Yesterday was my last day in the city where Putin works. I had booked a train ticket (for about $50, not too bad) from Leningradsky Station in northeast Moscow to St. Petersburg for a train that would leave at 10 in the evening and travel through the night, arriving at 6 the next morning. So I still had a full day in the city.
The day before I had planned with Yana (a name by the way that looks really cool in Russian, “Яна”) to see the Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts, located near Christ the Savior Cathedral, to wander around the museum for awhile and then meet her grandparents for dinner at 2 in the afternoon.
The museum was nice. Where the Tetrakov Gallery from yesterday was a collection of fine art, mostly paintings, by Russian painters, the Pushkin Museum was a collection of various art forms, paintings, sculptures, etc. from around the world. Each room held a collection from a different region. One room celebrated art from ancient Greece, mainly sculptures, busts, and other Greek-looking stuff. The Egypt room was filled with hieroglyphic tablets and mummy coffins. Italy had a collection of Renaissance era paintings. It was a nice, relaxing way to spend a few hours. I can appreciate the art. I like art and the international collection here I thought was particularly interesting. But to be honest, I am far more intrigued by the stories of how these incredible pieces from around the world found their way into this museum in Moscow in the first place (and I am similarly intrigued by similar museums in the US and very likely the ones I will visit in Europe). These stories never seem to make their way to the museum exhibits. We kind of take it for granted that they just found their way in somehow. I don’t mean this in a critical way - that is not the point. I just think the story of this migration must be an incredible one. Undoubtedly many of the pieces of art were gifts, maybe diplomatic ones, from foreign embassies to the Russian government and are being housed in the Pushkin for public view. But I bet many of the pieces are old collections from old explorers. I know for a fact that many of the ones in the US are. Adventurers undertaking mind boggling expeditions for years at a time traveled to faraway, exotic places and brought many of these items back either to add to their personal collections, which were later donated to the museum, or as gifts to the government at the time to glorify the expedition. Traveling around China gave me a good look at some of this “pillaging”. There are hundreds of little museums around the country, areas famous for its Buddhist art or temples, where they often have little signs that talk about the art that isn’t there, the art that was taken by western adventurers. They will often say where the art is today, New York, Berlin, wherever. And then I would wonder if I had seen this art on a school trip as a child at one point. I don’t know, maybe. But I’d like to read more about these trips. Whoever went to Egypt and found these mummy coffins and brought them back to Moscow must have been an interesting person on an interesting trip.
Whatever the case, the museum was really impressive and a great way to spend the morning. At just before two, we wrapped things up at the museum and took the metro south into the Moscow suburbs to an apartment complex on the edge of a large, beautiful park where Mr. and Mrs. Usacheva (Yana’s grandparents) live. Yana is quite close to her grandparents having lived with them for many years as a child in Normandy, France. When they heard Yana had a foreign friend coming for a visit, they immediately sent me an invitation to a big, Russian dinner - I’d never pass up an opportunity for free food, especially homemade food!
We were met at the entrance to the apartment on the top floor by her grandparents and were led in to the dining room to chat awhile. Yana’s grandparents are really nice! They are everything you hope grandparents would be - just the friendliest people on the planet. They were able to speak a little English but Yana did a lot of the translating. I got to tell them the story of my travels and a bit of my background. For the meal, we started with the soup and h’orderves. We had a classic Russian “clear” borscht, made without the beetroot that usually makes it red, and appetizers of bread and butter with red caviar (Russians eat this a lot in restaurants - basically orange colored fish eggs, very good), beet slices with butter, and olives, ginger, and fresh vegetables. Having heard that I enjoy beer (I do), they served me Heineken while the others drank a red berry juice. But it was proposed we try some Russian Champagne (or sparkling wine if you prefer - the Usachevas lived in France and don’t take issue with with name). The Russian champagne was very sweet. But after a few glasses of this, Mr. Usacheva astutely pointed out that the champagne was more appropriate for the women and that instead I should try some scotch whiskey, single malt, that he had. Not one to turn down good scotch I accepted the offer - and it was excellent! The main course of the meal was what I remember being called something that sounded like “she”. It was a sort of meatloaf that had been made with a mixture of beef and pork prepared in single portions rather than a loaf and served with mashed potatoes. Again, excellent. I ate until I burst mostly because I was told that they appreciated visitors who ate a lot and also because Mr. Usacheva had shared a Russian anecdote that described how old Russians hired new employees. They would invite them in, one by one, to a meal with the boss’s family. They asked questions while serving them food. The more they ate, the better their chances of getting hired. Something to that effect. So I ate a lot.
