The first time we got out of the bus in what was basically the middle of nowhere was the first time since arriving in Ulan-Ude that I actually felt I was looking at Siberia. The landscape was really not much different compared to the western US, and it looked a lot like places in Colorado, New Mexico, or really anywhere near those two states. What made it different, at least for where we were, was the small village near the river, which was more underdeveloped, or perhaps less modern would be the better wording, than any small towns in the US. None of the buildings have any height to them, and the housing was underdeveloped, at the least compared Ulan-Ude. There was a lack of treeline and greenness as seen from the top of the hill I climbed, but the complete silence only disturbed by the wind was what defined this spot for me. The landscape was not vibrant, but the vastness combined with the absence of apparent wildlife and sound in an area not far from a village made me realize that this is nothing compared to parts of Siberia where there would be no civilization for miles upon miles.

I think then that anywhere it is safe to visit, travel to, or camp, meaning you could be rescued in case of emergency with relative ease, cannot be used to truly experience Siberia. The catch is then that the only way to truly experience Siberia would be to hop out into the middle of absolute nowhere and try to survive, so for normal people, I don’t think its possible to ever understand Siberia by simply going to civilized areas.

One other thing that stood out to me in a few places was the rather common abandoned buildings, mainly in Kyakhta and Novoselenginsk. The reason they seemed strange to me was because the buildings are mostly either made of brick or concrete, which compared to most of the housing, is more modern. Across from the cafe we ate at in Novoselenginsk is a collapsed concrete building, with broken glass scattered across the ground, which was already filled up with small blocks of concrete and other debris. Still, people live in houses right next to it, completely ignoring whatever was there before. In Kyakhta we visited a large abandoned customs complex, where the buildings were intact, but inside there was trash littered everywhere. Vegetation was overtaking the courtyard, graffiti depicting messages as well as phallic imagery is scattered throughout, and the walls look to literally be crumbling. Despite this, people were still working out of one of the buildings in the complex, which astounded me because I would say this was one of the most “abandoned” places I had ever been, yet here there were people completely ignoring the decrepit surroundings to get to their place of work, similar to those living near the collapsed building in Novoselenginsk. Knowing a general history of at least Kyakhta, I think the abandoned complex is a good representation of what the area once was. It was a major trade center for the tea road during the 19th century, but of course, the world and its economy change, and the complex is a living reminder of how important the city used to be, but now, there is practically nothing there.

When I inevitably get asked how my trip to Siberia and Baikal was, I am going to do my best to describe it on a term-by-term basis. I want to talk about my impressions of each specific area, because honestly, I didn’t like everywhere we went. In reality, I would not go back to Kyakhta, because truthfully, there’s not much there. One can describe a landscape as beautiful, but would I describe the abandoned buildings as beautiful? Probably not, but it’s essential that we went there, and other places along the way, because otherwise, I would be keen on talking about how awesome Siberia is, when I would actually be talking about how much I loved Baikal, my favorite part but also a small part of the region. We only traveled around a minor fraction of Siberia, but even in that small fraction we saw major differences, good and bad, and that was necessary to getting us the most out of our experience by pushing out of our comfort zone, and getting as close as we can to actually experiencing “true” Siberia, despite that being practically impossible.

A couple of my runs were rather early in the morning, starting before 7:30, and they were definitely my favorite because they were stress-free. The sun wouldn’t be too strong, I would see very few people along the path, ans it was never too hot. I didn’t really have to pay attention to anything, and I could just run with my music and a clear mind. When the weather was bad, the path was quite empty as well.

A rainy day with no one on the path

Running at any other time of the day was usually pretty terrible, especially on weekdays. Bikers would speed from both directions completely ignoring the bike paths clearly marked on the road and would often just graze by me, despite me being nowhere near where they should be biking. Rollerbladers would stretch out across the entire bike path to gain maximum speed. Squads of people riding scooters would take up half of the road. This, combined with the constant construction that seemed to be going on along the entire path, was not what I wanted to be dealing with. I basically had to have complete 360 degree awareness of who was to the sides of me, who was coming up behind me, how I was going to weave through the mass of people coming towards me, and when to move off the road because a giant construction truck was plowing through the one side of the road it can drive on. I even tried going for a run on a weekday night, starting at 10:30 pm, and the crowds turned out to actually be just as bad as they were in the middle of the day. All these people have a right to be there, but the problem was I just wanted to run while listening to music, and that really wasn’t possible unless I wanted to wake up early every day, which I didn’t.

