This weekend, my landlady drove my friend and I to her cottage house, her дача. She really wanted me to see the 'real Russia'. We stopped on the way to see a provincial church and got to talk with the lady in charge of the church, who was more than happy to explain to foreigners what the orthodox faith was about. My landlady insisted on us videotaping the baptism which was then taking place in the temple. She even bought us candles to light. Everyone in the church was very friendly. We then stopped a number of times because Valida wanted to greet some friends. It was interesting to see how different the houses where in the village, some very big and new with a very simple and common architecture, others tiny, colourful and very old. They all had a lot of character. Brandnew Land Rovers and old Ladas went and came on the same country lane. We arrived at the village at around noon. The datcha was lovely. Three rooms and the kitchen on the first floor, an empty room on the second with a superb view on the Volga river. Valiya showed us around her garden, rightly-so proud of all the vegetables and flowers she was growing. We had half a watermelon (I know: it's a LOT) and went for a walk on the embankment. On our way back, Valida decided to adventure on an unknown road back to the village. The result? Us walking through a swamp with city shoes and miserably dragging our cold and tired selves back to the house. After eating more watermelon we read a bit and had a nap, while our 70-year-old host was energetically working in the garden. (I pray to be just as active at her age!). She said she wanted to sort everything out in her Dacha before winter. In fact, between the month of March and November, she visits the village every weekend, but past November, что ей делать в деревне? Well, I'll link Pushkin's answer for you to enjoy. Then followed a visit of the village, of a small farm, and some words shared with the neighbours.
We drove back to the city with the feeling of having shared for a day the camaraderie, warmness and support nurtured among the inhabitants of that tiny village! To learn more about the reason Russians are obsessed with Dachas, click on the link below. HTTPS://UNDERSTANDRUSSIA.COM/DACHA/
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We finally got to Rostov, Yaroslavl Oblast. Very rural place, quite empty, 'interesting looking' shops and rain...I was then starting to reevaluate my decision to visit the place, unable to view the beauty of what was said to be the tourist centre of the Golden Ring. But as we walked into the centre, the sight of the City Citadel (the Kreml) erased all my doubts. Rostov has a magnificent architectural heritage dominated by churches, monasteries and cathedrals as it was till the 17th century a centre of religious learning and missionary activities. This history began when Prince Vladimir of Kiev, the Christianizer of Russia, gave the Rostov lands to his son Yaroslavl, now known as 'Yaroslavl The Wise'. This one started an effort to convert the largely pagan population of the region, introducing numerous Christian missionaries. Even after the Mongol capture of the city in 1237, most cathedral and monasteries remained and were preserved. Most of the churches were rebuilt in the 19th century and the town was designated a historical preserve in 1970 becoming a touristic attractive site. So imagine those breathtaking buildings in the middle of a deserted, somehow stuck in the 70s gloomy provincial town! That's a view I would recommend! The most beautiful frescos I have ever seen in my life
I live with a Russian grandma. Her name is Valentina. She prefers to be called Valiya.
Valiya can seem extremely stereotypical at first. She has a Putin calendar in her kitchen, gets annoyed by Angela Merkel and Barack Obama on tv, has small dolls, figurings and pictures of orthodox saints all over her flat. But she is SO much more than that. She is a very wise, interesting and cultured lady. Her apartment is full of books, Russian and foreign literature, which she's happy to lend me. As for now, she doesn't speak or understand any foreign language. But earlier in her life, she studied at master level in Germany, she traveled to many places in Europe, Asia and Africa. She likes to recall those times, always with a bit of nostalgia, but also a lot of self-derision: 'you know us, old ladies, we like to look at you girls and think about our golden age. That's why we seem to always be angry and hostile...'. Valiya lives by herself in a large apartment, but she never looks lonely. At 70 years old, she still works and she is almost always on the phone with friends or family. Valiya is an oddly perfect host. I almost never see Valiya eat. She eats before I wake up or before I get home. Her favourite thing is to watch me eat while commenting the news, or telling me about her day, her nephew in Ireland or her countryside house that she spends way too much time cleaning. She's very assertive but to be such a good host commitment and efforts are not sufficient, you have to show character. No need for implicit messages, no 'would you', 'could you'. Our conversations are punctuated by sentences such as 'you never eat', 'you eat very little', 'eat!'...all in relation to food. It took less than a week to come to the conclusion that her goal was to get me fat. This brings about very funny and incongruous situations, like her coming into my room while I'm changing, looking at my body, shaking her head and going 'do you ever eat? you're so skinny!', or her expressing the desire to change 'strategies': 'I think we should give up on trying to make you eat large meals. You should eat small portions every 2/3 hours instead', or again, her waiting for me by the front door as I walk in at midnight and naturally suggesting I eat soup and 2 steaks... Valiya is turning into my third grandma, just as stubborn, oppositional, loving, and caring as the other two. I hope that in three months, I'll leave Yaroslavl knowing that I have, here, family to come back to. 5:00, South Kensington, London. Up since already half an hour, I check out from my hotel and get in the taxi that will drive me to Heathrow airport. My flight is scheduled for 8:45, but I want to be there as soon as possible. Today is the big day. I am finally flying to Russia. I drop my bags, go through security and direct myself to the gate. Everything goes well. I'm comfortable. I'm wearing a beanie and a turtleneck instead of the usual hijab to avoid standing out too much in Russia. I board with my friends. 4hours later we're in Domodedovo airport. We anxiously look around trying to spot the other language students. We attempt to go through customs. People seem to be waiting in a 'queue', or more so a mass of people facing the same direction. We lose all sense of private space and politeness for two good hours and a half. Finally, we pass customs, with a supplement for me: a very funny look at my passport and a slightly racist or curious (not quite sure) controller. Then, we meet the officials from RLUS and the other 3 students going to Yaroslavl. We're now a group of 8 students, 5 from St Andrews, 3 from Manchester, each student with at the very least a large suitcase, a cabin one and a carry-on bag, trying to fit in a minuscule mini-van. 18:00, we start our 4hours-journey from Moscow to Yaroslavl. 20 minutes in, something unexpected happens: we're on the highway, the driver pulls over on the emergency lane, opens the door, steps out, takes out a cigarette, lights it and smokes for a good 10 minutes. 22: 30, we finally arrive in Yaroslavl. I'm the first one to be dropped off. I'm met by a 70-year old lady by the name of Valentina. I now know where and with whom I'm going to live for almost 4 months. MAZEL TOV! |
AuthorThird year student at the University of St Andrews, Scotland. Studies Russian, German and International Relations. Loves traveling. Loves languages. Loves to share. Hence, this BLOG! Archives
January 2018
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