Beginning of the sixth journal entry.
For my next trip, I really need to keep on top of these journal entries. Right now, I'm composing this note on the flight from London back to Chicago, and as I look at my skeletal notes, I can barely remember what I did yesterday let alone almost three weeks ago. Then again, maybe that is just the side effect of pulling an all-nighter last night, but you'll hear more about that later (and at this rate, it will be much later!).
As many of you already know, telling time in the Orthodox church gets a little confusing. Some churches still use the Julian (or old-style) calendar for fixed dates, and that system for reckoning dates is 13 days behind the Gregorian calendar (or new-style calendar). That's why "Russian" Christmas falls on January 7th; for the folks that use the old calendar, that is actually December 25th. However, just to confuse matters even more, certain feasts and holidays are based on fixed offsets from Easter, and almost all Orthodox churches (with the exception of the Finnish Church) use the same formula for determining the date on which to celebrate the Feast of Feasts, and this calculation usually produces a different date from the one used in the West.
Furthermore, even when we celebrate Easter on the same day as the West (as is the case this year), we don't enter Great Lent at the same time. For us, the Great Fast is the 40 days before Holy Week, including Sundays (and in my interpretation, Holy Week is just a "bonus" week of preparation for the Pasha), while for the West, Lent is the 40 days before Easter excluding Sundays. When the dates for Easter align, the West marks the entry into this period of the church's life with Ash Wednesday and we begin two days earlier on Monday.
However, in a somewhat similar manner to feasting before a fast as expressed in Carnival celebrations and Mardi Gras, the week before Great Lent is called Maselnitsa and is a time for consuming massive amounts of dairy products and blini (a Russian treat that is somewhere between a crepe and a pancake). This is not something we quite do back home though last year I tried to have crepes one night during Maselnitsa only to be told they won't heat up the crepe iron for just one person. Since I was in the land of blini, I decided to take full advantage of the blini options.
Even in the cafeteria, at the station called "Tastes of the World", blinis were the taste of day for the entire week. Traditionally, you place caviar (something I still have not acquired a taste for), sour cream, chives, fish, jam, honey or more recently chocolate, either separately or in any combination, though I'm not sure I would try a caviar, jam, honey chocolate combo. Or course, given my genetic predisposition for sweets, my blini that week were of the dessert variety.
To supplement the lunch-time blini, every night that week, instead of taking the bus to the metro and returning straight back to the hotel, I altered the route. From the office, I walked to the closest metro station, where the wait was sometimes up to 15 minutes (after 5 tries, you would think the law of averages would dictate that at least one night I should be able to arrive in the station and simply walk onto the waiting train, but I would swear that I had to wait at least 10 minutes each night), but the last stop on that line was Oxotny Ryad (Охотний Ряд) - very close to the tower of the Kremlin that provides access for the visitors of the Kremlin grounds. From there, it was a short walk to the mall, where the food court provided other dairy options for the main course (usually a slice of pizza) topped off with yet one more blin. Most nights, I went for the chocolate with banana, but one night I had to settle for wild berries since they were out of chocolate (comforting to know I am not the only person who enjoys these dessert blini). Even in the consumption of blini, I reverted to being a creature of habit.
Flying through the week again (since work is just work), and Wednesday of that week was St. Valentine's Day. In the morning, I went to the gym, as was my custom (snagging some butter cookies from the lobby before performing the daily ritual), and I was in the process of getting ready for work when there was a knock at the door. A bit surprised as I wasn't expecting anyone at 8:30, I opened the door to discover someone standing there with a little bottle of red wine along with a small plate of 6 chocolates. including a chocolate covered strawberry. I was even more surprised by appearance of these goodies as I didn't order anything from room service, and the delivery woman informed me they were compliments of the hotel. How nice (but in retrospect, for $250 a night before taxes, they could afford to throw little offerings like that to long-term guests every once in a while. Turns out they did; about once a week, I returned from the office to find some treat left for me in the room. But that is another story...)
I tried to be good by rationing the treats and to stretch them out over at least two days, but it didn't quite happen. The first three pieces fell victim to breakfast, and the survivors didn't make it past the evening when they became part of a second dessert (after the blin with chocolate and banana).
