I walk with the wind
Trust, mutual assistance, unexpected turns: what are "slow travels" like in Russia?
On August 27, 2025, Silina Suleimanova and Alena Myasnikova set off from the shore in the village of Karaul. Casual acquaintances—local fisherman Alexander and his wife Alla—arranged a ride for the girls to a reindeer herder camp. Getting there was the height of their dreams, even though they had visited a variety of remote places beyond the Arctic Circle, traveling by boat, car, and even train.
They spent several hours rafting along uncharted channels. The weather was calm and sunny. There were plenty of such days this August: it was very warm for the Arctic. Even the mosquitoes, which constantly plague people and animals in the tundra, were only a nuisance in the evenings those days—and the girls found little use for the numerous sprays and mosquito nets they had prepared.
"When we were walking through the tundra, we noticed that the moss was dry in places. And the locals said the summer was unusually warm," Silina says.
Along the turbulent, wide rivers, they calmly reached the shore, where a reindeer herder, an elderly Nenets named Timur, was waiting for them. His reindeer were grazing between the Khinka and Kuryakha rivers. They still had a few kilometers to go, to a new hill—such are the landmarks in the tundra. Timur took their backpacks and carried them to the camp on a snowmobile, while the girls, now lightly packed, began searching for a path through the moss flattened by the snowmobile.
"The track was lost in places. Our confidence that we were on the right path was also fading. Every few steps we checked, diligently peering through binoculars to see if there were any tents in sight. And finally, far in the distance, a small cone appeared, emerging from a small hillock..."
It's good to sleep in the tundra
By evening, they saw the chum itself, surrounded by sleds and reindeer. This, it turned out, was the entire camp. Nearby was a lake, and beyond it a Nenets burial site. The reindeer herders' children told the girls they were forbidden to go there. Medium-sized, black-and-red fluffy dogs ran around the chum: four reindeer herders—as the local breed is known—and one mongrel, nicknamed "the young Russian." He had recently been given to the family, brought from Norilsk. He was the only one in the camp who didn't understand Nenets; they spoke to him separately in Russian.
Reindeer herders' camp
The entire family gathered in the chum: Timur's mother, his wife Valya, their seven children, and a second family of reindeer herders. The three eldest daughters are studying to become elementary school teachers in Dudinka. During the summer, the two families would join forces to make herding the reindeer easier and to help them survive mosquito season: if the animals don't wander off into the tundra, they huddle together in a tight circle, which reduces their risk of being bitten.
The chum itself is very simple. On the left is the children's area, on the right is the adults' area. There's no floor; the ground is bare. Reindeer skins are laid out at the entrance, but dogs sleep on them. The sleeping areas for the people are mattresses covered with mosquito netting to keep out the mosquitoes. A stove is kept warm in the middle.
"We were invited to the table and fed venison, potatoes, and fresh fish that Alexander had caught on the way to the camp. The children stole candy from a large potato sack and ate the watermelon they'd brought," Silina recounts.
The girls pitched their tent nearby. At first, Silina and Alena felt awkward, reluctant to be intrusive. But then they relaxed and gave in to their curiosity: the tent's owner, Valya, was demonstrating a local ritual—"kaptenie," or fumigation.
Wild reindeer fat and an arctic fox fur coat are heated over coals, laid out on a metal tray, and the whole thing begins to smolder. Hands, feet, and faces are fumigated with smoke. Sometimes, objects are also used, such as a maut—a rope used for catching reindeer. While doing this, they say, "Drip-drip." "The man," says Valya, "mushy" is especially important. He's everywhere and needs protection.
During the four days Silina and Alena spent at the camp, they didn't have much to do: they picked berries and learned to cook. Valya patiently answered questions and explained that if someone got sick, they could slaughter a reindeer, which would transfer all the illnesses to them. This also works with dogs, Valya's companions add.
Reindeer herders' camp
Nenets women are forbidden to go behind the stove. The spirits there are guardians of the family, and they mustn't be disturbed. But here, says Valya, this belief is a thing of the past.
One day, the camp's owners treated Silina and Alena to ribs from a deer they'd recently slaughtered due to an injury. The next day, the girls slept for half a day. Just like the camp's owners, after the feast.
"I tell Alena: 'They'll ask us what we learned today.' And she says: 'We learned how well it is to sleep in the tundra.'"
In the morning and evening, the reindeer are gathered by guards to prevent them from wandering off: in the evening, the son would gather them on a dog sled, and in the morning, the father on a Buran. Before the girls' departure, both Nenets families gathered to separate the herds, which had previously been grazing together. Each family has its own command for their reindeer, which the animals understand and leave with their owners. For one family, it's "atatai," for the other, "arya."
But the girls didn't get to see this; it was time to leave the camp. And in the winter, the children would leave too, and while they were studying in boarding schools, their families would "argish"—the word has taken root in the Russian language—or "yamdat," as the Nenets are more accustomed to—wander alone across the tundra.
I'm quitting and leaving.
Chance encounters like the one with fisherman Alexander and his wife Alla, and unexpected changes to initial plans, are not only common but also an obligatory part of "slow" travel, as Silina calls it.
The key to them is the opportunity to linger somewhere longer, stop by another place, or even turn around. This kind of on-the-go planning. It was precisely this desire to "linger" that led Silina to swap traditional backpacking trips for "slow" travel.
The only limitation is time. Previously, when Silina was studying at university—she's a business informatics specialist by training—summer vacations were a lifesaver.
