Moscow and the Green City

My summer home; unfortunately it is a 2-hour trip from Moscow proper















The Russians are following Italy in their high fashion. Moscow is the most 'expensive' city in the world because of real estate and clothing, both of which are HUGE statistical outliers










Dmitry, who is Dean of Journalism at Lomonosova















A close-up example of Orthodox art; these paintings cover the temple on Red Square















Aleksey Simonov, the President of the Fund for the Defense of Glasnost















The temple on Red Square















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My buddies Dima and Roma; they keep me good company when I'm not busy reading, writing, or travelling to and from Moscow. They live in my village




















This is the forest path upon which I traverse the forest surrounding my village. I then walk 15 minutes to a bus-stop, ride for 30 minutes to Zelenograd - or 'Green City' - then ride 45 minutes to the Northern-most Moscow metro station, then another 45 minutes through the metro into Central Moscow. This is all contingent on whether I make it out of the mesquito-infested forest in the first place

My Russian Grandmother Lyusya, who is a wonderful cook















This is the view from our front door

Heathrow Airport

Heathrow Airport may seem out of place among the great cities of the world, but it's actually not. This past Monday, July 14, I spent all day and all night at Heathrow in pursuit of a cheap flight to Moscow. I had heard that some airlines offer a standby option, but this, I think, is only done through prior arrangement, or through a third-party who actually books the tickets. At any rate, none of the airlines at Heathrow with flights to Moscow considered letting me standby. Since you can’t buy tickets through the internet on the same day, and since my debit card was locked up with the +$2,000-deposit-processing-of-5-days-time-policy, I was therefore forced to purchase a flight on Tuesday working off of the airport’s expensive wireless. No matter where you go in London, it eats your money, and I was glad to leave. The interesting thing about Heathrow is that, as I mentioned above, there is a species of traveler who sleeps in airports, not hostels. This is quite common I think and perfectly acceptable to the airport. Something to keep in mind if you're too poor for a hostel; of course, if you're too poor for a hostel, you probably shouldn't be traveling...

This whole affair set me back one day, and since I left my Verizon phone at home, I started to have huge communication issues at this point. My friends in Moscow expected me a day earlier and my family didn’t know where I had disappeared. Well, the pay phones at the Warsaw airport did not work with credit card and they did not have any ATMs, SO: I made quick friends with a Polish Sailor named Dima and used his phone to call Val Spector in Moscow who in turn contacted Anna Bigun (a Ukrainian friend who was kind enough to find me my current lodging). I could not get through to her cell phone, but apparently Val know something I didn’t because he was able to contact her; I called Val back and gave him all my arrival information and Anna was again kind enough to meet me at the airport. It was imperative that I contact her because I was to meet her at the American Embassy earlier in the day, BUT (surprise) our Polish flight was very late getting out of London, and I missed my connecting flight to Moscow. So two lessons I have learned about traveling so far: 1. Travel with at least one other person if you can (they can watch your stuff and give you moral support). Also, you could use them as a pillow in case you have to sleep overnight in the airport. 2. When arranging flights, do so well in advance and try to go the straight route. Connections = delays, especially when working with ignominious carriers such as LOT, ASA, FINNAIR, etc.

Now, I am very comfortable living with the Nabatnikov family in a forest north of Moscow, and am having a great time with my research and with friends.

London

Antiquity (much of London's appeal is found in the collection of foreign and ancient creations)


Yours truly in my new Scottish cap


Fashion

...And finally...London's main attraction: King Richard! Magnificent!

I must say that London is a piece of cake compared with Russia, but we’ll get to that later. Well, I take that part back actually. I absolutely love Russia, and Moscow is very much Russia. London, on the other hand, is not really England. I stayed in the Royal Bayswater Hostel one night and another Queen’s Hotel the other night and the Bayswater/Queensway area in general is filled with non-English peoples giving the place a feel similar to New York City. There are so many languages being spoken all around you at the same time so that you realize London is in fact an island, and international hub of capitalists with architecture from a bygone and glorious era. But now London is filled with: 1. Elitist-oriented Europhiles such as those who attend the BYU London Center (I don’t necessarily mean this in a pejorative way, just stating a fact), 2. International (especially Polish, Turkish and French) opportunists, 3. Excited Asian prep-school children or tourists on their way to sight see Oxford, Cambridge and take part in such ‘English’ sport as Punting, 4. East Indians, who largely run the popular service sector, i.e. restaurants, hotels and Cricket ballers, and finally 4. The still-British parliament from time to time. The rest of the Brits I assume have escaped a bit further toward the interior of their homeland.

I should mention that the hostels I stayed in reminded me all too much of a Dickensian London which was supposed to have long-since passed. Nope. It’s still there and it’s just north of Hyde Park in the Bayswater area. The slummish feel of London in general is only slightly offset, as I mentioned, by the wonderful architecture, historical attractions, and everything else that makes this the city every American girl dreams of, or at least seeks to identify herself with. My remark is: let us not forget that the London of today is a gift from the past, but one is hard-pressed to transcend the street in order to attain historical immersion. Go to Cambridge, nirvana is attained more easily there.

