December 2009 Archives

Russia is a country of many churches, monasteries and cathedrals and they are predominantly of the Russian Orthodox variety though as in most other countries, you can find churches of just about every major religious institution.

Church of Spilt Blood Cathedral (Храм Спаса на Крови) named so because it is the spot where  Tsar Alexander II was assassinated. It resembles the more famous St. Basil’s Cathedral in Moscow.

Kazan Cathedral (собор Казанской Божией Матери) is modelled after St. Peter's Basilica in the Vatican. Its construction really annoyed the Russian Orthodox Church; building an Orthodox Cathedral in the style of a Catholic Cathedral is considered not so good after The Great Schism – what split Christianity into the Orthodox and Catholic churches.

The Church is dedicated to the holiest icon in all of Russia, Our Lady of Kazan (Казанская Богоматерь) – an icon found by a little girl after a vision of the Virgin Mary.

St Isaac’s Cathedral (Исаакиевский собор), in the Byzantine style, was ordered by Tsar Alexander I and architected by French architect Auguste de Montferrand. Many people don’t know that the cathedral sits on top of 10,000 tree trunks.

Peter and Paul Cathedral in Peterhof (Петергоф), dedicated to St. Peter and St. Paul.

Peter and Paul Cathedral , situated in the Peter and Paul Fortress (Петропавловская крепость), built in the early 18th century and contains the tombs of almost all of the Tsars and Tsarinas from Peter the Great (who established St. Petersburg and moved the capital there) onwards. The final one was Tsar Nicholas II (of the Romanov family, think back to your Disney films – Anastasia).

The fortress itself was built to defend against a possible Swedish attack in the Great Northern War (Великая Северная война).

Alexander Nevsky Lavra (Александро-Невская лавра) is a monastery of the highest order, only four such lavras exist in all of Russia and Ukraine. Peter the Great had it built it in honour of Alexander Nevsky.

St Nicholas Cathedral, dedicated to the Russian navy and has scenes from many naval battles on the walls. 

A small church not too far from St. Nicholas cathedral.

Holy Trinity Cathedral (Троице-Измайловский собор), is currently under reconstruction which was set back when the main dome burned and collapsed.

I take a sleeper train to St. Petersburg; weeks later a train is bombed and several hundred people die.

Train from Moscow to St. Petersburg.

My couch surfing host Sascha meets me at the Moscovski Vokzal and we head back to her place, before I head out for the day.

A typical November day in St. Petersburg.

St. Petersburg, with canals engineered by the Dutch, architecture by the French and buildings by the Italians. It is the cultural heart of Russia (I think at least the Vodka is Russian).

When one visits, it's absolutely mandatory to tour the many churches and museums around. It's preferred to visit in the Summer months when the fountains at the nearby Royal palaces are in operation.

Arriving so late in the year, I found it too cold to visit Shlisselburg, Kronshtadt.

Through couch surfing, I took a boat tour around the canals of St. Petersburg, caught a Russian bard gig at a Jazz bar found someone to explore the city with and saw the Opera at the concert hall of the Mariinsky Theatre.

World War II, in the realm of the former Soviet Union lasted from 1941 until 1945 and is known as the Eastern Front in the west and the Great Patriotic War (Великая Отечественная война) all over the countries of the former USSR.

The Soviets suffered more losses than all of the other players combined, lost 1.2 million lives in the 900-day Siege of Leningrad (St. Petersburg) and defeated Nazi Germany after almost losing Moscow.

The Nazis considered the Slavic race inferior to the Aryan race, highlighted in their treatment of Soviet prisoners of war; compared to the Allies (Germany, Italy, Romania, Hungary and Bulgaria), a far smaller percentage of Soviet POWs returned after the war.

Victory Park is dedicated to the victory over the Allies and the 9th of May is a national holiday in Russia, Victory Day.

Outside the Victory Park, dedicated to the Patriotic War (the defeat of Napoleon).

What follows, is a small sample of photos of Soviet military equipment. These and more can be found in the photo gallery.

A cannon, on rails. This can do some serious damage.

Left to Right: Our business is correct (Наше дело правое!). Enemy will be broken (Враг будет разбит). For the birthplace (за родину!).  

Outside the artillery museum.

VDNKh (ВДНХ)

VDNKh, a showground in Soviet times, used to hold world exhibitions and is now just a park with plenty of rides and Soviet nostalgia. It used to hold the world’s greatest sculpture Worker and Kolhoznitsa (Рабочий и колхозница).