Mr Usacheva had served in the Soviet Army as a First Class Specialist when he was younger and then became an executive at Gazprom, Russia’s major oil company. While we were taking a look at some of the old memorabilia that they had around the room, he let me try on his military cap (cover) from his Soviet days. I took a picture with him while wearing it - it was pretty cool. He’s retired now. Mrs. Usacheva was born in Ekaterinburg during the evacuation of Moscow during the war and her family moved back to the city when it was safe. Now she is also retired and spends her time with various activities including singing with a traveling choir. Apparently she is quite accomplished.
Towards the end of the meal Mr. Usacheva presented to me a gift, a small diplomatic token, of a hockey puck from 1979 when the local team in Moscow were the European Champions. He is a big ice hockey fan and knows very well about the team in Boston, the Bruins, talking at length about the NHL. The puck he gave me is very rare and has the date and tournament written in Russian on the puck. I graciously accepted the gift. And before we left, Mrs. Usacheva packed up all the leftovers for me to take away and eat later on the train. The leftovers were much appreciated!
Thanking Yana and her family for the wonderful meal and experience, we left the apartment and I parted ways with Yana for the last time while I made my way back to the city and the hostel, to pick up my bags and head to the station.
The station, Leningradsky Vokzal, one of nine major stations in Moscow, and named after the city that it services (all trains departing here are bound for St. Petersburg) or at least the old name for the city it services (St. Petersburg had its name changed to Leningrad during the Soviet days, and then changed back in 1991), was really difficult to find and figure out. I found the area where it was supposed to be easily enough, but there were no easy signs to figure out where the waiting halls were or ticket offices, even in Russian. So after some strenuous wandering and asking, I found my way to the station platforms, where there still were no status boards, and eventually found my train by process of elimination.
All this time, through Russia anyway, I had pre-booked 2nd class tickets on all the trains. But this time, to save money and because I wanted to experience the 3rd class train cars at least once, I booked 3rd class which was pretty okay. They were very similar to all the Chinese trains I had taken (when I had places to sleep). At first I was picturing open wagons with folding cots like the ones that transported troops across Siberia during the war. I don’t know why I assumed they’d be like that. Instead they were 6 people to what would have been the equivalent of a 4 person compartment in 2nd class, and these compartments were all completely open, no closed doors, like the ones in China. There are two bunks of two beds each like the 2nd class trains and then one bunk of two beds along the far wall by the window to form an open box formation with two small tables in the middle to make up one compartment. I’ve heard that many women traveling alone on these trains prefer 3rd class so that they don’t unluckily get stuck in a closed compartment with three huge, drunk Russian dudes. And actually while I was taking the train through Siberia, I often wondered where all the women were. Apparently they were all in 3rd class. My 5 compartment area mates were all women. Four older women and one younger one and then me. And each compartment in my open train car had similar women to men ratios. But the ride was uneventful, we all fell asleep immediately and despite the hundred or so people that were in the car, it was silent the whole ride.
I woke up when the provodnistas turned on the lights and disembarked the train at 6 in the morning, this morning. I’m typing from my hostel now, a really nice hostel with a “Friends” theme, like the popular TV show in the US from the 90’s. Here, the receptionist speaks English and not all of the residents are Russian business men, so it feels like a real hostel, finally! I’m going to wander around the downtown area and maybe make my way to Sts. Peter and Paul Fortress, the original fortress that Peter the Great built to defend the city against those destructive Swedes. Oh those destructive Swedes!
The day before I had planned with Yana (a name by the way that looks really cool in Russian, “Яна”) to see the Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts, located near Christ the Savior Cathedral, to wander around the museum for awhile and then meet her grandparents for dinner at 2 in the afternoon.
The museum was nice. Where the Tetrakov Gallery from yesterday was a collection of fine art, mostly paintings, by Russian painters, the Pushkin Museum was a collection of various art forms, paintings, sculptures, etc. from around the world. Each room held a collection from a different region. One room celebrated art from ancient Greece, mainly sculptures, busts, and other Greek-looking stuff. The Egypt room was filled with hieroglyphic tablets and mummy coffins. Italy had a collection of Renaissance era paintings. It was a nice, relaxing way to spend a few hours. I can appreciate the art. I like art and the international collection here I thought was particularly interesting. But to be honest, I am far more intrigued by the stories of how these incredible pieces from around the world found their way into this museum in Moscow in the first place (and I am similarly intrigued by similar museums in the US and very likely the ones I will visit in Europe). These stories never seem to make their way to the museum exhibits. We kind of take it for granted that they just found their way in somehow. I don’t mean this in a critical way - that is not the point. I just think the story of this migration must be an incredible one. Undoubtedly many of the pieces of art were gifts, maybe diplomatic ones, from foreign embassies to the Russian government and are being housed in the Pushkin for public view. But I bet many of the pieces are old collections from old explorers. I know for a fact that many of the ones in the US are. Adventurers undertaking mind boggling expeditions for years at a time traveled to faraway, exotic places and brought many of these items back either to add to their personal collections, which were later donated to the museum, or as gifts to the government at the time to glorify the expedition. Traveling around China gave me a good look at some of this “pillaging”. There are hundreds of little museums around the country, areas famous for its Buddhist art or temples, where they often have little signs that talk about the art that isn’t there, the art that was taken by western adventurers. They will often say where the art is today, New York, Berlin, wherever. And then I would wonder if I had seen this art on a school trip as a child at one point. I don’t know, maybe. But I’d like to read more about these trips. Whoever went to Egypt and found these mummy coffins and brought them back to Moscow must have been an interesting person on an interesting trip.
