Which Bykovo?

When we finally found the church, Our Lady of Vladimir (1789), I was overcome with a feeling of awe and disappointment simultaneously. It stood erect, beautifully restored in all its Neo-Gothic structure in an enclosed area of overgrown grass, surrounded by garbage of all kinds, and debris. I couldn't help feeling I had landed unexpectedly at a post-bombed site where this majestic symbol dating from the late 17^th century had survived.

A sleek black Mercedes decked with ribbons, flowers and gigantic, interlaced, gold wedding rings stood outside the gate prophesying a wedding. I wondered what it would be like to be dressed up in one’s finest on such a significant day, stepping over the garbage, choosing where to step, all decked up in an extremely expensive dress and matching high-heeled shoes. A bride could be seen coming out of one of the few houses scattered opposite the church – possibly a native of the village.

It had been an ordeal to get there so I was determined not to let the scenery, which turned out not to be as picture-perfect as I'd expected it to be, ruin my day and trip. On a very hot Saturday at the beginning of the summer, as people had started going to their dachas at weekends, I thought I’d make a cultural trip out of Moscow to this church I'd seen pictures of but knew little about. We made it to the train station just in time to make a run for the train which was about to close its doors, found a seat and settled in for the 50-minute ride.

It was a hot, noisy, uncomfortable affair. Once the train got out of the urban area though, the abundance of vegetation provided a bit of respite through the small windows. The noise however, never relented. The metal-on-metal screech from the train wheels on the rails was constant – so loud was it that the announcements for the next station were obliterated in the process. Fortunately, the platforms were visibly labeled, possibly as a precaution of the afore-mentioned situation, so we followed those and got off at the right station, or what we thought was the right station.

We asked for directions and followed them. The walk from the station took us through surroundings not representative of Europe in the least – open bags of garbage strewn around, empty bottles everywhere, muddy roads, pot-holed tarred roads…Teatralnaya Street was an unpaved back road with houses in disrepair. One such house was no different from the Adams' Family residence. It was just as spooky, as it looked lived-in and abandoned at the same time. My mouth was agape the whole time and I couldn't help wondering about the contrast between this place and other European towns and villages I'd seen all over. Were the people of a different race, I would easily have believed that I had been teleported to a place in Africa or somewhere in South East Asia. 

From the station at Bykovo, we could see some domes representative of a church although it did not look Gothic. We thought the town was in that direction and headed there. We were not surprised to find out that the church wasn't the one we were looking for – it would have been too easy. It still made for a nice photo session. The surroundings were well-kempt, with a beautiful war memorial where flowers had been deposited. A few ladies in scarves seemed to be guarding the area. We asked for directions to the one we were looking for and were directed to take a bus, ride for a certain amount of time and then ask for more directions after we got off. We asked if we weren't in Bykovo since we were being directed to another town altogether. We certainly were in Bykovo, but we needed to go to a different Bykovo. There was no telling whether it was the same town separated by other smaller ones, or whether they were different towns.

City-slickers as we were, in need of some exercise, we decided to forgo the bus and make our way there on foot. At a T, we saw the bus we had been advised to get on and decided to follow it. How hard can it be? Our walk took us through a market, a downtown area which reminded me of some of the small towns I’d seen in Kerala, in the south of India, and finally to an abandoned airport area fenced off amid high security with red signs and exclamation marks everywhere. We got the message. Unable to go further, we had to retrace our steps. At this point, we thought we had walked around the whole town. 

It was getting hot. We needed a drink and a bathroom and settled on finding one before trying for the church again. It was noon. We’d walked around for more than an hour and had no idea where to find this church despite the help available on all the modern gadgets in our possession.

We found a snack bar which provided us with all we needed. After the well-needed rest, we set off again, this time to get the bus. From the bus stop, we saw another church worthy of a visit and headed there. It really was worth the stop. It was a wooden structure ornamented with several domes, most of which were of the usual blue and gold design. The grounds were litter-free, and the church shone in all its glory. The letters XB were emblazoned at every entrance symbolizing Christ has risen. We walked around, took some pictures, admired its beautiful architecture and set off again on our quest. Two churches and a high security airport area down, but our goal seemed nowhere in sight.

