by David Greene
After leaving Moscow and traveling across the world’s biggest country, to finally see Russia’s Pacific coast gave me chills. I was searching for some poetic ending, so I went to this spit of land extending into the bay near Vladivostok. Quiet reflection was rudely interrupted by this gas-guzzling, four-car ferry that put-put-putted its way to the shore, slammed into a rock, piled cars on, then loudly made its way off into the bay again. (David Gilkey/NPR)
My wife, Rose, with Alexei Kamerzan at a café in Novosibirsk. Alexei’s mom was among those who benefited financially from the Soviet collapse, filling the void when state companies broke up. She started a carpet empire that her son helps to run today. Alexei went to college in the United States and vacations abroad. He thinks Putin’s last election victory was rigged, calling that “unpleasant, but not such a big deal.”
Heading to the station at dusk in Novosibirsk, Siberia’s largest city, to board an overnight train east to Krasnoyarsk.
The Siberian city of Krasnoyarsk, surrounded by gorges and snow-capped mountains, is Siberia’s most gorgeous city, according to the great Russian writer Chekhov. I could not disagree.
A bride and groom posing for photos at a river overlook just outside Krasnoyarsk. The couple and their friends were all smiles, exuding a warmth that seemed to melt away the troubles faced by so many in this country—at least for this fleeting afternoon.
Men from Central Asia use the Trans-Siberian to travel deep into Russia, looking for construction work. Our seatmate is from Uzbekistan. In intimate third-class quarters, you are all but on top of fellow passengers. This photo was taken from Sergei’s bunk. My bed is above Sergei’s, and Rose’s bed is just above where this man is sitting. We shared dessert, but the language barrier made conversation tough.
More often than not, this was dinner on the train. And honestly, I began to crave it. Boxes of instant noodles were on sale at every train station for as little as twenty rubles (sixty-seven cents) each. We kept a good supply at all times, so when hunger hit, you could carry the noodles and your tea cup to the hot water samovar at the end of each train car, fill up, and your meal was ready.
Walking on water: Lake Baikal freezes solid during winters, and Russians love to tempt fate by driving, biking, and taking strolls on the ice. Sergei and I opted for a hovercraft.
I wondered whether this would be the last photo ever taken of me and Sergei alive. To cross frozen Lake Baikal, we hired a hovercraft that seemed, shall we say, makeshift. It resembled a minivan superglued on top of a pontoon with a steering wheel inside that was surely ripped off a Russian Lada automobile.
Sergei Sotnikov: proud husband and father, NPR producer, awesome travel mate, best friend in Russia.
Lenin, pointing toward the train station in Vladivostok on a snowy evening.
Russian train platforms are full of energy, chaos, and confusion, overwhelming the senses. The smell of cigarette smoke blends with the smell of coal and occasionally the smell of sweat from passengers who haven’t showered for days. Everyone is in a hurry, dragging suitcases over the concrete. There’s a nonstop stream of announcements blaring from speakers, occasionally clearly enough to understand. (David Gilkey/NPR)
In the dining car I often go with beer and pistachio nuts. They are reliably available, unlike most else. Menus will have dozens of offerings—seafood, meat dishes, soups—but the required ingredients are often not on board. The television doesn’t appear to have worked for a decade. And even though we’re several time zones east of Moscow, the clock is set to Moscow time, a quirk of Russian trains that was designed to avoid confusion but seems just to fuel it. (David Gilkey/NPR)
Something about this scene captures Russia for me. In the background, pristine Lake Baikal, a World Heritage site that the Russian government seems to neglect and underappreciate. Storm clouds impose themselves on what could be sunny skies. And an old Soviet Lada, symbolizing a previous generation’s engineering ingenuity, sits unclaimed on a snowy shore. (David Gilkey/NPR)
Zhanna Rutskaya used a link of Belarusian sausage as a baton, waving me into her cabin. So began my education about life on the Russian rails: It’s all about sharing food and conversation. Her cabinmate—they, too, had only just met—is Sergei Yovlev, a die-hard fan of Yaroslavl’s pro hockey team. The 2011 team died in a plane crash. Yovlev said the ability to survive tragedy is “the way the soul of a Russian person is built.” (David Gilkey/NPR)
