I don't think I need to remind you, dear reader, that Moscow is a big city. Although no one knows for sure, some people estimate there are at least 13 million people living in the metropolitan area, and some estimates are higher. As thrilling as city life is, sometimes it can be overwhelming. Everywhere you turn there is chaos, noise, people, cars.
Although many people love the city life, I have to admit sometimes I just want to run off somewhere where there is nature, and I can get away from the traffic and chaos of the Metro that I ride at least several hours every day. Which is part of the reason why my friend Luke and I found ourselves in Vladimir on a Monday morning, with our gear, unsure of what would happen next. Don't worry, we weren't ditching school, it just happened to be a holiday.
What followed was a pleasant surprise: as usual, with my low expectations, I was amazed at how beautiful Vladimir was. Like many of the other small towns outside of Moscow, the wealth of history is incredible, and the architecture can be breathtaking. When the town is tiny, with modest buildings that are only a few stories tall, the churches always stand out on the horizon, to impose themselves on the newcomer. As we drove by each town on our 3 hour bus trip, it was hard to decide which church we liked best. Each time we were sure that "that one was the prettiest," another one would show up on the side of the road, and we'd have to rethink our decision.
But by that evening, we had our answer. We knew quite well that there was one church better than the rest. Above all, Luke was determined to go to Bogolyubova. "Bugah what?" I had to ask a dozen times at least, the name was so ridiculous and impossible to pronounce. The town was so tiny, even in comparison to Vladimir. But nothing was as tiny as the church. It was probably the most humble four square church I had seen in Russia thus far, perched on its tippie toes on the corner of a frozen lake. It was so modest, so simple, yet as the sun began to set as the backdrop to a silent flurry of snow over this silent lake, we knew. What this church lacked in size in grandeur, it made up in natural beauty. The serenity and and simplicity of what was outside was 100 times more potent than anything could have been created by man. "If there was a time to believe in God, it would be now," murmered my new friend Diana, as we stood in awe, watching the sun set. All I could say was, "I love Russia. What a beautiful country."
Perhaps one of the best surprises was the people we met in Vladimir. Full of energy, our new acquaintances quickly became our friends, as eager and energetic to see their hometown through our tourist eyes. I realized, not for the first time, that as usual the stereotypes were wrong. Russians aren't always cranky and serious, like the ones that push me around on the metro every morning. In fact, these people we hardly knew eagerly shared their town with us, and invited us to dinner and to stay in their house! As we sat listening to Tchaikovsky on a record player in an old Soviet style apartment, I couldn't help but smile. This is the Russia you dream of, full of laughter, philosophical conversations, and Tchaikovsky. And that's when I knew that my adventures outside of Moscow could be some of the most rewarding experiences, bringing me closer to understanding a Russia outside of that big ever consuming universe that is Moscow.
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