30.01.09

Its been a while since i blogged, mostly because im running out of reason to. alot has happened, an uneventful day in Russia is quite rare; but i'm not scared of them anymore. im not so terrified period. sometimes i even forget that i'm in 'Russia'.


im writing this though from London, as supposedly i have two weeks to renew my visa. however, of course, i have no access to a printer in order to print out the electronic application, and time is beginning to run out- i must submit it by 3pm today. at the moment im waiting for sarah's lecture to finish, she wont be back until 2pm. with how problematic everything to do with Russia, and Russia itself seems to be, i could probably fabricate some excuse to prevent my return. honestly that oppurtunity is very appealing, especailly when you arrive in London Heathrow and the imigration service officers smile and say 'hello' 'have a good day' and 'your welcome' instead of glaring at you as though you are to blame for everything crap about their life. and when you are on the tube and realise that not everyone around you is white, different languages are being openly spoken, people dont stand in the most awkward inconsiderate places, and when they do- they say 'excuse me'.

i got the night train with Magda to Moscow on the 27th, and we spent the 28th on our feet; taking photos and generally acting like tourists. Almost every Nizhny Novgoroder i have spoken to about Moscow hates it, its too money orientated, the people are rude, life is too fast etc. but honestly, and maybe its because i was only there for 24 hours, i way prefer Moscow to Nizhny. Every Russian we stopped to ask for directions smiled and were helpful. tubers only glanced bemusedly as we dragged luggage through the subway and scratched our heads. a man even offered to help Magda carry her suitcase down the stairs.

Red Square is quite regale.


There is something really majestic about the old architecture, and the almost comical spires that glisten dreamily in the winter mist- like frozen tear drops or something.

we went into the Kremlin and visited some Russian Orthodox Cathedrals, and finally exhausted at 6pm, sat inside one barely able to speak. I asked Magda what she thought of the churches, that are so elaborate and lavishly ornate.

they have huge intricate swirling chandelers and gold leafing up the walls, with the New Testament painted onto the high cielings and pillars. Despite being a Catholic, Magda thinks these Churches are too extravagant. The money should go elsewhere she believes. I agree. But these churches are also works of art, and more then art, worship. when you look up, awed by these biblical scenes and watchful saints; that still do not capture the grandeur of heaven- suddenly the weight of your own puny existence occurs to you. its breath taking sometimes. we watched russians; old women, buisness men, contemporary women cross themselves faithfully, and even kneel prostrated. the art is too spectacular to be unmoved by. and not for the sake fo the art itself, but for the explosion of something trying to grasp heaven. the beauty inside someone moved and inspired from worship, which surely validates the idea. these pictures are like songs of praise that lift up, drifting toward heaven in this outburst of colour and form. it is magnificent.

During our mid-term training that took place the weekend before we left, we also visited the ancient capital Vladimir, and Suzdal. these cities are smaller, cleaner and more peaceful. it was something like a four hour bus ride, and we got a tour around the churches. in one particuarly exquisite and nationally famous monastery, we stood in the chapel as four russian men lined up in height order, in front of us. man i will never forget it. they sang. maybe it was because the room was so big and empty, or because i am so unused to choirists, but their voices reverberated. it was like hearing angels. this unlikely foursome, making these noises that actually made my eyes water and mouth hang open. it was astounding, pure, beautiful- maybe i could say it better in russian; but it was wonderful. like they had actually been touched by heaven. like God has breathed art into the Russian church. i still cant get over it. its taking me about twenty seconds to articulate anything after every fullstop. it was perfect. standing in that reverenced holy place, with these angels singing in front of me. like their voices were reaching into you and soaking into your blood, making your own heart rise in wonder.

there is something special about the russian church, despite all the crapness that goes on in the country. most russians harbour some sort of conviction about God, even if they dont practise or vocalise it. but its like the optimism that they have to depend on, when the economy collapses around you; you must just turn to faith in something outside yourself. of course, this completely contradicts everything i wrote previously about the athiesm, musical deafness etc. they do have hard hearts, but they have also been buckled by God. i just dont know.

but in Suzdal we also got a tour of a 'wooden museum', a reconstructed medieval village. as our tour described various buildings and purposes, the prevelence of superstition struck me again. in the medieval ages everyone was superstitious i know, but still even nowadays russians honour old superstitons and wives' tales. but mostly, this supersition centres around God. whenever a peasant built a house, he would erect a sort of 'holy corner' by decorating it with icons and candles; before 'moving in' his family would let the cat enter first; if it went to this holy corner, their house would be blessed; if not- they wouldnt. they were a very God fearing people.

medieval church

and as we looked around the village that old peace struck me again, that i always experienced as a child in museums, that old love for people that went before, and the existences they led- that were so humble. wooden museum

And so completely contrary to the bustle and sky-scraping towers of Moscow. with the beautiful women in knee high leather boots and skimpy fur coats, and the designer streets, and the guards that approach you with consternated 'Delete! Delete!' whenever you try to photo the police station. it was a good trip though, and i like Moscow. we were exhausted, and in the end it all seemed a bit inescapable. but we got to see Lenin's preserved corpse.