Back at the bus stop, we realized we would have to wait for an hour in the heat and dirt. I suggested finding a taxi to end our misery. The driver of the first and only taxi we approached agreed to take us to our destination. His fare, which we'd arranged before settling in, made me suspicious, so I asked my friend to make sure he knew where we were going and how to get there. He assented eagerly pointing at the church we had just walked from which was literally a 10-second ride. Why he ever thought that two able-bodied people walking around would need a taxi for a distance of 50 meters is beyond me. Once it was clarified that we had just come from that church and were going to the Gothic church, he “realized his mistake” and said he couldn't take us there because his taxi was on order by another customer. I looked at the box of fresh, hot pizza he'd just placed on the passenger seat before starting the car and thought, “any means to make an easy buck.” 

Once again I was right – it would have been too easy. He did tell us though where to find a taxi. Eventually, we did, and this one charged us about the same fare as our pizza-ready previous driver. We ascertained he was taking us to the right place and hopped in. When we finally got to our destination, we realized that with our city-cockiness of not needing any means of transportation, we would not have made it before the end of the day, and even if we had taken the bus, it was still a long walk from the bus stop which the heat would have rendered very unpleasant. All the same, we had made it to the well-desired destination, and there it stood in all its glory. The initial shock worn off, I set off to explore, but not having a scarf and not willing to be disrespectful, I could only take a peek inside.

The façade is fitted with an extraordinary design of a curved, two-way staircase from the sides, meeting at the top entrance with turrets on each side. A walk around the manor church, as it is considered, reveals sculptures of possibly famous people carved into the stone walls. Columns supporting pyramid-like structures, arches big and small, windows which in the past may have been of stained-glass make up the sides of the church elevating it to its level of grandeur. A peek from the door revealed an altar with gold adornments and a very clean church with a few people lighting candles. Mass had probably ended given that it was past one when we got there. Away from the church stood a tall bell tower which would have shone more had its surrounding not been littered to the extent that they were.

After the wild goose chase which culminated in achieving my goal, I was satisfied with what I had seen. It is certainly worth a visit as an out of town trip to see a curiosity. It is certainly not a tourist attraction which is why it was difficult to find and possibly why no one thought the surroundings were worth the trouble keeping immaculate. All in all, it had been a good day out. We’d seen the church and it was time to go back to Moscow where my neighborhood, which I had never had anything nice to say about had all of a sudden taken on the appearance of 5^th Avenue.

It had been a long day and it was time to get back home. When the gypsy cab dropped us off at the station, we realized it wasn't where we had come in. A lot of the explanation from the driver as to why we were at this station got lost in the heat and my tiredness. I just needed to get back on the train to “civilization.” For the first time, unlike on other occasions, I was relieved to be back in Moscow and was thankful I was not one of the regular commuters on that train.

Of Summer and Dachas

They normally go together in Russia, and are eagerly looked forward to once the sun is out again towards the end of spring; the countryside, barbecuing, lounging on river banks or the lakeside, orchards, vegetable gardens, fresh produce, and generally good weather symbolizing a break from the harsh, long winters. The chosen destination this time was Kolomna – not to a dacha, but as if it were.

The article I’d read about the town rated it very highly. As a matter of fact, it is in competition with other towns for the Russia10 award with its Kremlin as an emblematic monument. It was established a few decades after Moscow had been, making them contemporaries. Boasting a well-kept Kremlin, the confluence of three rivers and easy access from Moscow, by car or public transport. The forecast announced not only rain, but thunderstorms. All the same, I decided to take a chance. I am not one of the fortunate ones with a dacha to go to, but that never stopped anyone from going on a day trip outside the city. 

It would be a nice way to spend Sunday, I thought to myself, and refuel me for the week of hard work ahead. And so it was that I talked a colleague into going with me to explore another one of Russia’s finest. We had decided to take a bus in and play the return by ear. The end of the southernmost tip of the purple line on the metro leads to the station from where the buses depart to Kolomna as well as a range of other destinations. We were early enough to make it for the 09.25, and all had gone smoothly until we decided on a visit to the ladies room before we embarked on the almost two-hour journey.

