Like most of us who were drawn to Russia at an early age (if not born there), the relationship is tough, sometimes brutal, not always loving, but never indifferent. I flicker between anger and despair at the moment, but deeply wish to go back one day, assuming I am able. There was a reason I fell in love with the country in the late eighties. That reason remains.
I have similar emotions. I’ve found a lot of parallels, some comfort and heartbreak in reading a lot of post 1917 revolution memoirs, accounts, even the poetry and songs of the time. Really grateful we got the 30 in-between years
Well said. I have gone back to Akhmatova, whom I couldn't read and was too young to understand when I first went to Russia. I'm also spending time with Mandelshtam, as well as Tarkovsky Snr. - I just love his poems in Zerkalo
Thank you for commenting, and I am glad we share a loss. Anthony was easy to dismiss, or ridicule, and deserved neither. Without his generosity (and willingness to forgive, as you suggest) I would be nowhere now. It is probably fair to say that my career would have foundered before it began, I would not have met my first wife, or second, or had the wonderful children I love. All lives are made of choices made, sometimes by others, and we don't always notice or say 'thank you' in time. People talk about butterflies in the Amazon changing the weather pattern. Anthony did that in my life.
I don't know if we met at the Tribune. I hope you are well, and enjoying whatever the day has brought.
No, your timeline shows that I was still a green student and by the time I came, in 1995, you were already on BBC pastures. I applied to the job in the World Service a year later and was accepted, despite failing to realise that the 'populists' in my translation test were none the others but 'народники'. I saw a bunch of Tribuners about seven or eight years ago, Anthony told us a story on how he fell very ill in Thailand. All of us, obviously, changed appearances. Apart from himself and a wonderful gentle lady (Elena?) who was doing the layouts, member of the team which always stayed until the very late before the films with layout were sent to publishers.
Thank you, Sally. I last saw Moscow briefly about five years ago. It was hard to recognise from the city I had left in 2005 - which bore little relation to the one I first saw in 1988. This would have been a lot like your impressions, I think - empty highways in the middle of town, shades of grey, gruesome dowdy architecture, and very little to catch the eye (which you suddenly realise at some point is because there are no advertising hoardings or posters in shop windows). I left in 2005 because the constant warfare and terrorist incidents, plus the incipient feeling of fascism-lite, had exhausted me. When I returned, it was a smarter, apparently more functional city by far - but a sense of immiseration remained beneath the shiny surfaces, and a feeling of foreboding and artificial joys being chased harder and harder. And now I doubt I will be back for a very long time indeed.
Thank you for sharing this, touching to see the “Tourist’s breakfast” and bormotukha, and most of all the empathy that comes through in your writing.
Like most of us who were drawn to Russia at an early age (if not born there), the relationship is tough, sometimes brutal, not always loving, but never indifferent. I flicker between anger and despair at the moment, but deeply wish to go back one day, assuming I am able. There was a reason I fell in love with the country in the late eighties. That reason remains.
I have similar emotions. I’ve found a lot of parallels, some comfort and heartbreak in reading a lot of post 1917 revolution memoirs, accounts, even the poetry and songs of the time. Really grateful we got the 30 in-between years
Well said. I have gone back to Akhmatova, whom I couldn't read and was too young to understand when I first went to Russia. I'm also spending time with Mandelshtam, as well as Tarkovsky Snr. - I just love his poems in Zerkalo
In 1995 I was in AP meadows. BBC pastures were made available to melkii skot like me in June 2000
He was impossible youthful in appearance. Dorian Grey of Prospekt Lenina and Ploshchad Gagarina
I now know who this is. Привет. Очень приятно встретиться здесь. До встречи в мире
Sad to hear about Antony, I liked him too and he was relatively gentle after a massive cock-up of mine whilst on the Tribune news desk watch
Dear Oleg,
Thank you for commenting, and I am glad we share a loss. Anthony was easy to dismiss, or ridicule, and deserved neither. Without his generosity (and willingness to forgive, as you suggest) I would be nowhere now. It is probably fair to say that my career would have foundered before it began, I would not have met my first wife, or second, or had the wonderful children I love. All lives are made of choices made, sometimes by others, and we don't always notice or say 'thank you' in time. People talk about butterflies in the Amazon changing the weather pattern. Anthony did that in my life.
I don't know if we met at the Tribune. I hope you are well, and enjoying whatever the day has brought.
Best wishes,
Chris
No, your timeline shows that I was still a green student and by the time I came, in 1995, you were already on BBC pastures. I applied to the job in the World Service a year later and was accepted, despite failing to realise that the 'populists' in my translation test were none the others but 'народники'. I saw a bunch of Tribuners about seven or eight years ago, Anthony told us a story on how he fell very ill in Thailand. All of us, obviously, changed appearances. Apart from himself and a wonderful gentle lady (Elena?) who was doing the layouts, member of the team which always stayed until the very late before the films with layout were sent to publishers.
Thank you, Sally. I last saw Moscow briefly about five years ago. It was hard to recognise from the city I had left in 2005 - which bore little relation to the one I first saw in 1988. This would have been a lot like your impressions, I think - empty highways in the middle of town, shades of grey, gruesome dowdy architecture, and very little to catch the eye (which you suddenly realise at some point is because there are no advertising hoardings or posters in shop windows). I left in 2005 because the constant warfare and terrorist incidents, plus the incipient feeling of fascism-lite, had exhausted me. When I returned, it was a smarter, apparently more functional city by far - but a sense of immiseration remained beneath the shiny surfaces, and a feeling of foreboding and artificial joys being chased harder and harder. And now I doubt I will be back for a very long time indeed.