How Nomads Survive in -60° in Far North? Russia Nowadays Life

Far in the north of Russia, on the land of nomadic peoples, every morning begins the same. The mistress of the choum is always too thirsty to rise. She lights the stove while everyone else is still asleep. It's not because she is unappreciated. This is simply how life has been in the tundra for centuries. Everyone has their role. The woman tends to the space within the choum, the man to all that lies beyond. Outside the thin cover of the choum, it's minus 30, sometimes even 50 below zero. And even inside, by morning, the cold has usually crept in, often making it just as cold as outside. Someone has to get up first and make sure the others wake to a warm home. The far north may be one of the last places on earth where people still understand real love doesn't require possession. Here no one sets conditions, people simply adapt, they accept the world as it is. There is no choum here, only what is given, and in that quiet surrounder, something real is born. For those of us raised in a world of endless comforts and convenience, it's hard to imagine that someone could choose this life. No modern luxuries, no amenities, always on the move, at the edge of the earth. Why don't they leave? Why don't they move somewhere warmer, easier, simpler? What keeps them here, choosing again and again to remain in this harsh, frozen tundra? What stands behind this choice? And what could we, modern people, learn from the moments of Yamalp, if we truly try to understand their way of life? This is Yamal, land of reindeer and nomadic peoples. Here live the Nenets, an indigenous people of the north, who have moved across this endless tundra land for generations. In their language, Yamal means the edge of the earth. But maybe this isn't the edge at all. Maybe this is the very heart. Here live the family of Pyotr and Anna, reindeer honored by blood, born and raised in the tundra. They have never left it, never lived in apartments, never taken the south way. They have simply never known any other life. This has been their world since birth and still is. Their life is a constant journey, a rhythm of camps and moves. Their days are filled with quiet state of work, preparing firewood, filling water, fixing harnesses, gathering the reindeers at hand straight over night. Everything is done by hand. And so, day after day, life moves forward. Enjoy your breakfast. So, what's the plan for today? Do you prefer moving with the help of the reindeer or using the snowmobile? Today is the day of Kasanya. That's what they call the great move from one camp to another. A few times each month Pyotr and Anna lead their herd to where the lichen grows thicker. Lichen is what sustains the reindeer through the long winter. Migration begins early in the morning. By sunset, the choum, the herd and all their belongings, everything must be moved to a new location. Now it's spring. The days are long, the children are on break, the move feels light, even joyful. But for most of the year Pyotr and Anna do it alone. Regardless of the season, they have to pack everything themselves, from kitchenware to entire choum. The choum, the traditional dwelling of Yamal nomads, is made from long wooden poles and heavy reindeer hides, hand-stitched by the women of the house. Before each migration it must be completely dismantled and loaded onto sleds. Just like in life. To begin a new journey you must take apart what once kept you warm and rebuild it, piece by piece, in a new place. Modern people also have their own path, but their steps always follow a goal. We search for better places, better timing, better conditions. We try to control, reshape and mold their worlds to fit our expectations. But a nomad doesn't think that way. He cannot bend the thunder to his will. Here nothing gets easier. In fact, it only gets harder with time. Health fades, children grow up and leave for the cities, strength diminishes. Life expectancy here is around 50, to reach 60 is rare and considered old age. How often do you move from place to place? When there are not enough reindeers, when the reindeers are walking far away, we stop. When there are not enough reindeers, we stop 3-4 times. If there is a good place, we look at it the next day. We look at it, then we send it. And have you found a place for today? We looked at the apartment. We sent it. There is nothing extra here. Every item, every install has a purpose. Nothing is taken just in case. Everything is refined through experience. A nomad knows exactly what to take and what to leave behind. He trusts that thunder will provide the rest, as long as you don't ask for more. People here don't hope or fear running out tomorrow. They don't carry much, but their journey is still heavy. The tent, the clothes, the food, everything comes with them. And it's not machines that carry it, but reindeer. Isn't it too heavy for the reindeer? Is it hard to live in the tundra? Sometimes we sleep for 40 minutes. And it's very cold. We are tired. We put a tent. It gets dark on the street, because it's a polar night. And it's only light until 2 a.m. We get up early, in the morning at 3 a.m. In 6 a.m. we can sometimes drive 35 km. In the fall we don't have such firewood. Sometimes the stove doesn't want to burn. I'm all wet. My people are all wet, too. We have to put them in the stove. We mow through the swamp. Everything