Translated material
Three times for one country: the next hiking of the editorial office of the North
“It is very important that in Rus', the streams of Kalika cross -country, God, Russian wanderers go again in Russia. They were the blood of Rus', who are in eternal pilgrimage - from place to place. From the shrine to the shrine. They wove the heavenly carpet on earth, their move made the wind moist and sweet, spreading their aroma through the gardens and the grass sprinkling elastic juices, ” wrote Alexander Gelievich Dugin not so long ago, alone, they say , from the main ideologists of the current happy reign.
Who are we, members of the editorial board of the North, to argue with the covenants of the main ideologist? We know our place, in connection with which - this is not the first time, as it is known to be regular readers , they gathered backpacks and went out onto the road. True, I would like to hope that we did not spread my aroma in the gardens and even more so on the spraying juices of the grass. What happened somehow at least with this.
Sometimes they ask (no, they really ask, this is not a figure of speech, not a beaten stamp) - what is needed to get involved? To evaluate the charm of the process of movement in which there is no intelligible goal? Well. First of all, you need to get tired. Almost everyone succeeds the first time. It is necessary that the road displaces everything so that only the road remains. The road under the feet and the road in the head. Glated birches, puddles, the most ordinary villages ...
It begins, however, not with this, of course.
The first time is the past
For us, it all started in the early morning at the Yaroslavl station. Two people with Baiga “Taxi” (I wonder how they are now surviving, who they are being transported in order to not say - they are bred?) Slid a violent citizen in camouflage with an understandable letter on a chevron - a smoked face, a dimensionless backpack. A violent citizen demanded that he be taken somewhere there for free, and proved that he had every right to do so. "Let's take it very cheaply, dear, a huge discount to you, respect to you!" - People with the badges peacefully proposed, but the citizen in camouflage did not agree. In the end, he said: "I remembered you!" And he left, swinging, in the morning darkness. And we were waiting for Kostroma, the first point of the route.
In Kostroma, we spent the whole day. I was there a few years ago, and I want to tell you honestly - the city has become buried. All beauty on the spot for tourists - the murals of Guria Nikitin, the Great, in the Trinity Cathedral of the Ipatiev Monastery, are still stunning. An excellent collection of icons (and again the great Guri with students, and local masters, and masters from Galich) right away in the museum. Another whole hall with icons in the Romanov Museum. There is a decent collection of avant -garde (there is in each regional gallery, and this is an occasion to go in). Goncharova is simply incredible. As always. And again Goncharova. Just incredible. As always. Immediately-the famous "walk" of Boris Kustodiev , the coast of the Volga, Romanov-Borisoglebsk, pastoral species, a ranking merchant with his wife and daughter, a military orchestra, walking the telegraphists. All the half -conscious gingerbread world, for which we love Kustodiev.
Well, the incredible!
Nearby, in the building of the former noble assembly - a large exhibition of Efima Chestnyakov. A local genius, a peasant from the Kostroma village, whose talent appreciated the Ivanovo rich and sent to study in the capital, to Repin himself. "North" told about Chestnyakov. And in Kostroma - all his most famous works, both huge, and miniature, strange figures, strange plots, the sun through the canvas. Our cheerful peasant Bruegel. Peasant utopia, turning into paint. Honestly - do not pass by.
Chesnyakov, great, and, as a great one is supposed, a little terrible.
But the city is not only museums, of course. The city is a sense of life. There is life in Kostroma. All this is somehow not empty, meaningful, human. Even repairs on the main square (it is called Susaninskaya, but it is difficult to get lost) is also a meaningful, obviously necessary for the city, and not the Moscow tile replacement with tiles. There is no feeling of decline, there are funny inhabitants, there are pathos restaurants, there are cheap eates. One, in the backyards of the shopping rows, attracted the sign: "Beer, whiskey, pasta." You won’t pass by, and we didn’t pass. Unsheated, pleasant, in the same way. Tinctures are delicious.
In fact, the Russian regional centers that managed to see (and I am not lazy to travel around my homeland) have become prettier and humanized in recent years. Thanks to the former oil abundance, of course, spray reached everyone, and contrary to the efforts of the authorities, which we do not have at all about humanization. But this is the past. Why? The answer is a huge, albeit faded letter Z, decorating, let’s say, with a facade of an old mansion. As if she crosses out this blessed picture, a world where humanity, comfort, private life were valuable. People are the same and the stones are the same, the time is different. So, as it was, it will not be, you will have to change. What will happen? But what will happen - we will see.
In a notebook. The patriotic inscription “Banksy - sucker” on the fence, and a little girl who, having seen enough of the dolls in the souvenir shop, asks not without hope: “Mom, should we pay for everything?” Oh, girl, this will soon become the main Russian question. Who is to blame and what to do is not so important anymore.
Time is the second: the present, it is also eternal
And again, the early morning, the outskirts of Kostroma, further along the highway - a broken path, we will move along it. We are going to the village of Krasnoye-on-Volga, Godunov estate with the church of the 16th century and an ancient test chamber. By the way, the jewelry center is still. Ahead - more than thirty kilometers.
Around - discreet beauty, fields, birches, fresh fresh. When you walk, you learn to see. When you get tired enough (see above) - the campaign turns into meditation, you melt, you yourself become part of these spaces. Villages, churches, country roads, concrete. The most delicious barbecue in the world in roadside doors. Rare oncoming, ready to help if help is required. Sometimes timid conversations are made, they are surprised, they begin to look with careful respect. Rus appreciates madmen, but also fears. Which, in general, is reasonable.
Birch in assortment.
Suddenly - a white pillar, a black slab. Here, returning from the patient, just from the village of Krasnoye, Vasily Sokolov, chairman of the district zemstvo council, a member of the Third State Duma, a doctor. How did this monument survive? Why? And how can he not survive. We are in the present present, in eternity, in timelessness.
Leonid Panteleev, the author of the Republic of Skik, mocking the mediocre colleagues and demonstrating what a bad metaphor is, came up with the phrase: "A hubby is teeming with people, like a chisel of a street child." Red-on-Volga was teeming with jewelry stores, like a chopper of a street child, he would like in lice,-I would write, but the village did not deserve the village, people are open and kind, they feed deliciously and cheaply in the dining room, and real antiquity germinates through a simple life.
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