and greens, and
this is accented by budding flowers in the window sills and budding trees and bushes. Snow and mud
are nearly gone, and the soft, low contrast sunlight under clear spring skies brings out colors unseen
under gray-white winter hues and bright, high-contrast summer sunlight. The town junkyard became an
easel: faded orange and red trucks (prettiest rust I've ever seen) resting on a carpet of low green
shrubs, punctuated by a light pink water tower and a brightly painted building exterior. On this trip, I
learned that Esso would soon celebrate one of the first “First Fish” holidays in Kamchatka - June 18-
celebrated by many Kamchatkan towns, including Elizivo and Petropavlovsk later in July, followed by the
Even New Year, celebrated on the evening of the June 21 summer solstice. Both events were to be
celebrated with the help of Esso’s and Anavgai’s respective dance ensembles. Of course I could not
miss the chance to make the trip on more time.
On the recommendation of a friend, this time I stayed at Anatoliy and Nadezhda Eremenko's bed and
breakfast (200 r./$7 pp. Lodging, 150-200 r. per meal) on a large property with rooms either in their
home or a separate guest house complete with banya (a Russian sauna), and a large garden home to a
wandering rooster and his 3-hen harem. The B&B is on the edge of town, on a gentle hill sloping up
from the hot springs (close enough to tempt me to press my luck a few times by not changing out of my
bathing suit prior to the brisk 5-minute walk back to the room), with a superb view of the nearest
volcano- still cradling a fair amount of snow in its a Mt. St. Helens-style crater. My hosts came to
Russia from the Ukraine during the Soviet era. After careers (Mining engineer and Chef respectively) in
Siberia, they retired to Esso about 6 years ago and opened the B&B. It's also easy to find- head
towards Esso's westernmost water tower above town and make a left – look for a gate in the fence on
the left and the friendly dog Gai will lead you home. The cooking (comprised of ingredients grown right
outside my bedroom window- now that is my definition of fresh!) was fantastic- a little bit more (in
terms of both portion and price) than I had hoped for- but well worth it. It was in this beautiful, serene
environment I seriously considered taking a respite from our importing business in P-K to relax and
write. My hosts introduced me to Eugenio, who invited us to his home and yurt museum before the
next day's First Fish celebration- where he shared his endless collection of native and Russian cultural
artifacts and his love of good brandy.
The holiday proved to be another beautiful sunny Esso day. Nulgur provided the first of the day's
entertainment in an opening in the forest not far from the Bystrynskaya, on a sloped natural
amphitheater. The warmth and space allowed for more elaborate renditions of the winter performance.
Fresh Uxha soup (presumable made from the season's first fish?) - a fish and potato soup in a lightly
seasoned broth was fabulous (I'm starting to think it may be the outdoor natural setting in such festive
company that adds to the taste). The rest of the day was devoted to fish themed competitions - my
favorite of which was a relay of teams of four, in a race to wiggle across the stage (as a fish swims)
adding a team member with each lap. Turned out it was also “Medical Workers Day” to add to the
celebrations, and the toasts.
As I have now had the chance to see them perform and several occasions, let me describe the two
local dance ensembles somewhat more in depth. I can speak from experience as a sort of connoisseur-
I've lived three years in Arctic Alaska, and have seen many Eskimo dance groups perform, and have
learned to appreciate the art form as a form of storytelling. Kamchatka's excellent ensembles play with
an admirable cohesion and precision, but most important of all is the extreme joy they display while
performing. Clearly years of dedicated practice is involved. Both groups travel extensively- throughout
Russia, Europe, and parts of the US and Canada. Nugerek from Anavgai has an adult and a children’s
component. The children- as young as four years old- have already learned well from the elders, and
perform just as flawlessly and knowledgeably as the adults. Costumes are stunning- in primarily brown,
white, and black leather and beaded headgear with beads of all sizes, colors emphasizing bright blues
and whites. If you, reader, are influential in organizing a cultural festival, please consider bringing these
folks to your community. I regret I missed seeing a Koryak group perform in Moscow, which had
performed the day before my arrival in November, to complete my Kamchatkan native dance group
experience.