Albina Ostrovskaya (right) lost her husband a decade ago. Like too many Russian men, he died before the age of fifty. Her sister-in-law, Tamara, often makes a three-day train journey to Moscow to keep her company. She likes to fit in some shopping. “Here, I have a rug, a small rug, my clothes, and something to eat,” Tamara told me, pointing at her overstuffed parcels. She doesn’t mind the train at all. “Nice people in the cabins, so we have a good time.” (David Gilkey/NPR)
Viktor Gorodilov is a Russian lumberjack. He lives and works in the timber-producing village of Sagra, where there are no paved roads and no reliable police response. When a criminal gang made its way there and the police didn’t show, villagers fought them off using rifles and pitchforks. They were charged with hooliganism and faced potential jail time. But Viktor’s son, Andrei, helped with a public relations campaign to fight the charges. “Publicity was our protection,” Andrei told me. A lesson in democratic values? Maybe, Andrei said. “But our Russian mentality has to be protected, too.”(David Gilkey/NPR)
Olga Granovskaya is a college professor in Vladivostok. She had just returned from teaching a semester at the University of California, Berkeley, but she has no interest in moving to the United States. She loves Russian culture and loves vacationing with her family on Russia’s Pacific coast. She doesn’t know where her country is headed and has come to a less-than-comfortable peace with that. “You get used to knowing nothing about your future here.” (David Gilkey/NPR)
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
SHORTLY AFTER RETURNING to the United States from Russia, I got an e-mail out of the blue from Howard Yoon. He introduced himself as a book agent and wrote that he was interested in talking to me about a series we had aired on NPR’s Morning Edition. It was called “Russia by Rail” and it chronicled a three-week journey on the Trans-Siberian Railway. Howard and I met for a long night of eating, drinking, and conversation. He was convinced I could do the journey again for a book about life in modern Russia. He saw the train as a perfect setting—readers could come on board with me, get comfy in the compartment, make stops, meet people, and then return to the familiar confines of the train as the journey continued. He envisioned the book as part travel adventure, part sociological look at an important country at an inflection point.
Here’s the thing: I thought Howard was nuts.
I just did the trip for the radio, I said. But a book will be a totally different experience, he told me. I was just starting a new job at Morning Edition and had no time, I told him. This is not an opportunity to miss, he told me. He finally convinced me to write just a few paragraphs, which he reviewed. He liked them. So he told me to write a few more. And a few more. I knew what he was up to—but I became a willing victim of his manipulation. Within weeks, we had a book proposal. And back to Russia I went. I am enormously grateful to Howard for his instincts, for his belief in this idea and in me as an author, for his many edits and endless advice, and for his friendship. He and his partner, Gail Ross, are so much more than agents.
David Berarducci is so much more than a landlord. In my fantasy, I imagined writing my first book in some little old shack on a fishing wharf in New England that happened to have Wi-Fi. That’s what I googled—and the one place that showed up was David’s serene little rental on Cape Cod. In my nightmare, I imagined losing my unfinished manuscript somewhere in the process. That also happened. Margaret O’Connor (who lives at my old address and thought that package looked like something important when it showed up in the mail) and Andrea Messina (who babysat the manuscript for weeks) saved the day.
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sp; I am lucky to work for a company, NPR, that could not have been more supportive. The book never would have happened without that first radio series, which never would have come together without producer/editor Laura Krantz and editor Chuck Holmes.
Chuck: You, Eric Rubin, and Fiona Hill have so much more important things to be doing than reading a friend’s manuscript, at different stages of writing. But the three of you were so willing and generous.
I swear, there is no one in the business of news photography better than David Gilkey. I’m grateful for our time together in Russia and for your willingness to let your photos live in this book.
Some of my dearest friends—Chandler Arnold, Joe Levin, Jed Howbert and Sean Strasburg—took time away from busy lives to fly to Russia and experience the place with me. I’m grateful for all your reflections and insights, a few more vodka-induced than the rest.
