We are currently in the town of Khuzhir in the middle of Olkhon Island in the middle of Lake Baikal. Lake Baikal is not a lake. By definition it is, of course: it contains 1/5 of the world's unfrozen water and will be the earth's fifth ocean eventually. We spent 5 hours on a hydrofoil to get here yesterday. In other words, the lake is huge: 636 km north-south and 1637 m deep (1 mi).
First, the train trip. We were shown to our lovely two-person compartment by the provodnitsa, one of the two women who is responsible for your train carriage (they work in shifts). The compartment was semi-luxuriously decorated, but the main luxury was simply to have it to ourselves. For four night and three days that is pretty essential! We had stocked up on food in the expensive but comprehensive supermarket at the end of our street in Moscow, but at various stations (depending on local time) women would show up and sell home-made food during stops. Most of this was meat-based, of course, but imagine my delight in the middle of Siberia when they showed up with piroshki filled with potatoes and homemade pickled cucumbers! We also found field strawberries at another stop.
Being on the train was delightfully relaxing. You'd think boredom might set in, but not so. The constantly changing landscape accompanied by different styles of architecture and different ethnic compositions of various areas provided some entertainment. Our handcarved chess set, bought in Moscow, provided another way for B to entertain himself (as everyone knows, I'm an atrocious chess player). We'd also stocked up on books in the airport in Oslo, so B read Stendhal and Stefan Zweig while I got through some Dickens and George Eliot. A couple times a day, the train would stop long enough for us to stretch our legs on the platform. Our wagon was filled with foreigners, mostly Germans, which is pretty natural as the cost of a two-person compartment makes it prohibitive for most people (including us, normally!, and for the rest of the trip). Once we entered Siberia, the characteristic wooden houses appeared, decorated with wood carvings and painted blue-and-white shutters.
On Friday morning, we arrived in Irkutsk. It was a slighly dazed arrival, as the time had changed five hours forward since we left Moscow (we are now +12 relative to Eastern standard time). We'd taken sleeping pills the night before to get to bed at a reasonable hour--it is very strange to have the time change while travelling on a train, because so little changes actually--and so we stumbled out of Irkutsk station at 7am local time. We took a tram into the center of town (cost: 24 cents). It is just like the American Wild West must have been: a strange mixture of aged-looking wooden houses and newer, shinier buildings, few paved roads (this is a city of over half a million), Soviet cars and BMWs, etc. I don't know if I've ever been in a city that size that looked so... different. We found a taxi out to the hydrofoil station, which passed a newer and much more ordinary section of the city. The hydrofoil did not accept cards, nor change money, and we did not have enough cash on us for the $60 each tickets. Luckily, a fellow traveller lent us the missing $8. She spoke Russian as well, and thus was able to tell us when we had to change hydrofoils in Listvyanka. We all disembarked at the southern end of Olkhon. Fortunately, someone from the village had come down the 30km to look for passengers as we were dropped off in a deserted pasture with no one else in sight. Our fellow traveller found out that the price was 100 rub ($4) per person to the village, so we hopped into his Soviet "Jeep"(Lada) and off we went.
As we crested the first large hill up from the ferry, we came to a few carved wooden statues decorated with bits of cloth. Our driver informed us that we needed to throw out a kopek to the shamanic statues. He genuflected slightly before driving on. The Buryat people, which mostly lives on the east side of Baikal, venerates this island as one of the five global shamanic energy sources. The island is dotted with (sometimes carved) wooden posts and trees decorated with shamanic bits of cloth. Like Naaman, we bowed when we had to! As we entered the town, our driver pointed out the dwelling of the local shaman as well.
We are staying at the ecofriendly lodge of a former Russian ping-pong champion. Ecofriendly means just that. The shower has to be filled up before using, running water is provided by transferring water from a bucket into a makeshift faucet while using a scoop, and the toilet has a bucket inside that is emptied daily. You shovel sawdust onto your leavings, so it is not as unpleasant as it sounds! The "homestead", as it is called, is a cluster of beautiful wooden buildings in traditional Siberian style, all hand-built and carved, it is clear. (Google Nikita's Homestead Olkhon for details.) Food is included at $30 per day each, and thankfully they cater to vegetarians and people who don't eat meat. (Fish is, naturally, served twice a day.)
The town consists of sometimes stunningly beautiful, sometimes run-down Siberian wooden houses. As we were walking down the main street yesterday, we came upon a cow grazing in the middle of it. Cows, horses, and sheep dot the island, and there are basically no fences to keep them in or out. Nonetheless, the lake is so large that it is drinkable pretty much everywhere.
The lake is stunning in its beauty. Just past Nikita's is a beach that looks as though it belongs on an island in the Pacific, although the water is rather cooler here. We're going to run and hike around the island (we're here until Tuesday morning) and hope to catch a glimpse of the famed nerpa (fresh-water seal) on an expedition to the north before we leave.
