Monuments in Minsk

Dima and Natasha have both offered to be my guides in Minsk. They are very eager to show me the sites and they seem to argue about where to take me and what to show me.

Dima has studied English for only two months but he has already learned much. He tells me that it's important for him to learn English because he wants to travel and to tell others about Belorus.

He asks me how much I knew about Belorus before I came here and I confess to him that I didn't know much, except that Lukasjenko is the president both for Belorus and for the Belorussian hockey team.

They tell me that it is hard for a student to travel abroad. It is only possible to go to Russia and Ukraine without applying for visa, and visa is both expensive and hard to get.

Belorus has actually it's own language appart from Russian. There aren't many people who speak Belorus but some - mostly younger people - study Belorus at the university.

We stop for a cup of coffee at the central railway station. In the background they are playing old revolutionary marches on the speaker system. A policeman with green uniform and a large hat walks his beat and wakes up a man dozing of in his seat. Everything is very tidy and neat.

The railway station is huge and a fairly new construction. The architecture is symmetrical and based on simple geometric forms. It's bombastic in it's design but I don't think the result is very impressive. It is as if it wants to give an impression of practicality but it actually isn't even very practical.

Minsk was totally destroyed by German bombs during world war two and almost all the buildings are built in the 50's. There is a small Island called old town where there still is some houses from 19th century, but that's all.

Natasja and Dima takes me to the old town and afterwards to the war memorial called the island of tears, in honor of soldiers from Minsk who lost their lives in the war in Afghanistan.

I am repulsed by the monument since it reminds me of one of the most stupid, horrific and illegitimate wars in the history of man kind that has caused political destabilization and cultural regression in a large region.

Why is it, that the history of man kind seems to be written only in the pauses of respite and truce, in a war that never seem to end? Why is it that destruction and destabilization can so easily be justified and accepted amongst common men, while understanding and cooperation is so rare, and often met with grave suspicion?

Natasja tells me that the Island of tears is a very popular monument. There is a tradition in Belorus to put flowers at your favorite monument when you get married, so many newly weds come here and honor the dead soldiers.

I am glad to leave the Island of Tears and as we walk slowly towards the Square of Victory we talk about famous people who we all recognize. Both Dima and Natasja tell me that they have read Selma Lagerlöv and that "Carlsson on the roof" was one of their favorite stories when they were kids. I tell them that Michail Bulgakov is one of my favorite writers and that the "Master and Margarita" is one of my biggest literary experiences.

As we continue speaking about Ingmar Bergman and Fjodor Dostojevskij there is a notion among us three that we grow more familiar because we know the same people. It is as if these famous people we talk about are good old friends that we put trust and faith in, and as being a friend of a friend this trust and friendship is shared also between us three.

And I guess this is why culture is the most efficient weapon to disarm the warmongers, who aim to unite people by pointing towards an alien enemy. Heroes and idols that don't partake in the bloody history of the ever ongoing war against mankind is vital to peace and prosperity. There will never be enough monuments of famous men and women who never fired a bullet or never waged war against his neighbors.

But the monuments of such people aren't built with stone or cast in bronze, they are written in books, performed in theaters and hung in galleries all over the world. Theirs is a living monument of knowledge and of culture rather then one of victory and defeat.

Working in the church

Brother Max offers me the last cup of coffee. Instead of coffee he prepares for himself a mug with hot water mixed with homemade jam. Blueberries, raspberries and currants.

He has kind face and a friendly smile. He's a big man and seems to harbor a big calm. I am told to help him to paint some of the walls and ceilings in the big church.

He doesn't use his hands to explain the work to me, but what he lacks in sign language he makes up with his immense patience towards me. We paint and work in silence.

Later I am assigned to work with Vitalek. He objects when I try to take a picture of him but I do it anyway. Afterwards he demands to see the result and flips through all the hundred images in the camera.

I stand beside him and wonder if he likes them. There are som of the pictures in there that I'm actually really proud of. But as Vitalek flips through the pictures the only comment I hear is reoccuring word "Normal"

-Aha, mhm... , normal... , normal... , mhm... normal...

He says "normal" so many times that I'm starting to think that he is very unimpressed with my work. I feel my heart sink for a while before I realize the comedy of the situation. He says "Normal" and use the word to express something good, while normal to me mostly mean mainstream and boring.

