Epic Journeys

The following day was equally bright and sunny. It was a day of museums and galleries. Growing up in Washington D.C. I was used to frequenting the many museums along the National Mall. In Moscow I encountered a treasure that I shall never forget. The Tretyakov Museum. I was not prepared for what I was to see within the galleries of this thoroughly Slavic museum. Here I was introduced to painters I had not heard of nor seen before. Perov, Shishkin, Levitan, and many more. Their subjects were eastern and dramatic. Many landscapes were ten feet tall by twelve feet wide. You felt as if you were standing inside their frames. The colors leapt from the canvas and held your eyes captive. Mesmerized by one painting I had to tear myself away only to be enraptured by the next. When the gallery tour was over I vowed I would return someday to look upon these gigantically evocative paintings. This dream came true in 2016 when I brought my son Stephan to view these Goliath's after our Trans-Siberian Railroad journey. 

 

For lunch we ate at a restaurant that had a surprise. We entered and live music was playing. How festive!  We were shown to a cafeteria line and instructed to pick up a tray and silverware. Moving along we could point to the item we wanted and the server would ladle it onto a plate and pass it on. All the items had a muted color to them and I wondered if the lights were playing a trick on me. When I finally got my plate the grease had already begun to pool around the edges of my food. It was some kind of vegetable and meat dishes that I had chosen. The seasoning matched the color; it was equally bland.  

 

As I sat at a table with my friends we all pushed our food across our unappetizing plates. In my lack of interest in eating I gave attention to the room where we sat. There was something familiar about the space. We sat in a long rectangular room with windows along both walls. A band was playing in the front of the restaurant on an elevated stage. A vaulted ceiling gave the room an air of elevation. It was all strangely similar to something that I had seen before. 

 

Then, taking it all in I finally got my bearings. We were sitting in the sanctuary of a church! Where there would have been pews, now tables and chairs were arranged. The raised altar in front had been cleared of pulpit, altar table and candelabras. Now a lively band played folk music complete with balalaika.  It was bewildering to sit in a space designed for worship. Now we were merely feeding ourselves and listening to strangers entertain us. 

 

In the afternoon, we toured a toy factory. Evidently it is the largest of its kind in the world. No surprise there. We were welcomed by eight staff members who guided us through the factory explaining the various stages of production. We saw men and women hard at work producing all manner of play things; built from wood, metal and plastic. Tagging along was a heavy set man keeping an eye on us as we kept an eye on the whirling and noisy machines below. Afterwards there was a lively discussion in German most of which I caught. There was a tendency by our Russian hosts to give lengthy answers to seemingly short and polite questions. 

 

Our final morning in Moscow took us on a  bus drive though the streets of the city. We saw many towering monuments and crisscrossed the Moscow river from many vantage points. We were then dropped off back at the hotel where we would meet up for a night at the circus. We were free to roam and shop until dinner. Kurt and I struck out once more to explore the city streets. 

 

Our first stop was the Bolshoi Theater hoping to get a glimpse of the interior. We hoped to view the stairways and famous house, if not the stage. Sadly it was closed and we could only appreciate the storied venue from the outside. Pushing through the snowy streets we were gladdened by the now familiar snow-women sweeping their piles along the avenues. Their little white piles of snow reminded us of another white substance - ice cream! We headed to the TsUM department store which was famous for their vanilla ice cream. We had heard that the best ice cream in the world was to be had in Moscow. And this was not spoken by a Russian! 

 

To verify this rumor we found an ice cream stand within the department store and waited in line. As was the custom, we waited in a long line to purchase our voucher. Then jostling through more bodies we waited in another line. Finally, we handed over this voucher for the opportunity to order an ice cream cone. With both of us holding our prized possession in our hands we took our first bite. Our eyes widened as our taste buds were seduced by the subtlest of vanilla flavors. The ice cream was rock hard and made it’s consumption deliberate. We did not mind the labor it took to acquire each mouth full. It lived up to its billing and we regretted its completion. 

 

Greatly satisfied we headed back outdoors in search of Pushkin Square. I wanted to view the statue of the famous Russian poet, and the sight where Dostoevsky gave his famous and final speech. On our way to our destination, however, we were approached by another set of Russian youths. Thinking they were asking to purchase our jeans we were prepared to defer. However, they were not interested in jeans. They were interested in exchanging currency. Again, using a mix of languages we came to an understanding. Would we be willing to trade our Shillings for their Rubles. Thinking back on the Beryozka shop we had visited a few days prior I took pity on these two young men. Their Rubles were no good in this high end store. With Austrian Schillings in hand, they could show the guards and the cashiers they had money to spend. 

 

Standing against the blowing wind we haggled over an exchange rate. Kurt and I did not care to drive a hard bargain as we were both sympathetic to their plight and knew the extortion rate the Russian government set. Coming to an agreement we then determined where we could make the exchange, clearly not here out in the open. The two Russians pointed to a bookstore on the edge of the square. They then explained a tried and true method of making an exchange surreptitiously by using the pages of a book.  The four of us shook hands and sauntered over to the store. The two eager Russians entered first and we waited a few moments before we walked in. 

 

We had agreed that the exchange would take place in the pages of a book they selected. Standing at a distance we watched nonchalantly as they found a book on a table. They opened it up as if to read from the table of contents. Then deftly they laid a bundle of Rubble notes inside and closed the book. They then moved away and made sure no one else approached the book. The store was crowded and we all had an investment that someone else would inadvertently find ‘our book’ of interest! 

 

Kurt and I then made our move. We sidled up to the same table and slowly opened the book, turning back to the index. Then I slipped my Schilling notes between the pages and pretended to be talking with Kurt. Trying to stay calm I flipped the pages to the Table of Contents. Slowly I removed their deposited currency and slid it into my pocket. 

 

Kurt and I stepped back from the table and pretended to examine some of the other books on the table. The two Russians then returned to the same book and cooly removed the currency I had left in the index. Turning away they slowly made their way to the door and exited. 

 

By now my conscience had caught up with me. Gone was the empathy I had for the two young Russians and their hard life in Moscow. Now I realized I had just participated in the Black Market. Thoughts flooded my mind like, ‘Was I just set up?’ ‘We’re those two young men tools of the KGB?’ ‘Was this a sting?’ Feeling my heart pounding and sweat beading on my temples I looked at Kurt. Sensing my panic he said in German, “Stay calm, were fine. Just follow me.’ What seemed like an eternity he walked slowly along the shelves of books looking like he was seeking a particular title. Then, when we were close to the front door he opened it and slowly strode out. I followed him out with knees trembling. I wanted to run but knew that would arose suspicion. We ambled back into a punishing wind and made our way back to our hotel. I was so distracted and looking over my shoulder that I totally forgot to locate the Pushkin Statue and pay my respects. I did all I could to swallow and just walk.

 

That evening we attended the Moscow Circus. It was just what was needed to take my mind off that afternoon’s escapade. I was afraid if I stayed at the hotel I would hear a rap on my door that would announce the KGB. Instead I was buried in a crowd of spectators at the Circus. As I watched the trapeze artists I reflected on the high wire act I had accomplished earlier. It was foolish. It was fun. It was a bit like flying without a net. The next day we left for Kiev. I was glad to get out of Moscow. What I didn’t know was that I was leaving with too much money in my wallet. But I wouldn’t realize that for a few more days. Then the sweat and the heart pounding would return as I tried to leave the Soviet Union.