Kosh-Agach

“Kosh-Agach means ‘Last Tree’ in Kazakh, but that tree appears to have died long ago”

-Lonely Planet

By Ryan Zlomek, Manlius Pebble Hill School & Madeline Hanley, WS ' 15

While each weekend trip has been a unique experience, they have all featured an element of surprise. We pile into the van and head out toward distant locations without always knowing what lies in store for us at the end of the road. Often, our endeavors started off with a lack of information (or details only delivered in Russian) which left most of us disoriented, confused, and up-for-anything.

Hoping to go into the Kosh-Agach weekend with a clearer picture, a handful of students interrogated their language professor about the region. These interviews painted Koch-Agach as a barren wasteland with little to do other than twiddle your thumbs and daydream about modern conveniences. Adding to the concern was the news that our fearless trip organizer, Sandy, would have to bow out from the adventure due to family commitments, our previous interpreter was going to be replaced with a young man named Nikita that we had never met, and an additional Russian male, also named Nikita, was slated to join us in order to work on his English proficiency. Long story short, as our time in Russia drew to a close, we were all a little on edge about how successful our explorations of Kosh-agach would be. Thankfully, we were all surprised by the result of the trip.

Things kicked off bright and early on a Saturday morning following a late night of celebration. Sleep deprivation was high and spirits were low. The first ray of bright light came through in the form of the Chuiski Trakt, a long stretch of road along the Rivers Katun and Chuya, and our delight in its successful paving. Riding in a cramped van for 8+ hours is all the more enjoyable when bumps are the rarity. We strode down the road a few hours and arrived in Srostki which is the birth place of the famed Siberian artist, Vasiliy Shukshin.

Shukshin is the hero of the Altai Krai. Growing up in a small village he found success as a writer,actor, and popular film-maker who presented a “realistic” view of village life. His characters were flawed and self-deprecating which Russian felt was one of the most true to life representations of Siberian villagers. He is beloved by his followers to the extent that a festival is held annually to honor his work. Thousands of people crowd the streets to celebrate during the week long celebration.

The Shukshin museum is one of many within the country. It is housed within an old school house where he studied and worked for a short time as a teacher and administrator. The walls within the museum are covered with photos of people he worked with, films he created, images of him at work, and artifacts of his life. Our tour guide was enthusiastic about his representation of the Altai and screened film clips demonstrating his masterpieces.

The town has embraced his presence outside of the museum.  Several Shukshin statues exist within Srostki as well as a park composed of word carvings that highlight moments from his stories. You can’t turn your head without glimpsing into the world he created in text and on film.

We hopped back on the bus and blazed our way to Chemal, a place embodying characteristics of both a tourist resort and spiritual pilgrimage destination. Chemal houses multiple chapels where people come from miles to worship. The area also transforms itself just a few meters down a hiking track into a Russian carnival complete with games, exotic food, souvenirs, and extreme sports.

As we arrived the spiritual component was clearly visible. We parked in front of a small chapel and made our way to the entrance of the Island of Patmos Orthodox Monastery, consisting of a 50 yard rope bridge stretched across a gorge. On either end, a sign in Russian stated that only 6 people may be on the bridge at a time though this guideline was enforced simply by the honor system. Across the bridge lies the beautiful, though tiny, Orthodox Monastery where you can light a candle in prayer. The walkable distance of the entire island is only a few carefully cared for square meters. At the point where the walk around the island ends, travelers have the opportunity to toss change into a small pond, behind which is a religious painting on a rock. As with the majority of spiritual experience we have had in Russia, this one seeks to make dreams come true and ensure we will make it back for another visit in the years to come.

Climbing back over the bridge we gradually entered the touristy aura of Chemal. Walking by the gorge we were encouraged to try a cold tea by a local vendor, listen to saxophone music performed mid-trail, and enjoy a boardwalk consisting of small cafes, souvenir vendors, and honey sales. Even further the trail opened up to a fair where everything from classy cocktails and exotic foods to zip-line adventures and shooting galleries were for sale. The juxtaposition between spiritual enlightenment and consumeristic society seemed very strange to us but didn’t stop anyone, Russian or otherwise, from embracing it and having a great time. Many of us picked up gifts for our friends at home and the brave few zip-lined from one end of the fair to the other end crossing a river along the way.  

That night we slept at a camp ground by the Katun River where everyone enjoyed a homemade meal, learned to play Russian card games (especially the Russian classic Durak), tried to learn the Altai mouth harp, sat by the camp fire singing American songs accompanied by a Ukulele, and had an all-around relaxing evening.

