Journey to Russia (part 1) – a place to preserve childhood memories

Thirty years ago an interior “revolution” occurred in our house. The Russian fixtures, in turn, gave way to things from the US and Japan … First, the Honda took the place of Minsk, the Japanese rice cooker replaced the Soviet pressure cooker, the Hitachi refrigerator. “Pushed” Saratov to the door …

Even children prefer hanging pictures of Mickey Mouse rather than looking at 6 wooden Russian girls inside the Matrioska. And they demanded that I pack all the Russian books in the store so that they could set up an English book. One day they pulled together to listen to the American Philharmonic Orchestra that had just come to Vietnam to perform. Returning, they rang from the door. Suddenly, the girl noticed that her mother’s face still had tears. TV is playing a Russian music show. They suddenly realized that even though Russian furniture was out the door, the Russian soul remained in their parents’ house.

Then one late summer day, we brought the Russian soul on a Boeing aircraft of Vietnam Airlines flying to Russia. Late afternoon, the plane landed Domodedovo (Moscow). The first minute we met Russia, our Russian souls could not bloom before we were bleeding. A Domodedovo airport official, his eyes blurred like the color of the sky on a rainy day, in a grim voice that required each of us to give him $ 100 to get a seat on the transition flight. to Petersburg. When we protested, he laughed with his lips, indifferently like a medieval monk watching us (international tourists!) Tugly pull each other out of the train station.

There is luck in the bad in life. Leaving the plane on a train, I was able to see Russia again through the window. All along the road are floating birch forests, dim in the white salt mist. The sun had just risen, on top of the soaring pine tree began to gather the first sunlight. A white rabbit who did not know from which path in the forest ran out to sit on two feet, showing its grimace to the train. Green lawns are full of wild flowers. Occasionally in the open forest, several small villages with wooden houses with silent windows would appear, sparkling by the reflection of the sun. Snow-white geese leave the barn, go to the lake in front of an onion-shaped church … This is my Russia, Russia I read in Bunin, Paustovsky’s book , Blok, and Esenin …

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