Traveling to the Republic of Buryatia
Very few foreigners ever set foot in the Republic of Buryatia in Russian Siberia. I was one of the lucky ones, arriving as a guest of the Governor himself. The journey began with an Aeroflot flight from Moscow to Ulan-Ude — five and a half hours east. By coincidence, the Governor was on the same plane, which made the introduction easy.
I stayed for ten days, exploring the wild beauty of Buryatia, a region influenced for centuries by Silk Road cultures. This is a mystical land framed by Lake Baikal, the oldest and deepest lake in the world. Only 100 kilometers southeast of Ulan-Ude, itself a last outpost of civilization, it remains almost untouched by Western civilization.
High on my list was a hidden place few even in Russia know about: a village of the Old Believers, a community that has preserved faith and tradition for centuries.
Who Are the Old Believers of Russia?
The Old Believers split from the Russian Orthodox Church in the 17th century when Patriarch Nikon introduced reforms to liturgy and ritual. They resisted fiercely, continuing to cross themselves with two fingers instead of three, and refusing to accept the “new” church books. For this, they were persecuted, exiled, and in some cases executed.
Many fled to remote regions like Siberia. Others, known as the Semeiskie Old Believers, were resettled here in Buryatia by Catherine the Great to farm and guard the borders. They survived through faith, self-reliance, and community. Their haunting polyphonic songs are so unique that UNESCO has recognized them as part of the world’s intangible cultural heritage.
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Visiting the Old Believers’ Village of Buryatia
One morning, I set out by car. Ninety minutes of winding roads later, I arrived at a cluster of brightly painted wooden houses. The village looked like it had spilled out of a storybook — blue fences, yellow shutters, green gables.
“Even most Russians don’t know this place exists,” my guide told me. He was right. The village felt like a hidden world, almost out of time.
The people matched the houses. Dressed in long, handmade dresses, aprons, and embroidered shirts, they looked as though they had walked out of another century. Yet this was not a museum or a film set. This was their daily life, preserved against history’s storms.
Meeting the Old Believers: Warm Welcomes and Family Pride
The villagers greeted me warmly. Foreigners rarely come here, so they were just as curious about me as I was about them. I went from house to house, and each family opened their door with pride.
Inside, I saw heirloom furniture made by their ancestors — sturdy wardrobes, cradles, and cabinets built to last. Dresses in vivid colors hung on the walls like works of art. “My grandmother wore this at her wedding,” one woman told me through my guide. “Every stitch is memory.”
Old Russian Traditions Preserved in the Dresses of the Old Believers
The dresses glowed in shades of deep red, emerald green, and bright blue, their fabric heavy with history. Some had matching vests, thick with beadwork that caught the light. Others were embroidered in neat, geometric patterns — tiny crosses, stars, and lines stitched in gold, white, or black thread.
I ran my fingers across one sleeve and felt the raised texture of the embroidery. These weren’t museum pieces; they were garments worn for weddings, feast days, and family gatherings. Each one carried memory in its threads.
Inside the Homes of the Old Believers
Every corner seemed to carry meaning. Wooden stoves stood painted in bright floral patterns, their edges chipped from years of use but still beautiful. In one corner, icons glowed behind embroidered cloths, each frame carefully decorated. On shelves, carved boxes and hand-painted spoons sat beside heavy cabinets built by ancestors long gone. The air smelled faintly of wood smoke and bread. It was a kind of comfort that didn’t need explanation.
And everywhere were old-fashioned dolls dressed in intricate dresses, as if awaiting an invitation to a tea party. I found this extremely fascinating.
The Polyphonic Singing of the Old Believers
And then there was the sound. From another room came the voices of women singing, their harmonies rising in layered waves. It was the polyphonic singing of the Old Believers, recognized by UNESCO as part of the world’s intangible cultural heritage. The notes were raw and haunting, more powerful than polished. It was not performance; it was prayer carried in song, passed down through centuries without change.
Later, I asked a grandmother when they sang and why. She looked at me with steady eyes and said simply, “We sing when we work, when we pray, when we remember. Singing keeps us together. Without the songs, there is no us.”
The Amber “Pharmacy” of Buryatia
In another home, a man placed a massive amber necklace in my hands. The beads were large, warm, and golden, heavy with meaning.
“This protects us,” he said. “When someone is sick, we wrap them in amber. It brings balance back to the body.”
Then he looped it gently around my shoulders before gesturing to the wall. Dozens of amber necklaces in different sizes and lengths hung like glowing strands of sunlight.
“Every house has its own pharmacy of amber necklaces,” he explained with quiet pride.
Whether or not amber cures illness, here it offers strength, comfort, and continuity. In a village far from modern medicine, belief itself becomes part of the cure.
Of course I had to try the Old Believers’ dress with my amber necklaces too. Fortunately, one of the ladies kindly lent me a clean heirloom piece.
Traditional Food of the Old Believers of Siberia
That evening, several families invited me into the community common room. The walls were covered with icons and hand-painted frames. The table had been set with what they called a feast: beef and vegetable stew, a simple salad, and thick slices of homemade bread.
Almost every ingredient had come from their own fields or barns. Only on rare trips to Ulan-Ude, the capital of Buryatia, do they buy modern essentials. Otherwise, life continues much as it always has.
We ate together in the soft light, their children shy at first but soon curious, asking me where I had come from and why. A young woman leaned in and asked, “Most foreigners go to Baikal. Why did you come here?”
I told her I wanted to see the way they lived, to witness traditions that had survived centuries. She nodded slowly. “We are not a museum,” she said. “We live this way because it is who we are. If we stopped, we would not exist.”
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Generations in the Old Believers’ Village
Curious, I asked another woman, “How far back can you trace your family here, in this Old Believers’ village?” She paused, thought for a moment, and then shrugged.
“I don’t know. I never really think about that. All I know is that my family has been here for a very long time.”
The answer was simple, but it spoke volumes. Here, history isn’t measured in years or dates. It lives in the thread of a dress, the song of a family, the warmth of a stove, the walls of a wooden house.
Living History of Siberia
That night, I listened to the villagers sing again. Their voices rose in polyphony, a harmony so raw and ancient it seemed to come from the earth itself.
The Old Believers of Buryatia have carried their way of life past the reign of Tsar Nicholas II, past the Russian Revolution, past two world wars, and into the present day. While the rest of Russia has changed beyond recognition, this community remains steady. They still build their own homes, bake their own bread, and sing the same songs their ancestors sang in exile.
In a world that celebrates speed and change, the Old Believers remind us of something rare: continuity. Their life is not about nostalgia. It is about survival and identity. Standing there, I understood that this was not the past preserved. This was the past, still alive.
