My time spent in Bashkortostan would further contribute to my understanding of the 'Real Russia' which is so seldom portrayed, and the reality of life in smaller towns and cities scattered across this geographically massive nation. It would also enhance my understanding of the many different groups of people living in Russia, a staggering 300 or so ethnic groups spread out from Kaliningrad to Chukotka, and how each and every one of them are slightly similar to their neighbors, yet still unique.
Bashkortostan is the most populous republic in Russia with some 4 million inhabitants, but is only one-third Bashkir, the ethnic group after which it is named. The other two-thirds are Tatars and Russians, and while the Bashkir language is spoken, it is more likely to be heard outside of the capital, Ufa. Ethnically, it is a strange Republic. With so much intermixture, you can't quite figure out who is who, but feel like you may be able to take a guess, whereas in a place like Dagestan, you have no hope of figuring out who belongs to which ethnic group by sight and sound alone. Reachable by a two-hour flight to the east, I decided to explore this part of Russia which I had thus far neglected- Russia's region southeast of Moscow. It is called the Volga Region, and many of Russia's cities and a significant portion of its population call it home. The eastern part of the Volga Region is near the foot of the Ural Mountains, which demarcate the boundaries of Europe and Asia.
Something which has fascinated me since my first days in Russia is looking at the many different faces of people in this country. I often snuck furtive glances at people while riding the metro or walking in some city, and wondered where they could be from, what their ethnic composure could be. You see faces that you never would have thought could exist. How has this come to be?
Centuries of genetic admixture have created some strikingly unique looking people in Russia, and Bashkortostan is one of many places where it has occurred and is most evident. Outside of Ufa, different towns could be predominantly Bashkir, or Tatar, or Russian, or a different combination of any of the three, caused by centuries of migration, conquest, conflict, and intermarriage. In a move that may be scorned by Russians as being too nosy, after beginning to chat with someone, I often asked them, for example, "Are you Bashkir?" only to watch them brighten up, a smile cross their face as they explained with delight, "Yes, I am Bashkir!" or "No, I'm actually Chuvash! Have you heard of the Chuvash people?" I did this with taxi drivers, guides, clerks, and strangers during my travels far and wide, and learned so much in this way, directly from the people.
Bashkortostan, while somewhat off the beaten path, is not some far-flung, unknown realm by Russian standards. It has a rich and unique history as a part of Russia, often acting as a wild card in the important events of the country. The Bashkir people are officially classified as a Kipchak Turkic people, who led a semi-nomadic lifestyle in their half-forest half-steppe territory on either side of the Ural Mountains. They were part of the Golden Horde of Mongol-Tatars which invaded and subjugated Russia, but when the Russians broke the 'Tatar Yoke' and the tables turned, some Bashkir tribes willingly joined the Tsardom of Russia.
The Bashkir people, skilled horsemen, would often serve as elite cavalry troops in Russia's armies in conflicts such as the Napoleonic Wars. Imagine a horseman, armed with a bow and spear, entering Paris, looking around the city with wonder, while the French stood in awe and terror. Bashkortostan saw many rebellions against the Tsardom, and was one of the hotspots of Pugachev's Rebellion, an unsuccessful revolt against the Tsar and a tumultuous time in Russian history. The Bashkir hero, Salavat Yulaev, was exiled for his participation to St. Petersburg for the rest of his life, and the lifestyle of the Bashkir people became irrevocably changed by Russia's dominion.
Yet, the Bashkirs are a strong and resilient people. They have a reputation of being true horsemen, their lives ancestrally linked to equestrianism. Horses were not just used for transportation and war, but also for food and milk, and are to this day. Horses, romanticized yet often considered archaic, represent life and freedom for the Bashkir people. Even though they are modernized, the image conjured up when one thinks Bashkortostan should be one of a proud people, mounted on a horse and riding freely.
I had previously said that Ulan-Ude is the first city on the long trek eastwards where you suddenly feel like you are in Asia. Bashkortostan, often overlooked due to the popular neighboring Tatar city of Kazan, doesn't quite have the same affect, but instead leaves you puzzled as to where you are exactly- am I in Asia, or is this still Europe? Such is the effect that much of Russia has. From a westerner's standpoint, you can't really quite figure it out. A Euro-centric viewpoint tends to openly demarcate spaces and the people who live there- the French live in France, and the Germans in Germany, and there is a line that divides the two (keep in mind that Alsace Lorraine is a unique mixture of both). But in a country as massive as Russia, this mixture is more spread out and harder to identify by the sheer size of the territory and the many different ethnic groups, many of whom moved around throughout the country's history. Bashkortostan is but one of several Republics, all clustered in the Volga Region; there are also the republics of Tatarstan, Udmurtia, Mari-El, Mordovia, and Chuvashia. When you reach this ethnic mosaic of a region, you can't help but wonder where you are.