Many thanks to Wheat Thin for adding visuals! We hope to add some pictures once B finds his camera cord and we are no longer using the internet at 14 cents per minute in the office of someone's house (since the wireless in the ger [yurt] was down this morning).
Friday, June 29, 2007
Monday, June 25, 2007
So this won't be a long post, as we're off for the train in under half an hour. We've discovered that we're going to have some trouble picking up our onward train tickets in Irkutsk, so we're desperately trying to see if we can find someone to pick them up for us and meet us at the station. We're offering good money in dollars, people!
Anyway. As mentioned above, our search for paintings here in Moscow has been a bit of a trip. After the huge relief of discovering that we were not going to miss the Trinity, we spent a number of hours going through the contemporary Russian art collection at the New Tretyakov. It has just been reorganized, as it used to be divided into pre- and post-Revolutionary art, but is now chronological, allowing a much better insight into the development of Russian art in the 20th century. Hideous though the building is, the permanent collection is actually quite well organized and marked. Throughout are interspersed televisions showing clips from historical events matching the time of the art (Lenin speaking etc), which provide a super-interesting background note.
The next day, we planned to start with the Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts, which promised Fayoum portraits and some Rembrandts. But first, it was off to B's priority sight-seeing: Lenin's tomb. In St. Petersburg, an unexpected highlight was the Russian Museum of Political History. It contained a number of exhibits on various political developments in Russia in the last century, until you were suddenly waved into another section and realized that you were standing in Lenin's office that he used during the beginning of the Revolution, looking at the balcony from which he used to address the crowds! I knew, of course, that if B didn't get to see Lenin, he would be hugely disappointed. On Saturday, the entire Red Square area was closed off for military marching/speeches/whatnot, so it was impossible to go then. (The tomb is only open a few days a week from 10-1, presumably in order to allow plenty of time for the continued preservation of the body.) We get to the Kremlin, and see a huge line wending its way out of the Red Square. Can this be it? Indeed. The whole Red Square area is cordoned off for the benefit of the Lenin-goers. No cameras or large bags are allowed, and the check is strict. A good hour or so in line is rewarded with an almost solitary walk across the Red Square to the tomb. It's a pretty cool feeling to walk there with hundreds of people watching enviously from beyond the cordon (especially those not themselves in line!). Upon entering the tomb, it is a shock to the eyes because the light is dim and red. Marble stairs descend down, and at every turn stand three poker-faced Russian soldiers. Creepy as can be! At the bottom, you climb up and walk around Lenin. He looks good, waxy as by repute, but quite fresh and therefore ultra-creepy, especially with the guards monitoring that everyone keeps a constant speed. Out the back are the tombs of a number of luminaries, including Stalin, who for some perverted reason had the biggest bunch of fresh flowers of them all! Gagarin is also there.
Then it was finally off to the Pushkin, but due to faulty signing, we once more ended up in the wrong museum. What are you supposed to think when the building is labelled "Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts"? How are you to guess that the Museum of Private Collections has moved into the building? Most of the private collections were rather dull, but in the bottom was a book illustrator who had collected icons (in case it's not obvious by now, that's what we spend almost all our time on). She had a lovely one of the Novgorod bishop holding his monastery in his hand and presenting it to an approving Christ. Absolutely delicious!
So the Pushkin is next door, we finally discover. We know, thankfully in advance this time, that the room containing the Simone Martinis is closed, but the Fayoum portraits are a real treat. Found in Egypt, they must be some of the earliest portraits of real people (painted while still alive to be used as death masks) in history. Some are cartoonish and unsophisticated, but several--especially one from the second half of the first century--look absolutely realistic and could have been painted recently. Very delightful. The Rembrandts were underwhelming, but still ok. Off to lunch, which is a constant obsession as we continue our tour through the ethnic restaurants of Moscow and St. Petersburg. Uzbek Friday night, and yesterday Chinese/Indian. After lunch, we know that we have only a short while left to see the final most important picture of our journey, the Virgin of Vladimir. We had eventually discovered that the Tretyakov now houses it in an attached church, the Church of Nicholas in Tolmachi, which is only open 12-4 (and closed Mondays). As we approach the entrance to the church at 3:20, it looks ominously closed. But aha! We escry a neighboring entrance with a security gate that is clearly marked as the church entrance. It is locked.
