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Moya Moskva
Maybe the most unexpected and memorable thing that happened to me last year was a short trip to Moscow, as part of a work assignment (a few interviews for a feature about expat managers in Moscow - yes, the crisis was not talked about at that time). Two full working days, with very little time for walking and the city seen mostly through the car windows. I spoke a little about it here and here and since then I didn't find enough time not only to write about it, but not even to update this journal or to read the friends list, because I had some very tough months - and I'm sorry for keeping silent for so long.
Now that I'm here again on LJ, browsing the few pics that I've took then, I remember everything as if it were yesterday; I didn't talk too much about that trip, because people want to know mainly how is Moscow from an economic point of view - prices, street fashion, urban development, tourism, signs of wealth, while I was interested in the traces of its history, the soul of the place, the people. It is indeed how I've imagined; all that has been happening to the whole Eastern Europe in the last 20 years can be seen here as through some magnifying lenses, and when you come home, you understand better your own life as an Eastern European through this recent history.
Our car stopped once at a semaphore, near Belyi Dom, and in my head was the memory of this, just as it is sung. The deeper the suffering, the greater the pride, the wisdom, the madness, the kindness, the struggle to keep one's identity, beyond old Soviet signs, Starbucks cafes, triumphant banner ads and new monuments that steal the eye of tourists. I know the looks of the people who were waiting for a bus on that windy morning and the looks of the teens who were later sitting and drinking on the small streets of Arbat. For a Western eye, probably all of them would have seemed unfriendly, if not completely inexpressive. Our driver saw the first drops of rain and said, as if to himself, with his shy and inexpressive smile: "daa, nebo plaachet". And yes, my heart is still there.
S Novym Godom, Moskva!
Now that I'm here again on LJ, browsing the few pics that I've took then, I remember everything as if it were yesterday; I didn't talk too much about that trip, because people want to know mainly how is Moscow from an economic point of view - prices, street fashion, urban development, tourism, signs of wealth, while I was interested in the traces of its history, the soul of the place, the people. It is indeed how I've imagined; all that has been happening to the whole Eastern Europe in the last 20 years can be seen here as through some magnifying lenses, and when you come home, you understand better your own life as an Eastern European through this recent history.
Our car stopped once at a semaphore, near Belyi Dom, and in my head was the memory of this, just as it is sung. The deeper the suffering, the greater the pride, the wisdom, the madness, the kindness, the struggle to keep one's identity, beyond old Soviet signs, Starbucks cafes, triumphant banner ads and new monuments that steal the eye of tourists. I know the looks of the people who were waiting for a bus on that windy morning and the looks of the teens who were later sitting and drinking on the small streets of Arbat. For a Western eye, probably all of them would have seemed unfriendly, if not completely inexpressive. Our driver saw the first drops of rain and said, as if to himself, with his shy and inexpressive smile: "daa, nebo plaachet". And yes, my heart is still there.
S Novym Godom, Moskva!