Ufa is a pleasant city with a marvelous patchwork of varying architecture, here a tower flat decorated with ethnic motifs, there a modern panel building, next to that a neo-classical Russian building complete with pillars and white paint, and next to that a wooden house, the archetypical dwelling of Russia seen almost anywhere in the country. It is a modern city, located next to the very wide Belaya River, beyond which lie the forests of Bashkortostan.
To get to the city center, I took a minibus from the airport, and went directly to the highest point in the city. Located in a well-decorated park, I found one of the main attractions not far from a sloping embankment by the river, a massive statue made in the likeness of Salawat Yulaev, Bashkortostan's national hero. The epic statue portrays a horseman with Asiatic features wearing a traditional rider's cap, and a whip dangling from his raised hand. He has a severe look on his face as he stares beyond the river towards the distant forests.
After some time spent at this lovely park, I made my way to the National Museum of Bashkortostan, where I filled myself in on many historical details about the republic and the people who live here. I was quite amused when I discovered an interactive flat screen tv showing the number of residents of each ethnic group- 1,432,906 Russians, 1,172,287 Bashkirs, and on and on… and 18 Americans! How interesting. Some of the museum showed the flora and fauna of the region, as well as photographs of some of Bashkortostan's natural beauty. The rest featured the history of the region, from ancient times to days of the Golden Horde, to the arrival of Tsardom, the Soviet Era, and today.
As I continued to stroll through the city after my stop at the museum, I marveled at how good of an impression I had, although having sunny weather always seems to play its role in the formation of my opinion. I found the architecture of the central part of the city to be appealing, with a unique mixture of old and new. This is much like many cities in western and central Russia, but this region seemed to have a certain flavor. Many quaint brick buildings, perhaps from the late 1800s, were juxtaposed against modern apartments, shopping centers and galleries. All around, neoclassical Russian architecture could be found, featuring columns and arches, but also to be found were buildings with a slightly Asian aspect.
Near a pedestrian zone, I walked by a tall brick mosque, next to which was located a bar offering wine, music and culture- another juxtaposition, which I found comical and reaffirmed my understanding that Islam was a religion here, but not exactly followed with strict dogmatism.
That evening I decided to sample the local cuisine, something which I had made a routine part of my trips to Russia's Republics, as each has their own unique dish. Do not think for one moment that I dislike Russian food- in fact, I love Russian food, and the discovery of a Russian market in Westbrook, Maine, led me on a culinary adventure which somehow culminated with me moving to Russia, but that is another story for another blog post. True Russian food- pelmeni, a variety of soups, herring under the fur coat- became my regular diet, so any chance to sample something from a different culture within Russia was seized upon. I can even say that a major reason for returning to Dagestan twice was to eat the local food!
When trying local cuisine in Russia's republics, we can consider two ways of sampling, the first being in a restaurant, usually quite nice and even upscale, which offers some unique local dishes as well as the normal Russian fare, albeit possibly at a higher price than your run-of-the-mill restaurant. The second option is of course to try the food with the locals, like I did in Altai and in Dagestan, the food having been made by the person whose home you are in. This requires a more adventurous approach, but it could also of course be part of a tourist excursion. Either way, the cuisine of Russia's republics vary extensively and, if you are adventurous, sates a desire to try some incredibly unique and delicious food which you never could have imagined exists. Perhaps you think you are adventurous when it comes to food- do read on.
