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VERKNYANA IVOLGA, Russia - My eyes scoured the frozen expanse of the tundra, looking for the fossilized remains of life in this desolate place. I walked towards a small tree, empty branches curled toward the ground by the harsh Siberian wind. There, near the base of the tree, I found it. Frozen dog poo.

I traveled nearly 4,000 miles to see this place, a small settlement in one of the harshest climates inhabited by man. Temperatures are average around 5 degrees in the daytime, -10 to -20 at night. It's unthinkable for people here to even cross the street without putting on a thick coat, fur hat and warm gloves. Yet this community is thriving, in the middle of a construction boom that will nearly double its size in a couple years.

Ivolga is reached by tours originating in Ulan Ude, the provincial capital 35 miles away. After arriving in Ulan Ude yesterday, I went to Siberia Tours, and asked how to get to Ivolga. Five minutes later, Isla appeared, her large frame covered in a full length gray fur coat. She had on a matching hat.

"You see there is a problem," she said. "In the summer we have many tours. Right now, you are the only tourist in Siberia."

After crowning me The Only Tourist in Siberia, she continued.

"I can offer you a three-hour tour for this price," and she took out a piece of paper and wrote down 1,900 Roubles, or $68. Too high for my budget. I thanked for her help, purchased a bus ticket for the day after tomorrow and began wondering how I would spend the next two days if I didn't visit the monastery.

I walked to the city's center square, which contains the World's Largest Buddha Head and a bunch of ice sculptures. Off to one side is Safari Cafe/Safari Tours. I went inside to hear a young Buriyat give me a familiar story: there weren't any tourists now, thus, no tours. But she gave me bus directions to the sight.

The next morning I got on Bus #130 and headed toward Ivolga. At the bus' last stop, I followed a monk into a minivan.

"Where are you from?" the monk asked in perfectly fine English, and then he stepped outside to take a phone call.

"Hey Amerika Boy!"

It was the minibus driver, an old Buriyat man with crazy facial hair coming out of all sides of his chin.

"Give me 10 Roubles!"

And we were off to the datsun, a Buddhist monetary complex similar to the ones that used to operate in Tibet.

When we arrived, my monk friend and the driver quick scattered. I wandered on the property, and an amazing thing happened. No one tried to collect any ticket money from me. No one pushed a bunch of junk at me. No one even seemed to notice that The Only Tourist in Siberia showed up at all.

I expected a desolate place, the mostly dead shell of a religion. Instead I found the place full of life, the monks busily sawing, cutting and nailing away at new site buildings. They didn't have time to shill crap to tourists.

At first, I stumbled with monastery etiquette. Do you spin a prayer wheel clockwise or counter-clockwise? Should non-Buddhists throw coins in the collection jars? Can I take pictures of monks? But slowly I realized no one really cared. They were too busy with their daily
lives.

Siberian Buriyat monks differ from their Tibetan colleagues in that they can marry, so they live in tiny log cabins concentrated on one side of the site. The other half is devoted to temples, prayer wheels and an enclosed tree that apparently is a descendant of the one where the Buddha reached Enlightenment.

After touring the complex, I headed off the site to solve another mystery. There were dogs everywhere in the complex, resting near houses, wandering around prayer wheels and at the entrance. But where did they poo?

Then, under that tree, I found it. And I didn't even step in it.