Now we start to panic. We head around the building to the next entrance. "Nicholas in Tolmachi?" As so often, the response is a torrent of incomprehensible Russian with no indication whatsoever of what is being said. Down into the main basement of the Tretyakov, where the ticket office is. Over there in the corner! An information desk! Determined to cause a scene if necessary, I head over there, babbling nervously. "Why is the church closed? The Virgin! Tolmachi!" In fluent English, the guard directs us to a barely-marked entrance hidden in the shadows (marked with the single word "Museum"--note that we are currently IN the main museum). Up the stairs. Through the dark, deserted halls. Around corners. Suddenly we find ourselves in the original locked building that we had desperately peered into. Down the stairs. Up the stairs. And there it is! The chapel with the Virgin. More delightful in reality than we expected from pictures. The church was the Tretyakov family's chapel and it also contains a wonderful (Pisan?) cross probably from the late 12th/early 13th century (our guess, as it wasn't signed).
We then gave up on sight-seeing for the day. The emotional exhaustion of the hunt for the Virgin was simply too much. The desperate feeling--"foiled again!!"--left us with no energy for further museuming, so we wandered around the area of the gallery and looked at various onion-domed churches. Then made an early evening of it.
This morning, we went out to the Izmaylovskaya park, since we didn't run on Sunday and wanted to get out in the green. We headed out at 7:15 to get an early start to the park that we were told was a delightful green area ideal for hiking. Stupid guide book. The first thing we encountered in the park was an assortment of feral dogs. (Our tetanus shots are thankfully up to date.) The second thing was piles of broken glass everywhere. And the third was mysteriously circling cars each containing one man and one woman. But we perservered, doing a tempo run (for me, for B it's more like a jog) instead of the planned long run, considering the undesirable conditions.
Today we did the Kremlin, but that will have to wait as I'm out of time again. No more posts until Friday at the earliest, as we hope to be on Olkhon Island in Lake Baikal then. That will be more outdoorsy!
Anyway. As mentioned above, our search for paintings here in Moscow has been a bit of a trip. After the huge relief of discovering that we were not going to miss the Trinity, we spent a number of hours going through the contemporary Russian art collection at the New Tretyakov. It has just been reorganized, as it used to be divided into pre- and post-Revolutionary art, but is now chronological, allowing a much better insight into the development of Russian art in the 20th century. Hideous though the building is, the permanent collection is actually quite well organized and marked. Throughout are interspersed televisions showing clips from historical events matching the time of the art (Lenin speaking etc), which provide a super-interesting background note.
The next day, we planned to start with the Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts, which promised Fayoum portraits and some Rembrandts. But first, it was off to B's priority sight-seeing: Lenin's tomb. In St. Petersburg, an unexpected highlight was the Russian Museum of Political History. It contained a number of exhibits on various political developments in Russia in the last century, until you were suddenly waved into another section and realized that you were standing in Lenin's office that he used during the beginning of the Revolution, looking at the balcony from which he used to address the crowds! I knew, of course, that if B didn't get to see Lenin, he would be hugely disappointed. On Saturday, the entire Red Square area was closed off for military marching/speeches/whatnot, so it was impossible to go then. (The tomb is only open a few days a week from 10-1, presumably in order to allow plenty of time for the continued preservation of the body.) We get to the Kremlin, and see a huge line wending its way out of the Red Square. Can this be it? Indeed. The whole Red Square area is cordoned off for the benefit of the Lenin-goers. No cameras or large bags are allowed, and the check is strict. A good hour or so in line is rewarded with an almost solitary walk across the Red Square to the tomb. It's a pretty cool feeling to walk there with hundreds of people watching enviously from beyond the cordon (especially those not themselves in line!). Upon entering the tomb, it is a shock to the eyes because the light is dim and red. Marble stairs descend down, and at every turn stand three poker-faced Russian soldiers. Creepy as can be! At the bottom, you climb up and walk around Lenin. He looks good, waxy as by repute, but quite fresh and therefore ultra-creepy, especially with the guards monitoring that everyone keeps a constant speed. Out the back are the tombs of a number of luminaries, including Stalin, who for some perverted reason had the biggest bunch of fresh flowers of them all! Gagarin is also there.
Then it was finally off to the Pushkin, but due to faulty signing, we once more ended up in the wrong museum. What are you supposed to think when the building is labelled "Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts"? How are you to guess that the Museum of Private Collections has moved into the building? Most of the private collections were rather dull, but in the bottom was a book illustrator who had collected icons (in case it's not obvious by now, that's what we spend almost all our time on). She had a lovely one of the Novgorod bishop holding his monastery in his hand and presenting it to an approving Christ. Absolutely delicious!