Duslyk, a restaurant near the center of Ufa, serves some of Bashkortostan's national dishes. Chiefly among them are a variety of dishes prepared with horse meat. Do you still think you are adventurous? This was not the first time I had tried it; I had eaten raw horse liver in Buryatia, and horse sausage in Altai. On the menu this evening was Beshbarmak- a common Central Asian dish consisting of horse meat, potatoes, onions and pasta. I also ordered cured horse sausage, horse bone broth, and, or course, kumis, or fermented mare's milk. This is a guilty pleasure of mine, and I wouldn't blame anyone for not wanting to try it. In the USA, the UK, Canada, and several other countries, eating horse meat has become a taboo of sorts. In much of Europe, it is normal, even considered a delicacy sometimes, but not often on the menu. In Central Asia, in the world once dominated by the Mongol Empire, horse meat is the food. Steppe warriors ate horse meat, fermented horse milk in bags strapped to their saddles, and even drank horse blood. The people of such Republics as Bashkortostan, Altai, and Buryatia have kept these culinary traditions, and continue to make a variety of meat and dairy products from their horses. While the meat was delicious- sweet and tender- the kumis was my favorite part of the meal, frothy and unlike any dairy product I have ever tried (although this kumis had very little alcohol, unlike the kumis I tried in Altai, which was rather alcoholic). You never know what kind of food you might like until you try it!
Following this most hearty of meals, I decided to burn a few calories by walking back towards the embankment of the river and statue, but first I passed through a sort of 'Arbat' street, where many people were gathered and listening to music in an open-air auditorium. This was nice to see, because some Russian cities have no such public place to enjoy some music and culture at no cost, but apparently the governor of Ufa thought it was a good idea to have a place for anyone to gather for entertainment.
I returned to the statue of Salavat Yulaev, and then descended towards the river embankment via a long metal staircase which took me through a thick stand of pines, which I found to be an enjoyable surprise, an unexpected natural sight still within city limits. Soon after, the sun set, dusk fell and I settled into my hostel.
I had set up an excursion to go see some sights the following day. Leaving my hostel, the crisp spring air roused me out of my grogginess, and I took a taxi to the meeting point somewhat outside of the city center. There, I was greeted warmly by the excursion guide, Alfina, and hopped in the back of the van. A young woman, a student, also sat in the back, and the rest of the passengers were pensioners, all women in their 60s. They were a lively, gossipy bunch, and were dressed for an occasion- the end of lent. I have been on excursions where nobody really said a word to each other. But Alfina was clearly not going to let that happen- she started us off with icebreakers, such as "We are going on a camping trip- everyone say what item you will bring and why!" The pensioners brought bread, cookies, and other pleasantries, and I brought an ax. Leaving Ufa, Krushyovkas gave way to an industrial zone which then gave way to open fields and forests. The landscape was a myriad of brown and tan hues, all mixed together.
I do not remember what exactly was promised during my phone call with a woman working for the excursion company, but I knew that it entailed leaving the city, which was good enough, regardless of what I would see. It turned out that the first order of business was a stop at an Orthodox church where a men's monastery was located. This was perhaps the primary attraction for the group of pensioners, who wrapped their heads with colorful scarves as they entered the territory, and enthusiastically filled empty plastic bottles with water from the monastery spring-fed well.
After a tour of the monastery territory, they disappeared into the church for the service, which was especially long that day. I managed to stay for only some 30 minutes. I wondered if I even belonged there, and while the solemn hymns of the choir- half-spoken, half-sung- filled me with a sort of reverence for it all, after a while I found that I couldn't stand.. standing. Restless, I left and walked around the territory some more, and in the nearby forest. The service continued, and after more than an hour or so, the faithful began to appear outside the church.
Speaking to one of the pensioners who actually spoke English and was happy to speak with me (there are surprises at every corner in Russia) Alfina left the church and saw me. Her eyes grew wide, and she emphatically grabbed me by the arm, locking mine with hers, before I knew what was going on, and told me "You must come with me into the church, I want you to try this food". Having absolutely no clue what was going on but not about to question Alfina's authority, I went with her back into the church, where she stood me next to a man dressed in all black and told him that I was a foreigner and that I should participate in the upcoming ceremony, and that he should instruct me on everything I must do. First, the men and women lined up on opposite sides shoulder to shoulder, and then each turned round and walked in a line around the inside of the church and then to the iconostas, where each was sprinkled with holy water. Following this, we all lined up again, and after some religious speech was made, the men, led by the patriarch, left the church in double file, myself among them in the last row, and walked along the main path of the monastery towards the trapeznaya, the dining hall, while the faithful looked on with respect. I could feel those in my group looking at me with great delight, almost as if I was a football player leaving the field after a victory. In the dining hall, we all sat at wooden benches and ate the last meal of lent, which had no meat. On the table were pots of a simple porridge of carrots and potatoes, as well as bread, tea, tomatoes and cucumbers, and a pasty grain dish. With these men I ate, and did so like them,- quickly and in silence- while a patriarch intermittently recited passages from the Bible in that half-spoken, half-sung fashion, a small choir of men echoing his recitation at the end of each excerpt. Then at one moment I was instructed by the man next to me to stand up and clasp my hands together and look forwards as the patriarch and choir gave the final recitation, and they then filed out of the trapeznaya, followed by all the men, I among them, where I was met by Alfina and the pensioners. It was quite a sublime experience which I would not have volunteered for myself, but it was really quite interesting. What is more interesting was that Alfina, an Orthodox Christian (and a Tatar at that) had no hesitancy about my participation in her own religious ceremony, even though I am an outsider and not Orthodox, but rather was eager to volunteer me for this religious and cultural ceremony.
