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Around one of the deepest lakes in the world, some 1600m deep, and among the oldest, just a handful of millions of years, a rare spectacle unfolded before my eyes, unveiling without noise, the magic of the distant lands of Siberia. In the south of the region, on Baikal Lake, lies the peaceful Olkhon, a mysterious island, charged with shamanic spirits and legends.


The island's "capital", Khuzhir, is more like a village composed by typical wooden houses than a real town. Silence reigns there most of the time except when the stray wolf-dogs announce the arrival of dusk through their deep and resonating howls. As spring approaches, the last words of winter still envelops the immense space whose famous horizon line is distinguished by the cracked ice and the steppe while the inhabitants conduct their daily activity, fairly disconnected from the demands of the modern world.

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