So the Pushkin is next door, we finally discover. We know, thankfully in advance this time, that the room containing the Simone Martinis is closed, but the Fayoum portraits are a real treat. Found in Egypt, they must be some of the earliest portraits of real people (painted while still alive to be used as death masks) in history. Some are cartoonish and unsophisticated, but several--especially one from the second half of the first century--look absolutely realistic and could have been painted recently. Very delightful. The Rembrandts were underwhelming, but still ok. Off to lunch, which is a constant obsession as we continue our tour through the ethnic restaurants of Moscow and St. Petersburg. Uzbek Friday night, and yesterday Chinese/Indian. After lunch, we know that we have only a short while left to see the final most important picture of our journey, the Virgin of Vladimir. We had eventually discovered that the Tretyakov now houses it in an attached church, the Church of Nicholas in Tolmachi, which is only open 12-4 (and closed Mondays). As we approach the entrance to the church at 3:20, it looks ominously closed. But aha! We escry a neighboring entrance with a security gate that is clearly marked as the church entrance. It is locked.
Now we start to panic. We head around the building to the next entrance. "Nicholas in Tolmachi?" As so often, the response is a torrent of incomprehensible Russian with no indication whatsoever of what is being said. Down into the main basement of the Tretyakov, where the ticket office is. Over there in the corner! An information desk! Determined to cause a scene if necessary, I head over there, babbling nervously. "Why is the church closed? The Virgin! Tolmachi!" In fluent English, the guard directs us to a barely-marked entrance hidden in the shadows (marked with the single word "Museum"--note that we are currently IN the main museum). Up the stairs. Through the dark, deserted halls. Around corners. Suddenly we find ourselves in the original locked building that we had desperately peered into. Down the stairs. Up the stairs. And there it is! The chapel with the Virgin. More delightful in reality than we expected from pictures. The church was the Tretyakov family's chapel and it also contains a wonderful (Pisan?) cross probably from the late 12th/early 13th century (our guess, as it wasn't signed).
We then gave up on sight-seeing for the day. The emotional exhaustion of the hunt for the Virgin was simply too much. The desperate feeling--"foiled again!!"--left us with no energy for further museuming, so we wandered around the area of the gallery and looked at various onion-domed churches. Then made an early evening of it.
This morning, we went out to the Izmaylovskaya park, since we didn't run on Sunday and wanted to get out in the green. We headed out at 7:15 to get an early start to the park that we were told was a delightful green area ideal for hiking. Stupid guide book. The first thing we encountered in the park was an assortment of feral dogs. (Our tetanus shots are thankfully up to date.) The second thing was piles of broken glass everywhere. And the third was mysteriously circling cars each containing one man and one woman. But we perservered, doing a tempo run (for me, for B it's more like a jog) instead of the planned long run, considering the undesirable conditions.
Today we did the Kremlin, but that will have to wait as I'm out of time again. No more posts until Friday at the earliest, as we hope to be on Olkhon Island in Lake Baikal then. That will be more outdoorsy!
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow
Ilya Repin, Ivan the Terrible and His Son, Ivan, on November 16, 1581. 1885
Detail from Alexander Ivanov, The Appearance of Christ to the People. 1837-1857.
Andrei Rublev's Trinity. Circa 1410.
The last few days in Moscow have been exciting, although we have spent metaphorical blood and literal sweat and tears hunting for the pictures we came here to see. After an argument with our hostelier, who wished to put us in a 6-bed room despite our confirmed (and partly paid for) reservation for a 4-bed room, we headed out to explore. Turns out we're staying on Moscow's equivalent of Karl Johan in Oslo: covered with annoying touristy stuff, but therefore also much less intimidating than many of the other places we've been so far. We went to bed early as we knew that Saturday would contain the Tretyakov Gallery, object of many of our imaginings and longings.
So, bright and early, we head down there. We wander through oceans of Russian painting, some of it pretty astonishing: a fabulous picture of Ivan the Terrible after he murdered his only "worthy" heir (by B's new favorite, Ilya Repin), Ivanov's famous Appearance of Christ to the People, which shows Christ quietly appearing in the background as John the Baptist preaches in the foreground, and a greater number of portraits of the Russian nobility than anyone could have imagined had ever been painted (many commissioned by Tretyakov himself). Finally, after delaying as long as we can to spend time with the rest of the art (but with a couple of the best pictures oddly missing), we enter the icon rooms. Here, we will finally see the Trinity by Rublev! We've also been promised a fantastic Transfiguration by someone from the circle of our new favorite, Theophanes the Greek. Not only that, the Virgin of Vladimir, the most important icon for Russian art (although it came from Byzantium), is also here.
And we do see some fantastic icons, especially a delightful Elijah that we both find utterly charming. But none of the icons we've been looking forward to the most seem to be here anywhere! Finally, we show a picture of the Trinity to one of the guards. Now, I have a few gripes about Russia, but this is the biggest one: you make it obvious to someone, 0r explain, that you don't speak any Russian, yet they continue to speak to you in torrential Russian for what seems like ages, explaining things that are clearly very important, but without any indication (gestures or similar) of what in fact they are saying! So, she is telling us where the Trinity is (not here, apparently), but we can't understand a word. Finally, we hear "Kultury Park". This, we know, is the name of the metro station near the New Tretyakov, the gallery that displays 20th century Russian art. Is it possible that the Trinity could have been moved from its ancestral home? We head out to find out.