gets dirty. We have to wash every mow. It's hard. There are 10 children in this family. The oldest one is a girl, Tatiana. And the eldest one is also a girl. The others are all boys. And no one holds on to neither things nor places. Not even the ones he loves most. He does everything he can. And then he lets go. He passes down all he knows. How to live in the tundra. How to care for the herd. Where to find a lichen. But he also gives his children an education. So they can choose for themselves. To stay here or leave for the city. To live like their ancestors. Or in their own way. He prepares them for many kinds of life. And respects whatever path they choose. This process is called archon work. Using long ropes, archons, they catch the strongest and fastest reindeer to harness them into the sled teams. The rest are herded into a circle. Everyone helps here. Even women and children. How many reindeer do you hitch up? In winter it's 40. In summer we need a lot. We need 4 reindeer. We need a lot of them. On Yamal the reindeer is everything. It's transportation, food and warm clothing. It gives everything needed to survive in the tundra. Almost everything around Namut is made either from the reindeer hide or its inner parts. Without the reindeer, life here simply wouldn't exist. I want to ride a reindeer. Guys, look, I'm riding. This is the main head sled. And these are the strongest reindeer of this herd. Can you tell me what is this? This is a reindeer horn. It's a horn. It's used to warn the males. We use it for harnessing. Then we use it as a harness. This is also made from the reindeer horn. This is the reindeer skin. Is this the harness you use to steer? Yes. This is the reindeer horn. It's made from the reindeer skin. All the hair is removed from the skin. Then it's cut into even pieces and braided. Can you braid it like that? I learned it recently. They tie these reindeer and their sleds, wooden sleds, into a chain. And in this way they move everything on their own, even their home. You and I have the most important job, gathering all the reindeer, right? The whole family rides up ahead and we stay at the back. There is no one behind us. Today the family moved to their next camp. It only took a couple of hours. In autumn and winter they stay closer to the railway. It's safer there. They have cell signal, can trade meat for other supplies and even get to a store if needed. But soon after the spring holidays they'll head closer to the sea to fatten the reindeer during the short Arctic summer to prepare for another winter. Their journey will be different. Longer. Harder. They'll be on the move for 8 hours a day. Every day. Now we'll put the choum in a new place. First we'll put the stove. Then we'll build the choum around it. These are the two main poles on which the choum is held. We call them Mukuda. The choum is never built randomly. It forms like a person. Shaped by everything that surrounds them. Each part of this choum carries a trace of the past behind it. The poles. Pyotr cut them himself in the forest and carved each one exactly as he needed. The heights came from reindeer he raised. Even the ropes. Hand-woven by his family from reindeer sinew. Strong enough to hold the entire structure together for years. If modern people are shaped by their choices circumstances and beliefs a nomad is shaped by the tundra. The strength of the choum reveals the resilience of the one who built it. But even the story's structure is useless without what's burned within. At the heart of the choum is the stove. It warms the space, gathers the family during long polar nights and offers heat to anyone who steps near its flame. The fire can't be seen from the outside. But it has always been, it is and always will be the source of the life in this land. Without it the choum would be empty and cold. Just like a person who's lost love inside. The fire accepts everyone who comes close. It doesn't divide people into good or bad, beautiful or plain, worthy or not enough. Just like love. It accepts everything as it is. Love never checks the past. On the contrary, it gathers cloves and weaves it into the homes. But what if the nomad rejected parts of his choum? What if he removed a pole that felt inconvenient or discarded a hide just because it's not beautiful? The whole structure would be grove-shaky and unstable. Even the lightest wind could collapse it and scatter its parts across the tundra. When we reject parts of ourselves, we become vulnerable. When we deny our experience, we lose our foundation. When we believe something in us or others is wrong, we create suffering. But a nomad never discussed pieces of his story. He knows. Remove one pole and the choum sags. Lose one hide and the warmth escapes. Leave out the rope and the whole site collapses. Every day lift, every meeting, every wound is the raw material that shapes who we are. Even what once felt like a mistake becomes our strength. It's acceptance that brings all these parts together into a whole, unified self. Not perfect, but real. Here in the nomad's truth doesn't need to be spoken. No one here tries to change others. No one demands that you be convenient, successful or right. If you are near the fire, there is space for you. If you are here, it means you belong. It doesn't matter if you are loud or quiet, strong or weak, young or old, you have a place in the circle. And maybe that's the