Picture of Sparrow Hills lookout crowd

I only went for one run while in Siberia, but it was one of the greatest runs and experiences of my life, because it was a complete contrast of everything I had to deal with in Moscow. While we were in Ust-Barguzin, I woke up early and couldn’t fall back asleep, so I thought I would just go for a run. I downed my cup of coffee, looked at the map on my phone and took off trying to get to the shore of Baikal. It took less than 5 minutes to find a path away from the town and into the forest, and instantly I knew that I was going to have to deal with absolutely no one, and it was amazing. Running on the sandy path was pretty annoying, but not having to worry about my surroundings made that insignificant (though I did look around somewhat frequently to make sure I wasn’t being chased by a stray dog or bear).

Some photos of the way to the shore

I simply kept running and knew that I would eventually hit the shore, and when I did, I basically stopped in my tracks. The view of the lake was enamoring, but I stopped mostly because I realized this was the first time in probably forever that I truly was alone. I was over a mile away from the town and I saw absolutely no one on the coast or any boats on the water. I honestly cannot think of a time when I actually was that far away from any other person, by myself and not with someone else. I continued to run along the coast up toward the mouth of the river and still saw no one, only the town in the not-too-far distance. Remnants of the ocean and boats were scattered along the shore, but overall I was pleasantly suprised by the lack of trash.

I wouldn’t say this run was a “life-changing experience”, but it certainly was something I didn’t know I needed. Being able to be completely alone gave me an hour to be completely free of any concern, whether that meant worrying about obligations or simply other people. After 8 weeks straight of class, excursions, and the constant feeling to have to be out and about in Moscow doing something, it was refreshing to be completely separated from any of that, albeit for a small amount of time. I now know that back at home I am going to drive away from my neighborhood and go to somewhere more natural when running to, so that I can try to replicate this sense of removal to some degree.

My first lesson with Viktor Ivanovich Lyadov was not easy. Even though I was playing new pieces and I expected to need a lot of help, the level of detail he went into was unlike any of my lessons in the United States. He would tell me how to improve a particular passage, I would understand what he wants me to do, then he would play it himself to show exactly what he means, then I would sit down and completely struggle. I knew exactly what I needed to do, I just couldn’t do it immediately. I could do it after several tries, and I knew when it sounded right, but it could never do something consistently. He knew this was new for me and very difficult, and I am truly grateful he has the patience of a saint.

After going over one thing for any particular passage, he would then tell me another thing I couldn’t do right off the bat, and it would all begin to stack up with several things to keep track of by the time we moved on. The prime example I can think of is when we were working on the first movement of Scriabin’s Second Sonata, specifically two lines. I remember what he said so well because these two lines are not difficult to play because there is not much going on note wise, and it is a rather slow and emotive passage but things began to escalate once we started going over it.

First off, the left hand has to be shaped in a way where the middle of the three notes in each set of three notes connected by the slurs has to be the peak of the set, but not necessarily “louder”.
He described it was sounding like a wave.

Second, the right hand has to be melodic, yet the difficulty was that only the top note of each chord in the right hand is the melody so that needs to be the loudest. I figured that having the top note be the loudest would be sufficient, but he threw me for a loop when he explained that after the top note being the loudest, the next loudest is the bottom note, and the quietest. Yet altogether, the chord has to be pianissimo. He drew a picture for me of this (as well as the previous part about the left hand) which you can see below.

Third, there was a specific way to slur the phrases that I had never done before. Usually when you slur notes, you simply play pick up your finger from the previous note as you are playing the next note so that you cannot hear any gaps between two notes. Here, he explained to me a way to slur them where you do not pick up your finger as you play the next note but instead wait a moment and then stop playing the previous note. This means that for a split second you are essentially sounding two notes at once, rather than just one after another like with normal legato.

Fourth, I was introduced to a more controlled use of the pedal. Before, I had thought there were three states the pedal could be in: all the way down, halfway down, or all the way up. He showed me the effect of sounds and textures you can get by having the pedal at much more precise intervals. Here, the ideal pedaling would be 5-25% all the way down, and at first, I didn’t believe it would do anything until he showed me himself. Using the pedal at such small but precise intervals makes it so that the sound between notes does carry over a little, but it does not become as muddy as it does when using full pedal, or even half pedal.

The last thing I remember about this section was to approach playing each hand note necessarily like I am playing piano, but as if the left hand is a cello, and the right hand is a violin. I have literally never played either of those instruments, so I was puzzled as to how to imitate them even though I agree with him that that is how this part should sound.

So all of this was for two lines which before I thought were not particularly difficult. A few of these things are applicable to other parts of the piece, but then other parts have their own approaches, as well as new things to keep track of. It was extremely difficult to not just apply all of this at once for only a few lines as we were working on it, but аlso to move on and not forget everything we had just gone over and have to start from square one on another section.