The New Tretyakov appears to be an enormous white box on the bank of the river, right underneath the enormous (and most hideous ever) statue of Peter the Great steering the ship of Russia that dominates the skyline. After wandering around for a while (signs, in English or Russian, being non-existent) we find a box office and pay for our tickets to enter. But we seem to have ended up in a kind of art market hall instead of a museum. There are pictures everywhere, but as far as we can see, they are for sale, not on display. We find a map and try to head to the gallery rooms, up and down various floors, but find nothing. As we seem to have dead-ended, a friendly museum guard tells us, upon hearing us utter (in tones of utter desperation!), "Tretyakov?!": "Left." Apparently, there is the real entrance on the back of the building.
So in we go. But where are the pictures? Once more, we wander through the huge white box, tears in our eyes after we seemed so close to success. And then, magic: just inside the door of the new exhibit Europe-Russia-Europe, B catches sight of the Trinity and the Transfiguration and all the rest of the paintings we have been so desperately seeking. And the Transfiguration, especially, is STUNNING. We visit it four times.
I'm out of time at this internet cafe. More shortly on the pictures and the desperate hunt the next day for the Virgin of Vladimir!
So, bright and early, we head down there. We wander through oceans of Russian painting, some of it pretty astonishing: a fabulous picture of Ivan the Terrible after he murdered his only "worthy" heir (by B's new favorite, Ilya Repin), Ivanov's famous Appearance of Christ to the People, which shows Christ quietly appearing in the background as John the Baptist preaches in the foreground, and a greater number of portraits of the Russian nobility than anyone could have imagined had ever been painted (many commissioned by Tretyakov himself). Finally, after delaying as long as we can to spend time with the rest of the art (but with a couple of the best pictures oddly missing), we enter the icon rooms. Here, we will finally see the Trinity by Rublev! We've also been promised a fantastic Transfiguration by someone from the circle of our new favorite, Theophanes the Greek. Not only that, the Virgin of Vladimir, the most important icon for Russian art (although it came from Byzantium), is also here.
And we do see some fantastic icons, especially a delightful Elijah that we both find utterly charming. But none of the icons we've been looking forward to the most seem to be here anywhere! Finally, we show a picture of the Trinity to one of the guards. Now, I have a few gripes about Russia, but this is the biggest one: you make it obvious to someone, 0r explain, that you don't speak any Russian, yet they continue to speak to you in torrential Russian for what seems like ages, explaining things that are clearly very important, but without any indication (gestures or similar) of what in fact they are saying! So, she is telling us where the Trinity is (not here, apparently), but we can't understand a word. Finally, we hear "Kultury Park". This, we know, is the name of the metro station near the New Tretyakov, the gallery that displays 20th century Russian art. Is it possible that the Trinity could have been moved from its ancestral home? We head out to find out.
The New Tretyakov appears to be an enormous white box on the bank of the river, right underneath the enormous (and most hideous ever) statue of Peter the Great steering the ship of Russia that dominates the skyline. After wandering around for a while (signs, in English or Russian, being non-existent) we find a box office and pay for our tickets to enter. But we seem to have ended up in a kind of art market hall instead of a museum. There are pictures everywhere, but as far as we can see, they are for sale, not on display. We find a map and try to head to the gallery rooms, up and down various floors, but find nothing. As we seem to have dead-ended, a friendly museum guard tells us, upon hearing us utter (in tones of utter desperation!), "Tretyakov?!": "Left." Apparently, there is the real entrance on the back of the building.
So in we go. But where are the pictures? Once more, we wander through the huge white box, tears in our eyes after we seemed so close to success. And then, magic: just inside the door of the new exhibit Europe-Russia-Europe, B catches sight of the Trinity and the Transfiguration and all the rest of the paintings we have been so desperately seeking. And the Transfiguration, especially, is STUNNING. We visit it four times.
I'm out of time at this internet cafe. More shortly on the pictures and the desperate hunt the next day for the Virgin of Vladimir!
Friday, June 22, 2007
We just arrived in Moscow after a pleasant and restorative, if uneventful, 27hrs in Vladimir. Vladimir's Assumption Cathedral was delightful, but its Rublev frescoes, the initial allure when planning the trip, proved to be a bit underwhelming. We enjoyed ourselves nevertheless and were happy to have a hotel after the relatively sleepless night on the train from Novgorod to Moscow.