I was a bit worried about where we would go following this holy ceremony at the monastery- not that I didn't appreciate it, but I was hoping to see the natural beauty of Bashkortostan. Leaving the monastery, we drove for some time through alternating patches of forest and brown steppe, some still blanketed by melting snow. Heading north, we eventually reached Pavlovka, a town of some 4,000 souls situated next to the Ufa river. Ice swirled on the top of the brown river, and was frothiest at the location of the Pavlovka hydroelectric station, our first stopping point.
We passed from lower Pavlovka which was little more than a few houses alongside the river, went across the river via a road on the hydroelectric station and up a hill to reach upper Pavlovka. I'll never forget the way I felt after entering upper Pavlovka, as I was suddenly reminded of the condition of true Russia, the Russia far from Moscow and far enough from a regional capital to be easily forgotten.
Wooden and brick houses with metal roofs flanked the paved and dirt roads. You could tell which houses were inhabited by the those with at least some money, and which were inhabited by the poor, as the former had orderly yards and quaint houses in decent condition with matching green, red, or blue colored fences and roofs, while the latter had rusted gray sheet metal roofs, their home and fences in a state of disrepair. Debris lay strewn about. Near the center of the town was a red brick church, not far from that a mosque, and right in the middle stood a couple of modern apartment complexes, one gleaming with fresh white paint and a blue metal roof. Perhaps the managers of the hydroelectric station lived here, while the workers lived in the houses.
The town had what one would typically expect, including a few small markets, a gas station and a liquor store. Ksyusha, who sat in the very back of the car with me, told me what I had been told for the umpteenth time, that alcoholism was a significant problem out here. Looking at the state of things, one begins to understand why. Yet, this was a town, and the village we would visit would prove to be the real reality check.
Our van stopped next to the white-and-blue apartment building, and we took a muddy path towards the river. The green spring grass was just beginning to show, and families here and there were cooking shashlik (barbeque) or having a picnic, with all necessary provisions laid out on a tablecloth. Up on a high plateau overlooking the river, a wide view of the Ufa River and lower Pavlovka was visible from a cliffside spotted with limestone pillars.
It was a fantastic view, and I was in awe. Yet, Alfina lamented that I had come at not such an ideal time of the year, and that I must come back in the summer, when everything is green, not brown. Still, I found that this place in Bashkortostan had immense natural beauty.
Leaving Pavlovka, the road took us alongside the winding Ufa River, and after a short time we arrived in Krasny Klyuch. Literally translated as Red Key, Krasy Klyuch is one of the largest springs in the world, and was called Bely Klyuch- White Key- due to the white tint of the water. When Communist forces overran Bashkortostan, they changed the name of the location, as they could not stand anything being named white, as their adversary was the monarchist White Army. Once again Alfina lamented that this was not the best time to visit, as the water was a muddy brown this time of the year, instead of its coveted summertime azure-white. It was still a very enjoyable place, and together we drank tea and ate cakes at a gazebo by the river and spring.
The last stop was at a village called Sarva, also the location of another spring. The condition of the village was evident upon entering it; several destroyed brick buildings dotted the area, and scattered among them were some dilapidated houses and a wooden mosque with a green roof, which looked like a Lincoln-log creation. A single small shop was located on the side of the pothole-filled road, which wound alongside a stream, the source of which was the Sarva spring. With snow still on the ground, some of the village was in a general state of disarray, yet there was also something prepossessing about it. Perhaps this village was at one point more populated during the Soviet area, and those buildings which weren't in a state of disrepair seemed cozy. The area was rather hilly, and out in this highly rural area, it seemed that the road never ends, but goes over a hill, through a forest, to the next secluded village, and then to the next, on and on into Siberia.