It stands to reason that people on a commute, or a long bus journey for that matter, might have the urge to relieve themselves, and facilities for those needs would be provided at the bus station. We were wrong. At times like this, I am happy when my travelling companion is Russian, so it doesn't sound as if I am making a judgment from a from a foreign perspective. No toilets at the bus station, or at any of the snack bars or restaurants in the vicinity either. A few blue and green stand-alone boxes with a 25-ruble charge were available for that - non-flushable toilets. I caught a whiff, to put it mildly, of the stench from about a few few feet away of the closed boxes - a play of the two hours ahead on the bus in my mind did not look bright.

The dark interior, ominous-looking bar we had avoided as we walked up and down both pavements was the only place left to try. Mustering confidence, we marched in and headed for the counter encased behind a glass wall. That should suggest something, in a bar. I confidently asked for a can of Red Bull. My request was not honored. The lady offered me something I didn't want instead. I then asked if there were any toilets - no need beating about the bush any more. She said they did, but wasn't sure if security would let us in. She then suggested we buy something, even if it was only juice. I gladly paid the equivalent of four dollars for the miniature, snack-size box of juice to use the facility. My travel companion went in first and came out with a look conveying a sense of foreboding. Either way, I had no choice. When I finally went in, the look I'd seen confirmed my suspicion, and not only because it was a hole to squat in. Done. At least, I could wash it all off my hands and relax on the trip to Kolomna.

The driver, the attendant, the passengers, all secured in their seats, we pulled out and hit the highway. And with that, the on-board movie; a Russian comedy about country dwellers raising and training cows, not bulls, to compete in a race, came on to keep us all quiet till our destination. It was a nice drive along roads flanked by fully-leafed trees which a few weeks ago were completely bare, covered in snow, and sometimes icicles. The further out we drove, the more peaceful it felt. It was definitely a cure to drain all the city built-up tension in the muscles, which living in Moscow definitely contributes to accumulating. I now have no doubt why Muscovites leave the city in droves on Friday.

The smooth ride through placid, pastoral scenery, past dachas, along rivers, over bridges connecting small towns, and the anticipation of discovering a new jewel would have been enough for me to ignore the movie had it not been for the loud, deafening, obstreperous snoring from the woman, no less, two seats behind. I had initially thought it was the man behind me. I turned back to say something only to find him wide awake, but the woman behind him had her head thrown back, mouth wide open, feeling at home. A cartoon picture would depict her with upper case ZZZZZZZZZs bursting out of her orifices. I saw the attendant walk up on two occasions during which there was a momentary lull in the snoring. I may be wrong, but that seemed to be her occupation on the bus as I saw her do nothing else except ask as where we were getting off. Our doubt as to which stop, since it was our first trip to Kolmna, did not in any way prompt her to offer any help. 

I sat, half enjoying the scenery with occasional glances at the screen, disturbed by the obnoxious snoring.

The wall of the big, brown brick fortress surrounded by a moat welcomed us into the city after about an hour and the half on the bus. The trip had taken shorter because there hadn't been any traffic. Inevitably, we got off at the wrong stop for the Kremlin, but being a small city, retracing our steps posed no difficulty. Walking on the main road, I spotted a few stalls in an alley and suggested we walk through. It turned out to be a market. A morning walk through stalls of colorful produce and fruit was what I needed to start the morning. I bought some grapes and cherries and was grateful I wasn't ripped off. The market stretched to the main road with a tram station where we made a loop back to where we’d started.  

Just then we needed to get out our umbrellas. Throughout the day, it spat and drizzled on and off, but it was never hard enough to seek shelter.

We stopped at a famous American fast food chain on the way to the Memorial Park to use a clean bathroom and have some coffee. As we walked through the city, I could not cease to be surprised by how clean it was. It was definitely cleaner than Moscow. It was also surprising not to see any of the fluff from poplar trees floating around getting in one’s eyes, nose and mouth, into rooms needing to be vacuumed and dusted more than regularly. In Moscow, it is inevitable to feel overwhelmed by fighting it off as these unwelcome members of nature invade the environment getting in your eyes or any possible open orifice. Not having to fight the fluff was certainly an added bonus to the trip.