We've thus far had some difficulties procuring basic amenities in stores (although Moscow gives us reason to believe that things will be better here). Grocery stores are few and far between and kiosks and corner stores sell little more than packaged sugar. The two most available consumer commodities here are cigarettes and alcohol. And indeed, everyone smokes and drinks. At a Moscow train station the other day a very large percentage of the people there were drinking at 6:30am. If ever there were a disincentive to drink or smoke it is this -- an exposure to its deleterious social and personal effects as seen here, in Russia, where the average life expectancy of a man is 59 yrs. The public sector and social welfare programs are clearly in a miserable condition having failed to adjust to, or perhaps being a result of, the inauguration of market reforms and private ownership.
We've thus far had some difficulties procuring basic amenities in stores (although Moscow gives us reason to believe that things will be better here). Grocery stores are few and far between and kiosks and corner stores sell little more than packaged sugar. The two most available consumer commodities here are cigarettes and alcohol. And indeed, everyone smokes and drinks. At a Moscow train station the other day a very large percentage of the people there were drinking at 6:30am. If ever there were a disincentive to drink or smoke it is this -- an exposure to its deleterious social and personal effects as seen here, in Russia, where the average life expectancy of a man is 59 yrs. The public sector and social welfare programs are clearly in a miserable condition having failed to adjust to, or perhaps being a result of, the inauguration of market reforms and private ownership.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
The second visit to the Hermitage was much better, as even B. was forced to admit. But the real highlight of St Petersburg for us was the Russian museum, which gave a foretaste of the art to come in Veliky Novgorod. Gorgeous Russian icons! St Petersburg was kind of a trip, overall. We ate great, but very expensive, food in Georgian and Azeri restaurants. We went for a long run on Sunday through the city that left B. with severe knee pain and me with serious pollution discomfort. I've stared at "Russians" until my eyes are popping out of my head. Not until coming here this time have I realized how strongly the stereotypes I grew up with and my short previous visit in '94 have affected what I expect to see and am attentive to.
Novgorod will, I suspect, be one of the highlights of our trip. It is a stunningly beautiful city with an absolutely astonishing collection of icons, including one of the Virgin protecting Novgorod in a battle with Suzdal, which is the first Russian painting to depict an event of Russian history. Novgorod lies on a plain along the Volkhov river and is surrounded by so much green, open space that all I wanted to do as we were arriving on a train was get off and start jogging! I did make it out for a run on our second day, and it was lovely. I ran along the river to a monastery that lies a few miles south of town, covered with distinctive onion domes and surrounded by lakes and forests. Beautiful. As we were trying to finish up our sightseeing with a few more churches later that day, we gestured to a caretaker to see if the church he was guarding was open. It turns out the church is in fact his house. How this artist ended up living in a 14th-15th or so century church (for the last 8 years) was something we could not decipher from his animated rendering in fluent and basically incomprehensible Russian of the events of Novgorod's history. We did get that the church had at some point sheltered refugees, but whether this was during WWII (when the Nazis trashed the city) or during the war with Suzdal was not clear. After sharing tea, we had to leave (with many embraces) for a boat ride on the river.
The artistic highlight of the afternoon were the frescoes by Theophanes the Greek in the Chuch of Our Saviour-at-Ilino. Rublev studied for a time in his studio. The frescoes are faint and many are destroyed, but the Pantokrator under the dome is still enough to strike fear into an erring sinner's heart.
Despite my worst apprehensions, no one smoked in the sleeping compartment on the train last night. In fact, it was all very comfortable once the train left and the ventilation system was turned on. We had a bit of a hassle getting to Vladimir today, as one of the guide books sent us to the wrong train station, but eventually we got tickets for the suburban train. We had tea with a surgeon from Tanzania, only the fourth black person we have seen in this country, who confirmed that it is getting more and more difficult for foreigners here. He is planning to return to Tanzania when he finishes his PhD in three years (after 15 years here in Russia).
We tried to get on the train, but it was a madhouse. Elbows out, old ladies sent flying (seriously!, but it was partly their own fault for starting the mad dash before the train had emptied): we were expecting seats to be impossible to get, but there seemed to be no reason why the pressure to get on the train was so intense.
We did finally arrive in Vladimir three and a half hours later (this for a 100-mile ride), and it can't quite compare to Novgorod, but we've seen the Rublev frescoes, eaten lunch (although that was difficult: although we specified two of each dish, the waitress only brought one tiny salad for me and a slender fish for B. Luckily, another attentive waiter eventually realized that if he gave us the English menu, we might get fed and he might get tipped), and checked into our reasonable and quiet hotel. Off to Moscow tomorrow, a prospect which fills us both with some dread.
