Most people will hate you.
She said, and promptly got down off her cross.
If you speak about Russia with any sort of nuance
1
Category Archives: Russia
A brief note on the Dyatlov Pass victims
Anna Arutunyan, my illustrious colleague, did a story this week on the Dyatlov Pass incident. The “incident” is really whatever it was that killed nine hikers on the appropriately named Mountain of the Dead in the Urals, in 1959. A new book has come out in Russia, and a new movie by Renny Harlin is coming out soon – so it only seemed appropriate to dig into the past again.
Whereas before I was pretty certain that, in spite of all of the entertaining conspiracy theories out there, it came down to an avalanche and the bizarre behavior that’s commonly associated with hypothermia, now I’m not so sure.
Maybe I’ve lived in Russia for too long – but military testing gone awry seems to be the more likely theory to me now. They did abandon their tent in a hurry – but they were also cutting it from the inside at first, making efforts to peek out and take a look at something. If the government was testing rockets in the area, they may have been confused about what they were seeing.
After that, it’s possible that panic set in when they left the tent. As Anna’s story notes, investigators concluded that at least three of them were trying to make their way back to the tent when they died. Still, their injuries, some of them downright strange (like skull damage with no visible bruising) invite other possibilities.
The conspiracy theories often obscure the sad awfulness of this story. You’ve got a bunch of student hikers off on an adventure – and you end up with this, with journalists still trying to pore over the details of the deaths decades later. A lot of the case files still remain top secret, in the meantime. I mean, yeah, this is Russia, where your grandma’s knitting patterns might wind up being labeled top secret, but still. I wish they would make more stuff public – though probably not under this administration.
The Dyatlov Pass story is a good reminded that the landscape never belongs to us. Especially not in Russia – but really, it doesn’t belong to us anywhere. It can turn on us in a second. So much of our art, so much of what we produce, is ultimately about that.
It’s Orthodox Christmas
And it’s about as un-Christmas like as I’ve had since moving to the Slavic world. Which isn’t to say that it’s a bad one, quite the opposite.
This old Tori Amos lyric keeps playing in my head: “And if you could see me now…” I’m not sure to whom it’s addressed to, though.
I keep thinking, “Well, anyone can see me, really. I am a very open person. Too open for my own good. But I’m too open – and too old – to regret that last bit.”
So much of growing up involves learning to go on. Not being dragged through life by fate or chance or one’s only halfway articulated longings, but going on. Accepting the paradox of being in charge of your own existence and not being in charge of anything at all. Getting up in the mornings without too much complaining. Calmly stirring your tea in a cafe, knowing full well that in the next minute, a person who will once again change your life, for better or for worse, may walk in – and not waiting for that person. Not waiting for the other shoe to drop. Not waiting for anything at all – except for the tea to get down to drinkable temperature, that is.
It’s likely that you have no idea as to what I’m talking about. Then maybe you are not a neurotic writer type – the one who sees a potential plot development in every snowflake that falls on the hero’s collar. Maybe you’ve always known what it’s like to let go. In that case, I envy and admire you.
You can see the paradox of free will and no will playing out in the expression of Bronzino’s Madonna here:
The Madonna with Child and Saints
I’m not going to comment on it, because it’s something you either see or don’t see.
I am learning to see.
Merry Christmas.
2012 was a dreamless kind of year
Because I virtually never slept long enough to see a proper dream.
Our film, “Katya, Vitya, Dima,” premiered in Istanbul and was shown at the Listapad Festival in Minsk. It’s now going to be included in an online festival organized by Novaya Gazeta, one of Russia’s most prominent independent newspapers.
Alexey also worked as one of the directors behind “Winter, Go Away!” a hilarious and sad documentary about modern politics in Russia – it premiered at Locarno and is still on the festival circuit. We showed it together with one of his co-directors, Anton Seregin, in Turin – and that was how I saw Italy for the first time.
I traveled way too much for an alleged mother of a toddler – to Turkey, to Greece, to the Black Sea, to Dubai. Italy was supposed to be the final trip this year, but then we bought plane tickets to Kiev at the last minute, and I am now writing this with a view of our old street, snowed under and encrusted with black ice, as shiny and treacherous as a mirror. The stray dogs were supposed to have been “taken care of” ahead of Euro 2012 this summer, but they are all back, and are as mournful late at night as they ever were.
My boss left The Moscow News, and I became the paper’s acting editor-in-chief. That hasn’t stopped me from staying true to myself, I don’t think. I still have my skull-patterned scarf. Our new chief editor of the website wears jeans with skulls on his bum, so you can say that we have genuine harmony in the office.
I started writing columns in Russian, and began publishing them in Moskovskiye Novosti, our sister paper. This is kind of a big deal for a person who never went to school in Russia. My latest column is about the cruel and self-defeating Dima Yakovlev Bill, which treats orphans not as human beings, but as the country’s strategic resources. In some ways, Russia has moved on from the anti-individualism of the USSR. In other ways, not so much. Or not yet, anyway.
We drove through hills with clouds snagged on top of them, blurring the sun and leaving trails like teardrops on the arms.
And Lev learned many important words. Such as “tea,” for example. On top of the whole walking thing, he’s been a real champ.
Happy New Year, yo. Say no to hard drugs and doomsday cults. Say yes to family bonds and dragons.
Don’t be afraid to get burned.
It’s Christmas at Ground Zero
I miss having a proper home on Christmas. Although then again, I’m lucky to have what I have. It’s not that the mantra, “Some people have it way worse” works. It doesn’t. It’s just that life is unpredictable enough as it is – and in Russia, the membrane of delusion that’s supposed to separate you from the grinding mechanisms of history is transparent-to-nonexistent. So there’s that.
The painful cold spell in Moscow has broken for now, and it’s snowing. I bought wine from Krasnodar and honey from Altai. Lev is enjoying the Pogues and Kristy MacColl. Alyosha is enjoying the fact that his computer freaked out and started working the second the repair man stepped through the door. “So happy Christmas. I love you baby. I can see a better time. When all our dreams come true.”
