Wednesday, May 10, 2017
I'm sitting at the gate in the Warsaw airport, again. I can see them fueling the plane, and they just finished loading luggage from the cart. Hopefully my luggage was included.
Friday was an impromptu tour of Russian motor vehicle bureaucracy. Due to policies created since Pasha absconded to America, renewing your Russian driver's license requires proof of residency, a psychological evaluation, drug test, physical exam, eye exam, and I suspect a prostate exam though Pasha wouldn't say. Pasha and Gregory zipped around town visiting clinics and filling out forms like true pros. Along the way we got a small supper at a cafe. Gregory noticed that the cafe sold health-related products and so took the opportunity to schmooze the cashier to set himself up as a supplier.
Here is a picture of a church in the distance:
After Pasha was reverified as Russian, we went to the Victory Park, which commemorates the triumph of communism over fascism in World War II. It's a nice, big, open park near the center of Moscow, and has a bunch of impressive monuments. I was promised a tank:
There used to be more tanks in this park, but now they've presumably been moved to Ukraine. This tank, though, remained, along with this soldier:
I'm talking about the guy on the left.
There's all kinds of stuff in the park. Here are a couple of things:
And another thing:
There was a certain manly gravitas about these depictions that surpass any war memorial I've seen. The tall thing above is interesting and recent: surrounding it (not shown) are the coats of arms of each of the major Russian cities, all cast in bronze. Circa 2016.
See? It's a generally nice park, and the weather before dusk was ideal. All sorts of kids and couples frolicking on roller skis and hover boards.
I'm on an airplane now. Remember World War II? Well apparently a lot of shitty stuff happened. Here's a memorial that freaked me right the fuck out. Take a look:
It's called "The Tragedy of Nations." To the left of those figures are discarded shoes and bones. In the middle are tombstones with inscriptions in several languages, none of which I can read:
Wakka wakka!
The most prominent object is this tall thing:
At its base is a man on the horse BEHEADING THE NAZI DRAGON. Fuck you, Nazi dragon!
Eventually the sun began to set, as it does.
So ended Friday.
I just got to a hostel in Prague. I'm surprised to see two people sleeping. It's an eight person dorm. Jet lag? Alcohol? I'll inquire tomorrow. For now there's more Russia to tell.
On Saturday we got up early to drive to St. Petersburg. Originally Pasha and I had planned to go there just the two of us on a high speed train for our long awaited romantic getaway, but instead Gregory insisted on driving us and showing me around personally. No complaints there. Pasha warned me, "It will be less chill, but I think he really wants to go." Vladimir came too. His daughter, alas, did not.
It's a long drive; something like ten or twelve hours depending on stops and traffic. Gregory drove the whole way, despite offers from me and Vladimir to take the wheel.
As you leave Moscow, the relative poverty of Russia becomes more apparent. I didn't take any pictures along the way, though, except for the folksy roadside tea and pirogi stand where we took our last break before reaching St. Petersburg.
There were several presumably stray dogs scrounging around for scraps. One, though, was simply curled up in a sunny spot on the ground. I don't have a picture, but Pasha and I agreed that this was a most cat-like dog and most likely the local hegemon.
I liked the view behind that stand, too.
If you like the lighting in that picture, it means that you have good taste.
Finally we arrived in St. Petersburg. It was a quick homemade dinner and then straight to bed. The next day we traveled into the city center:
Pasha agreed that St. Petersburg looks "more European." This sort of thing reminds me of Stockholm (I think it's the way the lamps hang between the buildings).
St. Petersburg has canals
and fighter jets
and, most of all, churches:
But these aren't your frumpy American protestant churches. No, before the revolution, the Russian orthodoxy was nearly synonymous with the ruling czar, and thus with the disproportionately focused wealth of the entire state. Check this out:
Church stop number one included a mass complete with holy water in the face. Church stop number two included an English audio tour.
Then we went to a palace (right).
Next to the palace is a phallus:
At least I was taller than the soldier.
Saturday also happened to be Gregory's fifty-seventh birthday, which I think in part explains why Vladimir came along. We celebrated over dinner back at our rented apartment that night, in the traditional Russian style: Russian food (lots of that) and vodka (lots of that). After each couple of shots, one of the Russian speakers would toast to the birthday boy. In Russia, birthdays are rather more important than they are in America. Vladimir's speech to Gregory on his birthday was heartfelt – something about planting a tree in life and giving to others and befriending people from other cultures and stuff like that, and how now his tree bears fruit later in life from the good things he has done.
Breakfast was tricky the next day. Not because I was hung over (I wasn't), but because these guys eat SO MUCH DAMNED FOOD first thing in the morning. It's incredible. Also, you should eat more tomatoes, because lycopene is good for your prostate. I don't know if it's true, but eat your damned tomatoes. If you don't have a prostate, then you're missing out, but also off the hook.
Come to think of it, I might be getting my days mixed up. Whatever, consider this an editing room resequencing.
We drove to a town near St. Petersburg called Petergof. There we visited the former Summer palace of the aristocratic overlords that sits in a large park that stretches to a bay, across which you can see St. Petersburg. If you can see really well, then there's also Finland.
The girl on the right is photographing herself. I asked whether she'd like me to take a picture for her instead, but she was totally not into it. Fine, take your own pictures. This is not my caring face.
If you're wondering about the hideous jacket, it's one that Gregory graciously offered me to supplement my Moscow clothes. It was much colder in St. Petersburg, and windy and wet.
Running from the palatial fountain all the way to the bay is this canal (viewed from the bay side):
Here is the water:
Let's be honest, though. You didn't come here for palaces. You came here for churches. So, we visited another, larger, church. This one was built just at the beginning of the twentieth century, and has inscribed within it in stone the names of various fallen soldiers on ships dating back to the early 1700s. The older the names got, the more trouble Pasha had reading them (Russian has changed quite a bit since back then).
There was a mass going on as we checked out the place. There were four women in the chorus, facing away from the center of church so that you heard primarily the echo of their voices (I think it's called "reverb"). I was impressed by the music, at least as impressed as one can be about such music. The church is gorgeous:
Hey look, it's Jesus. Here's a low resolution panoramic shot:
Done? No, we're not done. We managed to squeeze in a bonus tour this morning. The tour was in Russian, so I have only a vague idea what was going on, but I took some pictures. There were rabbits:
and a river:
and a heavily fortified... fort:
a couple of pretty buildings:
and... can you guess it? A church! This one has famous dead people in it.
That's enough for now. It's almost 11 PM here, and I think I ought to venture out in search of food before bed. Solo in Prague!