Hey, weekend warrior, from the looks of that column of rudimentary huts before you, now is your big chance for a bivouacking adventure in the woods. You know, get some survival training, learn to dogsled, swim in ice holes. When you're ready to really cut loose, just rev up that 1000cc snowmachine.
No, you're not anywhere near Wasilla; rather, you're in a region whose cultural scope is multiýnational. Recently, when troops from a coalition practiced war games west of here, it was much to the displeasure of indigenous local herders. "Utterly unlearned," wrote a sixteenth-century English poet and ambassador about the ethnic group, and "for practice of Witchcraft and Sorcerie, they passe all Nations in the World." He wasn't nearly as slanderous, however, as an early-nineteenth-century mineralogist: "When inflamed by spirituous liquor," he claimed, "their intoxication betrays itself… in raging lust, and total violation of all decency in their conduct."
Hardly dissolute today, these people are admired for their centuries-old handicraft skills; one artist even fashioned a silver trinket for a recent space voyage. To be sure, their countrymen at large have talent too, which they display in ruthless bouts of spouse toting and cell-phone throwing. Booyah!
If you return to these woods in the middle of summer, you can pick boletes and berries—it's a public right, after all. You can also enjoy a boat cruise on an enormous holy lake. Right now, though, you're about to check into a hotel where, in addition to these podlike accommodations, there are log cabins and tepees. To get to this frigid terrain, you took a twelve-hour train ride from the capital, followed by a four-hour drive. The reward for your efforts is a dinner of sautéed ruminant in the ice restaurant, or perhaps the chance to witness nuptials in the crystalline chapel. Despite the numbing nighttime temperatures, you'll be warm and snug in your pod as you scan the skies for a spectacular solar wind show. The whole shebang will leave you with an inner glow.
Where are you, anyhow?
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I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing 