Novgorod will, I suspect, be one of the highlights of our trip. It is a stunningly beautiful city with an absolutely astonishing collection of icons, including one of the Virgin protecting Novgorod in a battle with Suzdal, which is the first Russian painting to depict an event of Russian history. Novgorod lies on a plain along the Volkhov river and is surrounded by so much green, open space that all I wanted to do as we were arriving on a train was get off and start jogging! I did make it out for a run on our second day, and it was lovely. I ran along the river to a monastery that lies a few miles south of town, covered with distinctive onion domes and surrounded by lakes and forests. Beautiful. As we were trying to finish up our sightseeing with a few more churches later that day, we gestured to a caretaker to see if the church he was guarding was open. It turns out the church is in fact his house. How this artist ended up living in a 14th-15th or so century church (for the last 8 years) was something we could not decipher from his animated rendering in fluent and basically incomprehensible Russian of the events of Novgorod's history. We did get that the church had at some point sheltered refugees, but whether this was during WWII (when the Nazis trashed the city) or during the war with Suzdal was not clear. After sharing tea, we had to leave (with many embraces) for a boat ride on the river.
The artistic highlight of the afternoon were the frescoes by Theophanes the Greek in the Chuch of Our Saviour-at-Ilino. Rublev studied for a time in his studio. The frescoes are faint and many are destroyed, but the Pantokrator under the dome is still enough to strike fear into an erring sinner's heart.
Despite my worst apprehensions, no one smoked in the sleeping compartment on the train last night. In fact, it was all very comfortable once the train left and the ventilation system was turned on. We had a bit of a hassle getting to Vladimir today, as one of the guide books sent us to the wrong train station, but eventually we got tickets for the suburban train. We had tea with a surgeon from Tanzania, only the fourth black person we have seen in this country, who confirmed that it is getting more and more difficult for foreigners here. He is planning to return to Tanzania when he finishes his PhD in three years (after 15 years here in Russia).
We tried to get on the train, but it was a madhouse. Elbows out, old ladies sent flying (seriously!, but it was partly their own fault for starting the mad dash before the train had emptied): we were expecting seats to be impossible to get, but there seemed to be no reason why the pressure to get on the train was so intense.
We did finally arrive in Vladimir three and a half hours later (this for a 100-mile ride), and it can't quite compare to Novgorod, but we've seen the Rublev frescoes, eaten lunch (although that was difficult: although we specified two of each dish, the waitress only brought one tiny salad for me and a slender fish for B. Luckily, another attentive waiter eventually realized that if he gave us the English menu, we might get fed and he might get tipped), and checked into our reasonable and quiet hotel. Off to Moscow tomorrow, a prospect which fills us both with some dread.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Monday, June 18, 2007
The Hermitage
Rembrandt van Rijn. The Sacrifice of Isaac. 1635.
Rembrandt van Rijn. The Return of the Prodigal Son. 1662.
We arrived in St. Petersburg the afternoon of Friday the 15th. We promptly took the public bus to the Metro in order to get to Nevsky Prospect (St. Petersburg's 5th Avenue). The metro is deep, cavernous, and aesthetically charming. It is signed in Cyrillic only (and poorly at that) which makes it a bit disorienting and confusing.
After arriving at our hostel, which is clean, new, and still under construction, we made our way to one of St. Petersburg's most famous theaters: the Marinsky Theater, home of the Kirov Opera and Ballet Company, for a performance of Eugene Onegin (based on Pushkin's novel of the same name). Tchaikovsky wrote the musical score which was fantastic.
There were three acts and it lasted 3 1/2 hours. (We thought we'd never stay for the whole thing.) As it turned out, the drama and intrigue of this aristocratic love narrative appealed to our bourgeois sensibilities.
The second day started with a glorious complimentary breakfast--3 pieces of white bread and instant coffee. This was followed by a brisk walk to the Palace Square (where the Decembrists were shot) in order to stand in line outside the Hermitage waiting for it to open.
When the museum opened its doors, the crowd stampeded to the ticket box office in a manner so obnoxious that it makes even Italians look like Germans in comparison.
Once inside we were prepared to be overwhelmed, and we were--by the obnoxious tour groups. But even without considering the annoyance, we were somewhat disappointed. This is a gallery that has all the pretense of the Louvre, London's National Gallery, the British Museum, the Uffizi, and so on, but fails to deliver. It is, I dare say, a second-rate first-rate museum. The collection is great, but it is not excellent. Nor is it properly cared for. Many of its best paintings are kept in rooms that are much too humid and too hod. Furthermore, the collections are poorly organized. It is not easy to get from one place to another. The experience borders on incoherence. I don't think anything of earth-shattering value has been added to this museum since Catherine II started collecting in the 18th century.
After that is said, the Heremitage houses two of the most fantastic paintings of all time--Rembrandt's Sacrifice of Isaac and the Return of the Prodigal Son. This latter painting is Rembrandt at his best. The spirit and genius of this work is seen in the execution of the father's hands which tend to the shattered son's wound. These are not the hands of God the Father in Masaccio's Trinity, which coldly support the weight of the cross, but rather the hands of reconciliation, reminding us that it is Christ's resurrection, and not his death and suffering, that is truly significant.
