Day One in Dagestan: Stepping Into the Unknown
I arrived in Makhachkala late on the night of August 13 to join Dagestan MMA Training Camp (https://dagestantrainingcamp.com/) Salman and Arsen are our hosts.
The airport was small, quiet, and unfamiliar. Arsen was supposed to pick me up, but my phone had no internet connection and I couldn’t connect to the airport Wi-Fi. I had no way of reaching him, so all I could do was wait. Almost two hours later, we finally found each other outside the airport.
Communication was not easy. Arsen doesn’t speak English, and I don’t speak Russian. However, he knows a little Turkish from living in the Caspian region. With a few familiar words, hand gestures, and plenty of patience, we managed to understand each other.
Our next challenge was finding rubles at 4am
We searched for somewhere to exchange money during the night, but nothing was open. I gave Arsen 200 euros so that he could exchange it for me later that evening. Until then, however, I had no local currency at all.
As the first call to prayer began to echo through the city, we stopped at a mosque and prayed together. It was a peaceful moment after a long and uncertain night.
By the time we reached the village house where I would be staying, morning was already approaching.
The accommodation is simple, with shared rooms and small beds. I met Hristof, a Bulgarian athlete who was finishing his time at the camp and preparing to leave.
The first training session was scheduled for 9:00 a.m., but I had barely slept.
The others warned me that it would be a hard sparring session. Going into intense MMA sparring after travelling all night and without proper sleep would have been an unnecessary risk. I wanted to train, but sometimes discipline also means knowing when not to push.
So I stayed behind and tried to rest.
Everyone around me looked extremely strong. Many of them train at Dagestan and Khabib’s Gym, and you can immediately see that combat sports are not simply a hobby here. Wrestling and MMA are woven into the culture.
I had come to train hard—but first, I needed to recover from the journey.
When I woke up, I still had no rubles and no reliable internet connection. In Russia foreign e-SIMs are blocked for 24 hours upon the arrival.
For a moment, I hesitated to leave the house. I didn’t know the neighbourhood, couldn’t use online maps, and couldn’t properly communicate with anyone. But waiting inside wasn’t going to solve the problem. I saved the location to my watch. So I stepped outside and started walking.
I wandered through the streets, looking for a bank or somewhere to exchange money. I asked a few people for directions, but there didn’t seem to be anything nearby.
Then I met Mohamed.
Instead of simply pointing me in a direction, he immediately offered to help. He told me he would take me to somewhere I could get money. We ended up walking a long route through the city together, searching for a solution. He gave his phone to me also. Eventually, we found one.
Mohamed had no reason to spend his morning helping a stranger who couldn’t speak his language. Yet he stayed with me, guided me through the city, and made sure I was all right.
What began as a search for rubles turned into an unexpected friendship.
Mohamed and I went to Friday prayer together. The arrangement inside the mosque was slightly different from what I am used to, which made the experience even more interesting.
After the prayer, we went to have lunch.
A few hours earlier, I had stepped onto the street alone, without money, internet, or directions. Now I was sharing a meal with someone I had only just met.
Travel has a way of creating friendships quickly. When you are outside your comfort zone, even a simple act of kindness becomes meaningful. Mohamed didn’t just help me find money—he made an unfamiliar city feel more welcoming.
After lunch, I returned to the house. Everyone appeared to be sleeping, so I decided to get some more rest as well.
When I woke up, the house was empty.
Everyone had already left for the second training session.
I had missed the morning sparring session intentionally because I needed sleep. Missing the second session, however, was different. Because of the language barrier, I didn’t understand the schedule.
I felt disappointed.
I had travelled all the way to Dagestan to train, yet my first day was passing without a single session at the gym. It would have been easy to treat the day as a failure.
Instead, I put on my running shoes and went outside.
The run became my first real introduction to Makhachkala. I didn’t run with my shorts inside the city as it is a conservative town. I have long running joggers which would comfortably suits the city culture.
The city felt lively and energetic. There were people everywhere, and many of them looked remarkably fit. It was easy to recognise the men who had spent years wrestling or training in MMA—the posture, the build, and often the cauliflower ears told their stories.
I also know that I look like someone who trains. In a city filled with fighters, there was something motivating about recognising that shared physical language. We might not speak the same language, but discipline leaves visible traces.
Running allowed me to explore the city without needing conversation or directions. For a while, the language barrier disappeared. It was simply me, the streets, and the rhythm of my steps.
I returned to the house at around 7:00 p.m., tired but glad that I had turned a missed session into something positive.
When I returned, I sat with Arsen and the rest of the group. We talked—or at least tried to.
Most of our conversations happen through translation apps, gestures, and occasional shared words. The VPN works sometimes and disappears at others, so even using the translation apps can become part of the challenge. I am glad that the internet connection is so limited so I can focus on my training, living more peacefully.
Eventually, I understood that the group was planning a run the next morning.
I said yes immediately.
The weekend might officially be for recovery, but here, recovery apparently includes running in the mountains. I still don’t know exactly what the route or intensity will be like. I am curious to find out.
Later, I went out alone again.
This time I felt more comfortable. The streets no longer seemed completely unfamiliar. I walked around, did some shopping, and bought a few things for breakfast.
Eventually, I found GOR Café and sat down for the evening.
The VPN finally worked, so I downloaded the local area on Google Maps. Having an offline map would make the next few days easier, but I don’t want to spend this trip constantly checking my phone. Part of the reason I came here is to disconnect. I can only post about my trip on my blog for my memories.
I want some distance from noise, routines, and the constant need to know what is happening elsewhere. If I find a short window of connection, I can download what I need, and then return to the experience.
At GOR Café, I listened to Russian songs and watched the evening move around me. After the uncertainty of the airport, the unsuccessful search for rubles, the lack of sleep, the missed training sessions, and the long walk through unfamiliar streets, I finally felt settled.
It had been an imperfect first day.
That was exactly what made it meaningful.
I came to Dagestan expecting the challenge to begin inside the gym. Instead, the mental training started the moment I arrived.
Waiting for hours without information.
Communicating without a shared language.
Walking through an unfamiliar city without money or a map.
Trusting a stranger.
Accepting disappointment.
Finding another way to train.
Strength is not only about how hard you can spar, how far you can run, or how much discomfort your body can tolerate. It is also the ability to stay calm when nothing goes according to plan.
My first day reminded me that I don’t need to control every moment. Sometimes I need to disconnect, adapt, and allow the journey to unfold.
Tomorrow, the physical work begins.
But in another sense, it has already started.
I came to Dagestan strong. I intend to return even stronger in every aspect.
