Ulan Ude is a city of 360,000 people lying more than 4000 kilometers (and five time zones) east of Moscow on the Trans-Siberian Railroad. Founded as a Cossack outpost in 1666, the city sits astride the Selenga River whose origins are in Mongolia 200 kilometers to the south. The Selenga empties into Lake Baikal about 100 kilometers west of the city.


Lake Baikal


Were they to return today, I’m afraid the Cossacks would be in for a bit of a shock. Strategically located on the Trans-Siberian Railroad, Ulan Ude was transformed into one of those ugly Soviet industrial cities that sprang up in the Stalin era, from the 1930s through the 50s. With its belching factories and rows of sterile high rise apartments, the city could serve as poster child for the Ministry of Really Ugly Architecture in Moscow.

Several of my trips to Lake Baikal have been through Ulan Ude because it gives easy access to some of the most beautiful parts of the lake along its eastern shore.  On those excursions I’ve stayed at an Eastern medicine clinic in Ulan Ude. It’s kind of a combination hospital and hostel, run by a wonderful Buryat gentleman named Baer Balzhirov. The clinic is located in a forest, typical Siberian taiga, on the eastern outskirts of the city. Quiet and peaceful, it’s a place to relax, away from the noise and traffic of Ulan Ude.

On one of my first visits Baer made arrangements for some of us to have a medical diagnosis made by one of the Eastern medicine practitioners at the clinic. I must admit that I’m something of a skeptic about certain alternative forms of medicine and some modern day folk remedies. Perhaps it’s my scientific background, but when I read wild claims made for certain herbs I’m suspicious. Good scientific testing of the effectiveness of these medicines seems to be lacking. On the other hand, I realize that in the natural world there are still some amazing substances awaiting discovery, complex derivatives from flora and fauna that may yield cures for many human maladies. So when Baer asked me, I agreed. What the hell, I thought. I’m game to give it a try and see if he diagnoses something interesting.

The practitioner looked the part of a Buddhist monk, with shaven head and maroon robe. Rather than sandals he wore an ordinary pair of street shoes. The wingtips seemed to clash with the rest of his outfit, but I suppose this footware made more sense in the climate of Ulan Ude. His dark eyes had a piercing quality, giving the impression he could use his vision to penetrate skin and bone to root out sickness. He was introduced and we shook hands. He bowed slightly and I awkwardly bowed to him. With a sweep of his hand he asked me to be seated. I sat in a straight-backed chair and he seated himself opposite me on a sofa.

I had been briefed on the procedure. The practitioner had been trained over many years to detect slight variations in the human pulse, I was told. According to the Eastern medicine theory there are something like one hundred and eighty different pulse variations that can be detected by skilled practitioners. By understanding the meaning of changes in these pulses one can make diagnoses of illness or afflictions. I tried not to let my skepticism show.

He leaned forward, grasped my forearms and rotated them so that my palms were facing upward.  He placed his fingertips on my wrists in much the same way a doctor or nurse might when checking a pulse. However, rather than a fixed position, he moved his fingers to different spots and applied varying pressure. Also, he used both hands, one on each of my wrists. Sometimes his fingertips barely touched my skin, giving a tickling sensation. At other times the pressure was firm and hard. He spent several minutes doing this, moving his fingers from place to place on my wrists and forearms. All the time there was a look of intense concentration on his face and he cocked his head in such a way that it appeared he was listening for something as well.

Suddenly he looked up at me and asked if I had any particular medical problems. The question took me by surprise.  Hey, I thought, he’s supposed to root out my problems on his own. I mulled over his question for a moment. I’m in pretty good health and, aside from an occasional cold or bout of the flu, I’ve had almost no medical – Oh, wait a minute. Yes, I explained to him, I do have one problem. You see, I went on, I’m a photographer and often I carry a lot of camera equipment, up to 15 kilos (over 30 pounds) -- sometimes more. On days when I do a lot of walking while carrying that camera gear, well, at the end of the day my hip joints ache. Sometimes I cannot sleep well at night because of that pain.

He nodded in understanding and once more grasped my wrists. Again he used his fingertips to probe my pulses. His brow was furrowed in concentration. Then he looked up at me about to speak.

I must admit I got excited. Even though I was skeptical about the procedure, I recalled articles I had read about various new medicines derived from old, traditional herbs and remedies from ancient cultures worldwide. Maybe there is something to this. Siberia is noted for its wild ginseng and other herbal medicines. Surely he is about to prescribe some ointment or salve or tea made from the extract of leaves or bark or roots of a hitherto unknown but magical Siberian plant. And this would cure my aching joints. He cleared his throat and then spoke.

“You’re getting old,” he said.

He didn’t even crack a smile.







Boyd Norton, a former nuclear physicist, has been a photographer and writer for over 45 years. He is a founding Fellow of ILCW and of ILCP. He is the author/photographer of 15 books including Baikal: Sacred Sea of Siberia (with Peter Matthiessen; Sierra Club Books) and Divided Twins: Alaska and Siberia (with Yevgeny Yevtushenko; Viking Penguin), and Safari Journal published in 2007 (Fulcrum Publishing). His next book, Serengeti: the Eternal Beginning will be published in 2011 by Fulcrum Publishing. Boyd Norton’s Outdoor Digital Photography Handbook was released in Spring 2010 by Voyageur Press. The above is an excerpt from a book-in-progress about his worldwide journeys documenting wilderness.