Earlier in the week, Tanya took a look at Afisha for options on Friday night, and she selected a performance at the Main (Big) Hall of the Conservatory. During the day, when I started to poke around to ascertain my best choice for metro station, one of my co-workers noticed my activities. She asked what I planned on seeing that night, and true to form, I had to confess ignorance. We both took a look at Afisha and when we came to the entry describing that night's concert, she just looked at me and said, "I hope you didn't already by tickets; maybe you can see something else?" Russians tend to be a bit blunt (Remember the comment about the chocolate? "What's the matter - don't you like Russian chocolate"? On similar lines, on my last day there, one of the guys asked me, "So, what don't you like about Moscow?" It took a great deal of self control to not say, "How much time do you have, buddy?"! Or another incident; on my way over to Moscow, I saw a book in Chicago that looked intriguing called The Romonov Prophecy; it is set in Moscow and I thought it would be a hoot to read it while I was in Moscow. That never happened as I worked on some other books first, and trying to lighten my load, I decided to leave the book with another one of the guys at work. He took one look at the cover and said, "Well, I am not sure how good this book will be; I have a feeling the author doesn't really know Moscow and it seems to me it just shows Moscow as a stereotype, like Russians are often portrayed in bad American movies." Honest and blunt)
Wow - that was a bit of a tangent. OK - back to the concert. R's concern (in Russian stories, when the author didn't want to name a given character or place, he would simply use a single letter; that's a bit easier than saying "the woman from work" all the time) was the program Afisha advertised: it was some sort of drum thing. I was willing to try anything and I knew Tanya had already purchased the tickets.
Left work a little early to give myself ample time to get to the Conservatory, which was a good thing as I good lost. Well, not quite lost, confused is more accurate. When Tanya gave me the directions, she told me it was on Nikitskaya Street (Никитская Улица), which is very close to Tverskaya Street (Тверьская Улица), but for some reason, when I got out of the metro on Nikitskaya Street, I misremembered the directions and wondered a long block away to Tverskaya Street. Once there, turned left and started down the road in search of the Conservatory. After about 15 minutes in what should have only taken 5 at most, I figured something was wrong. By this time, I was already all the way down at Pushkin Square, and I basically had to complete my square by returning to Nikitskaya Street and heading back to the metro. What a dope. As I said, luckily I left work early as we still had time for a quick bit to eat (fettuccini with, you guessed it, a blin for dessert, but I had to settle for apple since neither chocolate nor wild berries were on the menu) and then over to the Hall.
Turns out, Afisha was a bit mistaken and it listed two performance for the Main Hall that night both at the same time. The one we saw at work was the more modern performance, while what was actually performed was a set of pieces by Tchaikovsky. Unfortunately, I accidentally tossed away all the programs (put them in the wrong pile while packing); I remember the pieces after the intermission consisted of 6 of the 12 months of the year, but I can't remember what they played before intermission. Oh, well.
After the concert, just to stick to my evening ritual, after walking Tanya back to her car, I trekked back over to Red Square to take another look at St. Basil's and Lenin. Trying to be somewhat good, I skipped the blin in the mall and took the metro back to the hotel. However, there is another blini kiosk on the route between the metro and my room, and I could no longer resist - I had to have yet one more; this little booth didn't offer banana with the chocolate, and as it turns out, they were even out of chocolate, so it was a wild berry. Instead of dining al fresco (and when I say fresco, I mean fresco - it was minus 10 or 15 Celsius that night) as some folks do, I got mine placed into a little pouch, transported it the ten minutes or so back to my room and devoured it in the comfort of my surroundings.
Before I left for Moscow, AnneMarie (one of the manager's in my area) gave me the name (Olya) of a contact in Moscow. Turns out AnneMarie is Olya's career mentor, and they thought it would help for Olya to practice her English on me while I was in Moscow. We make plans to go sightseeing one day, and this Saturday (2/17) was it. I wanted to see Novodevichy Monastery, and as it turns out, Olya had never been there. We met on the platform of the metro station closest to our destination at 10 am (I left like such a spy - I was going to tell her I would be the one wearing the white carnation in his lapel, but then I remembered my outer coat doesn't have a lapel) and off we went.
The Monastery has a colorful history and Peter the Great confined his older sister there after her failed attempt to overthrow him, and his first wife (maybe second) also managed to end up there, too. One of the interior buildings housed a display on, you guessed it, icons, which we investigated. The other interesting feature of the Monastery is the cemetery, which after the Kremlin Wall, was the second most prestigious placed in Moscow to be buried. Partly what lends to this prestige was the hosts of famous Russians from the pre-Communist Era. The Lonely Planet provides a basic map of the grounds which indicates where some of the more famous residents are located.
However, before we could make our way over to the cemetery, I had to find the Duck Statues. A friend sent over a link with some pictures of a set of statues that was somewhere in the park surrounding the Monastery. The piece consists of a mother duck along with 8 baby ducks, and from the pictures on the web-page, I had a general appreciation for which side of the monastery I had to be on, but with a foot or two of snow on the group, I wasn't sure how visible these things were going to be. Were not talking gigantic statues here - just slightly larger than life size, and I feared there were buried under a blank of compressed snow.