After being forced to have our bags stored in a locker room for eighty roubles (despite the russian in front of us getting it for forty -_-) we followed a rope fence leading into Lenin's Musaleum. Guards stood at various places stiffly jerking their arms to indicate in which direction we were allowed to take, we descended into a silent black building where a guard silently motioned for me to take off my gloves. it was like we were entering the tomb of a God to be honest. eventually we found our way into the central room, were there he lay. incased in this glass box as though he were Snow White. lying so peacefully, glowing eerily in the dark room. he was absolutely petite. with a sharp little face and bald curved head. he looks like a determined person, and very clever. like a pirannah. i cant believe i saw someone who changed history. we left, and walked through monuments of various famous Russian politicians; even Stalin. and then eventually past stone memorial boxes. as though they were grave stones.

"Leningrad"

as we stood at these boxes it occured to me, despite my at times- lack of affection for Russia, how much this country has suffered. there were a row of maybe twenty bleak little boxes, with roses laid on them. each one symbolizing the deaths of scores of hundreds of russian men, children and women. who died in combat, froze or starved to death. sad isnt a word for it, its too belittling and demeaning. tragic is too inhuman. you could only express it with silence, but a silence loaded with the things you dont want to say- that turns to love. man, its overwhelming when you stand there, and refuse to register it, in case the registering of it depletes you.

war memorials

despite the good start to the day, by 5pm i was zoning; having slept uncomfortably on the night train, and seats that fold into beds. eventually we returned to the train station to collect our suit cases. Magda decided we should buy our return tickets that evening, where we had our first encounter with the bad side of Moscow. With unhelpful cashiers and information desk officers giving you whatever inaccurate guidance they feel like, and men and women openly bunking queues. but at least people smile more in Moscow; i think they just have more reason to smile though. they have jobs and money and higher living standards. the entire place is quite european.

except of course, that in the 24 hours we were there i saw three black people. and each of them looking around themselves like they were wild animals. itching in their seats nervously, so obviously uncomfortable in public. its degrading and absolutely sickening. Takondwa told me that in the 24 hours he has spent in Moscow, four people asked to take his photo, and someone whispered 'KKK' into his neck. why on earth should they have to face this? i have discovered that Adrian Smith, a member of the TK/Kampilla/Mo/Carlos gang that has been missing recently, is in hospital recovering from an attack. Nine russian men attacked him, and beat him so badly that he had a blod clot and was on the news. And he is half white. The group of them only told me he was sick because they didnt want to upset me.

I can see the africans going crazy from ancipation. "I'm next" they'll say, carrying knives and walking to university conscious that everytime they step into the open they are in danger. and yet most of them are here for six years, studying eingineering or medicine. its horrific. Mary, who left for Moscow a day before me (to attend training with her programme) texted me saying that a babushka had just stole her money; "what kind of country is this?" she asked.

im in london now, alone in Sarah's room. and although there is that temptation to stay in a place where there is infrastructure, where there are people that want to be happy, where you dont need to be ashamed of who or what you are, where there is good food and good smells and good facilities and good clubs- im already beginning to miss Nizhny. in the oddest way. Mary was right when she said it; it is a love/hate relationship. it is like domestic or emotional abuse. you love it because it hurts. not because im messed up or self destructive, but because in Russia you have something to face. You dont have the luxury of boredom, you arent sickened by gluttony. and like i told Sarah last night, i have never felt so scared as i have been in Russia; but happiness swallows the fear- and i have never been so happy as i have in Russia. in those simple surprising moments that last an instant, when you are just walking down the street or on a bus- and suddenly absolute elation fills you up. or when you are trudging through snow listening to Michael Jackson's 'Black or White' and you cant stop smiling, and ache to dance or just want to vent one great whoop of "E- HE". because you do have so much to be grateful for, you are alive and you know life and joy has meaning because you are struggling so much for it. when you have nothing to be happy about, but can be happy, you know what happiness is.

we waited last night in a queue for two hours to get into a club, my feet were aching from my heels, an italian and australian came onto me, Sarah's friends were drunk, and despite all the glitz and glamour of it, it was absolutely boring. why do we need flashing lights and perfume and so much crap to stimulate fun? are we that boring?

people need too much things here. toothpaste isnt enough; theres whitening, ultra whitening, minty fresh, cool breeze, peppermint, spearmint and maybe seven other types that disgusted me when i worked in Woodsides. Russia isnt better, but the UK isnt that ideal i dreamed of. its easy and comfortable thats true, but easy and comfotable isnt enough.