From Russia with Love

Viva la Revolucion!

We arrived at the Kievskaia trainstation with an hour and fifteen minutes to spare before our train departed. It was already eight thirty at night and in the darkness of the Moscow streets, protected only by the scattered streetlamps (half of which don’t work), I felt more than self-conscious making my way to the metro and riding the train to our meeting point with my overnight suitecase and backpack. I’ve gotten used to standing out as a foriegner, but standing out as a foreigner taking his valuables on a trip proved even more stressful. Meeting my sputniks (travel companions) on the platform was a relief; there’s safety in numbers, and although a group of foreigners ready to go on a trip is quite conspicuous in the hustle and bustle of the Metro, I felt a comfort in not being alone.
Lead by our Resident Coordinator and overall spiritual, emotional and academic advisor, Chris, we found the appropriate platform and boarded the train excited for the adventure ahead of us, if not a little naucious at the prospect of a 14 hour train ride. All the trains we would be taking over the next seven days would be third or ‘economy’ class; that is, in wagons divided into ten or twelve compartments, each with bunk beds (really cots that folded down from the wall) lining the wall of one side of the train and two more pairs of sleeping-planks across the aisle perpendicular to the small window adorned with sparse curtains. We were fortunate enough to get our seats together and proceeded to pack our luggage away under the lower bunks, sit down and play cards.
Interesting and creative exchanges insude as we tried to explain, to those who had never played, the rules of Rummy in Russian. A hallmark of my program here in Russia is the Middlebury College Language Pledge (trademark)which requires students to speak only in Russian. Fifteen minutes later, after a crash course in Russian card vocabulary (Ace, suit, Jack, etc.), the game was running smoothly and conversation took a turn from the mundane subject of straights, pairs and point counting to our usual, friendly tone.
We asked Chris, who had coordinated everything, if we would need to be registered in Kiev for the three days of our stay (in two short months, we already became accoustomed to the Russian emphasis on beaurocracy and necessity to have one’s ‘documents in order’). As it turns out, Chris asked the same question to the director of our hostel, who seemed confused at this query. Chris explained over the phone that in Moscow, registration was essential, especially since police can and do stop you on the street at anytime and request to see your documents, checking for expired registrations or faulty visas. Pavel, the hostel director chuckled a little, and assured Chris, “Oh, don’t worry, don’t worry; this is the Ukraine. We have demokratsia!”
For those who don’t remember, a peaceful revolution of the people occurred in the Ukraine in October-November of last year. Dubbed ‘the Orange Revolution’, it contested the questionable election of Victor Yanekovich, a pro-Russian Putin-puppet, and installed Victor Yushchenko, the pro-European candidate. Although Ukrainians are their own ethnic group with their own language and customs (both of which are, however, quite similar to the Russian correlaries), their land was part of the Russian Empire for hundreds of years as well as one of the largest and most populated republics of the USSR. Since the times of Kievian Rus’, the ancient mother of the Russia state(9th-13th centuries) , the Ukraine has been occupied by Russians, Ottomans, Hapsburgs and Polish, creating a rather jumbled idea of what Ukrainian identity really is. Since the collapse of the Soviet Union, the Ukrainian government and economy has been quite unstable, corrupt and over all, relatively pro-Russian (especially in comparison the the former Soviet republics of the Baltics). Yushchenko promised to change all that and point the Ukraine in a new direction, that is, towards Europe, with hopes of joining the EU.
Despite recent scandals envolving the Prime Minister, democracy has been working rather well for the Ukraine, not to mention American students studying in Eastern Europe (our decision to go to Kiev was influenced in no small part by the fact that Americans no longer need visas to enter the country – demokratsia!). We could feel the change from Russia’s idea of ‘democracy’ to Ukraine’s fledgling version as soon as we entered the country. We were woken up in the middle of the night by Russian boarder guards, which by the way is the worst possible way to be woken up. Still drowsy, my eyes opened to see imposing, armed men in barrets and military regalia, asking why I was in Moscow and what my business was in the Ukraine. After providing satisfactory answers, they returned my passport and I went back to sleep. Not forty minutes later, I was awoken again for the Ukrainian boarder guards. They asked the same questions, were also armed and for all intents and purposes were Russian (much of eastern Ukraine is ethnically Russian), but for some reason, I wasn’t as frightened under my train-issued covers as I was less than an hour ago. The Ukrainian guards joked around with us (“Are you sure you have a place to stay? Well, it doesn’t matter, you wouldn’t be the only one sleeping on the streets!”) and in general carried themselves much less like military inquisitors and more like simple people just doing their job – demokratsia!
I was even more astonished at the Ukrainian people once we made it to the capital, Kiev. Cars actually stopped for pedestrians on crosswalks, and I even received directions from a lady working in the Metro! Directions! Metro attendents in Moscow yell at you just for looking them in the eyes. Demokratsia!
Ukrainian and Russian are both slavic languages and aside from slight differences in the alphabet, my Russian served me well throughout the trip. There were however many instances of utter confusion when confronted with examples of daily, mundane language. For instance, the Kievian Metro, a familiar voice announced the next metro stations and urged all passengers to give up their seats for invalids, passengers with children and elder people. These announcements were understandable despite being in Ukrainian, but the mandatory warning that “the doors are closing” disturbed me to no small degree. The Ukrainian was (as far as I could tell) “Uberezhno, dveri zachinaiunsia.” To my Russian ears, this warning was oddly reminiscent of “On the seashore, the doors are fixing themselves.” Luckily, all our tourguides spoke Russian, and overall, the Ukrainian language didn’t cause too many confused looks to cross my face.



