Olkhon Islabd

It's a little hard to maintain my signature cynicism somewhere as genuinely lovely as Olkhon Island. But I will try.
Getting here is interesting. My driver, Sergey, who I think used to be a paratrooper, quickly steered his large van off the road and onto what appeared to be a track. Of course I use the word road very loosely. A cleared stretch of bumpy dirt comes closer.
It soon became obvious why Sergey had made this initially troubling decision. The nasty little animal track was smoother than the made road.
We bumped along it for sometime with Sergey making disapproving noises at other drivers and driving at a speed that seemed a touch reckless. But between moments of horror and stretches of discomfort, we would top a rise and below us would spread a vista of water, rocks, forest - the wild beauty of the island. Sergey would take his hands off the wheel, and gesture expansively. I would agree that it was marvellous, hoping quick affirmation would return his hands firmly to the wheel and the tyres to connection with the track.
But once here all discomfort is quickly forgotten. There are long Sandy beaches, fringed with pine forest and with water which varies from intense sapphire blue to sparkling jewel green. There are little rocky bays, soaring cliffs, the gentle sound of waves. And a whole lot of Shamanism.
Think poles tied with coloured ribbons, trees with coloured ribbons, rocks with coloured ribbons. Today I even saw a young man in the regalia, including bells sewn to everything. The effect ruined only slightly by his baseball cap and selfie taking.
Beaches here come with portable Banya - the Russian sauna. Stand around long enough and you will get to witness that great Russian tradition...overweight, middle aged women in bikinis running from banya to the freezing water of the lake and back. This edifying sight did not encourage me to try either activity or buy a bikini.
Standing above the action is a charming cafe, wherein I purchased a delicious pot of sea blackthorn tea. Sea blackthorn is a tiny yellow fruit, a hip I think, from a fairly rare plant. It has a sour, citrus flavour. It's fabulous. What I didn't know was that it is also a fiendishly powerful diuretic.
Sometime around the time I was wading in the ankle achingly cold water of the lake, it occurred to me that I needed to answer nature's call. But there is no shelter, no convenient bush, not even a largish rock. Just sand, space and a lot of sunburnt Russians. Really, bright red, painfully skin cancer causing sunburn. But that's another story.
I make it about half way back to my guesthouse and then I realise, it's just not going to work. I give in. I stand on a bare hillside, looking at one of the most spectacular views I have seen recently, and just let nature take her course.
A little piece of a hillside in one of Shamanism's most sacred places will now forever have a little of my genetic material.