Serenity in Suzdal's Russian Countryside

The monastary our cabin was inside of
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I am a firm believer of getting off the beaten path because you will probably never really know a country and its people until you go to where the tourists are nowhere in sight. However, I have often not had that luxury, as there were always time constraints and I felt the pressure to go to those historical places that are often in every photo album of a family trip to that particular country. Oh, look, here I am in front of St. Basil's cathedral or the Kremlin, just like everyone else! After visiting Moscow, my husband and I decided to go to some of the towns outside the capital known as the "Golden Ring." While we were only a five hour bus ride outside one of the most expensive and important cities in the world, it seemed as though we had gone to a different country. It didn't take long to leave the general cleanliness and nice buildings of Moscow. A half an hour outside the center of the city, the changes were already apparent. I had finally gotten to Russia.

Market time
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The first thing I noticed were the run down apartments but these quickly gave way to some of the most beautiful countryside I have ever seen. Ireland and the U.S. are up there, but the countryside of Russia is absolutely pastoral. Sloping green hills, fields of heather, and endless forests of stately birch trees make you start humming "Lara's Theme" before you even know it. This is the Russia of Tolstoy and Dr. Zhivago, Pushkin and Chekhov. What makes the Russian countryside especially unique are the colorful, run down houses and the endless expanse of sky. Russia has a sky unlike any you have ever seen. No matter if you are in a city or village, the sky dominates the landscape, full of the clearest blue and never without lush cottony white clouds or grey clouds rimmed in gold. It is the perfect backdrop for any onion domed church.

Old wooden church
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We passed forests of Evergreens and homes with women sitting out front, kerchiefs tied under their necks as they gazed forlornly out at the road, hoping that someone will stop and buy some of the homemade pickles in their buckets. Old man lead their goats or cows, their newsboy caps covering their gray heads. Intricate woodwork around the windows of the blue, purple, or green houses speak of peasants and late winter nights huddled around fires, drinking vodka to stay warm. The lace curtains of each home fluttered in the wind as we passed.

Our first town to visit was Suzdal, described in our guide book as a "fairy tale" town. We were not disappointed. The tiny town, which had an array of gorgeous, crumbling onion domed churches and a monastery on a hill, was full of old ramshackle houses and townspeople taking quiet walks. Wildflowers that represented all colors of the rainbow, were scattered over the long, uncut grasses as if an overeager flower girl had spent the day skipping through the fields.

We walked to our abode for the evening, a log cabin all to ourselves in the middle of a nunnery that had been the home of an exiled tsarina whose tsar husband had sent her to after she was unable to produce an heir to the throne. The buildings were eight hundred years old, but the cabins were fairly new, built out of solid wood logs and furnished with cheerful traditional Russian curtains, rugs, and spreads. We had a lovely front porch to sit on, which came in handy later that night when a lightning storm sent from Zeus himself awed us for an hour. The entire sky, devoid of any artificial light, became the stage of the best light show I have ever seen, the constant flashes illuminating the ancient walls surrounding me. The rain pounded on the tin roofs of the town, creating a symphony with the wind. But the most important part of it all was the air...the sweetest smell I had ever encountered. I filled my nostrils constantly, as if I had found an oasis in the middle of the desert. And, for me, it was an oasis, in a way. I had not had the luxury of fresh air for over a year, having lived in a highly industrialized country. Now, I couldn't stop the smell of wet dirt, wildflowers, and some unnameable sweetness from filling me up, even if I had wanted to.

When we left lovely Suzdal, which was ll too soon, I felt refreshed and rested. I had been to the land of nuns and monks and quiet villagers...even the empress of Russia had looked upon the same walls and hills as I had. And my husband and I were the only  native English speakers in the whole town. Now that is Russia.