Valaam is an archipelago of islands in Lake Ladoga, the largest freshwater lake in Europe. It is in the Russian Republic of Karelia, which borders Finland. The name Valaam comes from a Finno-Ugric word meaning “high ground.” During the night, as I am sleeping peacefully in my cabin,we travel north on the lake to Valaam.
Unfortunately I miss our approach, as we arrive very early in the morning. I had been here once before in summer time, at the height of the tourist season. Now, in the latter part of September, we are the last ship of the season and the only ship docked today.
Despite missing the arrival, I am the first person out on deck. The sun has barely risen and it is cold and misty. Valaam is famous for its mists. Being that these are islands in the middle of a vast lake, I, am, of course, reminded of the Arthurian legends of the mythical island of Avalon. Someone told me once that, at times, even though the entire area of Valaam is covered with mist, the grounds surrounding the monastery itself are in a circle of sunlight. When I was here last time though, it was summer, so it was hot and sunny, the sky was a bright blue, and there was no mist to be had. There were many tourists and pilgrims then and though it was beautiful, it was also crowded and busy.
Island of Valaam, looking out on the inlet
Today it is quiet and serene and the combination of dark smooth water, green pine trees, and mist give everything a mystical air. The history of Valaam, however, is steeped in Christian, and specifically, Russian Orthodox, religion. The archipelago is most famous for its ancient monastery and is, in fact, inhabited by monks, who returned here in 1989, after the dissolution of the Soviet Union. Prior to the revolution, monks lived here in sketes, and now, since 1989, new churches have been built at these sketes. This word “skete” (I had to look it up) refers to the monastic hermit communities where the members are able to live in isolation from society in their own communal groups. The point, of course, is solitude and worship. The sketes have their own churches and today, apart from the monastery and Spaso-Preobrazhensky Cathedral, we will be allowed to see some of the sketes on this island. There are sketes on many of the islands of the archipelago and they vary in strictness of lifestyle. Some do not allow visitors.
We are first taken by ferry from our ship around to the other side of the island where the monastery and the Cathedral are located. When we leave the inlet to go around to the other side of the island, it become clear how truly immense this lake is – the mainland shore in not visible and it seems as if we are on a vast sea.
The excursions here are all organized tours with guides. And truthfully, though I am not an advocate of group tours, a guide here is very useful. Though tourists are obviously welcome, this is still a functioning monastery and (thankfully) there are no tourist amenities (no, McDonald’s has not made it to Valaam) so it is nice to have someone who is familiar with the territory lead you around and explain things. We walk around the grounds of the monastery and visit the Cathedral.
The garden at the monastery
Cathedral in the mist
Spaso-Preobrazhensky Cathedral
View from ferry
There are people who live here who are part of a residential community (not part of the monastery). They are service employees, groundskeepers, and workers. Our guide tells us that the community is not thriving and there are only four children left in the kindergarten. Many of the people walking around seem a bit worse for wear. As my little group is strolling through a courtyard, I see a man sitting on a bench. He appears to be a bit out of sorts or maybe even inebriated (it is about 11 a.m.). He looks blearily at us as if trying to understand who we are and seems to be on the verge of starting a conversation. Another man approaches, gently take him by the arm and leads him inside.
I find this to be a strange place. The natural setting lends itself to a sort of mystical reverence yet life is undoubtedly very hard here if you are not a monk. (It is hard if you are a monk as well but I suppose that is the whole point of being a monk AND a hermit). From late September to early May, there are no tourists. There are ferries to the mainland but if you have little money, what will you do on the mainland? I see great piles of wood around the area – obviously, people are getting ready for winter. Perhaps only I see it as difficult, and I must admit that I consider life difficult when the temperature drops below 50 degrees (Fahrenheit).
I was here in 2002 when the monks had already returned and the church was open. What went on here during Soviet times is anyone’s guess. I had read somewhere that after World War II, when Moscow was filled with wounded and crippled veterans, Stalin had decided they were too depressing and shipped many of them off here. It is pleasant in Valaam in summer (apart from the mosquitoes – mosquitoes are huge and ravenous both in Karelia and in Siberia, probably the same as in Alaska. There are also ticks so a word to the wise – traveling here in the fall seems to be a pretty good option). For the veterans, forced to live here without any amenities, the winter was deadly. It is September and I am wearing a heavy sweater, an all-weather jacket, and a woolen scarf. I am quite comfortable. I can’t imagine how cold it is here in wintertime.
As we are getting ready to depart this part of the island, our guide tells us that some members of the choir want to sing for us. Most of the people in the group don’t seem enthusiastic especially when it is noted that a donation is requested. I happen to love church choir music so I follow her upstairs into one of the buildings to an unlit, unheated room. The donation is small, only 80 rubles (less than $3.00). A few of us sit down on the hard wooden benches and three of the choir members (all male) sing for us. It is stunningly beautiful. They sing snippets from their repertoire, both folk tunes and liturgical songs. The atmosphere lends an interesting touch. It is as cold inside as it is outside, a dim light shines feebly through the windows, and the stone walls are crumbling. At certain points, when their voices soar in unison, I feel chills run up my spine. I actually feel tears in my eyes during the performance and, since I am not the weepy sort in general, this is quite unexpected. These are only three members of the choir. I wonder how the entire choir would sound. Luckily, I get to find out because they are selling CD’s! Later, I’m sorry I didn’t buy more (the music is available on the Valaam website http://valaam.ru/en/mp3/). When I get home, I listen to one of the songs over and over again – it is a hymn to the island of Valaam – “Oh, Wonderful Island of Valaam!” (О, дивный остров Валаам). I find it very soothing and much more effective than chanting “serenity now” or some such thing at the end of a frustrating work day.
