Holiday to Vladimir-Suzdal

28.9 Today was the first day of our long weekend holiday. We met Moscow 1 and Guyla at the metro and she took us to the train station where we purchased tickets for our Europe trip next month (I can’t believe I just said that: our Europe trip next month!) and then we walked to the bus stop. Much to our surprise and pleasure, our bus to Vladimir was a charter bus with comfy seats and a too-ah-let. I sat next to Ally, with Shelley and Whitney in the next row up. Our ride to Vladimir took about three hours, with a quick rest stop in the middle. I slept for a little while but awoke with the recognition that this was my first chance to see the Russian countryside. It looks very similar to the countryside of the Midwestern States in America. It was like driving though Ohio or Indiana: rolling hills, patches of trees, farmland, and broad, open skies. The only real difference were the billboards and the small houses that dotted the roadside: the houses were painted bright colours like mustard yellow, aquamarine, Christmas green, and deep sky blue; the eves were carved with intricate designs and the window shutters were reminiscent of gothic architecture. Some of them were surrounded by quaint flower and vegetable gardens and wooden fences; though most of the houses showed obvious signs of weathering, I quickly fell in love with all of them. Once we arrived in Vladimir, about 200 kilometers from Moscow, we grabbed our daypacks and headed toward the Golden Gate, which I believe was erected in the eleventh century. It was one of the main entrances into the old city of Vladimir, which was surrounded by a wall. The old city and the base of the Golden Gate are actually about 30 kilometers underneath the current city of Vladimir; time has hidden them under a cover of dirt and stone. We decided not to take a tour of the inside of the gate, as there was a fee and we were pressed for time, and instead headed toward our next destination: a running nunnery. The nunnery boasts a monastery with the most sacred Russian Orthodox icon in Vladimir: an ancient painting of the Virgin Mary. The monastery itself is dark, cold, and rather gloomy. It appears that the paintings on the stone walls haven’t been touched up for centuries as they were all faded and chipped. As is customary and respectful, we covered our heads with scarves and borrowed shawls from the monastery to wrap around our hips to cover our jeans. I felt kind of ridiculous but I wanted to be respectful to those worshipping and the nuns. The nuns’ attire was simple: a black, plain dress and matching scarf. No offense to the Russian Orthodox Church, but I feel there’s nothing very personal, comforting, or “safe” about their monasteries. Some of them are kind of creepy, to be honest. Of course, many are spellbinding and awe-inspiring, but they’re…impersonal. Even though LDS churches have carpet on the walls and usually have ugly upholstery, I feel safe the moment I walk into one. Our paintings of Christ make Him seem more like a man with feelings, compassion, and personality than an untouchable God, a mysterious idol. Granted, Russian Orthodox monasteries are much, much, cooler from the outside—I might be slightly more excited to go to church if it had a huge golden dome and gothic architecture. Just saying. I bought a loaf of bread from a nun; it was very holy. Next, we walked to a shopping mall for lunch. On the way there, we passed through a quaint little park with a bridge over a pond. Eternally connected to the railings of the wrought iron bridge were heart-shaped locks. Each lock had initials carved or painted on the side: the initial of two lovers, eternally locking their love together. It’s a Russian tradition/fad for a couple to buy a lock, paint their initials on the side, lock it to a bridge, and throw away the key. Adorable, right? I so want to do that for engagement pictures when the day comes. At the mall, I bought Sbarro and Baskin Robbins. I’m so American, it’s sick. Actually, I think that’s the first time I’ve ever had Baskin Robbins. Is it sad that I eat more American fast food in foreign countries than I do when I’m in America? I should commit myself to only eating local food. Once we stuffed ourselves like the Americans we are, we walked to the Assumption Cathedral, the main cathedral in Vladimir. It was breathtaking with its stark white walls and golden dome; beautiful flowers surrounded the base, reminding me of LDS temple grounds. As it was easily the tallest and most magnificent building in that location, it commanded the attention of anyone nearby. Since it was running as a museum until 5PM, Guyla told us we’d come back when it was running as a church without an entrance fee. To pass the time, we went to the history museum next door: each room in the museum is dedicated to a different time period in Vladimir’s history, from the beginning to now. There was also room dedicated to ancient writings, an old-fashioned school house, the typical living quarters of a peasant and of a noble, and a room dedicated entirely to old-fashioned toys. It was a lot of fun. Right beside the museum is St. Demetrius’ Cathedral. The exterior is decorated with innumerable carvings of animals, characters, saints, and mythical creatures: each carving is unique and there has been much speculation over the centuries as to what the carvings mean, as no authentic written record has been found. As the interior has been destroyed due to vandalism and destructive forces during past wars and it is currently bare and plain, we decided not to tour the inside. Behind the cathedral is an overlook of the valley. There were several brides and their wedding parties taking pictures and laughing (I’m quite certain they were all drunk) but we still found room enough to appreciate and enjoy the view before us: the valley spread before us like an ocean of rolling hills and thick patches of trees, with the golden spires of cathedrals