The Talab Islands
Have you ever been to the Talab Islands? I imagine most people would answer no. We tend to look for places where island life has survived somewhere else. Yet just outside of the ancient city of Pskov, in the middle of the vast Lake Pskov, lies a tiny archipelago where a disappearing way of life, shaped by the rhythms of a lake, still endures.
More than anything, I remember the islands for their atmosphere. The sense of freedom. The scent of the lake. The steady wind. The weather changing within minutes. The light, capable of transforming the colour of the water and the entire landscape in an instant. And the immense sky, which somehow seems to occupy more space than the land.
My journey began on Talabsk, now officially known as Zalit Island. Here, everyday life has quietly become the main attraction. There are very few modern buildings. Most of the island is still made up of old wooden houses with traditional front gardens, narrow lanes and small vegetable plots. Boats. Piers. Fishermen patiently waiting with their rods. The lake still defines the rhythm of life. Fishing nets dry in the open air. Locals sell smoked fish — worth the journey on its own — together with the famous Pskov smelt. The bond between the people and the lake remains remarkably direct and deeply rooted.
More than anything, I remember the islands for their atmosphere. The sense of freedom. The scent of the lake. The steady wind. The weather changing within minutes. The light, capable of transforming the colour of the water and the entire landscape in an instant. And the immense sky, which somehow seems to occupy more space than the land.
My journey began on Talabsk, now officially known as Zalit Island. Here, everyday life has quietly become the main attraction. There are very few modern buildings. Most of the island is still made up of old wooden houses with traditional front gardens, narrow lanes and small vegetable plots. Boats. Piers. Fishermen patiently waiting with their rods. The lake still defines the rhythm of life. Fishing nets dry in the open air. Locals sell smoked fish — worth the journey on its own — together with the famous Pskov smelt. The bond between the people and the lake remains remarkably direct and deeply rooted.
At the heart of the island stands St Nicholas Church, first mentioned in the sixteenth century. Just a short walk away is the home of Archpriest Nikolai Guryanov, one of the most revered Orthodox elders of the twentieth century, who lived here for more than forty years.
What struck me most was that his house has remained almost exactly as it was during his lifetime. Places like this are usually transformed into memorial museums. Personal belongings disappear behind glass. Labels, display cases and barriers appear, and with them the quiet sense of human presence gradually fades. Here, that has not happened.
You step inside the small wooden house and see the bed, the table, the icons, simple everyday objects, his hat and cassock. It feels as though he has only stepped outside for a moment. That sense of simplicity carries far more emotional weight than any carefully curated museum exhibition.
There is beauty created by human hands, and there is another kind of beauty, born from the meeting of water, wind, weathered wooden houses, a lone boat resting by the shore, and a way of life that has continued here for generations. It is this quiet beauty, seemingly simple yet filled with extraordinary depth, that moves me the most. It is easy to overlook because it rarely demands attention.
What struck me most was that his house has remained almost exactly as it was during his lifetime. Places like this are usually transformed into memorial museums. Personal belongings disappear behind glass. Labels, display cases and barriers appear, and with them the quiet sense of human presence gradually fades. Here, that has not happened.
You step inside the small wooden house and see the bed, the table, the icons, simple everyday objects, his hat and cassock. It feels as though he has only stepped outside for a moment. That sense of simplicity carries far more emotional weight than any carefully curated museum exhibition.
There is beauty created by human hands, and there is another kind of beauty, born from the meeting of water, wind, weathered wooden houses, a lone boat resting by the shore, and a way of life that has continued here for generations. It is this quiet beauty, seemingly simple yet filled with extraordinary depth, that moves me the most. It is easy to overlook because it rarely demands attention.
The largest of the Talab Islands is Verkhny, today officially called Belov Island. Unlike neighbouring Talabsk, it remained heavily forested for centuries. Very few people settled here permanently, and it was precisely this solitude that attracted the first monks. Around 1470, Saint Dosifey of Verkhny Island founded a small monastery dedicated to Saints Peter and Paul. At that time, the island was difficult to reach and was even known as a refuge for bandits. According to church tradition, some of those outlaws later became the monastery’s first monks. In the sixteenth century the monastery became part of the Pskov-Pechersky Monastery and continued to exist as a small island community.
