Ust-Ilimsk: A Budget Student's Frozen Ordeal (and Those Weird Numbers)

i never planned to end up in ust-ilmisk, a speck of a town in the irkutsk oblast that barely registers on a map. but i was on a budget, and the train from irkutsk was a steal at 500 rubles, so i hopped on, dreaming of a winter wonderland. what i got instead was a wind that felt like a thousand tiny knives and a sky the color of a bruise. the moment i stepped off the train, my phone buzzed with a weather alert: -8.11°C. that number alone would be bearable if it weren’t for the feels-like: -13.92°C. humidity 85%? in this cold? i could’ve sworn my eyelashes were icing together. pressure 1023 hPa-high pressure, they call it, like that means anything when your extremities are screaming for mercy.

i dragged my backpack through snow that crunched like stale chips, looking for the hostel i’d scribbled on a napkin. turned out the napkin was from three years ago and the hostel had shut down. fantastic. after what felt like an eternity, i found a couchsurfing host, galina, a retired math teacher who lived in a wooden cabin that smelled of pine and old tea. she didn’t speak english, but her grandaughter translated via google. ‘you are brave or foolish,’ the girl typed. i wasn’t sure which.

the first night, i woke up to a weird scratching sound. galina’s windows were frosted over, and there, etched in the ice, were the numbers: 2013952. i blinked, rubbed my eyes-still there. i tried to wipe it away, but the numbers seemed ingrained, like they’d been carved by something with intent. the next morning, i found the same numbers on a receipt from the local shop: 2013952, and underneath, 1643673948. what the hell? i started noticing them everywhere: a graffiti tag on a wall, a knotted pattern on a bench, even in the steam from my tea if i stared long enough. maybe it’s a code. maybe i’m losing it. i’d been traveling for days with minimal sleep, and the constant darkness of a siberian winter wasn’t helping.

i asked around. at the only bar in town-a dimly lit dive called ‘the polar bear’-i slid onto a stool next to a man who looked like he’d been pickled in vodka. ‘you see those numbers?’ i mumbled, showing him my phone. he squinted, then laughed a wet laugh. ‘ah, the bunker code. 2013952. during soviet times, there was a secret underground complex outside of town. they say if you dial that number on an old rotary phone at exactly midnight, you’ll hear the ghosts of the gulag prisoners.’ he took a swig. ‘the other number? that’s the timestamp for when the last prisoner died. 1643673948 seconds since the beginning of the century.’ i had no idea if he was serious or just messing with me. but it gave me a new angle: maybe these numbers were a local legend, a ghost story told to spook travelers. i’d heard that locals sometimes warn newcomers about ‘the cold that steals your soul’-another creepy thing.

location-wise, ust-ilmisk is about as remote as it gets. it’s tucked in the siberian taiga, near the Ilim River (frozen solid this time of year). check this out:

see that little dot? that’s us. surrounded by forest and ice. i went for a walk along the river one afternoon, the sun a weak blob in the sky. the ice was thick, cracked in places, and the air was so cold it hurt to breathe. i took a photo, because i knew no one back home would believe this place:

a large body of water covered in ice under a cloudy sky

if you get bored, irkutsk is ‘just’ a nine-hour bus ride down the road-the bus only runs twice a week, and it’s always packed with locals carrying sacks of potatoes. there’s also the town of zheleznogorsk about 50 km away, but i tried to hitch a ride and ended up sharing a truck with a guy transporting frozen fish. the smell was… something else. so, not exactly a quick trip.

i asked a few people where to get the best pelmeni (russian dumplings). one elderly lady pointed to a tiny shack called ‘bear’s den’. but then a young guy at the internet cafe whispered that ‘bear’s den’ is actually a front for a smuggling ring and the meat might be… let’s say, not beef. i checked yelp (because why not? some locals have discovered it). there was a review: ‘the borscht gave me a vision of my ancestors.’ helpful. here’s the link: Yelp search for Ust-Ilimsk.

tripadvisor is more reliable for general info, but it’s mostly about irkutsk. still, i spent hours reading tripadvisor’s irkutsk attractions while huddled in a 24-hour internet cafe. the consensus: ‘bring thermal underwear’ and ‘learn a few russian phrases’. accurate.

i also stumbled upon a local forum called ‘siberian nomads’ where travelers and expats swap survival tips. there was a thread titled ‘ust-ilmisk: why would anyone come here?’ the top comment: ‘if you’re looking for a postcard siberia, you’re in the wrong place. this is the real, gritty, cold-as-hell siberia.’ that made me feel a little better about my misery. siberian nomads forum (okay, i made that url up, but you get the gist).

other handy links: i used this site to figure out the museum hours-turns out it’s closed on tuesdays and wednesdays and basically just closed. and this blog had a rant about the internet speeds-i can barely load a meme, let alone video call my mom.

i’m still not sure why i came here. maybe it was the cheap train fare, or maybe i have a masochistic streak. the numbers 2013952 and 1643673948 keep echoing in my head. i tried dialing them on galina’s rotary phone-just static. i asked a local historian about the bunker story; he laughed and said it’s an old wives’ tale to keep kids from wandering. but i can’t shake the feeling that something’s off. maybe the numbers are coordinates? 20.13952n, 164.3673948e? that’s somewhere in the pacific ocean, so no. maybe they’re a combination to a lock somewhere. i found a rusted padlock on a shed behind the bar, but the numbers didn’t fit. maybe it’s all in my head.

anyway, i’m catching the bus to irkutsk in a few hours. i’ll leave ust-ilmisk with frostbitten fingertips, a head full of random digits, and a new respect for anyone who calls this place home. if your life feels too comfortable, come here. it’ll fix that real quick.

ps: bring a hat. i forgot mine, and i’m pretty sure my ears will never forgive me.

Ust-Ilimsk: A Budget Student's Frozen Ordeal (and Those Weird Numbers)

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About the author: Felix Drake

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