I would never have gone over anything like this in detail at probably any normal lesson in the US. I think the main difference between my lessons with Viktor Ivanovich and my lessons in the US is that my American teachers are much more hands-off than Viktor Ivanovich. I have played enough piano to learn the notes to the pieces I want to play, and so when I need help with a particularly technically difficult section they can help, but for the most part, I don’t need any help learning the notes. The main thing I think is that they don’t want to force me to play a piece in a certain way. They will offer suggestions on how to interpret a piece, but to tell me exactly how to play it would hurt the integrity of how I want to play a piece, or I how I think it should sound, and I completely understand that; however, I think that comes back to my original problem of not knowing how to play a piece with more emotion. I don’t want to be told how to interpret a piece, but at the same time, I need to know how to interpret the piece more, which doesn’t really make any sense, until now.

Viktor Ivanovich did not tell me how exactly I should play any given piece, but showed me that any given piece has more intricacies than I realize. With more details to focus on at any given moment, that gives me more control over how I want to shape those details to my liking, but actually paying attention to all those details requires magnitudes more focus than I have ever put into my practice. That is one of the main things that separates me from a professional pianist, or even a conservatory student. From now on, I am going to pay much more attention during practice, and I know that means lot more effort in order to retain and develop the things I learned from Viktor Ivanovich, but my time with him was truly a once in a lifetime experience that will help me for the rest of my life with piano.

It became immediately obvious walking into the cemetery that it was not a place for tourists. Aside from modestly sized statue at one end, there are no large structures or monuments. It is a place for people to mourn those lost during the Siege of Leningrad, as well as the war in general, not a place to take pictures. The most striking part to me was the fact that there is no way to know who exactly is buried under the dozens and dozens of mounds. This was absolutely horrid to me, and the fact that over 500,000 people are buried throughout the cemetery makes it worse, but I would like to think that the cemetery is able to provide a place for present-day Russians to have a physical place to associate their lost family members too. Without the cemetery, all those that died in the siege and the war without anyone’s knowledge are completely lost. The cemetery stands as a reminder of the utter devastation of life that took place, and that is what made my heart sink. You don’t need to be a Russian or know someone who died to sympathize.

The monument to the Heroic Defenders of Leningrad was in a similar vein for me, though unlike the cemetery, it is not meant to be subtle or unnoticed. Whereas the cemetery is a place of remembrance of those lost to during the siege, the monument here to me was more a place of remembrance of the entire city’s victory of the war.

The museum and name itself (“Heroic Defenders”) made me think it was more about the strength of the people St. Petersburg rather than about strictly about those lost to the war. The museum displayed many artifacts from the time of the war, and how the city was able to survive the siege and the war. For what the cemetery is, and what the monument represents, I’m not sure I could come up with a better way to structure them. They are both quiet and solemn, but the cemetery is modest, while the monument is grandiose, and I think that is how they should be.

Having seen photos of Park Pobedy before actually visiting, I expected it to be much like the monument in St. Petersburg, and the main similarity is the towering obelisk which stands in front of the museum building.

However, the statues under each of the obelisks differ greatly. The statue under the Leningrad monument is of two men, one a worker holding a hammer, the other a soldier holding a gun. Under the obelisk at Park Pobedy stands a statue of the famous depiction of St. George slaying a dragon.

This was the first thing that stood out to me, and after entering the Great Patriotic War Museum, I realized that Park Pobedy is not the same as the places from St. Petersburg: it is not as modest.

The museum displayed hundreds of artifacts from the war, many of them being weaponry.

One of the things that struck me was a replica of the front of the Reichstag, where Russian graffiti is written all over the columns standing on the front steps. There are several dioramas which depict various battles, such as the Battle of Stalingrad, as well as the invasion of Berlin. The brutality of the war is shown, but there is a clear focus on the utter defeat over the Nazis, as seen in the diorama of the destruction of Berlin and a battle which depicts Soviet soldiers killing Nazi soldiers in face-to-face combat. Behind the museum, there is a also large exhibit of replicas of all the tanks, planes, trains, and boats used throughout the war.

Having seen the Victory Day parade only a few days before visiting Park Pobedy I can’t say I was too surprised by the glorification of the war at the museum there. I had seen first hand that the country enjoys putting its power on display, and in reality, the US is just as guilty in glorifying the armed forces and war in general, so it’s not just a Russian thing. In the context of the cemetery and monument in St. Petersburg, however, I can see why this victory and war is so important for the country. Leningrad went from a population of 3.5 million to 700 thousand due to the siege, and the Soviet Union in total lost over 20 million people. It was a defining moment in the country’s history, and it would be ignorant of me to judge an entire culture because I can’t even relate to what occurred. The differences between these three places made me realize that Russia is truly not the clear-cut warmongering nation that the media can portray it to be.

