Altai: The Pearl Of Siberia

The smoking lake was blanketed in fog so dense your arm would be lost in its whiteness. The early morning’s silence was complete, as if even birds were still dreaming in what remained of the short Altai summer night.

Strolling along a narrow trail, Yannick and I were quietly approaching the lake. It was an unusually early hour for us to wake up, but that morning we decided to take a dip in this gorgeous forest lake 1,400 meters above sea level, surrounded by dense vegetation of the Altai Mountains piedmont. Birch and pine trees trembled in the morning drought. The soil was damp with the abundant dew, and sent up a smell of moist earth and humid wood.

Once near the water, Yannick took off his t-shirt, cast away the heavy mountain boots and pierced the white smoke. A second later, he disappeared, as if eaten by the fog. Because the murky substance was so thick, I couldn’t either see him or even hear the splash when he dove into the chilly water.

When we came back to the campsite, some of the tourists were already up and preparing breakfast. That day, it was kasha, a typical Russian porridge. We were ten altogether, nine tourists accompanied by Alexi, our guide, who was a tall, a bit clumsy and always uncombed and half-shaved local.

That morning just like any other morning of our four-day trip into the wilderness of this Siberian region, he was wearing flip-flops, shorts and a tank top, oblivious to the rocky mountain trails and burning sun. In the summer, the sun in the Altai is eager to leave heavy burns even on the best cream-protected skin, which his wasn't.