What better way to capture the moment than a snap of two cops in Soviet era uniforms in front of everyone’s favourite grandpa.

Fountains of VDNKh, unfortunately it’s so late in the year that they’ve already been switched off. 

Yes, a real live Vostuk rocket for flying to space.

Fallen Monument Park

Located just outside of the New Tretyakov Gallery (not the one most people think of when you mention the Tretyakov Gallery).

World of Good.

USSR – Requirement for peace (Stalin and Lenin in the foreground).

Two Lenins and an Ivan. 

Cosmonaut Museum

The Soviets sent the first dogs, the first man and the first woman into space. They also built the first space station which they subsequently destroyed. This is all covered in the museum. There is also mention of some barely significant capitalist pig mission in Apollo 11.

Read and envy, I am –  a citizen of the USSR! (Читайте, завидуйте, я – гражданин советского союза!)

Other

The White House, in Moscow, Russia.

Gothic style Roman Catholic cathedral in Moscow (Located on Malaya Lubianka).

Cathedral of Christ the Saviour, destroyed by the Soviets to make the world’s largest statue of Lenin, however abandoned due to the Great Patriotic War (WWII). Replaced with a swimming pool and finally rebuilt after the collapse of the USSR.

In Russia (and all over the former Soviet Union, people tend to spend summer weekends in their holiday homes, known as dachas.

My uncle Yura takes me to the family dacha which my grandfather built in the 1970s. I’m reminded of my mum’s passion for photography; she loved taking photos when we were young, she loved taking photos when I cried, she loved taking photos when I was naked and she loved taking photos when I was on the potty. She has one photo of me naked, on the potty, crying.

The dacha is located in Fryazevo (Фрязево), the train fare isn’t expensive, so I buy the ticket, but to get the full Russian experience, I won’t buy a ticket on the return trip. If you ever get a chance to ride on a local train in Moscow, I highly recommend it for this one experience alone.

At some point in the trip, a group of thirty passengers walks through the carriage and into the next one. Following this procession, roughly half of the people sitting in the carriage stand up and follow them. My uncle tells me that the ticket inspectors are coming.

The inspectors come through, checking everyone’s tickets and proceed to the next carriage. The train pulls into a station and there is a mass exodus of passengers, the entire mob of people without tickets runs off the train, runs along the platform back past the ticket inspector, hops into our carriage, takes a seat as if nothing happened and continues the  journey. The ticket inspectors don’t even bat an eyelid as they see the mob run past.

Another mob of passengers without tickets hopping back onto the train after running past inspectors.

Platfrom 1, away from Moscow. Don’t stand on the edge of the platform. Dangerous for your life!

We arrive at Fryazevo and need to take the steps up to cross over the platform to exit the station. My uncle is on crutches, there is no lift, there are too many steps for him to climb so instead, he says we’ll be walking across the train tracks.

There’s an exit at the station for those without a ticket (in fact all stations have one), all we need to do is follow the people that climb down across the tracks, they walk to the fence and climb through the hole (that will be my way into the platform on the return trip).

My uncle crossing the train tracks mere metres from a train. He’s so hardcore. The train engine is off.

We walk the four kilometres to the dacha, passing the lake where my sister and I would splash around in our innocent youth.

The dacha, in all its glory, hand built by my grandfather Ivan Ivanovich Mikheev, with some help from my uncle Yura Ivanovich Mikheev.

The dacha is overgrown with weeds, rosehip and berries. The apple trees have given a huge harvest and we have more than we know what to do with. My uncle checks for the keys to the dacha and finds that he’s left them at home.

Me: What do we do?

Yura: We can sit on the step and drink vodka, then go home.

Me: We came all the way here, we’re getting in.

Yura: Ok, get the ladder.

I get the ladder and we decide to go in through the second storey window, only my uncle refuses to let me climb saying it’s too dangerous. I watch as he nimbly climbs on the roof (as the balcony sags under his weight) as he opens the window and climbs in. After many noises, he opens a window on the first floor which will now act as the door.

The second storey of the dacha. We have plenty of beds and blankets so decide to brave the cold and spend the night. There is no central heating here and the night will be –6.

Next step, finding warm clothes. What isn’t visible is the two layers of brightly coloured, home knitted sweaters under my jacket, typical dacha clothes found in every dacha. The hat is warm, I think it was my mums. In dacha, it’s ok to wear women’s hats.

It’s coming up to dinner time, so we need to get to work on dinner. I head to the kitchen and spend the next half hour lighting a fire, lack of dry firewood makes it difficult. Dinner consists of a soup that even my mum would be proud of, baked apples and a little something to wash it down with.

