Russian Kaleidoscope

Russian Kaleidoscope

There are 342 bridges in Saint Petersburg, Russia, the Venice of the north, Peter the Great’s inspired masterpiece.  I will not let this piece devolve into an enthusiastic account of Peter the Great’s fascinating life. That’s for another time.

We arrived by air in the midsummer of 1992 at the international airport in Saint Petersburg, Russia and were immediately put on a bus to begin our two week sojourn aboard the river cruise ship Fyodor Dostoevsky. These wonderful ships, there are many of them, cruise the northern Russian rivers with as many as 250 passengers each during the spring, summer and fall months. Cruises are still available, and at surprisingly friendly rates.

There was a light rain falling as we drove down a very crowded city street, Nevsky Prospekt, toward our ship’s anchorage very near the center of the city. There were tall buildings on both sides, one of which we were told by the tour director had once been the home of Rasputin – not the palace that he lived in later.

On the cruise ship as we settled in we heard some music and after going out on deck we were surprised to see a five piece band on the dock entertaining us with their rendition of “Oh Susana.” These bands always include one or more balalaikas. These instruments seem to come in a variety of sizes ranging from ukulele size to giant bass fiddle size.  Every Russian seems to be adept at some musical talent and the balalaika is the favorite instrument of choice for many.

 The subway system into the city center lies at a deep level. The city is built on a swamp and the underground tubes have to rest on the very deep blue clay layer. This leads to some interesting scenes. The station entrance, only steps away from our dock, presented us with what looked like an endless moving stairway that went down so far we could not make out the bottom end. Both ends were policed by stern babushkas in uniforms who policed the people on and off the escalator. The thing is that the journey is so long that riders tend to forget where they are. Young couples become deeply involved in passionate embraces, others are engrossed in their newspapers. Some had to be roughly prompted in no uncertain terms to get off at the end of their ride. The trip on the subway to the city center was interesting. A beggar woman carrying a child was passing the hat among the riders. The Russian citizens present were quite generous and all made contributions. None of the many Americans aboard did.

One day Barbara went to the Hermitage, the enormous art museum, formerly the winter palace, while I took off with Ludmila, our tour director, for the Russian Museum of Art. Ludmila advised me to ‘lose the hat’ and keep my mouth shut while she bought the tickets – a few roubles each. The place was nearly deserted and filled with the most fabulous collection of late 19^th and early 20^th century impressionistic paintings. One gallery was devoted solely to displaying the famous Russian piece entitled ‘The Wave,’ a giant oil about six by ten feet in dimension. Meanwhile Barbara was having one of her great adventures. She wanted to use the toilet in the Hermitage but the Babushka in charge of letting people in and out of the facility would not accept the 100 rouble note she presented – too large – so Barbara went out into the crowd and rounded up a group of female Japanese tourists and herded them into the toilet and the guard willingly accepted the note.

One afternoon we attended a symphony orchestra concert. It was held in a hall right at the foot of a beautiful bridge bearing a sculpted model of one of the ships that Peter the Great had built on the British plan to defeat the Swedes. The music was conducted by a famous person (name forgotten) who had just returned from exile after the fall of communism. It was beautiful and we felt honored to be there to help celebrate his return after some 30 years absence. About 1/3 of the seats were broken so we were a bit scattered in the hall. A lot of stuff in Russia was broken in the 90s. They seemed to be busy repairing and upgrading about then.

Two busloads of us were taken to a city center venue to attend a performance of the Red Army Choir. The hundred plus of us gathered on the sidewalk and in the street in front of the locked door of the theater. We could hear the music from inside. Finally someone did appear and let us in and we all filed into a partially filled theater and took our seats. The choir very kindly restarted the program from the beginning for our benefit.

Saint Isaac’s Cathedral in the center of Saint Petersburg is a magnificent structure. Unfortunately no filming was allowed inside. In the distance across the square is a giant statue of a figure on a horse, probably Peter, facing away from the cathedral towards a palace in the distance. It is said that Catherine the Great did not want a horse’s ass pointed toward her palace and insisted the horse face away from Saint Isaac’s and toward her.

 

One of the thrills of Saint Petersburg is a ride on one of the local electric street cars. Again we were guided or advised by Ludmila. She said, “Just get on.” They are extremely crowded. We had a good ride. It took us where we wanted to go but we were never able to progress as far as the step up to the driver where we might have paid a fare. During the siege of Leningrad (Saint Petersburg) which lasted for 872 days and cost an enormous number of lives soldiers literally rode to the front lines in these very cars.

We spent one whole very pleasant visit at Peterhof, the summer palace on the Baltic in the suburbs of Saint Pete. The word is German and means Peter’s Place. I still have a t-shirt that I bought there and wear regularly that has the word and the royal crest emblazoned on the front. There are hundreds of artesian fountains, the most spectacular being the 64 leading up to the Grand Palace. It was a great day filled with wondrous sights and music from the many street groups. One curiosity; the lawns led right to the sea’s edge. Apparently the tides of the Baltic at this location are not more than a few inches.

