Siberian Summer

by Anne Rothwell

The sound was deafening as the blades whirred on the old Russian helicopter. This was Siberia and we were flying over the tundra north of the Arctic Circle. Through the small portholes I got glimpses below.

It was late August and autumn was beginning to cloak the ground cover in glowing colours between the lakes glinting on top of the permafrost. .Then, as the noise of the machine changed and my teeth juddered with the vibration, I looked down and my stomach turned over with sheer joyous shock. There stood half a dozen tepee-like tents with figures looking up at us and clusters of frightened reindeer running from the noise which was clashing into their silent life. We had found a group of Nentsy nomads and, within seconds of our landing, a man appeared in the doorway. His Mongolian features beamed at us in pleasure and as we climbed down the steps, the children stared, wide-eyed and shy.

The tents were made of hides, but in winter these would be covered with reindeer fur, both outside and in, to contend with temperatures as low as -50 degrees Farenheit. A lady beckoned me inside and I bent to enter. In the centre was a stove containing a low fire and to one side a bed, large enough for a family, was covered in furs. On this sat an old lady; a dog curled up beside her. The dogs were all around the camp, wagging their tails and sharing our mood of excitement. They were very different from the huskies we had seen previously. These were much smaller and not necessary for pulling sledges as that was the reindeers’ task.

Outside again, I approached a young boy, smiled and handed him a pair of mittens. The expression on his face was one of utter delight. He didn’t inspect or try them, but pushed them inside his coat to be savoured later. I wandered around, trying to drink in every little detail: The large fish which a man had just caught in the lake beside their camp; the row of smoked fish hanging on a ‘clothesline’; the container of berries on the ground; the pile of reindeer furs. But most of all, I was fascinated by the reindeer - smaller than I’d expected, docile and very soft to stroke. The velvet on their horns was so furry, I could not resist touching one. He shook his head as if repelling a fly.

The men began to hitch them up, four to a sleigh. We were invited to get on and had barely sat down before we were off at top speed, bouncing up and down on the springy ground, so we had to cling on desperately; and all the local boys howled with laughter as we fell about, almost falling off.

Before leaving, I turned to the lady beside me. “Das vadanya,” I said and took her hand. Then we hugged each other, both knowing that, despite our cultural and language differences, we understood each other perfectly.

First published in VISA issue 70 (Dec 2006)