Epic Journeys

As the bus moved off I stood on a gravel median. Traffic had picked up so I carefully wend my way across the street. The fence was quite old and soon I found a board that was loose. Swinging it to the side I peeked within. There inside were hundreds of stone monuments. I carefully squeezed through the opening and realized I was standing in a cemetery. Looking left and right it stretched as far as the dimensions of a football field. Walking into the midst of the memorials I looked closely at the writings on the stones. It was in Cyrillic alphabet and so I was not able to read the names. As far as I could see there were only grave markers. They were mostly of stone but some were of wood. Lonely trees stood vigil over the souls resting in the frozen ground below. Their skeleton branches mimicking the bones of men and women who once walked upon the earth. 

 

I wandered and wondered about this empty space. It was clearly a Christian cemetery as all of the markers had a cross etched into their front with names and dates listed below. As I examined the numbers I began to see a pattern. All of the dates were before 1930. Slowly it dawned on me. In the Soviet Union religion was denigrated. Communism was proudly atheist. Religious burials were most likely prohibited or at least frowned upon. Here was an awkward remnant of another era. It was cruelly ignored and one day possibly erased.

 

It was yet another reminder of the pressure to conform to the dictates of the State. Even one’s deceased relatives were relegated to the dustbin of history. I asked Svetlana about my discovery later at lunch. She replied quite cooly that only old women were interested in religion. The new generation was not involved in or drawn to the superstitions of the Church. 

 

Later that day we had an opportunity to visit another cemetery. This one was prominently built for easy access by hundreds of people at a time. It was the Memorial to the Dead who lost their lives during the years-long Siege of Leningrad. For nearly 1,000 days during WW II the German Army pummeled the city and its inhabitants. Famously, Dimitri Shostakovich wrote and conducted his 5th Symphony one night by an eclectic orchestra. It was a heroic feat during a tragic time for the inhabitants. In all over 800,000 lives were lost in the blockade. 

 

As our group gathered in the main outdoor plaza, uniformed guards and party officials assembled, Then they led our group down a long esplanade towards a enormous statue. Towering some 100 feet in the air, this concrete structure represented Victorious Mother Russia. Our walk was at least a 50 yards in length. As we followed along I noticed mounds and mounds of grass-covered earth on either side. At the base of each mound was a placard. I quietly asked one of the guides about the berms and the signage. Whispering, the guide replied that they represented the fatalities of each month of the siege. Nameless graves of thousands of victims; noted only by the month they perished. 

 

When our group reached the front of the monument, the dignitaries stopped. One after another, a representative stepped forward and placed a large bouquet or wreath of flowers at the base of the statute. Then as everyone moved back into line I noticed an uncomfortable pause. I sensed some of the dignitaries wanted to fold their hands together in prayer. Arms went up and then quickly down. An awkward moment of silence passed.  Then the official party turned about and moved through our group. A stern look spread across their faces and they did not meet anyone’s eyes. 

 

That afternoon we toured a trade school. We sat in a classroom with soviet students and listened to presentations by the directors of the school. Everything was quite outdated and worn. We sat in metal chairs with wood seats upholstered in burlap. The room was lit by fluorescent lights and gave everything an eerie greenish hue. The directors suit was a shiny polyester and his shoes were patent leather. After dinner we went to a ‘Fruendschafts Treffen’ - Friendship Gathering. We sat in a small auditorium where we watched a short film, a skit, and a choir perform. All the songs were about war and struggle. Afterwards I tried to strike up a conversation with some of the soviet students. We all used our broken German with halting success. My hope was to offer to be a ‘pen pal’ with one of them. Each time I brought up correspondence the conversation came to an end. One time the student actually got up and walked away. 

 

On the night of the third day we boarded our buses for the Leningrad main train station. We were heading to Moscow on an overnight train. Arriving at the station our group collected our suitcases from under the coach bus. We then followed along and located our departure platform. It was dark, cold and the station was surprisingly crowded. I was among a group of five or six Austrian friends. We were chatting excitedly about our next leg of the journey. How fun to sleep in a berth and wake up in Moscow! 

 

Just then I felt a pull on my suitcase. Turning I saw a unkempt looking man grabbing at my suitcase. I was halted by the force of his pull and tried to loosen his grip. We tugged back and forth for some moments while a sea of people passed by ignoring our struggle. The derelict began shouting something to me in Russian. I did not understand him at all. I was afraid he was trying to steal my suitcase. Later, when I related this to our Russian guides they chuckled and said he was probably only trying to help me with my luggage and get tip for his services. 

 

Finally I was able to win back my suitcase and the stranger stumbled off muttering in a drunken weave. I turned to locate my friends and realized they had been swallowed up in the crowd. Evidently they had not noticed my scuffle and I was now all alone in the midst of a crowded platform in Russia. I did not know which train I was to board as I had been consumed in our chatter.   Stretching to the tops of my toes I looked up and down the platform. All I could see were winter caps bobbing up and down in the rush of humanity. I was lost. I didn’t know the language. I didn’t know anyone around me. I didn’t know my train. A slow panic began to raise in my chest. What if the train left without me and I was stranded in Leningrad!

 

That was enough to prompt me to start moving and quickly find someone that looked familiar. Seizing grip of my suitcase I began to run forward past people. I began shouting, “Excuse me, excuse me!” It seemed like the longest race I had been in my life. Elbows and shouts greeted me as I pressed through the crowd. I anxiously looked into windows of the stationary cars and ahead for a familiar face. For what seemed like an eternity I ran down the crowded platform dreading that the entire group was already onboard the train and therefore out of sight. 

 

Then, I saw him. One of my friends was hanging off the steps of a train wagon ahead. He was searching the crowd when our eyes met. Waving with my free hand I shouted, “Here I am! Hang on, I’m coming!” A big smile crossed his face and relief was reflected in mine. “Oh man, we lost track of you, Joel. We worried you got turned around!” exclaimed my friend. Coming to a stop I set down my suit case and bent over to catch my breath. Looking up I said, “Thank you, thank you for waiting for me. I was afraid I was going to miss the train!”  “Here, let me help you with your luggage.” my friend offered. Welcoming the assist I handed up my suitcase to him and climbed aboard. 

 

I followed him down the corridor of the wagon until he stopped at a compartment. “Here you go, this is your place.” He moved aside and I stepped into the four-berth compartment. Taking in the crowded space I saw that both lower bunks and the top bunk to my right were taken. Setting down my suitcase I stood by the window and peered out to reflect on my situation. Just a minute ago I was outside running in a panic trying to find my group. Now I was standing inside my compartment, literally safe and sound. What a relief came over me. It was a close call that I would never forget. A sudden jerk knocked me to my left. Putting my hand out I caught my balance on the bunk bed. The train was moving and we were starting our journey to Moscow.