The first time we went to the region, we got off the metro at 1905 Street, and were immediately confronted by a huge monument to the 1905 Revolution. It takes up the better part of a city block, a formidable testimony to the world-shaking events of 1905.

This roughly hewn obelisk reads: “To the heroes of the December armed uprising of 1905.” This, like the bigger monument, memorializes the beginning of the Russian Revolution.

At one end of the park where the rock and statue of Lenin was this wall which holds a quote from Lenin, which translates to: “The feat of the Presnya workers was not in vain, their sacrifices were not in vain”.

Had it not been for the wall with Lenin’s quote, the obelisk, or the statue of the two children, it would be difficult to know that the neighborhood (or at least the part we were in) holds historical or cultural significance. The park is surrounded by residential buildings, and none of the buildings near the station or nearby the park stand out. Aside from the monuments, this area of Presnenskii was overall unremarkable.

We managed to ask an elderly woman in the park what she thought of the area, and she was very positive. She said she likes living in the area, and that there is a senior center where they can dance and eat. She also mentioned that many different people live in the neighborhood, but specify what “different” meant. Throughout the park were also several painters, though they were not painting pictures of the neighborhood. Compared to other areas of Moscow, this area of Presnenskii was quiet and laid-back, which is probably what makes it a good area to live in, away from the buzz of the rest of the city.

The second time we went to the neighborhood, it was with our student assistant Liza Kurakina. She showed us the well-loved zoo, where we saw plenty of Russian families and couples enjoying the afternoon, and we even got to see polar bears.

Below is the TASS building, center of the Russian news agency that has been around since 1902. TASS is the largest Russian news agency, and it is owned by the government of Russia.

This is also the region of Moscow where the poet Pushkin was married. The church is the yellow building on the left of the picture, hidden by trees. In the center of the picture is a monument to the wedding of Pushkin to Natalia Goncharova.

Monuments are frequently found in this region, and so we inferred that this region has been significant for image-makers of the state, at least since the Soviet period. Though, the monument to Pushkin and his wife also shows a desire by the state to celebrate the older history of the region. The Presnenskii region is an interesting mix of these older monuments, churches, and homes with big box stores and ordinary people.

Notes:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/TASS

Pushkin statue photo

Vladimir has about 3% the population of Moscow and thus was significantly different in terms of what caught my eye. There are no towering buildings, and although there are still large blocks of residential and business buildings, they are not very tall or elaborate. In Moscow, when you are near the center of the city (or even far away), you can most of the time use one of the tall buildings (for me, ГЗ of МГУ) as a visual landmark to take note of where you are in the city. In most places, you can probably see a towering building either nearby or in the distance. Obviously, you can’t do this in Vladimir. I think the effect of having no massive, extravagant buildings to reference myself to, and most importantly, to compare other buildings to, made the interesting buildings I did see not just more visually appealing, but more memorable. The Dormition Cathedral is probably the “main” cathedral of Vladimir, and to be honest, if it were to be instead in Moscow, I probably wouldn’t be too impressed with it, as I would be comparing it to either St. Basil’s or that super tall building down the street. It would be great to have an unbiased opinion on everything I see, but unfortunately I am going to be comparing everything I see to the best thing I have already seen; however, I didn’t encounter this problem in Vladimir. There was nothing greater than the Dormition Cathedral, St. Demetrius’s Cathedral, and the Golden Gate, and so they hold more power to me when they would probably be “average” buildings to me if saw them in Moscow.

                        My amazing picture of the Dormition Cathedral in Vladimir

This effect was unsurprisingly greatest in Suzdal, where there was a significant lack of any modern or Soviet-era buildings. Everything was small, and though there were plenty of churches, cathedrals, and monasteries, they all stood out on their own, simply because they are taller and more elaborate than the small, rather uninteresting buildings that sparsely surrounds them; however, they don’t dominate their surroundings like Moscow’s structures. The pointed tops of all the religious buildings can clearly be distinguished from the surrounding buildings, and from the top of the Prepodobenskaya Bell Tower practically all of them can be seen, but at the same time, they don’t “hide” the other buildings, perceptually (they don’t significantly draw your attention away) or physically.

