Someday, I will write a poem about frogs...

Monday, 12:45 am, roughly (was when I started writing this post). I have never in my life been so happy to see dandelions as I was this weekend. Our excursion to Pskov, Pushkinsky Gori (Pushkin Hills), and the surrounding small towns was supposed to be about history and great literature, but the most memorable parts of the weekend were definitely spending spring outside in lovely weather. Being barefoot in the grass again…so, so nice.

We met at Kazansky Sabor at seven am on Friday and prepared for what the schedule said would be a seven-hour bus ride. For once in the history of CIEE, we were early; the trip took about five and a half hours, each way. The roads were…not quite up to the standards of Petersburg…okay, they were bumpy enough that it was almost ludicrous to attempt to sleep. Adding in the fact that our driver was obviously in a hurry to be rid of us, five and a half hours was PLENTY of time on a swaying, bumping, occasionally jolting bus. :P The hotel was a further two hours outside of the actual city of Pskov. Factor in the distance to and from the various monasteries and museums, and the result is a looooooooong time in a non-ventilated bus. Fresh, non-diesel-scented, country air was fantastic.

Friday’s main events were the tour of the Pskov Kremlin, the historical fortress at the center of the whole region, and an Alexander Nevsky monument. The Kremlin appears no worse for Wednesday’s fire, at least from the view inside the walls. Mostly it’s a big stone wall, punctuated by towers, with a church in the center of the grassy enclosure inside. The history was appreciated, certainly, but the chance to sit on the grass in the sun and just absorb the sunshine was not to be missed. (Nor was the GIANT sword hanging over the entrance to the Kremlin. It’s supposed to be a symbol of the city, and I really hope it’s only symbolic, because that thing HAD to be eight feet long.) Our guide, named Svetlana and clad in bright yellow, explained the large statues of Alexander Nevsky and compatriots to us, then seemed bemused when we (after requesting permission) climbed up onto the monument to take pictures. I believe Svetlana was a Pskov native, so I’m not sure she understood just how much we’d all grown to miss large, green open spaces.

Side note: The restaurant where we stopped for lunch on Friday and Sunday, somewhere behind the Kremlin complex, opened onto a yard full of frogs! We quickly befriended them and christened them, and Jarlath and Claire even raced them. That’s one of my favorite images of this weekend: a tiny frog sitting in my cupped hands, sharing the view with me.

We finally arrived at the hotel Friday evening to discover that it was a large wooden lodge, complete with porches onto which every room opened. Sadly, I don’t have a picture of this place, but it felt quintessentially Russian. (It was named after Pushkin’s nanny. That’s how Russian it was.) From this picturesque location, it was but a short stroll down to a real working mill, the historical village surrounding it, and the lake that fed the mill’s water wheel. This was supposedly the setting for most of Pushkin’s Eugene Onegin, so our very enthusiastic guide grabbed Nick and Zoltan to stage a duel. :) We wandered through the village and tried our hands at threshing grain, and even at swinging in the barn! According to local tradition, couples would swing in the barn during Maslenitsa, and if the girl fell off, she was considered a poor marriage prospect; I hung on, despite Zoltan’s best efforts to pitch me into the grain pile. The guide told me at the end of the tour to come back when I had a wedding ring…and was looking at Zoltan as he said it. I may have gotten myself into something here…

Still on the agenda were the village of Mikhailovskoe, where Pushkin spent his exile, and we spent nearly as long in his house; the village of Trigorskoe (Three Hills), where the guide didn’t want to let Jarlath translate, so the Area Studies program didn’t figure out why we were there until after the fact; and two monasteries. Mikhailovskoe was beautiful, but it reinforced the feeling of the whole weekend, where we really wished for a few less scheduled activities and a little more time to wander around. Pushkin’s grave at Svyatagorsky Monastery is…kind of unimpressive, actually. I mean, considering how the man is worshipped all through this country, I guess I’d just expected something bigger than the little white obelisk that’s surrounded by flowers.

Sunday, we wandered around the historic fortress of Isborsk, taking in lots and lots of pretty views, but we missed most of the history due to the scattered nature of our group along the trail. Still, the waterfalls were gorgeous, wet shoes from running through them be damned. The Petrovskoe Monastery came next, where the main attraction was the ancient cemetery called the Catacombs. I’m nearsighted as is, but I hadn’t realized just how scary a pitch-dark walk through a cemetery would be. We were given tiny, pencil-slim tapers, which (individually) barely illuminated the hands we used to shield them and (collectively) gave the tunnel a ghostly quarter-light. Following those in front of us more on faith than on actual confidence in where we were going, led by a priest murmuring in barely audible Russian, we processed through the tunnels, stopping occasionally to peer at graves inscribed in Church Slavonic none of us could read, stopping more than occasionally to relight our candles or those of our companions. Stepping out into the sunlight was an incredible relief, and almost a mystical experience in itself.

But probably the best experience of the entire weekend was Saturday night at the hotel. Lodge. ‘Otel’ means ‘not quite an actual hotel,’ so I’m not quite sure what to call it…but anyways. The hotel had its own banya out back, and Katya organized two groups of girls (Jarlath took the guys) to experience a true Russian banya, in the comfort of just our own group. Eight of us met Katya outside the banya at ten-thirty pm, chatting with the red-faced and wet-haired guys as they came out, gearing up for a similar experience…but there was really nothing like this. The banya experience is sort of a combination of a sauna, an ice-cold pool, massage therapy, and general fantastic girl bonding. Take a shower first, so you’re wet enough to steam. Sit in the steam room long enough to get slightly dizzy, then run out and jump into the barely-above-freezing pool outside. (In the winter, we would have been jumping into the snow. I was putting off my first banya for precisely that reason.) Run back in from the pool, steam for a while, then don towels and go have some tea in the outer room (which is still heated). Greet Irina Borisovna, who came in fully dressed (trenchcoat and all), and pose for pictures in towels. (I’m reasonably certain those pictures have not left her camera…) Steam again, cool off again, a few more times. Somewhere in there, lie down on a bench and have Katya whip you with a leafy bundle of birch branches to restore circulation. Steam some more. The whole process lasted an hour and a half, and I came out of it feeling like I could take on an entire new day as soon as I’d dried my hair. Too bad it was midnight. :)

So, all in all, a thoroughly enjoyable weekend. I apologize for how long it took me to write this, by the way; the week has been busy enough that, every time I sat down to write, I dozed off before getting much of anywhere. I hope I haven’t caused any similar reactions among those reading this! :) Next post: the rest of the week, then Victory Day celebrations on Sunday!