We walked past Kolomna Hotel to the Memorial Park with well-kempt lawns as could be seen all over the city, monuments in memory of victims from the different wars and even to those who succumbed to the disaster of the Chernobyl nuclear plant in 1986. It was probably too early for families to come out for walks and kids to play. Aside from us, there was just another woman pushing a stroller along the very quiet and peaceful paths. The serenity would have been perfect were it not for a couple who had chosen a bench in this peaceful place to make up after what sounded like a serious row. The man’s pleadings echoed through the quiet park, “But do you love me? But do you really love? Well, then tell me you love me and you have forgiven me.” 

She seemed hesitant to do so and kept feeding him evasive messages. This song and dance went on throughout our walk. They were there when we got into the park and still were when we left.

We stopped by the gigantic monument to the Unknown Soldier in the form of a head with a hard hat on, raised on a long platform of concrete slabs with the eternal flame burning. A row of busts on columns, each with the name of a war hero and significant dates, lined another walkway. An orthodox church under renovation was also enclosed on the grounds, and of course Lenin with his right arm raised in salute to the people, all surrounded by healthy leafy trees. I could have sat there all day, but the Kremlin awaited.

The people of Kolomna hold their Soviet era in very high esteem as we saw on the walk back to the Kremlin.

We were received with a warm welcome of paintings and a photography exhibition. A permanent triptych shows Dimitry Donskoi, the Russian knight (1350-1389), leading his army on a beautiful white horse, people by the road in the countryside in Kolomna, through which he led his army, displaying their beloved icons, and the Battle of Kulikovo (1380) during which the Russians defeated the Mamai Hordes. Churches, a convent, statues to commemorate the patron saints of Russian literacy, Kiril and Mefodi, several restored buildings and the confluence of the rivers all make up the beauty of the Kremlin where I could have spent all day sitting on the benches in the clean, calm areas provided for recreation. 

Leaving Kolomna, its Kremlin and Memorial Park in exchange for the din and grime back in Moscow was a difficult choice, but alas, it had to be done. In order to enjoy more of what this tranquil, monument-filled city had to offer we chose to walk to the train station with enough time to get the 17 something back to Kazanskiy Vokzal.

It proved to be a very worthwhile, pleasant, relaxing walk, but once out of the center, the scenery was slightly little different, as is usually the case. The main thoroughfare is October Revolution Street from where the Kremlin’s remaining towers – Kolomenskaya, Granitovaya and Yamskaya are easily visible. We walked towards the station along streets with names like Leo Tolstoy, Veterinary and a few back alleys which looked nothing like the areas surrounding the memorial park and the Kremlin where we'd been. I got gawked at for looking different, people would draw their neighbor's attention to look at the “rarity” passing by. On more than one occasion my travel companion asked if I was comfortable walking in those neighborhoods. “Why wouldn’t I be?” I asked. 

Finally, we made it to the train station only to find out that the number 5 tram and number 1 bus which had passed us a few times were making their way there as well. I wouldn't have missed the back roads scenery for anything in the world.

We got on the noisy, suburban train after a short wait. On our way back to Moscow, the train passed by several of the places where I would rather be than on the train. There were woods with families sitting out enjoying the fresh air and cooler temperatures I'm sure the houses did not provide. Barbecues were up and running with hungry faces waiting for their chow. A very bucolic, serene and jovial atmosphere accompanied us on the ride till the train made a stop at Bykovo, snapping me out of my colorful, relaxing reverie – a story I’ll tell on another occasion. 

After I’d recovered from that memory, I managed to get myself back in the serene mood I wanted for the rest of the journey till Moscow. People got on and off the train. The closer we got to Moscow, the more cellphones were in use to contact loved-one about their imminent arrival, where they currently were on the rails, when and where to meet, how the day had gone… they couldn't wait to meet to let it all out. Finally we pulled in at the station, everybody rushed off as if someone had shouted “fire, fire!” and joining the never- decreasing hordes in Moscow, I made my way back to my apartment.