Jag tycker om

Jag tycker om böcker som börjar med ett påstående.
Jag tycker om att putsa skorna när det blir vår.
Jag tycker om att gå till frisören och få håret i nacken rakat med en gammaldags rakkniv.
Jag tycker om den afrikanska kvinnan som pratar swahili i mobiltelefonen när hon kliver ombord på bussen.
Jag tycker om människor som ser sig för och lämnar plats åt sina medresenärer, människor som inte är uppmärksamma får mig alltid att tänka på allt elände i världen.
Jag tycker om att ha gott om tid, så att jag kan ta nästa tåg om jag vill.
Jag tycker om högtidstal som har både humor och hjärta.
Jag tycker om att höra orden "jag älskar dig" viskas i hemlighet.
Jag tycker om äkta tårar som rymmer både sorg och lycka.
Jag tycker om att åka hem längst fram i en proppfull nattbus och att se hemvägen rullas upp framför mig genom en regnklädd vindruta.
Jag tycker om vackra människor som inte bekymrar sig.
Jag tycker om att fira nattvarden med gammeldansk och mörk choklad.
Jag tycker om Vladimir Vysotskij, den ryska poeten och tillika författaren bakom dikten "det värsta jag vet"
Jag tycker om att jag har gjort riktigt dåraktiga handlingar och ändå klarat mig helskinnad.
Jag tycker om att jag ännu aldrig har behövt spendera en natt på sjukhus, utom när jag föddes men då var jag så liten att jag knappt syntes till.
Jag tycker om att skryta med att jag en gång slängt ut Peter Wahlbäck från en poesiläsning med Bob Hansson, det var inte alls så dramatiskt som det låter men det var ganska kul.
Jag tycker om Peter Wahlbäck, han värnar om en sorts galenskap förutan vilken den präktiga svenska folksjälen skulle förtvina och dö.
Jag tycker om att använda utrotningshotade ord som "tillika" och "förtvina"
Jag tycker om alla mina vänner, ingen nämnd och ingen glömd.

Arriving at Elisabeth Monastery in Minsk

The Frenchman I meet on the bus is reluctant to let me go. Partly because he doesn't think I will survive in Belorus without speaking Russian, and partly because he seem to enjoy the company of another westerner.

He looks at me with disbelief and ask me if I'm sure I will be alright. What will I do, he asks, if nobody shows up to meet me? I shrug my shoulders and raise a hand to the skies. Who knows?

But I have already spotted sister Olga. At first I don't recognize her because she has a big jacket and a hood pulled over her head. She's sitting on a bench like a sulking teenager.

She seem very tired and she's surprised to see me already, my bus arrived fifteen minutes early. There's a strange moment when I don't know how to greet her. Do you shake hands with a nun or what?

In the end we exchange polite "nice to see you again" and Olga leads me to the car waiting for us. I throw my luggage in the trunk and we head out towards the monastery.

The first impression of the monastery is overwhelming. White walls and blue rooftops, and the big church in front of the main building with its golden domes gleaming in the bright sunlight.

I know that all of these buildings are constructed fairly recently, but it's hard for me to understand that there was nothing here only ten years ago. They all seem so solid and monumental.

I imagine a guide walking around here, several hundred years from now, telling students and tourists about an important period for the Russian Orthodox Church.

But that is yet in the future. At the moment we are walking towards the large dining hall to get something to eat, but we are suddenly stopped by brother Elia who wants to show me everything.

I haven't eaten since breakfast, because when the buss stopped for a short lunch brake in Vilnius I had no Lithuanian money and even at Mc Donalds they didn't accept credit cards.

Sister Olga knows this and she tries to explain it to brother Elia, but he is too enthusiastic to let me go just yet. He want's me to see the work they have been doing in the new church.

He hastes in through a cellar door and we have no other option than to follow his black robe down and into the crypt of the church and then up the stairs into the main chapel.

The glistening mosaic and the golden details are gleaming almost as bright as the enthusiasm in Elias eyes as he waves at me to follow and points out the details they have been working on lately.

A big golden cross that are going to crown one of the domes of the church is being prepared with leaflets of gold. He shows me the thin fragments of pure gold lying about and sister Olga translates for him as he tells me that it is a difficult task to apply the gold properly

-Westerners have a joke about us Russians says sister Olga and smiles, they say that even if we don't have food to put on our table still decorate our churches with gold.

We also have a short visit in Elias workshop, a small shed with large windows and a simple fireplace. Everything is covered with a thin layer of white dust that makes it look almost like a bakery.