The kitchen, soup in the pot, home made tea in the kettle. Rosehip and berry leaves make for the best tea.

There’s a fridge but we forgot to stock it up with food (some ten years ago).

Since we have no front door and have to climb through the window, I tend to carry most of the things in and out of the house. My uncle however is quite skilled at climbing, despite his obvious disability.

Since uncle Yura doesn’t need my help getting in the window, I’m sure he won’t mind I snap a photo while he climbs in.

After a great night with many stories, and not all that cold, we head home (after first snapping a collection of photos of the neighbouring dachas).

The trip back, I don’t have  a ticket. When the inspector comes to check tickets, I join the mob in walking down the carriages. When we arrive at the next station, we all get off and run down the platform, past the inspector and into the wagon. Shortly after, I rejoin my uncle. When we arrive back in Moscow, I jump down and leave the platform through the hole in the fence (remember, every station has one).

My sister visited the dacha in summer of the previous year and wrote about her dacha experience on her blog.

Dachas come in all shapes, sizes and colours. Here is a small sample of the neighbouring dachas. For more on Russian dachas, see the wikipedia article.

Moscow is a very green city, filled with many parks. While there's no point in trying to walk and see all of them, autumn and winter are a great time to visit. What follows is a small collection of photos of the parks I visited at the end of Autumn and start of Winter in Moscow.

Kolomenskoe Park

Church of Ascension (UNESCO Listed, dedicated to Ivan the Terrible)

Church of our Lady of Kazan.

St. George Church

Log cabin of  Peter the Great.

Colonel Palace

Tsaritsino

Tsaritsino Main Palace

The Bread House

Curious crow chasing a squirrel

Squirrel is curious too.

Church in Tsaritsino Park 

Winter in Tsaritsino

Apart from the large parks in Moscow, there are also parks in almost every suburb, for example, outside my cousins place in Lyublino.

In Strogino.

First thing any tourist should do once they arrive in Moscow is head to the Red Square, find out if the Lenin Mausoleum is open and pay their respects to their grandfather (in the USSR, Lenin was commonly known as Grandpa Lenin).

Ah the joys of capitalism, being able to take photos with Stalin and Lenin lookalikes.

The mausoleum is due to close in twenty minutes and the line is too long, the female officer manning the queue doesn’t let us in, even after I smile and tell her how pretty she looks. 

The state museum, located outside the Red Square.

Next stop, the Kremlin, it’s majorly expensive. I tell the girl I’m a student, she disagrees with my expired student card. I tell her I’m poor, she doesn’t care. I tell her I’m not a “Новый Русский” (New Russian, term for those that made millions after the fall of the USSR), much to the amusement of everyone else in the queue, but still, no discount. I pay the high price and enter defeated.

Tsar’s Cannon (never once fired).

Tsar’s Bell (was dropped once by interns, hence the broken piece).

One of the many churches housed in the Kremlin. It’s been converted to a museum. It’s hard to imagine that once upon a time, Moscow was only what was contained within the walls of the Kremlin.

St. Basil’s Cathedral. On it’s completion, Ivan Grozny had all of the master's who worked on its construction blinded so such beauty could not be repeated. These days we’d just sue their company into oblivion. 

Here’s a monkey in a jacket and jeans, I don’t think he enjoys wearing human clothes.

A short wait after my swim and Koba clears customs with his chacha, wine and painting intact. We hop in and start driving to Krasnodar, where Koba has a meeting with his lawyers.

His wife has recently filed for divorce, they’ve been living apart for the past four years and he’s been spending the time restructuring his finances and assets so that his wife could not get them in the divorce.

It’s a shame to that people, after spending fifteen years married and raising children together could want to split and fight a war with their former partners.

We spend the night in Krasnodar before heading onwards to Rostov and his place in Shakhty (Шахты, Russian for mines, coal mines not land mines). The evening holds a qualifier match between Russia and Germany for the World Cup and as such we must prepare.

Vodka, chacha and some of the best shashlyk , along with the company of some Georgians, Azeri, Armenians and an Australian Russian make for some good times. Russia loses :(

In the morning, I have a decision to make, it’s 1000km to Kiev and 1000km to Moscow, I have family in both. I flip a coin and am on a train to Moscow several hours later.