 |
| A gallery in the Pushkin Museum of Fine Art |
We were met at the entrance to the apartment on the top floor by her grandparents and were led in to the dining room to chat awhile. Yana’s grandparents are really nice! They are everything you hope grandparents would be - just the friendliest people on the planet. They were able to speak a little English but Yana did a lot of the translating. I got to tell them the story of my travels and a bit of my background. For the meal, we started with the soup and h’orderves. We had a classic Russian “clear” borscht, made without the beetroot that usually makes it red, and appetizers of bread and butter with red caviar (Russians eat this a lot in restaurants - basically orange colored fish eggs, very good), beet slices with butter, and olives, ginger, and fresh vegetables. Having heard that I enjoy beer (I do), they served me Heineken while the others drank a red berry juice. But it was proposed we try some Russian Champagne (or sparkling wine if you prefer - the Usachevas lived in France and don’t take issue with with name). The Russian champagne was very sweet. But after a few glasses of this, Mr. Usacheva astutely pointed out that the champagne was more appropriate for the women and that instead I should try some scotch whiskey, single malt, that he had. Not one to turn down good scotch I accepted the offer - and it was excellent! The main course of the meal was what I remember being called something that sounded like “she”. It was a sort of meatloaf that had been made with a mixture of beef and pork prepared in single portions rather than a loaf and served with mashed potatoes. Again, excellent. I ate until I burst mostly because I was told that they appreciated visitors who ate a lot and also because Mr. Usacheva had shared a Russian anecdote that described how old Russians hired new employees. They would invite them in, one by one, to a meal with the boss’s family. They asked questions while serving them food. The more they ate, the better their chances of getting hired. Something to that effect. So I ate a lot.
 |
| H'orderves at the Usacheva residence |
 |
| A homemade meal of "she" and mashed potatoes |
 |
| Yana and her grandparents |
 |
| Me and Mr. Usacheva, wearing his Soviet Army cover |
Thanking Yana and her family for the wonderful meal and experience, we left the apartment and I parted ways with Yana for the last time while I made my way back to the city and the hostel, to pick up my bags and head to the station.
The station, Leningradsky Vokzal, one of nine major stations in Moscow, and named after the city that it services (all trains departing here are bound for St. Petersburg) or at least the old name for the city it services (St. Petersburg had its name changed to Leningrad during the Soviet days, and then changed back in 1991), was really difficult to find and figure out. I found the area where it was supposed to be easily enough, but there were no easy signs to figure out where the waiting halls were or ticket offices, even in Russian. So after some strenuous wandering and asking, I found my way to the station platforms, where there still were no status boards, and eventually found my train by process of elimination.
All this time, through Russia anyway, I had pre-booked 2nd class tickets on all the trains. But this time, to save money and because I wanted to experience the 3rd class train cars at least once, I booked 3rd class which was pretty okay. They were very similar to all the Chinese trains I had taken (when I had places to sleep). At first I was picturing open wagons with folding cots like the ones that transported troops across Siberia during the war. I don’t know why I assumed they’d be like that. Instead they were 6 people to what would have been the equivalent of a 4 person compartment in 2nd class, and these compartments were all completely open, no closed doors, like the ones in China. There are two bunks of two beds each like the 2nd class trains and then one bunk of two beds along the far wall by the window to form an open box formation with two small tables in the middle to make up one compartment. I’ve heard that many women traveling alone on these trains prefer 3rd class so that they don’t unluckily get stuck in a closed compartment with three huge, drunk Russian dudes. And actually while I was taking the train through Siberia, I often wondered where all the women were. Apparently they were all in 3rd class. My 5 compartment area mates were all women. Four older women and one younger one and then me. And each compartment in my open train car had similar women to men ratios. But the ride was uneventful, we all fell asleep immediately and despite the hundred or so people that were in the car, it was silent the whole ride.
 |
| My train to St. Petersburg |
 |
| My arrival to the train station in "Sankt-Peterburg" at 6AM |
No comments:
Post a Comment