Three different views from the top of Prepodobenskaya Bell Tower

A picture taken from the lookout point on Sparrow Hills

A picture taken in Zaryadye Park

What I have described about the building differences is blatantly obvious, as all three towns are different sizes and histories. Of course Suzdal is not going to have skyscrapers or giant Soviet buildings: it’s only a town of 10,000 people. It’s the same as literally anywhere else in the world. But I didn’t really think about this until arriving in Suzdal. At no point in my life has overstimulation ever been a problem for me. It just doesn’t happen in Northfield, or back home in the Chicago suburbs, or anywhere else I have lived. I have never spent more than one week in a major city, so this is a completely new experience for me. Being able to see each individual building in plain sight from the top of the Bell Tower made me realize that sensory overload is a real problem, and can happen from being in Moscow for only one month. I don’t mean that I am sick with an actual disorder, but that from simply walking around the city on a daily basis, my perception of anything new is distorted. I’ve already seen all the really cool stuff, so how am I supposed to be in awe of something I see as lesser? Being conscious of this problem certainly helps, but unfortunately, it doesn’t completely shake it.

It is unfortunate that it wasn’t until our trip to Vladimir and Suzdal that I came to the realization that I am too dismissive of the things I pass by in Moscow, but I am glad to have realized this upon arrival to Suzdal. I was able to appreciate Vladimir and Suzdal for what they had, rather than setting myself up for disappointment by always comparing them to what’s in Moscow. I want to be more attentive to the little things not just in Moscow, but in St. Petersburg, Irkutsk, Ulan-Ude, and at Lake Baikal, so that I can bring back better memories rather than just the “big” things, or, what any given tourist is going to remember.

One source of presentability I think could be the grand architecture which is present on nearly every corner throughout the city. The color palette of the many buildings is light: white, yellow, cream, and light grey. Of course, there is also plenty of red in and around the Kremlin, but in general, there are not a lot of dark buildings. With clothing and cars, light colors look great, but are difficult to keep clean, so when I see that these light colored buildings are rather clean, I think to myself that these buildings are somehow fancier, regardless of whether that is true.

Not every building is as tall as the main building (ГЗ), but their sheer length and continuity still catches the eye. I can tell that the differences between not just American cities but also European cities I have been to,”similar” cities such as London and Berlin, are quite obvious, even if I can’t specifically say why. Everything is just grander and more extravagant (I know it’s a terrible description, but I don’t want to and don’t know how to delve into exact architectural differences).

One of my greatest surprises was the general tidiness and cleanliness of the city that I was not expecting, likely due to the reluctance and sometimes utter refusal in American media and culture to believe that Russia could be anything like the US. I have often seen road cleaning trucks along the roads and paths along the river. The underground walkways, which I thought would be a hotspot for trash and buffoonery, are completely fine. In reality, it’s like most other American and European cities, and I am glad I was proved otherwise.

I realize I only have a broad generalization of Moscow based on the small fragments which I’ve seen, but I think this generalization on the extravagance and cleanliness of the city is linked to my perception of presentability through clothing, not just at MSU but in the public as well. I have seen the parts of Moscow that most foreigners would go see, and these parts are visually appealing and kempt. This doesn’t mean that everywhere else is gritty, dirty, and not worth seeing, but just that it seems that the city really cares about what makes Moscow Moscow, and not just another megacity. The public fashion sense seems to reflect the city’s elegance and effort to maintain it for everyone that lives and visits the city.

I knew coming to Russia that people in Moscow dress up, and in general, this has been true. My clothing here sticks out: my shoes don’t always match the rest of my clothes, some of the colors I wear are too bright, and my coat just isn’t long enough. It’s just not in my blood to have amazing fashion sense, and I’m jealous I can’t look as sleek as the guys here. For girls, it’s a completely different nightmare, and I do not have the fashion knowledge to reliably comment on it.

This phenomenon of great fashion is not just at MSU, either. In the waiting area in the hospital where we received our shots for encephalitis, there was a large mirror on the wall. I noticed that woman after woman, most of them middle-aged, would walk up to the mirror and spend a couple of minutes adjusting their hair and coat before heading out. The thing is, it was snowing quite heavily, so their efforts were in vain as they put hats on anyway.

My comments on the fashion I have observed so far is not meant to be condescending in the sense that I think people here care too much about how they look. Rather, I see it as a mutual agreement to look good for both oneself and for others. When you go to class, or do something as simple as meeting someone for food, dressing nicely is an indicator that you respect the person you are spending time with, whether it is a teacher or a friend. I don’t expect to elevate my fashion sense to the next level while I am here, but this realization is something I will keep in mind not just now but when I return home, because I do see the value in making oneself presentable for self-respect, respect for someone else’s time, as well as the respect by being a reflection of the environment one lives in.