May, 1995. For four months I spent U.S. Information Service taxpayer’s money advising on journalism curriculum for Ural State University, 24 miles west of where Siberia begins.
Headed back home, Margaret and I rode the Trans-Siberian Railroad west from Yekaterinburg, Russia to Peking, China. In between, we detrained at Irkutsk in Siberia. Met with journalism teachers who insisted we make an overnight visit to nearby Lake Baikal–the world’s deepest lake, with a fifth of the world’s fresh water.
I recalled our visit when I read a New York Times story that began:
Usually it’s foreigners who cavort at the world’s deepest lake in winter. But with many borders closed, Russians are arriving in droves to make…videos and snap Instagram pictures.
You can search on National Geographic website and see lake pictures, identify fish species that include a fresh water sharks–still recall where we ate the best white fish meals I ever tasted–and read theory of what created depth, ice rings in the lake.
Our tour guide provided a vague promise i.e. put your foot in the cold water and extend life expectancy a forgotten time. Longer life promised depending on how much body you immersed.
I took off a shoe and sock, rolled up a pants leg, and stuck in my leg, up to my knee. Maybe that’s why Lake Baikal and I are still here.
Photo by Al.geba at Shutterstock