Norton took a risk on this first-time author and made me believe in myself as a writer. I owe Mitchell Kohles for the many e-mails answering my most basic questions (so I write my changes directly on this thing called a “proof”?). My editor, Maria Guarnaschelli, was passionate about this project from day one. I love how she shared in the journey with me, asking the right questions, enjoying the surprises, and learning about Russia at every turn. Maria taught me about writing—how to find a voice, without forcing it or getting in the way of letting stories tell themselves.
I have really supportive families—the Greenes (Doug, Sally, Jackie, and Jose) and Prevites (Rose, Albert, Maggie, Joey, Jeanne, Becca, Peter, another Peter, and yet another Peter)—who put up with my endless obsession with all things Russia. My father, Doug, has been my primary editor since the first papers I wrote in grade school, and I hope he found this book to be an improvement. My late mother, Terry, believed everyone had a story to tell, and her inspiration is felt in this book and in my career.
I leave this project humbled and awed by the strength and will displayed by so many people in Russia, who opened their doors and lives to me in ways I never would have done myself for a stranger. While in Russia, Rose and I were so far from family, but we never felt that way because of Boris and Sergei. They would have done anything for us.
This book truly belongs to Sergei as much as it does to me. Sergei, I learned so much wisdom from you. I value our friendship more than you know and cannot wait for our next adventure together. I really feel like the two of us, as a team, can “do everything”!
And there really is too much to thank my wife for. She put her entire career on hold and dove with me into the unknown. I had the immediate benefit of a journalism community in Russia—Rose landed in the country with no automatic support network and no promise of work. She made the best of it, while supporting me in every way. Rose, your curiosity about people, your respect for friends and strangers alike, your street smarts, and your hunger for adventure all made me a better journalist in Russia and better able to write this book. Now back home, you are owning and running a successful restaurant, with not a minute of free time—and yet you somehow found the time to read, edit, and talk me through the tougher moments. I am eternally grateful—and promise we will never vacation anywhere with a temperature below 70 degrees Fahrenheit.
INDEX
Page numbers listed correspond to the print edition of this book. You can use your device’s search function to locate particular terms in the text.
accidents, 87, 92, 140–41, 192
adoption, 241
Aeroflot, 174
Afghanistan, 147, 255, 267, 290
Africa, 240
African Americans, 183
Agora, 170
AIDS, 290–92
Air Force One, 40
air travel, 21–22, 28, 40–41, 50, 154
Alaska, 173
Albert, 105, 111
alcoholism, 37, 104, 134, 140, 144, 147, 148–49, 180 , 195, 224, 251, 258, 260
Amazar, 268, 284
American Women’s Organization, 207–8
Andrei, 259–60
“Another Day in Paradise,” 284
apartments, 5, 27, 59–60, 84–85, 102–3, 118, 181, 200, 280
apathy, 15–17, 108–10, 117–20, 260–64
Arab Spring, 16, 70, 105, 161, 230, 288
armed forces, 98, 104, 120, 201–2, 204, 207, 255, 276, 280, 289
Arnold, Chandler, 122, 278
arrests, 94, 109–20, 159–62, 167–68, 177–78, 210, 265
article 31 protests, 170
Ash, Lucy, 47–48
Asia, 46, 127–28, 162, 173, 220, 240, 243, 245
attempted coup (1991), 288–89