glinting in the sunlight and colourful houses contrasting with nature. It was windy but sunny and altogether rather pleasant. Finally, we were able to enter the Assumption Cathedral. Again, we covered our heads and our jeans with scarves. Although the interior of this cathedral was similar to all the others, with no windows, paintings covering the stone walls, and a ceiling that touched heaven’s floor, I daresay this cathedral was more beautiful and breathtaking than any other I’ve seen. The main wall was decorated with elaborate golden relics and architecture and an enormous chandelier hung from the ceiling; its grandeur is difficult to explain in words. Also, the experience was unique as the halls rang with the resonating chants of a priest and three female worshipers. The priest wore a silken robe of deep blue, purple, and gold; his voice was deep and guttural and commanding, yet gentle and reverent. These chants added so much flavour and culture to the experience. Along the walls of the cathedral were stone coffins, into which descriptions had been carved. Some of the deceased had been born as early as the twelfth century—I’ve never been immersed in such rich, distant history; it’s marvelous. Next, we made the trek through town and through a vast meadow to the Intercession Cathedral, which is protected by UNESCO and has been declared as a worldwide historical building. The paved pathway that leads to the cathedral winds through a beautiful meadow of long grasses and blue and white wild flowers; the setting sun bathed the meadow in a warm orange light that reflected off the golden dome of the cathedral and the still pond below it. At the head of this pathway, we passed an elderly woman and her assortment of hand-knitted and dyed shawls. She showed us how she combs the wool with large wooden brushes with metal bristles (like the pioneers would do) and how she knits them all herself. They were all strikingly beautiful and I chose a deep red one for my mother, as I know how much she loves handmade things and I know she will appreciate it. The shawl smells like sheep, which proves that it is made of real wool. The walk to the Intercession Cathedral was beautiful and calming; I loved getting out of the city and into nature. The cathedral itself was small, dim, and cold, with faded paintings and unlit candles. It was easy to get a feel of its age as the paintings showed no sign of recent refurbishment. Once stars illuminated the broad Russian sky, we loaded into a van and headed off to Suzdal, about fort-five minutes away. Guyla showed Moscow 1 where they would stay that night: in the dormitory at a Suzdalian monastery. I admit I was quite jealous of them, for who can say they slept in the dormitory of a Russian monastery? My group, Guyla, and the only male teacher, Jake, would be staying in a hostel. After Moscow 1 dropped off their things, we walked to a quaint café with a traditional Russian menu. I ordered blini with a sweet and sour Suzdalian butter sauce, because it sounded intriguing. It tasted like butter, honey, and mustard—not my favourite. It didn’t fill me up, either, so I ordered fries and ice cream. The ice cream was so unusual—it was grainy and fluffy at the same time, like condensed cotton candy or astronaut ice cream; it sounds weird but it was delicious. Our walk to our hostel was rather interesting—our only light was dim house lights every now and then as we traversed down a deeply rutted dirt path past old, weathered houses. In truth, we were all slightly intimidated and I admit to saying a few silent prayers. Finally, we found our hostel: a two story building with welcoming lights inside. The receptionist informed us that we would all be in a co-ed room with six beds; Guyla requested a change so that the females would be separated from the men. Later, Jake told us that he bunked with two Australians, and I resented Guyla’s request. I mean, just kidding! Ellipsis. The room was clean and tidy and we had a bathroom just for the room. I checked my email in the common room for a few minutes, and then collapsed onto my bed. 29.9 When the morning shed some light on the area, we discovered that the hostel was located in one of the cutest neighborhoods I’ve ever seen. The houses were decently spaced from each other, separated by large flower and/or vegetable gardens; the houses were constructed in the traditional Russian style like the ones I described earlier, and large trees lined the dirt road we had traversed the night before. Chickens ran free in one of the yards, and birds chirped from somewhere in the abundance of greenery. The road ran alongside a calm river, which separated us from a small local monastery. I instantly fell in love with everything around me, and I swear I could move to Suzdal and die happy. We met up with Moscow 1 at the same café; this time I ate blini with jam and a “hot sandwich,” which was a slice of white French bread, a slab of ham, a slice of tomato, and a blanket of mozzarella cheese. Guyla had purchased Nesquik cocoa and our sweet waitress made hot cocoa for all of us—she used hot water, cocoa, and condensed milk. I’ve never tried that combination before but it was heavenly. After breakfast, we went to the Suzdal Kremlin, or the Suzdal fortress, which was built in like the eleventh century. Its stark white walls and cobalt blue domed roofs were proof that the Kremlin has been refurbished and maintained well. Outside of the Kremlin, we discovered giant painted eggs, all of which were hand painted with different themes. The eggs were about six-seven feet tall and five feet in width. They were scattered around Suzdal though there was a sort of “garden of eggs” behind the Kremlin. We found a street market where I purchased a beautiful wooden gold-painted matryoshka , or Russian nesting doll, and a few old coins: one from 1906, one from 1908, and one from 1899. Two of them have holes in the center and I intend to make necklaces out of