Olya was a trooper and didn't question my motives as we plodded along in search of my target. Came across a few snow women (not sure if this is customary in that Russians always make snow women or this was part of the Maselnitsa celebration, where the "mascot" is a tall female doll that is burned on the last day, along with all the leftover blini). Anyway, I was just about to suggest we start asking for assistance from passers-by when I spotted my fowl in the middle of the walk way between us and the Monastery. Across a small snow field, and it was time for some photos. It's good thing I took a picture of the plaque so now I can give you a little more on these ducks. "This sculpture is given in love and friendship to the children of the Soviet Union on behalf of the children of the United States. It is based on the beloved American children's story 'Make Way for Ducklings,' by Robert McClosney. The sculptress is Nancy Schön. 1991 Presented by Mrs. Barbara Bush" Never heard of the book, never heard of the author, never heard of the sculptress (did hear of Barbara!), but most importantly, I got the pictures. Of course, I forgot to send the photos to Mark so I better go do that know before I forget again.
OK - sent Mark the note with the pictures, so back to our story. A few people passed by, and I seemed to be the source of a fair amount of entertainment for them as I swept of the plaque, knelt on the ground trying to get some decent shots, running from mom to the ducklings and back again. I wonder if anyone took a picture of me? After snapping said pictures, it was time for the cemetery. Around a corner or two and down the road a piece and there was the entrance. Olya seemed a bit shocked that I was the one playing the role of "guide", but it was only because of The Lonely Planet. We started off in the newer section where we paid our respects (if you can call snapping a photo of their tomb stones "paying respect") to Khrushchev (his monument is half white and half black, to represent the good and evil aspects of his personality), Raisa Gorbacheva (a statue of a forlorn looking woman standing over the slab of a tomb stone), Typolev (a triangular monument with the point down on which is carved his bust along with an airplane, just to remind you he was a famous airplane designer), found a family of Vinogradovs (gotta find out if Fr. Alex is related to them), Gromyko (Minister of Foreign Affairs - this was an interesting one: it was a cube where one side contains a relief of his face and another side contain a negative relief; you'll have to wait until I put the pictures out on the blog to appreciate this one). I wasn't sure how much Olya enjoyed this activity - I must admit it is a bit odd to go sight seeing in a cemetery. However, once we made our way over to the older section, it was like a Who's Who in Russian History: Gogol, Chekov, the workers the sacrificed themselves in order to seal the reactor at Chernobyl, the Tretykov brothers (founders of a famous art gallery), Stanislavsky (founder of a theatre and a method of acting), Bulgakov (writer), Stalin's second wife (Nadezhda Allilueva) along with a host of other characters (whose names escape me right now). At the point, Olya seemed very taken with our task and I no longer felt guilty about dragging her here.
The original plan for the day was to head to Kolomenskoye next (this is an ancient royal country seat) set in the southern portion of town. However, it was a bit away, and we spent much more time at Novodevichy and in the cemetery than I had originally planned. Since it was such a beautiful day with blue skies and sun, I asked to head back to Red Square for a few more photos under these "different" conditions. I also had an ulterior motive: in the exhibition hall where I caught the "Light to the World" on my first Saturday in town there was a new feature: the Honey Market.
Olya was extremely obliging, and back to Red Square it was. However, the view from there wasn't sufficient, so we have to circumnavigate the entire complex again going the long way around (so I could get more pictures from across the river) before working our way back to the Main Exhibition Hall and the Honey Market.
This place was incredible. The hall is extremely large, and it was completely covered by booths of honey vendors. Producers from various regions across the country (and from a few of the newly independent states, too, I think) converge on Moscow for two weeks to sell their wares. For the most part, it is just honey (a few people sell the entire honey comb, there are a couple of products made from honey, but the vast amount of what is sold and bought is simply honey). Who knew there was such a selection and variety of honeys. In general, the honey here is quite different. Instead of the transparent dark brown viscous fluid we are accustomed to squeezing out of bear shaped bottles, the honey here tends to be pale in color (a very dark off-white or light tan) and opaque. The best part of the Honey Market is you get to go from booth to booth sampling all the varieties. Each vendor has a container of little plastic spoons and you simply take a spoon, dip it into the tasting jar, swirl it around a little to pick up some honey, place the spoon in your mouth, let the honey coat your tongue and gently slide down your throat, dispose of the sampling spoon in the receptacle for used utensils, move onto the next sample and repeat. I sometimes use honey in my tea, but it tends to be clover, and these honeys have quite a different taste, and it also varied not only by the region but on the type of flower the bee extracted the pollen from. Some of the honeys had a course, grainy texture (and given my exposure to the amber clover variety, I didn't quite care for the those) while others were smoother and tasted more familiar (well, at least in texture).