I start chatting to my coupe friends, a couple of half Russians, half Ukrainians and a Dagestani and his kid. The boy is incredibly well behaved, in great spirits and always smiling, so we ask his father how he raised him so well. Easy he says, and lightly smacks his kid across the face, the kid perks up almost playfully. Dad explains that in Dagestani culture, sons are raised by their fathers, all of them were hit as children and raise theirs in the same way, the son won’t cry because he knows that’ll just get him hit again. Unconventional sure, but it works.

I tell them about my dream to visit Dagestan one day (along with the rest of the Russian caucuses territories: Krasnodar Krai, Chechneya, Ingushetia and North Ossetia) and we start talking about the current situation there; recently Ingushetia was voted most dangerous region in Russia, taking away the title from neighbouring Chechneya (Ichkeria) which has held it for at least a decade.

Just be careful when you’re driving dad warns us, a lot of people are shot while driving (car pulls alongside, passengers are shot, car drives off), also be careful of police (most police in Dagestan are Russians, treat the Dagestanis like shit and have been known to shoot them in “self defence”, in turn many police are shot by Dagestanis who consider themselves more capable of serving justice in their republic), also be ware of strangers, foreigners and all outsiders are treated poorly since they’ve done nothing but exploit the caucuses.

That said, if you ever make friends with a Dagestani (or for that matter a Chechen, Ossette or Ingush) consider them a life long friend who will never abandon you if times get tough, who will stick by you even if you’re attacked by a large group of people. Loyalty is a big part of the Caucusus culture and so your best bet for travelling in the region is to have a friend introduce you, after you befriend a few people, their extended families will take care of you across the rest of the region.

The following morning, the train arrives in Moscow, I pick up a Russian sim card, call my uncle Yura (mother’s side) and cousins that I’ve never met (father’s side), tell them I’m coming by.

I show up to my Aunty Natasha’s place, see her and my cousin Nadia for the first time in almost twenty years, give them a hug and ask where I can crash. Having family is good.

I get onto the ferry, having bought the cheapest tickets and not bothering to upgrade from a seat to a cabin and quickly take a row of seats to sleep on.

The Erke, a ferry ship from Georgia to Russia, registered in Phnom Penh, Cambodia and owned and operated by Turks.

I walk around the ship and start talking with some of the passengers about my trip in Cambodia (the ship is registered in Cambodia). As others overhear my stories, a crowd forms. Everyone is enthralled especially when I tell them about my Abkhazia attempt.

One of the guys listening, Koba, a Georgian by ethnicity, born and raised in Russia starts telling me about his businesses and his travels, we become friends pretty soon and eventually he offers a lift with him to Rostov (half of the way from Sochi to Moscow).

At one point in our conversation, an Azeri man comes up to us.

Azeri: Sorry to interrupt your conversation, but uh, I have six bottles of Georgian wine with me, do you think they’ll let me into Russia or will I have to pay a fine?

Koba: My friend, I have with me 130 litres of Cha Cha (Georgian grape moonshine) and a case of wine, I think you’ll be fine.

*the man leaves satisfied*

Me: Was that true?

Koba: Yeah, I’ve also got an antique painting that you can’t export form Georgia, good luck finding it though.

Me: How do you plan on getting past the customs in Russia?

Koba: I know a Georgian guy at the customs, pay him a bit of money and there’s no problems.

The sun rises as we arrive at Sochi.

I pass through immigration, am told that there’s no way I’ll be let out of Russia with my passport in the state it’s in (the photo page cover has almost completely come off). After being let out, I go for a much overdue swim in the Black Sea and wait for my friend Koba to have his car cleared by customs.

Having cancelled my plans of an illegal crossing into Abkhazia, I hop on a marshrutka to Poti. I knew that there used to be ferries from Poti to Sochi, though after the war they might be cancelled, my backup plan was to go from Poti to Odessa.

I arrive in Poti in under two hours and make it to the ferry office.

Me: When does the Poti/Sochi ferry arrive?

Woman at the counter: That’s been cancelled since the war. You can go to Odessa on Saturday (in three days) for $195USD.

Me: Bummer, so all the Sochi ferries are cancelled?

Woman: You can go from Batumi, but I don’t know the timetable.

Me: Ok, cheers.

Half an hour after arriving to Poti, I’m on a marshrutka to Batumi. When I get to Batumi, I head to the ferry office.

Me: Is there a ferry to Sochi?

Woman: Yeah, it departs in two hours.

Me: WOOHOO, one ticket please.

I high five the other people in line and go to do the only thing that I have time for, feast on Adjarian Khachapuri.