Aunt Nina, 3–6, 17, 97, 102–13
Auschwitz concentration camp, 108
Austria, 31
authoritarianism, xiii–xiv, xv, 9, 10, 14, 35, 40, 42, 58, 69, 165–72, 180–81, 208, 212–13, 235, 264–67
automobiles, 31, 192–93, 218–19, 259
Azerbaijan, 135, 140
Azeri, 176
babushkas (grandmothers), 5, 59, 123, 128, 133, 134–50, 152, 157, 158, 181, 243
babushkas (scarves), 5, 142
Baikal, Lake, ix, 47, 173, 233, 252, 255–64, 270
Baikalsk, ix, 258–64, 267, 284
Baku, 149
ballet, 75
ballroom dancing, 292
Baltic Sea, 108
banya (bathhouse), 128–33, 157, 278
Barandin, Evgeni, 199, 200–201, 205, 206
bars, 207–8
Baryshenko, Taisiya, 259–64, 267, 284
BBC, 272
Beatles, The, 134
beer, 79, 129, 131, 132, 144, 208, 232
Beijing, 46
Beirut, 240
Belarus, 29, 100, 127, 161
Berlin Wall, 7–8
Birobidzhan, 272–73, 274
Black Sea, xiv
Bluetooth, 239
Bolshevik Revolution, 15, 16
borders, 48, 255, 266–67
Boris, 55–61, 62, 118, 124–25, 181, 275, 284
borscht, 4, 100, 104
Boston Marathon bombing (2013), 66
Brezhnev, Leonid, 241
bribery, 35, 225–27, 230, 240, 249–50, 252, 269
bugging, 24
Buranovo, 134–50
“Buranovo Babushkas,” 128, 133, 134–50, 152, 157, 158, 181, 243
bureaucracy, 15–16, 29–30, 51, 65, 86, 89, 93, 140, 271, 283
Busan, 175
Bush, George W., 20, 40, 175
Bushueva, Angelina, 166–69
business trips, 45
bus transportation, 122–23, 185, 187–92
butter, 74–75, 92, 104, 208
cafés, 55–57, 196–97, 239, 276–78
Canada, 82
cancer, 200, 222, 250
capitalism, 11, 42, 208, 284–85
Carey, Mariah, 285
Carpet World, 239–40, 243, 270
Caucasus Mountains, 44, 66, 98, 200, 201–2, 255
cell phones, 79, 234, 260
cemeteries, 38
Central Asia, 245, 266–67, 268, 283–84
chai (tea), 45
champagne, 11
charitable contributions, 170
Chebarkul, 194–95
chechel (cheese), 173
Chechnya, 66, 120, 202
“checkups,” 170
cheerleaders, 80
Chekhov, Anton, 14, 211, 234, 245–46, 254–55
Chelyabinsk, ix, 188–209, 210, 239, 244, 270, 281, 289
chemical weapons, xv
Chikov, Pavel, 170
China, 271, 274, 281, 282
Chivers, C. J., 156
civil liberties, 13–14, 96, 165–72, 180–81, 186, 269–70, 287
climate, 19, 35, 173, 211, 217, 233–34
Clinton, Hillary, 181–82
clothing, 5, 102, 142, 233–34
coal heating, 54, 162, 213
coal mining, 34, 36, 37, 39–40, 41, 42, 60, 162
cognac, 36–37, 182, 183, 208
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br /> Cold War, xiii, xiv, xvi, 45, 132
Collins, Phil, 284
color therapy, 138–39
Committee Against Torture, 117
Communism, xiii, 10, 11–12, 15–16, 32, 109, 140, 229, 263, 284–85, 288–89
compartments, train, 53–55, 63, 72, 98–99, 210–11, 231–32, 244–45, 252–53
Confucius, 188
corruption, 11, 35, 40, 49, 169, 178, 183, 192, 225–27, 230, 240, 249–50, 252, 264, 265, 269
crime, 159–62, 176–84, 226
Crimea, xiii–xvi
cuisine, 4, 100, 104, 163–64, 178–79, 198, 256–57; see also specific dishes
cultural traditions, xvi, xvii, 9, 11, 12, 21, 32, 35, 38–39, 49, 51, 69–70, 74–75, 83–84, 90, 91, 121, 200–203, 207–8, 240–41, 273, 275–76, 284–89
Cyrillic alphabet, 23, 52–53
czarist Russia, 11, 13–16, 221, 222–23, 256, 260, 263, 287–88
Czech Republic, 8
dacha (cottage), 140–41
Dagestan, 32, 66, 126–27
Daily Show, The, 192–93
dance, 291–92
Dead Souls (Gogol), 9
December (2011) protests, 95–97, 105, 242, 269, 279
Decembrists, 222–23, 256, 260, 263, 287–88
Decembrists, The (Zetlin), 222–23
Ded Moroz (Santa Claus), 90
Delicatessen Café, 55–57
democracy, xiii, xvi, 8, 9, 11, 13–15, 20, 33, 40, 41–42, 69, 159–89, 205, 225–26, 229–30, 239, 240–42, 249–50, 265, 268–70, 282–85, 288–89
denunciations, 59
deportation, 46–47, 166–69, 211