them. The weather was perfect for what we were about to see: as we strolled down a dirt path, the sun burst through the clouds and illuminated the entire valley. It shone against the white walls of the Kremlin and the walls of a distant monastery, glinted off the blue domes with gold stars, and brightened the vast meadows of tall grasses that swayed in the breeze. Upon the path below us stood a lone trumpeter, whose melody echoed through the valley like background music to a silent film. Besides the distant voices of tourists and the street markets, there were no other sounds and I felt utterly peaceful yet overwhelmed with immense gratitude and wonder that I had the blessing of standing there that day and experiencing such an awe-inspiring scene. Truly, there are no adequate words to describe how utterly beautiful and serene that view, that moment, was. Simply thinking about it sends chills up my spine. Unfortunately, not even the many pictures I took give the view justice. Once the sun retreated again behind the clouds and a light rain began, we continued our tour of what was becoming my favourite town on earth. We passed an eleventh-century wooden cathedral that was constructed without nails (and still stands) and paused at a street market. I absolutely love street markets and browsing through all the fascinating wares; Russian trinkets are beautiful and unique. There were wooden hand-carved combs and brushes, countless matryoshki of various colors and styles, hand-carved birch jewelry boxes, scarves, music boxes in the shape of St. Basil’s Cathedral in Red Square, spoons, key chains, bracelets, and other such trinkets. Once we were able to browse and make a few purchases, we moved onto the main square in Suzdal. It was made of grey cobble stones and bordered with street markets, shops, and another cathedral. What really piqued our interest was a woman dressed in brightly colored clothes who was painting one of six giant eggs, none of which were painted, that were scattered throughout the square. Guyla approached her, and then turned to us, saying, “Does anyone want to paint an egg?” When we realized she was being serious, Ally, April and I excitedly nodded our heads. Veronica, the woman in the bright clothes, smiled warmly and handed us plastic aprons and motioned to us to take our pick of the numerous paint cans in the back of her van. April, who is more of a professional artist than Ally and I, opted to paint her own egg while Ally and I would tag-team one. April chose a floral theme and Ally I plotted out how to represent America on our egg. We decided to paint the United States from coast to coast, with the ocean connecting New York and California and everything else in between. By its completion, we had added a little bit of New York City, the Statue of Liberty, the East/Adirondacks, Florida’s palms, Chicago, the Midwest grasslands and cornfields, the Grand Canyon, deserts of the West, the Rocky Mountains and wild flowers, Seattle’s Space Needle, Hollywood, LA, the Red Woods, and the Golden Gate Bridge to Russia. On the bottom of the egg we created a stars and stripes collage with “USA” blended in. As a finishing touch, we added our initials. Apparently, these eggs were first created for last Easter in Moscow and were later moved to Suzdal; it’s Russia’s way of participating in a world-wide community festival, like how Utah has painted bison, London has painted pigs, and…that’s all I can think of right now. But it’s part of that “festival.” As we painted, passersby would stop and speak to us in Russian, and we had to awkwardly explain to them that we don’t speak Russian, but that the egg represented America. One woman asked to take her picture with us while others simply took pictures of us. A gaggle of uni students approached us and, upon discovering we spoke English, began to converse with us in near perfect English; one guy asked if he could paint something and be “a part of America” and we allowed him to paint a flower by the Rocky Mountains. It’s a rather sad looking daisy, but its sentimental value makes up for that—he was ecstatic to be able to participate. The whole experience was so unbelievable—I still can’t believe how lucky we were to have that opportunity! It was such a fun and unique experience. Ally and I even rejected the opportunity to tour more monasteries with the rest of the group just so we could finish our egg. It took about four hours to complete. I had paint all over my hands and arms and even a little on my sleeves, but it was so worth it. At about 5PM, the rest of our group returned and we loaded onto another van/bus like the night before, which took us back to Vladimir. From there, we caught another charter bus and returned to Moscow. I was thoroughly exhausted but happy. When we reached Moscow, all of the buses to our school had stopped for the night so Guyla helped us hail a taxi. I’m always wary of taxis, as I don’t like getting into cars with strangers—especially ones who don’t speak my language—but our driver turned out to be very nice and rather hilarious, actually. He spoke rough English and we spoke enough broken Russian to kind of communicate, and we were able to get to know each other a little bit. He was an older gentleman named Sergei and he didn’t like English in school, but now he wished he would have taken it seriously; we explained that we wished we spoke better Russian. One time, he told us, “You look delicious tonight!” Shelley, Whitney, Ally, and I paused, not sure we’d heard him correctly. Less confidently, he repeated himself, and we couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s a compliment!” he assured us, and we animatedly told him, “Spasibo, spasibo!” Oh, how I love translation errors—at least that’s what I hope it was! When he dropped us off at our home, he told me, “You are number one client! Thank you!” What a nice guy. I do really, really, like Russians. All in all, this was a wonderful holiday!