During the Soviet period, the Church of Saints Peter and Paul was closed and used as a warehouse, gradually falling into disrepair. Restoration finally began in the early 1990s. While clearing the building, workers made an unexpected discovery. Beneath the church they uncovered a remarkably well-preserved underground chapel dating back to the fifteenth century, whose existence had long survived only in local tradition.
During the Soviet period, the Church of Saints Peter and Paul was closed and used as a warehouse, gradually falling into disrepair. Restoration finally began in the early 1990s. While clearing the building, workers made an unexpected discovery. Beneath the church they uncovered a remarkably well-preserved underground chapel dating back to the fifteenth century, whose existence had long survived only in local tradition.
When I arrived on the island, the main church was unfortunately closed. But I was lucky enough to enter the underground chapel instead. It became one of the most memorable experiences of my entire journey.
The atmosphere there is completely different from that of the church above. The space feels intimate and stripped of any outward grandeur.
Standing there, I unexpectedly found myself thinking of the underground chapels beneath medieval European castles. Legends of the Knights Templar and the Livonian Order came to mind. Of course, these were only personal associations. Yet they felt surprisingly natural. After all, the lands once ruled by the Livonian Order lie only a short distance away. For centuries, Lake Pskov stood at the frontier where the Orthodox and Western European worlds met.
The atmosphere there is completely different from that of the church above. The space feels intimate and stripped of any outward grandeur.
Standing there, I unexpectedly found myself thinking of the underground chapels beneath medieval European castles. Legends of the Knights Templar and the Livonian Order came to mind. Of course, these were only personal associations. Yet they felt surprisingly natural. After all, the lands once ruled by the Livonian Order lie only a short distance away. For centuries, Lake Pskov stood at the frontier where the Orthodox and Western European worlds met.
What surprised me even more was the atmosphere itself. Although the chapel lies below ground, there is no trace of dampness or neglect. The air is cool, dry and remarkably fresh. The silence is profound. It is almost completely dark, and I had to use a flashlight to examine the low stone vaults built from local limestone.
That underground chapel alone is reason enough to visit Verkhny Island. But the island itself left just as strong an impression. I crossed it almost from one side to the other and reached the opposite shore, where the Estonian coast could already be seen across the lake. The pine forest feels ancient and almost untouched. Once again, I found myself thinking about this landscape as a frontier. Not simply a part of Russian history, but a place that belongs to the wider story of the Baltic region, where different states, faiths and traditions met for centuries. Standing there, it becomes clear that Lake Pskov never truly separated people. On the contrary, it has long been a place of encounter, exchange and cultural dialogue.
Visit the Talab Islands while they are still like this. Places such as these are best experienced before old houses become holiday cottages, boats turn into decorative props, and a living island community slowly transforms into a picturesque summer destination.
The soul of these islands is still very much alive.
Frol Burimskiy
Pskov, July 27, 2026
That underground chapel alone is reason enough to visit Verkhny Island. But the island itself left just as strong an impression. I crossed it almost from one side to the other and reached the opposite shore, where the Estonian coast could already be seen across the lake. The pine forest feels ancient and almost untouched. Once again, I found myself thinking about this landscape as a frontier. Not simply a part of Russian history, but a place that belongs to the wider story of the Baltic region, where different states, faiths and traditions met for centuries. Standing there, it becomes clear that Lake Pskov never truly separated people. On the contrary, it has long been a place of encounter, exchange and cultural dialogue.
Visit the Talab Islands while they are still like this. Places such as these are best experienced before old houses become holiday cottages, boats turn into decorative props, and a living island community slowly transforms into a picturesque summer destination.
The soul of these islands is still very much alive.
Frol Burimskiy
Pskov, July 27, 2026