Teaing like Russians

In my mind’s eye, St Petersburg has always been shaded with fog: both an imminent doom- Raskolnikov fog and the lighter fog that masks something passionately desirable, something mysteriously inaccessible.  Desire tinged with prejudice: what if St. Petersburg competes for my heart; what if it inches Moscow, my Moscow, to second place?       I’ve been in Russia, to so many of its cities and villages, bathed in Baikal, yet never made it to the capital built on swamps. Monday evening, (June 12 th ) we stayed up all night long, packing our hiking bags(again) and scrubbing the kitchens. Our train for St. Petersburg left at 3:33 am. Passing sleeping guards and multiple metal detectors, we walked out onto the mile-long train platform. Through the glazed windows, we pointed out the rows of bunk beds to Nikhon and Johnny, trying to prepare them for the Russian train experience… we knew, though, that they would only understand when they settled in, saw rows of sweating bodies, felt the

Ah, the Moscow police… Sometimes they strike fear in my heart, and I think they’re going to stop me and ask me for my passport, then just manipulate the situation in such a way that I will be happy to give them all my money, just as long as they let me walk my way. Sometimes, especially when I notice how smooth their cheeks are and how slender their waists, I just want to put them to say something sweet and put them to sleep. Sometimes it’s convenient that they’re around, even though they’re absolutely useless with directions (which is the executive function of the law force that I most often utilize). Half way through our stay, we’ve already had some interactions. Anecdote 1: Policeman hits on Masha as she races for the relics . It was the June 6 th and were just starting on our 6-hour, 2.5 km pilgrimage to the relics of St. Nicholas in the Church of Christ the Savior. We woke up at 5:30 am, but by the time we got to the Bridge, where the line began, there were probably alrea

On Wednesday, we set off for Optina from Tepliy Stan, one of the last stops on the orange line. As always reluctant, we gave the cashier our blue passports and bought tickets for Moskva – Kozelsk (the nearest town to Optina). With our crazy schedule, Nikhon, Johnny (our two friends from the US that joined our adventures a few days ago) Katya, and Masha hadn’t yet registered, so the presence of the whiskerless 17 year old policemen swarming around made everyone a bit antsy. As the ticket monitor checked my passport and ticket, our to-be driver, a buzz cut in a turquoise shirt, loomed over us. He was actively muttering something in our direction. He looked at me, expecting a reaction, so I asked him to repeat what he had said. With an almost tangible desire to slap me, he said “for some reason, you’ll understand just about   everything   they’ll tell you   in Optina Pustin.” Katya joined me in the bus also shocked; he had told her that “they’re all like that in Optina.” I guess

June 1, 2017 Imagine Central Park after the rain. Now let the grass grow and watch the bushes outgrow their haircuts. There are still a few neat tulip beds, but more daffodils and clover fields. Watch as an additional km2 or so  of forest latches on to  the territory and brooks trick up from  unexpected places; add in a few birches and many many apple trees. Now you can get lost.  Then add in a couple churches from the 1500s, tiny museums tucked away unexpectedly along the path, a whiff of Old Believer spirit and a miracle streaming icon. Add a d ozen views of  the Moskva River from whitestoned balconies and   there you have it: Kolomenskoye.  W hen you go to Kolomenskoe, you should have a plan. The museums and churches are scattered through woods in fields, invisible unless it's fate to find them or your have approached your task responsibly and planned your tour. Or, like us, you can just let your feet take you where they will. Thankfully, we stumbled acc

Today we went to church. I mean, what else do you do in Russia? Whenever someone rolls his or her eyes and asks me whether we go anywhere else in Russia, I just shrug my shoulders. Name me one serious historical event in Russian history that is not punctuated with a splendid church! The Revolution, perhaps. But wait, in its aftermath, how many churches are being built to commemorate places of executions? or in honor of the New Martyrs? How many labor camps were located in ancient monasteries? Russia so often etches her history into church walls and icons and bells...or whispers through muffled hands in their absence. Anyway, today, we set out towards Зачатьевский Монастырь (Monastery of the Conception). On the way, we asked at least four people where the monastery was, but no one knew. One lady, nonplussed by the fact that we ourselves were lost, ricocheted our question to "how do   I   get to the Church of Christ the Savior?" When we finally found the monastery, th