While eating at the cafe, I start talking to some of the other patrons about my travels. After I tell them about my failed Abkhazia attempt, we start talking about Adjaria (Georgia’s remaining autonomous republic after South Ossetia and Abkhazia declared independence.) They tell me that there were plans for Adjaria to separate also, and that things are still in the works.

One of the guys I’m talking with tells me he has something for me, runs home, grabs an Icon of St. Nino and gives it to me to guide me in my travels.

Two hours later, I’m on the ferry to Sochi.

I’m back in Zugdidi, I know there’s a marshrutka that crosses from Georgia into Abkhazia the following day at 14:00. Rather than show up unexpected, I decide to head there now to see what I can learn.

I show up to the address of the garage I was told about and ask the first two people I meet about the marshrutka to Abkhazia. Beso and Zaza (more on them later take me back to the stand for the marshrutka to Inguri to go over the bridge where I was just kicked out. Talk about frustrating!

I walk back to the garage where the marshrutka left from and walked around looking for some Abkhaz drivers. There’s a group of five of them. I approach them.

Me: Hello, I’m trying to get to Abkhazia.

Abkhaz 1: The marshrutka stand is over there (pointing to the Inguri marshrutka).

Me: They didn’t let me in, I’ve been told there’s a backdoor entrance (черный  вход).

Abkhaz 1: Yeah, you just missed it, come back tomorrow at 14:00.

Me: Will the driver take me? I have a Russian passport.

Abkhaz 1: Yeah of course.

Abkhaz 2: No way.

The five Abkhaz break off into a discussion in Abkhaz.

Abkhaz 1: It shouldn’t be a problem, in fact we can take you now.

Me: For how much?

Abkhaz 1: 5,000 Rubles and we’ll get you to Sokhumi.

Me: That’s too expensive for me, I heard the marshrutka tomorrow is 1,500 Rubles.

Abkhaz 1: Yeah, look, come back tomorrow and we’ll give a heads up to the driver, he should take you, if he doesn’t we will.

Me: Thanks guys.

Abkhaz 1: In fact, if you shave and cut your hair, you’ll look just like one of us, no problems.

Me: I’ll think about it, see you all tomorrow.

I rejoin Beso and Zaza who have decided to give me a tour of Zugdidi. While walking to a hotel, Beso invites me to stay with him.

Zaza and I

Left to Right: Myself, Beso and Beso’s sister and her husband.

See what’s wrong with this picture?

I return to the marshrutka stand the following day at 11:00 to find the five Abkhaz drivers at the same spot. When they see me, they all break out in smiles.

Abkhaz 1: Vanya, our Russian friend, we are so happy to see you. You’re going to Abkhazia, we’ve talked it over with the driver he’ll take you across and get you on a bus to Sokhumi. For you it’ll be 2,000 Rubles because there could be difficulties taking a Russian across.

The soldiers that stop every marshrutka are Russian, not Abkhaz, we’re pretty sure they’ll let you in, just in case, bring some vodka, cigarettes or some money to help them let you in.

Me: That’s awesome you guys are the best.

Abkhaz 1: You should stay with my family in Sokhumi, they know you’re coming and will happily let you stay for the night.

Me: That’s great. *I’m in a state of euphoria before reality sinks in* I’m going to be in Abkhazia without a stamp, how can I cross into Russia?

Abkhaz 1: Hmm, that’s a problem.

Abkhaz 2: Don’t worry about it, here’s what you do, get to the border town and then find yourself an Armenian. They’re always crossing the border illegally, they’ll take you via backdoor entrance into Russia, no problems.

Me: Do you know how much it’ll cost?

Abkhaz 2: It can’t be more than $150-$200.

Abkhaz 1: Vanya, I’m very worried, if you get arrested for illegally crossing the border into Abkhazia you might have to spend some time in prison, maybe it’s not worth the risk.

Me: You think that’s possible?

Abkhaz 1: It’s unlikely, but why risk it, it would cost the same for you to catch a ferry from Poti to Sochi and cross into Abkhazia from there (illegal according to Georgia which claims Abkhazia is Georgian territory).

Me: I think you’re right. *Reality sinks in, my heart sinks* Thanks guys.

Abkhaz 1: You’re a good person Vanya, I hope you get to see our country, it’s an amazing and the people are so friendly.

Me: I do too, goodbye my friends.

I would like to say that I took the rational approach and avoided the backdoor entrance because of the risk, but in honesty, it was because of the high price to cross into Russia that I avoided it (though I thought it might be much cheaper if I got as far as the border).