- Valaam men’s choir
We depart by ferry back to our ship. The rest of the day will be spent wandering around the other side of the island to see the sketes. This is a walk of several hours and here it is also good to have a guide because one could easily wander off into the woods and miss the ship’s departure. Good luck getting home any time soon if that happens.
As we walk to the first skete, the Resurrection Skete, the guide mentions that there was a home for the disabled here set up in 1940. I wonder if this was the place where the veterans were sent. This is a brick church, unusual for a Russian Orthodox church as the brick is usually covered with whitewash.
Resurrection Skete
There are raised wooden walkways and places to sit along the way. The silence and tranquility are such a stark contrast to the endless noise of the cities I have been visiting that I really revel in it. We reach Gethsemane Skete and this church is also very new looking. It is quite picturesque, situated in the middle of the forest. On the way to the last skete we walk around small island lakes. They have trout farming here surprisingly. The guide says that biologists were opposed to having these fish farms here because they pollute the water but they were overridden. I get confused as to the name of the last skete since we pass a church that is in the process of being built and I am not sure if that is a separate skete, but, in the end, I suppose it doesn’t matter. The last church is of wood, nestled in the trees. I know the point of this is not to be picturesque but well, it is. It’s even fairy tale-like… though of course I’m not implying that there would be a Baba Yaga (witch) lying in wait for hapless tourists in such a holy place…
Gethsemane Skete
The Konevitsa Skete or somewhere near it
We are told that the previous Patriarch of the Russian Orthodox Church, Aleksey, who died in 2008, had a lot to do with reviving Valaam. It is a worthwhile cause, I suppose. I enjoy it very much because the general quiet and sense of remoteness makes it understandable why people would retreat to a place like this. I imagine it is much different in summer as noisy crowds may defeat the attempt for quiet and isolation. The guides who work here from May to September are themselves leaving in a week so soon the residents will have the islands all to themselves again.
Firewood for the winter
Mushrooms anyone? “Mukhomor” or fly agaric in English (used to kill flies).
Inland lake
A path in the woods
I see that some members in our group cross themselves when entering and leaving the church, others don’t. This happens throughout my travels as I visit more churches during this trip then I have ever seen or will see in my lifetime. Most are tourists, but some are pilgrims. Some have come to learn the history of their country, others to find a spiritual connection, and still others to do both. The guide herself seems very religious and talks seriously about the life of Jesus, his resurrection, and the life of the Virgin Mary. I have to assume that the people who live here now must also be very religious. Otherwise, why would you stay? I notice a young man who appears to be a resident here, leaving the Cathedral when we are on the other side of the island. As he leaves the courtyard area of the monastery, he crosses himself, turning to face the entryway and bowing deeply. I see him again when we are in the midst of our excursion around the sketes. I realize he must have walked across the island. He walks with his head down, apparently deep in thought. Then he stops at a small rise and sits down, staring out into the trees. He is still there when we leave. I wonder how to interpret this. If one wishes to spend their life in contemplation, then there certainly are few better places than Valaam. Perhaps this young man is considering a life as a hermit monk. Yet he seems to have made a point of crossing the island to find the tourists that are here. He could walk and sit anywhere he wants presumably but he happens to be right in the area where we are. He makes no attempt to speak with anyone and even doesn’t look in our direction so perhaps my thinking that he is drawn to the crowd is wrong. Whatever the case, choosing a life in Valaam is certainly a unique choice, so far removed from the life I know that there is really no comparison.
There are people selling items in booths near the ship. We are the last hope of the season. I am not in the market for anything though the smoked fish look very nice. Food is plentiful on the ship so I decide not to load myself down with unnecessary provisions.
The “Sergey Kuchkin” docked at Valaam
Leaving Valaam is curiously touching, perhaps because we are the last run of the season. It is early evening and already getting dark. The ship departs slowly and with dignity, to the sound of recorded classical music that the captain is playing over the loudspeakers. Departures are moments worthy of contemplation in my view, especially from places like this. Most likely, I will never return here but it is an important place to have visited. One reason for travel is to see the contrast that exists between your own life and that of other people on this planet (for better or worse). Seeing and experiencing the same thing every day of one’s life, one gets to thinking that this is the only way to live, the only language to speak, and the only culture worth knowing. Look where that thinking has brought the world.
I wave at three men standing on the pier and they wave back as if we are old friends they are seeing off on a long journey. As we proceed out of the inlet, I see people on a cliff around a bonfire. They stand up as the ship cruises by and, standing at the edge of the cliff, also wave enthusiastically. The seagulls escort the ship out, dipping and wheeling overhead.
Around the World and Across Time 