Pechatniki - a quiet suburb in Moscow

Phoebe Taplin, writing in the Moscow News, an independent online newspaper, calls those who venture towards the end of the light-green line on the Moscow metro “intrepid explorers”. I would like to consider myself one of those intrepid explorers, although I visited and explored the area in the south-eastern suburbs after I’d moved out to live in another part of Moscow.

I first arrived in the Pechatniki district from Domodedovo airport on a January 6^th. I had been expecting the weather to be mercilessly cold, and difficult to deal with as I’d flown in from Abu Dhabi, but I was very comfortable in my protective gear. The ground everywhere was covered in snow and ice. Despite the very low temperatures and dark skies, children and their parents were having fun in the park in front of the building I was to move into. I could see a make-shift ski slope in the playground. Some took to tobogganing. Others were actually on skis and holding poles.

From my fifth floor apartment, I had the view of a school, a hospital, and slightly further ahead, a white church building with black gables and gold trimmings. I later found out that the church was actually a monument that had been built on the site of a terrorist-bombed building which killed scores of families in 1999. The bombs had been detonated at midnight when most were very likely to be sleeping. On the way home one evening, an African taxi driver narrated to me in detail the order of events as he had experienced it, living not too far from the devastating occurrence at the time.  I took in that view every morning, as I made and had breakfast before I set out, and gave a thought to the victims.

What with the freezing weather which lasted till May, and the time I needed to adjust to my new job and new host city, exploring the neighborhood was the last thing on my mind.  As the weather got warmer, I made my first attempt and set out for the Nikolo-Perervinsky Monastery I’d heard of. It was a nice walk there, but it was closed, so I enjoyed a walk along the river instead. Seeing people in the park barbecuing, riding bikes, running around, listening and dancing to music, lying on the grass, just enjoying the pleasant atmosphere was a very refreshing sight. It had taken a long time for all those layers to come off, and I was enjoying the effect of the nice weather as well. However, before I could go on more walks to explore the area where I lived, I had moved out to another apartment, and so it was that when I came back to Pechatniki to visit the monastery I wanted to view from the inside, it was as an “outsider”.

I was greeted by the familiar convenience stores in Guryanova Street just outside the metro station, where languages other than Russian were mostly heard. These stores were interspersed with rotisserie chicken and shwarma stands manned by Uzbeks, Tajiks and nationals of some of the countries of the former Soviet Union; donning chef’s hats, sharpening their long knives ready for business as they painstakingly avoided making eye contact with me or stared blatantly – there was no middle ground. I reminisced about my way home from the metro after work when I’d get some chicken, or some fruit, depending on what I needed. They always wished me “priyatnovo apetita” and I thanked them for wishing me an enjoyable meal. They saw me walk by every day and I interacted with them more often than not, but the reaction was always the same.  

This time though, I wasn’t there for grilled chicken or fruit, so I walked on past the stores, minding my own business. I crossed the road and for the first time ventured into a small shopping center I had passed by every day for several months but had never entered. I found a clothes shop selling coats at affordable prices; something unusual in Moscow and very appropriate for the upcoming season. I also walked around a drugstore where I purchased a few items. I was discovering Pechatniki.

The shopping done, I set off for my intended destination along Shosseynaya Street. It was a nice walk in the cool streets. Although sunny, the clouds in the horizon were menacing rain. I figured that I could be there and done before the downpour started. Soon enough, the blue domes of the monastery loomed into sight on a busy single-carriage road at a traffic light. It was Sunday and the church was open for service. A few amputees in wheel chairs were sitting a few steps away from the gates whose hinges were built into the fortified walls typical of the monasteries I’ve seen in Russia. On the right hand-side as I walked in, was a building housing the gift shop, icons, and I presumed the monks’ cells. Straight ahead is the statue of what I thought would be a representative of the Russian Orthodox Church. I took in the sight on the church grounds in sunlight and eventually made my way inside.

It was warm. Hundreds of candles could be seen burning, lit by loved ones for the departed and for those in need. Mass was being said, the congregation made signs of the cross when prompted to, mothers were carrying children tired of standing as is customary in the Russian Orthodox Church. A few young monks in black cassocks were gracefully chanting what sounded to me like Gregorian music.The head priest with his long shoulder-length blond hair and carefully trimmed beard, head crowned in a miter and colorful robes over his cassock, was reading the gospel in a powerful voice. I only understood snippets, but enjoyed the solemn atmosphere.

After a few minutes, I joined a queue requesting prayers. My request was for a sick friend of mine undergoing treatment for a serious illness. I wanted her to get well, for herself, for her family and so that we could sit, chat and laugh as we used to. Although I’m not Russian Orthodox, I have prayed in mosques, in Buddhist and Hindu temples, as well as other places not conducive to prayer. I thought to myself, what difference does it make? Every little bit counts. Then it was my turn. The woman looked strangely at me, wondering how she would communicate with this person. I snapped out of my reverie of visits to different places of worship and addressed her in Russian, making my request. I gave her the piece of paper I’d written my friend’s name on and what I wanted the prayer for.

“Are you Catholic or Orthodox?” she asked me kindly.

“Catholic” I answered, wondering why I could only be either in her eyes.

She looked at the paper, back at me and asked me to wait a minute. She left her post and ran through the crowd of worshippers to the altar to confer with the one in charge, I speculated. After a few minutes of absence, forcing every one behind me to wait and wonder what was happening, she returned with a smile. She said it would be alright, however, since I was not Orthodox, I would have to pay ten rubles. I happily forked out the amount and added some for candles I wanted to light. My prayer request accepted, clutching my candles, I went off happily to light them. I stood in the church a little longer, admiring the architecture, the frescoes and the iconostasis before turning around and walking out. The sermon was still going on.

Outside, I took a deep breath of the cool, fresh air, looked up at the sky and saw the dark clouds getting closer as the faint sunlight was disappearing. It was time to start walking back. A short tour of the grounds again, a quick look in the gift shop and back onto Shosseynaya to the metro. There was an open market close to the metro which I had been to previously when I lived there, and fancied looking at the fresh produce again – vegetables, fruit, honey, pickles, nuts. It was a pleasant stroll and the atmosphere in the market was noisy, chatty, lively with different whiffs from different stands. Some very pleasant, others not so pleasant.  All of a sudden my adventure was over. It was time for me to get back on the metro and head back home.

Unlike some of the very elaborately decorated metro stations in Moscow, Pechatniki is nothing to write home about; brown rectangular pillars on the platform on both sides as in a central nave in a cathedral. It was built in 1995 according to the plaque and the floor is kept clean. Just before I descended underground and was welcomed by the loud screeching of the metal wheels on rails, I felt I was being asked when I would return. “Soon”, I answered, “before the first snowfall”. The forecast says the first part of this winter in Moscow is going to be colder than usual. I am bracing myself for it. That will be the best time for museum visits.