In the workshop there are fishes hanging to dry. There are at least a hundred of them, strung up in the ceiling with iron wire through their eyes. It's a good catch and it makes the whole workshop smell fishy.

Brother Elia smiles and shows me a piece of Alabaster he has been working on. A detail for the lighting in the church. He holds it up towards the light to let me see how the rays shine through the porous stone.

Sister Olga takes a few of the fishes and leads me to the dining hall. I follow her black robe and there is something carefree in the way she lets the fishes dangle by her side.

She disappears into the kitchen and ask the staff to prepare a meal for me. I am seated in a comfortable wooden chair by a long table in a large dining hall. There is room for at least 90 persons in there.

The food she brings tastes like heaven on a plate after my day long fast. Potatoes and soup. It's simple, just as the Frenchman on the bus told me, simple but well cooked and very tasty.

Sister Olga leaves me alone for a while to enjoy my food and my thoughts. The girls in the kitchen glance at me curiously and spy through the doorway.

Alexis who works in the kitchen, smiles at me frankly. He has a look on his face as if we both share a wonderful secret. He comes and sit beside me silently and I share some of my food with him.

We sit for a while enjoying each others company and the only word we both understand is Mayonaise. So I spread some mayonaise on a piece of dark bread and hand it to him.

I like him, and we seem to understand each other quite well considering we don't speak the same language. He makes me feel warm and welcome just by being there.

Jag sluter ögonen bara för en kort stund och när jag öppnar dem igen är jag i Litauen. Bussen stannar vid en ödslig mack vid landsvägen och jag kliver av för att köpa cigaretter och vatten. Det är först när expediten vägrar ta emot mina Lettiska mynt som jag förstår att vi har bytt land. Jag betalar med kort och vi väntar tålmodigt under tystnad på att transaktionen skall godkännas. När jag kommer ut igen har chauffören redan startat motorn och alla väntar bara på mig.

Desto märkbarare är gränsövergången mellan Litauen och Vitryssland. Gränsen markeras av ett smalt kalhygge och ett manshögt stängsel. Den första person som möter oss på den vitryska sidan är en kvinna i trettioårs åldern med dunjacka, handväska och höga klackar. Hon huttrar i vårblåsten och ser ut som om hon väntar på någon eller som om hon helst skulle vilja vara någon annanstans. Hon tittar på bussen med en föraktfull min och vänder sig sedan bort.

En kvinnlig tulltjänsteman kontrollerar våra pass och säger åt oss att kliva av bussen och ta med oss allt vårt bagage. Sedan lämnas vi ståndes på led i en kall vänthall, vi får formulär att fylla i och till slut låter de oss passera. Vårt bagage körs genom en stor röntgenmaskin av samma sort som de har på flygplatser. Det märkliga är att ingen verkar uppriktigt intresserad av inehållet. Det är som om de inte alls är intresserade av oss utan mest gör vad protokollet kräver.

Jag har svårt att bli av med känslan att de när som helst skall säga att jag inte får komma in, att det har blivit något misstag. Att mitt visum inte är giltigt längre. Men till slut låter de oss kliva ombord på bussen igen. Alla utom jag. Jag har fyllt i mitt formulär fel och måste göra om det igen. Tulltjänstemannen gör sig ingen brådska, det viktigaste är att formuläret blir rätt ifyllt, trots att en ny kö redan börjar formas bakom mig.

Subject Riga

Don't take your beer out of the pub when you are in Riga. Nobody will try to stop you, but if the police see you they will give you an instant fine on 60lat which is about 85€. Our friend the Norwegian experienced that yesterday and as the police car drove away, he waved the ticket with a faint smile saying something about at least not having to buy a souvenir.

Riga has about 800 thousand inhabitants which makes it a fairly big city. But it's huge when you consider that there are only 2 million living in the whole of Latvia. In the 90's the unemployment rate in the rural areas was very high so people moved to Riga to work with tourism and service instead.

Today the unemployment situation is far better than in the 90's. Riga as a city is growing and in the streets you see a lot of people with smart clothes driving cars like Bentley, Lexus, Porsche and Jaguar. The city has a rich variety of good restaurants and bars, and it is said that every time the moon is full a new high class joint grows up through the cracked concrete of old soviet architecture.

We have already tried several of the new establishments, one stranger than the other. One of our favorites is a restaurant where the waitresses are dressed like a weird combination of goth anarchist vampires and the Mad Hatter in Alice in wonderland. They also have a band consisting of a jazz pianist and a fiddler playing old rock classics and blues covers as if it was high culture and part of the national treasures.