Other paintings of note are a pair of Madonna with child paintings by da Vinci, the Lute Player by Caravaggio, a 13th century Pisan cross by Ugolino de Tedice, a Peter & Paul by El Greco, as well as a few more Germans (Cranach), Italian (Beato Angelico), and Dutch treats.
After arriving at our hostel, which is clean, new, and still under construction, we made our way to one of St. Petersburg's most famous theaters: the Marinsky Theater, home of the Kirov Opera and Ballet Company, for a performance of Eugene Onegin (based on Pushkin's novel of the same name). Tchaikovsky wrote the musical score which was fantastic.
There were three acts and it lasted 3 1/2 hours. (We thought we'd never stay for the whole thing.) As it turned out, the drama and intrigue of this aristocratic love narrative appealed to our bourgeois sensibilities.
The second day started with a glorious complimentary breakfast--3 pieces of white bread and instant coffee. This was followed by a brisk walk to the Palace Square (where the Decembrists were shot) in order to stand in line outside the Hermitage waiting for it to open.
When the museum opened its doors, the crowd stampeded to the ticket box office in a manner so obnoxious that it makes even Italians look like Germans in comparison.
Once inside we were prepared to be overwhelmed, and we were--by the obnoxious tour groups. But even without considering the annoyance, we were somewhat disappointed. This is a gallery that has all the pretense of the Louvre, London's National Gallery, the British Museum, the Uffizi, and so on, but fails to deliver. It is, I dare say, a second-rate first-rate museum. The collection is great, but it is not excellent. Nor is it properly cared for. Many of its best paintings are kept in rooms that are much too humid and too hod. Furthermore, the collections are poorly organized. It is not easy to get from one place to another. The experience borders on incoherence. I don't think anything of earth-shattering value has been added to this museum since Catherine II started collecting in the 18th century.
After that is said, the Heremitage houses two of the most fantastic paintings of all time--Rembrandt's Sacrifice of Isaac and the Return of the Prodigal Son. This latter painting is Rembrandt at his best. The spirit and genius of this work is seen in the execution of the father's hands which tend to the shattered son's wound. These are not the hands of God the Father in Masaccio's Trinity, which coldly support the weight of the cross, but rather the hands of reconciliation, reminding us that it is Christ's resurrection, and not his death and suffering, that is truly significant.
Other paintings of note are a pair of Madonna with child paintings by da Vinci, the Lute Player by Caravaggio, a 13th century Pisan cross by Ugolino de Tedice, a Peter & Paul by El Greco, as well as a few more Germans (Cranach), Italian (Beato Angelico), and Dutch treats.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Norwegian Prelude
We’ve been in Norway now for just under two weeks. The frantic end of semester, the intense and accelerated ‘good-bye’ socializing, graduation, and the arduous work of packing everything we own, has been eclipsed by trip planning, runs, hikes, and swims in the 90 degree heat of the waxing Norwegian summer.
The house in Oslo feels cavernous because the family has relocated to California and taken the contents of the house with them. We were, however, graced by the three day presence of Mommy who took us to Frognerparken (outdoor statue park), Holmenkollen (ski jump and museum), and ran with us for nearly two hours around Sandungen in Marka!
After Mommy’s departure we went with friends to Kjørkelvik where we stayed in for 3 days. We swam, played soccer, cooked, read, fished, and otherwise enjoyed the leisure of the SE Norwegian coast. When the others departed we continued SW to Tonstad, where her father is from and her Grandmother (96 yrs. old in two weeks) still lives. We strolled around the sprawling urban metropolis of Tonstad (pop. 900) for an hour witnessing the ways this small rural hamlet has been transformed into a responsibly administered (I love Norwegian socialism!) and extremely wealthy (hydro-) power producing region. We ate Grandma’s homemade jams until I got sick, look at old pictures, and listened to Grandma’s stories.
The next day we were on the road again to Oslo via Kjerag and Dalen. Kjerag is a devastatingly beautiful mountain cliff overlooking the equally impressive Lysefjorden. We did the five hour round trip hike in just under 2hrs. The magnitude of the natural beauty defies description. The features of this landscape register on a planetary scale. Stunning.
Back in Oslo we’ve been piecing together the Siberian, Mongolian, and China/Southeast Asian leg of the journey. This has been frustrating not least in part because when we get to the end of online ticket ordering forms the “submit” button on the browser appears in Cyrillic and/or Mandarin characters. In addition to this the credit cards like to turn themselves off after non-North American/Western European activity has been registered. This has foiled our plans a number of times. On a more positive note I’ve received my passport back from the Vietnamese Embassy in Stockholm and Silivren has received her Mongolian Visa.
We leave for St. Petersburg on Friday the 15th.
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