The green-brown water sprung forth from a central point in the spring. Locals of indistinguishable ethnic background sat by the banks of the spring, picnicking and drinking beer out of plastic bottles. It almost seemed as if this village was dying, which it may well have been in the process of experiencing, a slow death caused by a lack of jobs, low salaries, and the unwillingness of the youth to stay in such a place.
Nature seemed to be showing the very initial signs of its attempt to reclaim the area, as large puddles had flooded certain flat areas of the village; some yards were overgrown with shrubs, their wooden fences which demarcate property lines falling over. Yet, compared to many villages in Russia, Sarva was alive and well; at least there was an attraction which brought people to this place.
Leaving Sarva and driving back towards Ufa, I chatted with Ksyusha about traveling, Russia, and other topics, in between the songs which our pensioners were singing- songs they had learned as young Pioneers, a group similar to the Boy Scouts but with a communist flavor. They sang, laughed and hurrahed just as they may have done some 55 years ago, and seemed to be enjoying themselves thoroughly. It was hilarious for me to behold, as I had never heard such songs, with lyrics coming straight out of the handbook: "In our communist brigade, Lenin is with us, forwards!". Ksyusha perhaps had a similar reaction as I had, amusement but incapable of comprehending this mindset, as most Russians my age and younger know little about the Soviet era and the deeds of the communist regime. During a stop at a small cafe, I learned, much to my amusement, that the driver was reaching his wit's end- he had had enough of the communist brigade's racket.
We passed tan fields and colorful villages, saw a horse and rider, and before long had reached the city limits of Ufa. Tall tower flats sprung up out of the earth, provoking a reaction as if I had never seen such things before. On the main boulevard of Ufa, which never seemed to end, our minibus dropped off several pensioners, and eventually we returned to our starting point . I thanked Alfina, and she gave me a warm hug, telling me to come back soon. The people in Bashkortostan really are wonderful. After saying goodbye to everyone, I returned to my favorite restaurant for the second time.
I hope that the picture I have painted about this place does not make anyone think that this region is unpleasant, ugly, or any other negative aspect; on the contrary, I think that Bashkortostan is a beautiful region with much to offer. It just so happens that I went there in the spring, when everything is brown. Bashkortostan normally looks like this:
As you can see, there is great natural beauty to be seen there. There is also something beautiful about the people here- I was treated warmly by everyone I met. As for the conditions of the towns and villages, it is true that many of them are lacking in many things- proper housing, jobs, and more. This is a problem facing many places across Russia, but we have this problem in the USA as well, although perhaps not on quite the same scale. One thing for certain is that in Russia, the differences in the quality of life between large cities and rural towns and villages are much greater than in the West.
It is not my desire to stigmatize this country due to its shortcomings, nor to point the finger and say "Why can't you be more like Europe?" which is a reasonable but perhaps overly asked question; it is a question that we in the West like to pose, but we are not always willing to receive the answer, or to take the time to truly understand it. It is my intent to show what this country is really like, both the good and the bad, because I believe that the Real Russia is rarely shown to us in the West. Despite the shortcomings- some of which I have made evident in the photos in this blog post- the people of Russia are tough, and have been through much. They will continue to live in these far-flung regions as they have for centuries, and the uniqueness of the isolated Russian village will live on- as long as the village does. We in the West will continue to be shown tanks on Red Square.
Winston Churchill was quoted as saying that Russia was "a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma." The context of this quote was actually about Moscow's intentions during World War Two, saying that they were difficult to read. Yet, this quote can perhaps describe the country today. Perhaps at the source of what makes Russia enigmatic is its unique mixture of East and West, its eternal identity crisis which started hundred of years ago with the Mongol subjugation of the Slavic people and the introduction of Asian-style despotism. Yet to further understand the complexity of this country, much knowledge is needed about the many different ethnic groups that inhabit the largest country in the world. We must understand that Russia is not a homogenous country.
I uneventfully returned to Moscow by plane the following day. I had thoroughly enjoyed my short trip to Bashkortostan, where I learned that there is so much more for me to learn, and where it was further confirmed that I will be forever mesmerized- even obsessed- by the intricacies of this country.
Comments
Post a Comment