On Sunday we piled back into the van, breaking up our remaining 420km drive with a stop at a statue dedicated to 200 years of relationships between the Russian and the Altai people, a tree that is believed to have healing powers, and a small market. This was the first time a lot of us ate Pirozhski (a meat or potato filled bun) which is the Russian equivalent to street vending. You can say what you want about the repetitive nature of the Russian meal but it’s a tough task to get sick of the combination of pastry and savory edibles.

As we continued the trek, a hyper awareness took over the bus at the realization that we would be staying in Yurts for the next two nights. It’s important to realize that Yurt living, though quite comfortable, has a layer of unpredictability. The previous weekend, we were greeted to our first night in Yurts with a monsoon and violent thunder storm. On this trek we were convinced bad omens were following us around. At one point, as we arrived at a small café for lunch, the windows blew open as a result of an impromptu wind and sand storm. We had survived an influx of rain but wind, as we planned to be situated near Mongolia, seemed to provoke a hint of fear.

Thankfully, our preconceptions were simply that. We pulled up to yurt camp ground and were amazed by the glorious warm weather and beauty of the space it was encapsulated in. The camp ground is a family-run enterprise where people from all over Russia come to experience the yurt life. We were informed that that following weekend the Altai motorcycle league would be staying in the same place.

Dinner consisted of pasta, hot dogs, and tea served family style as our hosts sat at the table next to us. People used the evening to relax in the Banya, play cards with the local children, and hike around the mountains at dusk.

Monday morning started off a bit rough. Half of our tour group had been up late in the night with “gastrointestinal distress.” The odds were in our favor, though, as this had been the first time at which Siberian food had reacted poorly with our international stomachs. Despite these concerns every group member packed into small off-road vehicles and got ready for the day’s adventure.

Our guides took us through the mountains boarding Mongolia for a truly unique exploration. Theother areas of the Altai Republic we have driven around are very green. Trees and lakes border everything and all seem to have a similar look. Kosh-Agach is a different beast entirely. Every few minutes the landscape changes drastically. Green is replaced with deep reds, then deep whites, then the full color spectrum as you glance from mountain to mountain. Small villages are few and far between. It’s apparent that these geographic gems have rarely been altered by the human hand.

We found scattered petroglyphs and rare stones throughout the day but the most valuable portion of the excursion were the stories that accompanied our sights. At one point we were led to a vast white sea of small hills. We walked through this area aimlessly until a guide took out his knife and showed us how the earth easily crumbles in visible layers. This had previously been a lake, twice the size of Lake Teletskoye, but had died up thousands of years ago.

Other areas showcased a color palette that is incomparably beautiful. In one field of vision the mountains bled deep red, while another showcased ivory white stacks of stone, and further in the view canyons went on for miles. In these places we found petroglyphs and learned about their identification. Heavily detailed ancient drawings are from older generations of Altains showcasing Altaian life. More modern petroglyphs contain less detail and focus on Altaian iconography and significant spiritual symbols.

When we were returned from the trek we had another family style meal, this time a Turkic plate of noodles, meat, and vegetables, and then split up for our own explorations. Some went hiking, others relaxed in the Banya, some continued to learn card games from the local children, and others enjoyed the downtime to catch up on reading. One of the sights that no one could pass up was the sky above. When the sun went down the full-moon rose and eliminated the surrounding desert. Constellations were easily identifiable, and the deep black of space was in pure form. One of our hosts set up a telescope aimed at the moon so that we could explore every crater and crevice.

Leaving the next morning was like the break-up of a family. The children and all family members of the resort said their good byes, gave us hugs, and wished us safe travels. This was the pinnacle moment of our weekend as these positive spirits gave us renewed energy for our journey back to Barnaul.

Our 900KM drive back was split up with a night at a hotel, multiple bus rides to photographic locations, and the exploration of some locals markets. But the element we took away from our Kosh-Agach weekend was the beauty and importance of simple living. The resort and family who hosted us has stayed with us. Many of us now regularly play card games that the children taught and can’t get the visuals of the near-Mongolian mountain-scape out of our heads. I think we can safely say that all of us would return to Kosh-Agach in the blink of an eye. Trip advisor may have one way of viewing the “last tree” but for us it refers to a dying breed of people who love nature and want nothing more than to share their love with anyone who is willing to open their eyes to it.