The “Loaf of Bread”
The UAZ-450 rumbled to life beneath a sky so blue it looked painted. Frost clung to the windshield in floral patterns, and the crunch of fresh snow beneath their boots echoed through the stillness as Judd, Cindy, and Ava climbed into the van with their gear.
“Ready?” Yuri asked, turning in his seat with a grin. “We’ve got time before your flight. I thought I’d show you a few places… you’ll want your camera, Cindy.”
“I’m already a step ahead,” she replied, adjusting the Leica strap across her chest.
The engine growled as they set off across the island, bouncing over snow-covered tracks lined with crooked wooden fences and the occasional wild dog trotting alongside. Their first stop came just after sunrise. Cape Burkhan—also known as Shamanka Rock—jutted into the frozen lake like the spine of a slumbering beast. A solitary rock formation, standing stoic against the wind, sacred for centuries to the native Buryat shamans. According to legend, this was the dwelling of the god of the lake—one of the most revered spiritual places in Siberia. They stepped from the van, breath steaming in the cold, boots crunching through fresh powder.
Cindy knelt by a cliff’s edge, her lens capturing the shaman poles—serge—ringed in multicolored prayer ribbons, fluttering like messages to the unseen.
“It’s got energy,” she whispered, clicking the shutter again and again.
Ava stood in silence nearby, hands buried in her jacket pockets, eyes fixed on the jagged rocks framed against the rising sun.
“I read somewhere,” she murmured, “that this place is one of the nine most sacred sites in Asia.”
Judd nodded. “Feels right.”
By midday, they reached the northernmost tip of Olkhon—Cape Khoboy.From the cliffs, the lake opened in every direction. Ice groaned in long rumbles beneath them, stretching farther than the eye could see, cracked in veins of deep blue and glowing turquoise. Below, the jagged cliffs fell into silence, where eagles rode the thermals and the sky felt impossibly close.Yuri pointed out across the ice. “In winter, this is a highway. The ice gets nearly two meters thick in places. Trucks, buses, even military vehicles—no problem. We call it zimnik—a winter road. It connects the most remote villages.” Judd crouched, running a gloved hand along a crystal-clear patch of ice. Frozen methane bubbles, like pale coins, shimmered beneath the surface.
“You could drive a convoy over this,” he muttered.
“You do,” Yuri said with a smile. “This is Siberia. The lake is not just a lake. It’s life.”
Their final stop was only reachable by snow track—out across the frozen lake to the island of Ogoy. The UAZ skidded gently to a halt at the base of a snowy hill, and they climbed on foot, following colorful prayer flags strung along the path. At the top stood the Stupa of Enlightenment, a white structure built by Buddhist monks, gleaming against the snow and sky. At its heart: a chamber said to contain sacred texts and relics. Ava circled it in silent reverence, her fingers brushing against the smooth white surface.
“Buddhists say that circling a stupa cleanses your karma,” Yuri said softly. “But the Buryats… they say the wind carries your intentions.”
Judd, standing nearby, looked out over the vastness of Baikal. “What happens if your intentions aren’t clean?”
Yuri shrugged. “Then the wind doesn’t listen.”
They ate in the back of the UAZ, parked beneath a patch of stunted birch trees near the lake’s edge.
Yuri had packed a meal of rye bread, smoked omul fish wrapped in wax paper, cured meat, and thick slabs of cheese. He passed around enamel mugs filled with strong black tea from a battered thermos.Cindy leaned back, camera in her lap, reviewing her photos with a dreamy smile.
“I’ve never seen light like this,” she said. “There’s magic in it. Even the shadows feel ancient.”
Judd nodded, glancing out the fogged window at the distant horizon. “You can feel the age of the place. Like the Earth is older here.”
Ava took a bite of bread and grinned. “I still think the lake looks like glass in some places. Unreal.”
Yuri smiled. “Baikal is more than lake. It’s a mirror. It shows you what’s inside.”
Judd gave him a look. “What do you think it’s showing us?”
The Russian shrugged again. “You came here looking for the past. But maybe it’s the past that’s watching you.”
By sunset, they were back in Irkutsk.
The UAZ pulled up to the regional terminal—its white stucco walls tinged gold in the fading light.
They grabbed their gear, thanked Yuri, and made their way inside, passports in hand.
Judd glanced at Ava and Cindy. “Moscow next. Let’s see if Josh’s intel from the USB drive has turned anything up.”
Cindy adjusted her scarf, eyes still flicking through the last images on her camera. “Just promise me next time we get to go somewhere warm.”
Judd smirked. “No promises.”
They disappeared through the security doors, the cold air of Baikal still clinging to their coats.
Above them, the digital departure board blinked:
IRKUTSK → MOSCOW – BOARDING
And just like that, they were gone.
