It's true. The centre of St Petersburg is the least Russian place in Russia - it is a truth universally accepted. Hearing stories from a classmate who is studying in Yaroslavl has made me especially aware of this. I'm going to tell you today about my interpretations of what is 'Russian' and my experiences of the strange phenomenon that is Slavophilia.
I warn you this is the most pretentious post so far, but hey, why not.
We took a brief jaunt today to the market at Udelnaya - which is a way north of Petersburg and is considerably more 'Russian' than the Italian-designed centre. There is a reason I am attaching no photos to this post, it would have been too risky to take them at the market. The market is divided into two sections and you have to know about the 'illegitimate' part in order to find it. It is situated in the middle of a swamp and specialises in Soviet kitsch, stolen goods and babushki selling their deceased husbands' possessions. In the more legitimate looking part of the market, there are some good furs and leather goods which would be perfect for seeing out the worst of the Petersburg winter. In the illegitimate section, products were laid out on tarps on the muddy ground of the swamp, attended by decrepit babsuhki and men that smelled of beer. It was a perfectly Russian sight, a strangely beautiful scene of a culture that never fails to surprise me, but by which I am no longer shocked. Oh and there were a couple of traders who were selling AK47s, hunting knives and grenades and a hell of a lot of ammunition. Typichniy.
I want to now go on to what I mean by 'Russian', having said that St Petersburg is the least 'Russian' place in Russia. 'Russian' to me means places that reek of diesel, tar and tobacco fumes, delapidation, heavy metal, men with gold teeth and faces wrinkled by years of smoking and alcohol abuse. 'Russian' is babushki in headscarves selling bunches of flowers and vegetables from their Dachi on pavements that are uneven and full of holes. 'Russian' is huge downpipes that you could fit a cat up without much trouble and that are so big that the force of water cleans the pavement when it rains, contrasted with blazing sunshine at 4pm when in England it would otherwise be beginning to cool down. Russia is Kazan, where the heavy metal trams make all the surrounding buildings shake. It is the booming resonance of thunder off the metal-walled balconies of the blocks of flats. Russia is Red Square. Russia is the Transfiguration Church at Kizhi. (google it, it's incredible). Russia is Azerbaijani families setting up their own family businesses in the local Stoloviye, selling spectacular plov for £1.60 for a plateful, who smile at you and shake your hand when you visit them every day for lunch.
I have succumbed to Slavophilia.
I can understand why Russian emigrants in the Soviet era, on returning to Russia would kiss the ground and mutter "Rodina! Rodina!" (motherland). There is no tangible explanation for this, but it is a feeling that rises up from the ground and is echoed by all the buildings. I don't think any other country can evoke such feelings of love, even from non-Russians. Every time I walk down Nevsky Prospekt, the voice of my Russian translation teacher from second year echoes in Russian in my head. Russia draws you in, it is a fascinating country of incredible personal struggle. Chekhov describes these spectacularly in many of his short prose works circa 1880-1890 when he underwent a Tolstoyan phase of romanticising the lives of the peasants in the villages. For these people, Russia was a country of despair and anguish, personally, professionally and religiously. The scars of the Soviet period are still visible in the buildings, which are in a state of disrepair. Soviet Russia remains the elephant parading down Nevsky Prospekt as one tries to imagine how the street must have looked during this time. Grey is the only answer I can volunteer to respond to this.
My teachers at Uni here though have shared some of their stories of Soviet middle school - they are the generation that has lived in two different cities without having to leave their homes. We've been watching films in Russian (without the subtitles) which has been really great for our language and very eye-opening for us as a cultural narrative as all of them so far have been set during the Soviet period.. "Vostok Zapad" or "East West" was a particularly moving one - Russian film is nothing short of spectacular.
For many, strange though it may seem to Westerners amid the context of Soviet repression, Russia is a country of hope. The hope of a better life draws many people from Central Asian countries including Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan and Tajikistan. Many of the market traders in Sennaya Ploshad originate from these countries, presumably because they are former Soviet republics, so Russian is spoken as either the first or second language and the Russian economy is better established than that of their home nations. Russia therefore provides the chance of personal economic growth as well as having no language barrier. The level of poverty amongst such people is heartbreaking, but I feel that this only scratches the surface - these are the people that have got out.