My final remarks on the London experience have to do with the many hours spent at Heathrow grasping for the mythical straw of ‘standby’ flights. They don’t exist. I tried a number of different airlines with flights into Moscow, but not a single one would let me fly out on Monday. Of course, I arrived at the airport early on Monday morning, but nevertheless I ended up staying there the entire day…and entire night. Wow. If you have never stayed the night in an airport, you should NOT do so. Although I did save the 50+ Pounds that another night in a hostel w/ breakfast, travel etc., would have required, so perhaps the extreme discomfort of the floor/chairs/vacuums in your ear and the eyes of countless human organisms upon you throughout the night is worth it. Apparently there is a certain caste of European backpacker who thinks so. I noticed a few college-aged Europeans outfitted to sleep just about anywhere making themselves quite at home on the floors. But then again, this caste is known to reject the notion of general standards except in regards to tolerance, sustainability and relativity. In

Perhaps in my superficial description of London and Heathrow I have given you to understand that I was not at all impressed. This is not true, and one story will illustrate one of London’s many alluring aspects. My friend Mais Yahia is in London with the BYU Center (though she is neither elitist in sentiment or background, being a loyal Palestinian) and she was wry enough to get us into an Arabic film festival for free where a new movie was screened and the director was interviewed. This was quite a high brow event and the finest drinks and victuals were afterwards presented in the theatre’s cocktail lounge. This was the first time being among truly fashionable society for me, and I was impressed with the attention that all present (besides me) seemed to give to their clothing and general appearance. Tiger-striped shoes, designer jeans, brightly colored and tightly tailored shirts, various jewelry and the like were the order of the evening.

A word about the film itself. Being on the universal theme of family abuse, it did not address political or religious issues, thus avoiding a pitfall that traps most Western-Arab enterprises before they really get started. The film is about a Lebanese family whose father abuses his wife and two boys; the grandfather – or kindly old man, I couldn’t tell which – by setting an example of the ‘proper’ patriarch, and finally assisting in an escape, is the hero of the film. At the end of the film this hero, in attempting to help the father with his problem, in fact sacrifices himself to the father’s rage. This is a very powerful film and I appreciate the hope in Islamic patriarchy that counterbalances the utterly dismal view given in a book I’m reading now called While Europe Slept. Family abuse is a problem in traditional Islamic cultures, where while it may not happen any more than in any other culture, their society so often fails to criticize it when it does. However, the positive reception of this film in Lebanon gave me to know that there is probably the opportunity for progress.

Cambridge II

So far I have been bad at keeping a log (though I promised to not write descriptively, so perhaps I’m covered) of my travels but you will understand why when I relate the events of these past many days. First of all, tonight was the first shower I’ve had in just under a week, but we’ll get to Russia later. For now, I should describe Cambridge in all its glory; unfortunately I didn’t take a single picture, but this was because I felt that the place was too sacred to defile with the spirit of tourism. And I stayed with a friend in King’s College…IN King’s College, which is right in the middle of the University and contains some of the best examples of Cambridge’s gothic architecture. The place is absolutely stunning, in both view and feel. I will echo the words of Sir Thomas in saying that Cambridge inspires one to become an excellent scholar. I must say that I really played the whole thing up and bought myself a cap from Edinburgh Woolen Mills, along with traditional English socks, and thus walked around the city. We went punting along the river Cam, which was difficult and crowded, but I think that if one went in the rain, nobody else would clog the river. I tell you that punting along the river Cam, in the rain, after reading some good book in King’s College Library, while looking forward to Evensong, is my idea of a good time.

Cambridge

I write on a whim. I write reflectively - not so much descriptively ... and I promise to not force a novel (at least at this URL) on any of you. However, to at least put my reflections into context I give you a brief explanation of my summer plans, chronologically. I am traveling to Moscow, Russia in order to conduct academic research on the press, i.e. 'what, how, and why are they writing about the Russian administration?' After holding interviews and studying the issue in-depth, I will hopefully have insight on what might me done in the private sector to encourage civic journalism in Russia.

My travels, however, are not confined to Moscow. I am spending a week in England now, and will have a brief stint in Latvia, Estonia and St. Petersburg in mid-August. More on all of this later. For now, to Cambridge!

I notice how similar rural England looks to the green pastures (green this time of year) of my home in Northern Wyoming. I think that I could feel quite at home outside of London. Then again, I feel quite at home in the rural US outside of, say, New York City. Much like New York City, London is confused and congested, but I’ve noticed that anything unfamiliar feels much the same. Anything or anywhere in the world possesses its own rhythm of life, and the only reason we ever feel comfortable in this universe of terrific speeds and flux is through a gradual familiarity. We take this familiarity for granted. I’m sure, therefore, that London is a living, breathing, interesting and wholesome-in-its-own-way place, but I have to admit that these green fields hold my immediate affection.

Emulation=vanity. Oh, vanity, vanity, all is vanity. The frustration of a writer bereft of inspiration. Yet all of inspiration is the novelty of learning from an individual view; therefore, once a line of thought has been duly noted in the mind, there is no more descriptive need, and there is indeed nothing new under the sun. Silence, then, is the ethic of the day. Learn from God through others and rush not to speak.