Summer Palace aat Peterhof

  

Fortress on the Neva

We eventually began our river journey by heading east on the Neva towards Lake Ladoga, a body of water about half the size of Lake Michigan. As we left the Neva at the entrance to the lake mid-morning we passed an ancient fort much like the one pictured. There was a Boy Scout troop encamped on the shore just outside the gates to the fort. They were wearing the typical scout uniforms and were busy around their tents and a few were out in kayaks on the river. Except for the very Russian look of the medieval fort you might have thought you were home in the good old USA. We made only one stop while on this lake, the isle of Valaam, to visit a famous monastery, now fallen into disrepair. Valaam is forested and has no significant structures other than the monastery, not visible from the water. We hiked up a trail through the trees to visit the building. Inside we were treated to a stunning concert by three young monks singing orthodox chants. There was one memorable sight on our hike back to the pier where our ship was docked. At the edge of the forest was a platform about thirty feet square raised about a foot off the forest floor. This was an outdoor tavern, no walls, no roof. There were several tables and chairs on the platform of which only one was occupied by a young Russian slumped with his head down on the table on his arms with an empty bottle of Vodka in front of him – a disturbing sight.

The next lake along our route was Onega on the western shore of which lies the bustling city of Petrozavodsk. This place was a surprise. It’s very far north and very modern. We passed a Ben and Jerry's ice cream parlor on our way to the local theater to attend a folkloric performance, a mixture of Finnish and Russian music and dance. In this region both languages are in common use. There was a little confusion leaving. We were about a mile out when the captain discovered a crewman had been left on the dock. We went back and picked him up.

At the northern end of the lake is the museum island of Kizhi. There is quite a bit to say about that wonderful place. As we walked up toward the large church we heard what sounded like a frantic jangling of church bells. The source soon became apparent. In the belfry of Saint Michael’s chapel, shown below, was an expert bell ringer frantically pulling on a series of ropes, a singularly remarkable sight. As we stood listening we heard a jet overhead. A new MIG appeared at a fairly low altitude. When it got immediately overhead it nosed up into a vertical climb and disappeared at a very high altitude in the bright blue sky. We all guessed that the pilot had spotted our group and had decided to put on a show for us.  We finally arrived at the farm house pictured below, a beautifully preserved example of these far northern structures. It is very large for one simple reason; it also accommodates the animals, a valuable source of heat in the long cold winters. A detailed description of the interior of this house and the culture that attaches to its use is warranted.

Archangel Michael's Chapel - bells

  

Russian House on Kizhi

  

The interior of this beautiful structure needs a full description. We were ushered into the large main room. We understood there was a bedroom adjacent for the owner and his wife but most of life was carried on in the space we were in. The ceiling was relatively high and the beams that crossed the room below the roof often held various household items. One particular beam above us designated the division between the reception area and the living quarters. As a visitor you were required to stay behind the imaginary line defined by this beam. There were benches there for visitors to rest on awaiting the owners greeting. After greeting the resident you could proceed into the room. To the immediate left was the large white brick structure we were told was the stove. It stood about five feet high and was large enough for a person to actually lay on top of it. That is precisely what people did; they used the top of the stove as a nice warm place to recline. This solved a minor mystery. In reading Russian literature one occasionally runs across a phrase such as—“…they took the injured man to his hut and laid him on the stove.” It comes as quite a shock if you don’t actually know what these country stoves are like in Northern Russia.

Everything is painted and decorated inside and out in Russia. This room, like those in most homes, has its small altar and religious icon in the far corner. In the orthodox tradition, when approaching the altar to pray, one kisses the icon and then after crossing oneself in the special orthodox way will offer the prayer. Usually the altar itself will have bread and salt placed on it symbolizing the Lord’s welcome of the supplicant to the Holy table. Most Americans are familiar with the bread and salt tradition. When the Russians left their space station, buttoning it up, they left bread and salt to welcome the next crew of astronauts due for its reactivation.

