IRMA, Northern Russia -- The tiny village of Irma is like thousands of others that dot the banks of the Volga's northern reaches. Eighteen wooden houses are huddled together on a windswept bluff overlooking the wide, blue river.


The wind whistles through the abandoned brick buildings of a Krushchev-era tractor station, which silently speaks of a time when the government tried to develop this remote spot 400 kilometers north of Moscow. Twice a day, a bus pulls in along the dirt road that connects Irma with the rest of Russia.


But the town has another, surprising link to the outside world. During the warm summer months, huge river cruise ships -- floating hotels packed with foreign tourists -- stop here virtually every day. These massive boats ply the waters of the Volga system, which stretches from St. Petersburg to Volgograd and the Black Sea, providing a convenient way to tour Russia's heartland.


At Irma, however, there are no excursions and no activities. This is a "green stop," a chance for weary tourists to pause and breathe the sweet air.


As the ships pull in, the village springs to life. A table or bench appears in front of every house, decked out with bright matryoshka dolls, lacquer boxes and toys. The rickety fences are hung with colorful woolen scarves. The goods are the same fare that pack the booths at Izmailovo, and even by Moscow standards the prices are high. But the sellers do brisk business, chirping their stock phrases of broken English and German.


However, the opportunity presented by the ships has done little to change Irma. A 19th-century brick church stands in ruins, with a donation box set in front of the locked doors. There are no telephones, and the town does not have a school, a post office or a single store.


The tourists have as long as eight hours to stroll around the postage-stamp-sized village. They walk about in small groups, stopping now and again to photograph typical scenes of unspoilt rural Russia. The Russians who are taking these cruises in ever increasing numbers rarely bother wandering beyond the pier, preferring to take in the sun from the deck of the ship. But foreigners relish the chance to see a place that seems to have been forgotten by time.


One recent bright Sunday afternoon Andrei Sokolov and his wife, Natalya, were sitting as usual on the bench in front of their house watching the crowds of tourists pass by. The neat house is distinguished by a Soviet-era sign declaring that it meets "High Sanitary Standards."


At 79, Sokolov is the oldest man in the village, although all but two of his neighbors are also pensioners. For 29 years, the couple has lived in this house with its spectacular view of the Volga.


"The nearest store is 10 kilometers that way, or seven kilometers that way," Sokolov says. "Once a week, a truck brings bread from town. Usually."


The Sokolovs do not mind the tourists, although Andrei does not hide the fact that he still harbors a grudge against the Germans from his service in the navy during the war. As for the rest, though, Sokolov especially likes to watch the women. "All sorts come by," he smiles.


It has been several years since the Sokolovs were well enough to leave the village. Now, even looking after their only cow is becoming too much for them. But through television they keep in touch with the world beyond Irma. They are aware, for example, of the growing crime problem in the city of Cherepovets, 60 kilometers away. They seem to thinks that the streets there are littered with corpses that no one bothers to collect.


When asked if they voted in last December's elections, Sokolov shrugged: "Well, of course, we are old people, so they brought the papers around. I don't know who we voted for, but that doesn't matter. The important thing is that we got to vote."


For the tourists, Irma is something like a Disneyland recreation of the stereotype of Russia. This village of wells, outhouses and banyas seems to them to be the "eternal Russia" that their travel brochures promised them. And, in fact, it is.