"Then I tried combining travel with remote work. But it doesn't always work: sometimes there's no connection, and you never know where you'll end up. So now I have a different strategy: I save up for, say, six months, then quit my job and go on a trip," adds Silina.
During her two months in the tundra, Silina tried her hand at anthropology. She applied online for a master's degree in anthropology right there in Norilsk, with intermittent internet access. In her travel notes, she describes settlements, construction on permafrost, and new words from the Nenets language.
The reindeer herders have already invited her to their celebration. Now she's wondering if she can find time in April to visit her old friends.
An inquisitive look and mossy horns
In the abandoned settlement of Tolsty Nos, Silina and Alyona reached the burial sites of Decembrist Nikolai Lisovsky and the monk Pimen, a local legend. There they saw four open coffins containing human remains: "As we were later told, this was a Nenets burial, where it is not customary to bury the dead. And it is not customary to visit the burial site, as Russians do."
In Karaul, the girls visited the weather station. It's located a little away from residential buildings and adjacent to Rosneft's "kingdom." It's an inconspicuous gray trailer, more like a workers' shed. Only the various instruments peeking out from the bushes reveal the structure as a weather station.
"There's a rain gauge, a heliograph, and a probe for measuring the thickness of the thawed permafrost layer. Amidst all this diversity, plump blueberries sprout," Silina describes. "Even though there's an automatic data collection system, they still use manual Soviet-era instruments for more precise measurements. And how can you determine the cloud type without a keen human eye? For that purpose, the station has a good old cloud atlas."
Weather station
A typical village festival—a harvest fair—was taking place in Dudinka. There was singing and a workshop on painting rubber boots and painting interiors. And where they sold vegetables from their gardens, various dairy products, and meat, a bone carver demonstrated his ancient craft. Silina and Alena just happened to have mossy antlers—conveniently enough, they'd found them on their way through the tundra.
That's the whole point: to see everything for yourself, not to read about it somewhere. And to leave something as a memento. Such trips, first and foremost, change your perspective, as Silina has experienced firsthand. Now she looks at her native Tyumen differently and rediscovers streets familiar from childhood. And when she travels, she leaves postcards of Tyumen views for the locals.
Not for everyone, but accessible
This type of travel isn't for everyone, and that's okay, Silina says. Her basic gear is a backpack, a sleeping bag, a tent, and a stove. She also has her own packraft—a lightweight inflatable boat for rafting—and can borrow one from a hiking club. She always carries a winter down jacket—you never know where you'll end up.
The cost of a trip varies from time to time, but expensive equipment is not her priority; she would always prefer to spend money on travel.
"I dry meat and vegetables in advance. I buy the rest of the food on the road. Hitchhiking is free, but if you catch trains or hitchhike, it all works out differently. And you can combine all of these. So it's hard to put a specific figure on it. On Taimyr, of course, it was more expensive."
Other travelers can also be a great way to save money on the road: for example, renting an apartment or house and inviting other travelers to stay. In cities, there's a Russian version of couchsurfing called "Hi People," and there's the "Home for Everyone" project.
“Of course, there’s family, there are family restrictions and work, but to some extent, you can weave all of this into your life and arrange a two-week trip in that spirit.
Trust and mutual assistance
Over the years of traveling, Silina has visited the Caucasus, the Far East, and neighboring regions, but she is still a long way from “traveling all of Russia.”
"I look at the map and see that this isn't even half of it. I also think that just because you've been to Krasnoyarsk doesn't mean you've seen the Krasnoyarsk Territory. There are so many places nearby that you could explore endlessly. Generally, I'm drawn to the north, although I've traveled to the southern regions of Russia and neighboring countries. Perhaps it's because I was born in Salekhard and only moved to Tyumen when I was three. I like the northern nature, I like the sparseness. There's something about it."
Her first "slow" journey was a hitchhiking trip from Volgograd to Stavropol, where she spent a month living at a stable and caring for horses. From there, Silina—along with another traveler—headed to Dagestan in the Caucasus.
The more remote the area, the less information there might be to prepare for it, although Silina and Alena always download maps before a hike, and once there, they always go to the local history museum first. And wherever she was—south or north—she was struck by the willingness of strangers to help "a man with a backpack."
"In Dagestan, a friend and I were walking through a market with backpacks. One woman started, 'Travelers! You must be tired! Bring them chairs!' Everyone started bustling about, and they sat us down. Although, to be honest, we'd just left the house and weren't tired at all. Then the woman from her stall simply put hats on us, even though it was October and quite warm. We tried to protest, but it was very difficult. Then they brought us tea and started asking questions. It was a shock the first time.
The image of a traveler immediately attracts attention, says Silina. She's experienced similar situations in Irkutsk and other cities.
"It's as if this backpack makes me visible to other people, shows that I'm not part of their crowd, that I need some kind of support. Now I'm not so surprised by it. But it's always so warm and pleasant. And I've started doing it myself."
Thanks to the kindness of strangers on their last trip, they barely had to spend a night in a tent. Every time they tried to pitch one in the villages, she was met with the simple response, "We don't do that here." In Dudinka, one of their new acquaintances even gave them the keys to an apartment and left for a few days.
Silina plans to visit the Ob-Yenisei Canal next. It's abandoned now, but until the middle of the last century, it was navigable. She recently discovered it: locks and coastal fortifications are partially preserved, and part of it ran along active rivers. Old Believers, they say, live in those parts. But these are just plans; where she'll stop along the way and where she'll spend some time will be determined once she gets there.