Russian kids off the ship

A lot of wonderful things happened on this trip but I will concentrate on just a few. Our next real stop was at the village of Irma on the Volga. We hadn’t realized until then how many young children were aboard. It turns out that in the nineties at least the Russian tour companies provided a summer vacation for families of the crew by setting aside a percentage of the space on the ships for them. I don’t know just how many were aboard, they were never in evidence while we were underway, but when we tied up on the Eastern shore near Irma a fairly large contingent of kids looking to be about eight to twelve years old jumped over the side and ran off into the woods. Two of the young boys had bikes which they tossed ashore and rode off rapidly on into the woods. We were told that later in the day we would have music and a really big picnic. Meanwhile we were encouraged to take a hike into the village. There one of our young American tour companions met a Russian boy who encouraged him to indulge in a real sauna. This they did and had a ball. It took two hours he said. Meanwhile a lot of our group had had been invited into one of the homes and we, outside, could hear singing and accordion music. The main road through the village was just a dirt path used only by a motorcycle with a sidecar while we were there. On that road we met two Russian ladies on holiday from Vladivostok. We chatted a bit and discovered that they had passed through about as many time zones to get here as we had.

tourists in Irma from Vladivostok

Two things happened down near the shore. First, we saw a Russian family, mother and father and two young children, who had come to the area for a day picnic. The father was busy whittling what appeared to be a shingle into the shape of a boat while the mother was fashioning a sail from sheet of newspaper. I put my camera on maximum zoom so as not to interfere and filmed the vignette. After he had shaped the hull he bored a hole for the mast with his knife and the wife threaded the sail onto the mast. Then the father gingerly stepped on a stone or two at the river’s edge and sent the small craft on its way down the Volga.

With our entire group right at the water’s edge and alongside the ship we had our evening picnic and music. The two men and the woman in what may have been Russian gypsy costume performed a variety of very lively and often minor key songs – celebrating the Volga, as is the tradition. One of our group, a woman, couldn’t resist and began doing what she must have thought was a Russian dance. It was wonderfully entertaining. The performers were especially beautiful people.

Further on we stopped at Uglich (bend of the river) where we heard the story of Boris Godunov and the young Tsar’s murder and heard the bell that had been banished to Siberia for centuries for having rung out the news of the murder.

Further along we made as stop and took a very rough bus ride to a gigantic fortress monastery, Krillo-Belozersky. When we got on the bus we were presented with a loaf of Russian rye to be passed around with each of us tearing off a piece and eating it, no salt however. The monastery houses the largest and best collection of icons in the world, quite overwhelming.

Fortress Monastery Kirillo-Belozersky

A series of locks takes traffic from the Volga, which proceeds south to the Aral Sea, to the Moscow River. While going through one of these locks we met a fisherman with a great smile standing on the concrete alongside of the ship. He had a few salted fish he had caught in the Volga for sale. I bought one and he handed it to me over the rail. Barbara and I enjoyed a bit of fish with our afternoon drink of vodka.

A prime goal in Moscow is to visit the Kremlin. All decent sized cities in Russia have Kremlins which simply means 'fortress' but the one in Moscow is the seat of national government. Against the outside wall is Lenin’s tomb. Long lines form, which included us on this occasion, but they move rapidly. It’s a simple walk through. We were lucky that day to get in. Later we heard they had to close because one of his fingers broke off and the curators had to take a little break to glue it back on. The huge sign on the front of the tomb is one’s first lesson in the Cyrillic alphabet; see the picture. It says “Lenin.”

The Kremlin wall with Lenin's tomb - Photo by Staron

The adventures never stopped. In Moscow we were privileged to be invited to the salon of the very attractive impresario that had provided all our entertainment along the river. She was a very attractive and talented woman of about 40 who played accompaniment for her performers on her grand piano. Her salon was in a large downtown building that also housed the very famous Russian chess club. As we walked the halls toward her space we could peek into some of these very grand rooms and see some of these famous chess players sitting about in leather arm chairs. Two lit candles adorned her piano as custom demanded. At one point she begged us to come back next year, which Barbara and I did, bringing candles for her piano as a gift. The artists that she introduced to us were fabulous. I remember in particular a famous tenor and soprano who did a duet from Carmen for us – a very fine experience, done in Russian rather than Italian.

Barbara’s brush with death: As I said the fun never stops. We were let off the bus one day to visit a large church or cathedral. The space we entered was thronged with visitors. Barbara went one way, I the opposite. We could faintly hear some of the singing but could never find the source. When it came time to leave I spotted her across the crowded area and waved her to meet me. As she told it later; she made her way toward the door through a very dense crowd of very silent people all standing quite still. Eventually her progress was interrupted by a table or bier on which she presumed was a wax figure. She stood looking down at this figure for some time until it slowly dawn on her that all these people she had been pushing through were in attendance at a funeral and she had arrived at the very locus of their attention, the corpse. Very embarrassed and confused she made haste with me to get out of the place and take our seats on the bus. Then the humor of the situation hit and we both roared. I don’t think any of our friends ever had a similar privilege, first row at a Russian funeral.

We did attend the Moscow circus, world famous, not three rings, only one, but a very big deal indeed. All of the acts were great but I will mention only one. An animal trainer appeared, center ring, to perform unbelievable stunts. His animals? Thirteen house cats.

We completed our tour with attendance on the last day at a one hour performance of the national choir singing a capella a beautiful selection of Russian classical sacred music.