Speaking of national treasures, nationalism is a sensitive subject here in Latvia. After a long period of occupation, the Latvians are now striving to maintain a sense of national identity. Only 60% of the Latvian population is in fact Latvian and almost 30% are Russian. Much thanks to the Soviet migration policy to transfer Russians from Soviet to the Baltic states, and to deport dissidents from the Baltic states to camps in Siberia.

To celebrate the freedom from Russian oppression, the Latvian government have raised a huge monument in the middle of Riga called the Statue of Freedom. It is crowned by a stern looking woman holding three stars, symbolizing the three Latvian provinces joined together as one.

Little did they know when they raised this symbol of freedom that they would escape the harsh occupation of the Soviet Union only to be subject to an invasion of English stag parties. Englishmen have a somewhat tarnished reputation in Riga, especially since the Latvian police have reported several incidents when drunken Englishmen have been found desecrating said Statue of freedom. After 40 years of occupation the Latvians take these things very seriously. So if you have to take a leak while in Latvia, try to make it just another block or your vacation may come to a sudden end in prison or even worse in a hospital.

But don't worry, most Latvians are nice and helpful and sympathetic. There is a massive support for the Tibetan cause among the Latvian people. Protests are arranged weekly in front of the Chinese embassy in order to force China to negotiate with the Dalai Lama. No doubt this sympathy with the Tibetan people stems from a lifelong experience of occupation and oppression at home.

Riga is a very international city, we have been to a Cuban cafe that serves a wonderful Mohito, and there is an Indian vegetarian restaurant that serves Ayurvedic lunch and even a Mexican bar with 46 different sorts of tequila. Sadly we could not try all of them yesterday. But In this rich and international flora of restaurants it's almost impossible to find somewhere to buy Chinese take away.

The best food however is served at a small lunch cafe called "Piedod Muza". It's very hard to find since it is located on a back alley in an old building that looks like it is going to fall apart if you scream to loud. But don't let the rough exterior scare you away. Inside there is a small cafe with a warm and cosy atmosphere and here you can buy a traditional Latvian home cooked meal for only 2-3 lats.

Today that is about the same as 3-4 euros, but expect the prices to get higher. Latvia has experienced a boom in it's economy over the past ten years and it's pushing up the prices. The inflation in Latvia is today 16.8% and rising. The average Latvian salary is about 1000€ and most Latvians pay more than half of their income for food and rent.

Maybe that's why everybody is so grumpy in the superstore. If you go shopping for groceries in Riga you will notice that the Latvians don't use many words to carry out the transaction of goods and money. Not even a slight hello or thanks (thanks is "paldies" in Latvian) is exchanged between the shop assistant and the customer and hardly ever a smile, only the money that changes owner and the rattling sound of the cash register.

To get a slightly more interesting shopping experience and a far better variety of goods, I suggest you to take a short walk to one of the many markets in Riga. The biggest market is called Central Market in good old socialist fashion and is conveniently located just around the corner from the central station and the central post office. Here you can find anything from Russian Orthodox religious icons via food and groceries to hardware.

Speaking of hardware, would you ever think an old rusty padlock would be very romantic? Well so do the Latvians. There are some bridges here in Riga that are practically cramped with these padlocks. They are locked to the bridge as a symbol of love, and many of them are even engraved with the names of the lovers. As a symbol for eternal love it must be quite practical since all you have to do if you brake up is go back and unlock the damn padlock again. Or do they also throw the key in the river as a part of the ritual? That is yet to find out...

No hangover today

Today I woke up in Riga for the first time without a hangover. This I celebrated with running 3km and meditating for half an hour. Yesterday Antoine moved out and took the bus to Vilnius. Antoine is a young and enthusiastic french guy who I met the day I arraived and there were just so many bars we had to try. One in particular was called Tequela Boom and they had 46 different sorts of tequela.

We spent most of the days walking around town taking pictures. And I have even found a place where I can develop my B/W films for a third of the price as home in sweden.

We also met this Latvian guy who used us as an excuse not to go home to his girlfriend. He draged us allong from one bar to the other until we eventually ended up in cuba and met the Norweigians. They are really helpful and friendly these Latvians, espescially as drinking companion. (I just heard that his girlfriend was so pissed on him so she exchanged his shower gel with washing liquid, a mild revenge but still)

Now I'm going to have lunch have a nice day.