I warn you this is the most pretentious post so far, but hey, why not.
We took a brief jaunt today to the market at Udelnaya - which is a way north of Petersburg and is considerably more 'Russian' than the Italian-designed centre. There is a reason I am attaching no photos to this post, it would have been too risky to take them at the market. The market is divided into two sections and you have to know about the 'illegitimate' part in order to find it. It is situated in the middle of a swamp and specialises in Soviet kitsch, stolen goods and babushki selling their deceased husbands' possessions. In the more legitimate looking part of the market, there are some good furs and leather goods which would be perfect for seeing out the worst of the Petersburg winter. In the illegitimate section, products were laid out on tarps on the muddy ground of the swamp, attended by decrepit babsuhki and men that smelled of beer. It was a perfectly Russian sight, a strangely beautiful scene of a culture that never fails to surprise me, but by which I am no longer shocked. Oh and there were a couple of traders who were selling AK47s, hunting knives and grenades and a hell of a lot of ammunition. Typichniy.
I want to now go on to what I mean by 'Russian', having said that St Petersburg is the least 'Russian' place in Russia. 'Russian' to me means places that reek of diesel, tar and tobacco fumes, delapidation, heavy metal, men with gold teeth and faces wrinkled by years of smoking and alcohol abuse. 'Russian' is babushki in headscarves selling bunches of flowers and vegetables from their Dachi on pavements that are uneven and full of holes. 'Russian' is huge downpipes that you could fit a cat up without much trouble and that are so big that the force of water cleans the pavement when it rains, contrasted with blazing sunshine at 4pm when in England it would otherwise be beginning to cool down. Russia is Kazan, where the heavy metal trams make all the surrounding buildings shake. It is the booming resonance of thunder off the metal-walled balconies of the blocks of flats. Russia is Red Square. Russia is the Transfiguration Church at Kizhi. (google it, it's incredible). Russia is Azerbaijani families setting up their own family businesses in the local Stoloviye, selling spectacular plov for £1.60 for a plateful, who smile at you and shake your hand when you visit them every day for lunch.
I have succumbed to Slavophilia.
I can understand why Russian emigrants in the Soviet era, on returning to Russia would kiss the ground and mutter "Rodina! Rodina!" (motherland). There is no tangible explanation for this, but it is a feeling that rises up from the ground and is echoed by all the buildings. I don't think any other country can evoke such feelings of love, even from non-Russians. Every time I walk down Nevsky Prospekt, the voice of my Russian translation teacher from second year echoes in Russian in my head. Russia draws you in, it is a fascinating country of incredible personal struggle. Chekhov describes these spectacularly in many of his short prose works circa 1880-1890 when he underwent a Tolstoyan phase of romanticising the lives of the peasants in the villages. For these people, Russia was a country of despair and anguish, personally, professionally and religiously. The scars of the Soviet period are still visible in the buildings, which are in a state of disrepair. Soviet Russia remains the elephant parading down Nevsky Prospekt as one tries to imagine how the street must have looked during this time. Grey is the only answer I can volunteer to respond to this.
My teachers at Uni here though have shared some of their stories of Soviet middle school - they are the generation that has lived in two different cities without having to leave their homes. We've been watching films in Russian (without the subtitles) which has been really great for our language and very eye-opening for us as a cultural narrative as all of them so far have been set during the Soviet period.. "Vostok Zapad" or "East West" was a particularly moving one - Russian film is nothing short of spectacular.
For many, strange though it may seem to Westerners amid the context of Soviet repression, Russia is a country of hope. The hope of a better life draws many people from Central Asian countries including Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan and Tajikistan. Many of the market traders in Sennaya Ploshad originate from these countries, presumably because they are former Soviet republics, so Russian is spoken as either the first or second language and the Russian economy is better established than that of their home nations. Russia therefore provides the chance of personal economic growth as well as having no language barrier. The level of poverty amongst such people is heartbreaking, but I feel that this only scratches the surface - these are the people that have got out.
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