Being a college-funded trip, we of course had our share of information-packed excursions around the city and its landmarks, the most awe-inspiring of which was definitely the National Kiev-Pecherskii Lavra Monestary. A huge Russian Orthodox complex, the Lavra was composed of at least four breathtaking cathedrals and two monestaries. It was shut down by Stalin before WWII and only recently re-opened within the last 20-30 years (except for a brief time during the German occupation. More on this later). Our tour guide took us mostly to those cathedrals that were empty and for all intents and purposes only ment for tourists to stand in awe at the masterworks of Kievian Rus’ (one of Kiev’s first prices, Volodimir – an old form of Vladimir – was responsible for the Slavic world’s conversion to the Orthodox Church, converting himself in 988). One of my sputniks, Marco, however, couldn’t take no for an answer when our guide refused to take us into the Lavra’s most stunning cathedral since a service was in progress, but after much cajolling, she agreed. The girls convered the heads (as is required in any Russian Orthodox building) and we entered the cathedral in the middle of the believers’ communion!



Some of us felt a little awkward, to say the least, for interrupting the most sacred part of the Orthodox mass; however, I had no qualms with it. I was to struck by the very experience. Russian churches have no pews; one must stand the entire time (sometimes the masses last more than three hours!). During the sacrement, the church-goers followed well-known veins of traffic to make their way to the eucharist, and we often clumsily inturrupted these currents, but I was too engrossed in the atmosphere to notice. The congregation was singing a chant in unison, and although the chamber was filled with music, it was impossible to tell where it was coming from. At first I asked myself if it was coming from the monk choir in the balcony or from the standing believers shuffling their way to the body and blood of Christ, but walking among them, I realized that it was coming from all around me. I was enveloped by the sad timbre of the congregation, all singing no louder than a whisper that I could only detect as I passed the directly infront of single individuals. The believers, mostly old women, chanted their lament, and I was taken over by a feeling of the Holy Spirit, for lack of a better description. Our guide ushered us out of the khram (church), and I left with much difficultly. My musician’s soul had become immediately achored to the chanting masses and it proved difficult to tear myself away. We had other miracles of the Pravoslavnie Church to get to before lunch. (Pravoslavnie is the Russian word for Russian Orthodox, literally meaning ‘the true word’).
Besides being home to one of Pravoslavnie’s oldest monestaries, the Lavra also housed a catacombs of infathomable length and depth with the remains of over 150 Orthodox saints. Our guide lead us through this haunting labyrinth where we again felt like intruders. Believers were praying, crying, kissing and begging the embalmed bodies and various body parts that hugged the carved-out tunnel walls, lit only by the light of candles carried by the passers-by. During the Second World War, Nazi troups demanded to be led through the labyrinth by the abandoned monastery’s keepers. Gauking at the open coffins, covered only by a sheet of glass, one soldier questioned the contents of the morbid restin places and rammed his gun through the class of one coffin, past the protective cloth covering the body. Maybe he was looking for gold, maybe he was just looking to destroy something the Ukrianians highly valued, but what he found when he pulled his pistol back out was actual human blood dripping from the head of his weapon and leaking from the holy corpse. The Germans were so frightened that they ran out of the catacombs and officially opened the Lavra complex for worship for the length of their occupation. This, of course, is all hear-say.
Aside from the Lavra, we spent our days in Kiev relaxing in the sunshine, playing on various Soviet monuments and enjoying the laid-back atmosphere of Ukraine’s new demokratsia.



Soon to come...Adventures in Crimea!

posted by Misha Molodoi @ 4:00 PM