most important thing a modern person can feel that home isn't walls, but a place where you are accepted completely. If you already feel the warmth, then you are already home. Why is the number of reindeer going down? You used to have over 500, right? Do you think you will be able to rebuild the herd? There are no schools in the tundra. In late August, just before school starts, a helicopter comes to take all school-aged children to the town of Vorkuta. There they live and study in a boarding school. From the age of 7, sometimes even 6, a child of the tundra begins life away from their parents. They come back home only 4 times a year for the school holidays. This too is a part of life here, they are used to it. But every time the helicopter rises into the sky, the chum becomes a little quieter. Back in Soviet times and in the 19th, when the country was in chaos, how did kids go to school? They were school-aged during the 19th. They can't read or write, can they? They didn't know that there are schools for children and that they need to get an education. My parents didn't understand Russian and explained to the school that their children would need it. Now our parents think that education is important. If a person wants to come to the city, it will be difficult for him to find a job because they don't have an education, so they have to live in the tundra. Even those who have no reindeer live in the tundra and don't go out because they don't have another way out. This happens often in Russia. In remote areas and tiny villages where few people remain, schools are shut down and parents are faced with a difficult decision. Stay on their ancestral lands and let the state raise their children or leave everything behind and move closer to civilization for the sake of the kids. Many choose the second option. They can't imagine their child living alone. But can we really say which choice is stronger, which path is better for a child? Some might even call the choice to stay selfish. But who truly knows? Maybe this is exactly the path these children were meant to walk, a path of early independence shaped by the lands they were born into. And maybe their parents, no matter their way of life or education, are the best parents they could possibly have. No. These children don't grow up in sheltered conditions. They know distance. They know hard work. They mature early. They don't learn about life from books or stories. They live it. And perhaps that's why their eyes often hold a quiet wisdom, rare even in adults. Here every child is allowed to be themselves. And they are given two of the most important things freedom to discover who they are and love that doesn't need to be earned. Do you ever regret choosing this kind of life? Is she happy? There was a time when Yamal was my dream. I wanted to come here and live this life. But once I arrived, I caught myself longing for my apartment, for warm water, for familiar food. I spent all seven days of my expedition feeling miserable, wishing for things I didn't have. And I missed the most important thing the present moment. That's when I realized this is how I live my whole life always in my head waiting for something better, never fully with what is. Yamal made me see. The next expedition was different. This time I didn't come for anything. I came just to be. I started seeing here and now as the best place I could be in. And everyone beside me as the best people I could ever ask for. Trusting every decision mine or someone else as exactly right. Loving life exactly as it is. Thanks to Yamal and the people here something inside me shifted. I stopped waiting and life began. People say parents here used to choose husband and wives for their kids. Is it still like that? Even if your parents choose you can still fall in love. Your parents picked a good match for you, didn't they? Young people can be foolish. Sometimes they marry for love and end up miserable. There is abuse, no respect. But parents would never wish something bad for their kids. You just don't want a responsibility anymore. Let them take care of their own lives, right? When are we marrying Tanya off? Are we? I haven't taken a walk yet. I haven't looked around yet. We are preparing for sleeping. After day of immigration we will sleep on the stove. It's very cold and so we use several layers of skin, blankets and sleeping bag. When it's cold the Germans sleep in sleeping bags. It's warmer. That's made from the warmest parts of the reindeer, right? Yes. The bottom is made of leather next to the hooves. When it's stormy outside the Germans prepare their clothes so that the plague can leave without clothes. We wore the warmest clothes, several layers. We use sleeping bag and our coats. This is panitsa, also made from skin and it's very, very warm. And we will use not only in the street, but also for sleeping. For separating the private space they use the covers from fabric. We, the Moron ones, believe that freedom lies in having choice, but sometimes choice becomes a trap. Even when we pick a path we try to stay on every road at once, afraid to miss out, afraid to lose. A Norman doesn't have endless options. He walks the one path that was given to him. And because it was given, he is free. Because he has never wanted to be anyone else. And what if we are the same? What if we already have a path and the only thing missing is us? Right here, right now.