The New Year (celebrated for the 16th time in Anavgai) was seen in to a day-long torrential
downfall. Rain fell, but spirits did not. Back at the site of the Anavgai fairgrounds, the day's events
took place in and around several yurts, food caches nestled in the trees, and an outdoor stage set amid
the forest. Sonja Bobrovsky, who moved to Esso from mainland Russia with her drum-making husband
Alexander (and who later offered to put me up for the night after my ride returned to Esso with a very
wet and cold daughter), explained that she had plans and a grant from President Putin's office to build
a living museum on this site, similar to the Ethnographic Museum in Esso. Nurgenek kept the energy
high with their performances. P-K journalists again charted the “Nazareth Special” to capture the
holiday, and perhaps my previous acquaintance with them led to them encouraging me to join the fun: I
added an English component to the multi-lingual opening ceremony, which was filmed. It turned out
that back in P-K, I was to be shown in three separate clips three days running on the evening Vesti
news program. (Tolik also captured me in P-K at the May 25 “Youth Day” festival, and Anastasiya much
later interviewed me for a newspaper article to round out my 15 minutes of Kamchatkan Fame. My
official FSB (Federal Security Service- the modern day KGB) contact Volodya didn't mention it, but I
wonder if any of this ever went into his monthly reports?)
This day's highlights (those not involving yours truly, anyway) were a competition to find the “most
culturally representative family” (which I think was the purpose of this odd but fun-to-watch contest)-
categories included best storytelling, best flower arrangement, greatest pan-generational
representation, and best pie. A four year old member of Nurgenek playing a hunted bear during his
family's turn brought the house down- and even stopped the rain for a bit. To keep warm and dry off a
bit, all were periodically invited inside the yurts, warm with fire and body temperature, with plentiful tea
and soup. The journalists' makeshift tent offered liquid heat (that is, vodka and cognac shots). Here I
found Alexander Pechen. “Where's my Berengia article?” he asks. “Work in Progress!” I answer.
In late evening, it was time for the annual “Marathon”- a partnered dance competition scheduled to
last several hours, until the New Year was ushered in as midnight approached. Just at the dance's
start, the skies cleared in a brief tease, before opening back up into a steady rainfall for the duration of
the dance. It turned out to be an exhausting three hours- and I wasn't even among the dancers. The
kids were given the relatively dry stage at first, with the adults creating a muddy swamp down below.
The kids were cheered off after the first hour, adults graduated to the stage, and settled in for another
couple hours of dance. Finally, we were called to the open fields, to participate in the New Year's
ceremony. This involved gathering two small bits of branch, proceeding in a circle, holding hands, and
leaping over two small bonfires. As we passed over the first fire, we were to drop one branch in to
symbolize something we wanted to leave behind in the old year- and on the second fire, we were to
drop a branch symbolizing something we wished for. Our host proceeded into the open, leading us into
a full circle, and by now the rain had fully stopped and allowed us to truly appreciate the new year. We
parted, with many planning to attend a late-night disco put on by P-K's Sport Bar. Your narrator
decided to call it a night- involving, of course another round or two of toasts with Sonja and Alexander-
which apparently outlasted the disco. So much for resting up before the long ride home.
This turned out to be my last visit to Esso- at least for a while. I met and married my wife Marina
while living in P-K, and we have since moved to the outskirts of Saint Petersburg, and Kamchatka is a
distant memory. As I write this, in February 2006, final preparations are perhaps being made there for
the 16th Berengia race (although Anastasia once asked if I agreed that “Pechen seems depressed-
maybe there won't be another?”) Perhaps one of the Kamchatkan groups will perform on tour in St.
Petersburg one day. Sveta long ago left Kamchatka and returned to her native Anadyr to plan her next
adventure, so I can only imagine that she would agree with me: that Esso will always remain an oasis
in the midst of a unique, often complicated, but always fascinating life in Russia.