When I was here 25 years ago on one of our class trips, we went to Suzdal (a small town outside of Moscow), and I remember getting some honey that was used as spread on dark bread, and it was wonderful. It might have been just that the food, in general, at that time was so miserable that the honey left such an impression on me. However, I forgot about that taste sensation, until the Honey Market brought it all back.
Olya and I sampled a fair number of specimens in my attempt of finding a smooth, creamy variety, similar to what I had in Suzdal. At some point, Olya pointed out that we should have come prepared with something to drink, and she had a point; you can only eat so much honey before it starts to get to you. While we never found what I remember tasting 25 years ago, we made a valiant attempt, but in the end, had to admit defeat. Even though it wasn't particularly late, I started to drag a bit and decided to call it a day.
Before parting, Olya told me about the metro station Revolution Square, which is adorned with large life-size metal statues of people from various walks of life, including a soldier with a dog and another one of a soldier holding a machine gun. Olya informed me people rub the tip of the machine gun to improve their love life and they rub the nose of the dog for general good luck. I expressed surprise (since I didn't think the Soviet man was supposed to be superstitious), which I think she took as an expression of complete disbelief. Since we were both heading to the metro anyway, and Revolution Square wasn't too far away, off we went. Sure enough, the tip of the machine gun is nice and shiny while the rest of the statue is dull and worn, and it was a similar situation for the dog's nose. Of course, I had to get a picture, and just as I started to frame the shot, a train arrived in the station and dispersed it load. I'm not sure if it was just because I was trying to take a picture, but I think every person who passed by felt compelled to touch that dog's nose! Eventually the crowd cleared, and I got my desired picture: one of the just the dog and another one with me touching his nose. Mission complete, it was back to the hotel for me and home for Olya.
The next day, Sunday, was the last day of Maselnitsa. After Liturgy in the morning with Tanya and Sophia, I went back to my room, changed into my play clothes and popped down to the Park of Cultural named after Gorky (usually referred to as Gorky Park in English). Before heading into the park, I decided to swing by Sculpture Park, which is just across the street. This is where some of the monuments to Communist Achievement and old Communists were housed after they were removed from their pedestals across town. Interesting, there are also some more recent pieces here, too, including a tribute to the victims of Stalin's purges.
Just outside the park is another somewhat controversial sculpture. Yuri Lushkov, the Mayor of Moscow commissioned Tsereteli to produce a monument to Peter the Great. The result is a gigantic ship (I would guess it is over 300 feet from the base to the top of the mast) with a rather large Peter standing on the deck looking forward to the future through a telescope. Like the Cathedral of Christ the Savior (which was also designed by Tsereteli - have you noticed a pattern), this monument to Peter also has it critics and its proponents, but the vast majority of people find it abhorrent. Now as a sculpture, I like the concept, and though it is a bit large for the setting, I don't find it that disagreeable. However, I think what most people find distasteful is simply the concept; why construct a monument in Moscow to the man who moved the capital from here to St. Petersburg. It would be almost as inappropriate as erecting a monument to General Sherman in downtown Atlanta. (NOTE: we have a Tsereteli much closer to home; he designed a monument called Tear of Grief, which is a gift from the Russian government as a memorial to the those that died in the attacks on September 11, 2001, and we placed it in Bayonne, NJ.)
After snapping the obligatory pictures (which you'll get to see at some point, I promise), it was back over to Gorky Park. During the winter, they flood the paths, let them freeze and then people just skate around everywhere. I didn't have all that much time, and I didn't feel like waiting on line for rentals, so I had to be content with just slipping along the ice and taking in the scenery. In addition to the skates, they had some traditional games for Maselnitsa: tug of war (where the combatants still had skates on their feet, so that looked like an accident waiting to happen to me) along with some game with people toss sticks at some pegs (kinda like duck pin bowling, but using another pin instead of a ball) and one last game: jump rope. When I first entered the park, I thought what's the deal with that - why are people having such a tough time with skipping rope. Then on the way out, I realized they were doing it on skates over ice! Well that would definitely increase the level of difficulty.
While I was having a good time enjoying this public celebration, Tanya was throwing a blini party for the last day of Maselnitsa, and I didn't want to miss an opportunity for home made blini. And I am extremely glad I didn't as they were the best tasting ones of the lot and I stuffed myself to almost bursting.
However, I am almost embarrassed to admit this. After leaving Tanya's, instead of taking the metro the two stops to the station closest to my hotel, I decided to walk back to my room. By the time I got near the hotel, I had to pass the local blini kiosk, and since I was passing by anyway, I just had to have just one more chocolate blin.
With an overstuffed belly, Sunday came to a close.
End of the sixth journal entry.
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