2009 - Year of Bulgaria in Russia
130 Years Diplomatic Relations

“I love Bulgaria! I am in love with the Pirin Mountain!” The eyes of the woman who said this to me were shining as she made a declaration of love for my country all in a breath – and the words pouring out with sincere emotion, drew in my imagination, dizzy with the first impressions from the huge scale of Moscow, pictures of little old houses and village wattle fences by thin pathways. My interlocutor was an artist and perhaps this explains my strange feeling of intertwining realities. I belong to a generation for whom 1700 km have never been an insuperable distance to feel close to someone. Which incidentally is also true of much farther places in the world for the simple reason that we know them mainly from the books. Oh, we did read avidly. But in recent years there has been much talk about the drifting apart in the relations with Russia – to the extent of being complete strangers in the purely human dimension (think of the expression – “renewal of the Bulgaria-Russia cultural relations”!). Which, if it were true, would have been very sad, because our special relationship is far not confined to the past century, or the preceding one, it goes back a millennium. Thank God, it’s not really true.

We felt it already at Sheremetevo Airport. The official at the check point finished filling out our forms herself, instead of sending us back once or twice, as was the case with other passengers – not out of impoliteness, this is impossible here – but because of the rules. To my gratitude that I come for the first time and I am pleased to be welcomed in such a way she smiled heartily – i.e. for friends it is no problem. On the way, as we found out later, we had all felt peculiarly. We had entered a foreign country but somehow it did not feel that way. We exchanged glances and simultaneously said out loud: the Cyrillic. Our letters were on the shop and street signs, on the signboards and billboards…

If anywhere in the world people don’t know about us or show little interest, the sin is ours, Bulgarian. Whatever objective reasons may be for this, here is a recipe:

Vigorous people at the Bulgarian Cultural Institute

At the Bulgarian Cultural Institute in Moscow a not very large staff caters for the cultural relations with such a huge country of very rich history, culture and traditions. It is hard to believe if you look at the monthly list of events. In order to organize the participation of well-known actors, musicians, artists from Bulgaria and Russia, presentations of Bulgarian literature and art, and last but not least, to draw audiences and get coverage in the Russian press – without exaggeration, 24 hours a day are not enough. You would be amazed at the invariable smile of Director Buryana Angelakieva, as she meets and talks with various people, functionaries and visitors, all day long. This is part of the work she does together with her two collaborators, Hristo Obreshkov and Rashko Mladenov.

In the tight calendar of events it was extremely nice that the Bulgarian Cultural Institute had full house at the presentation of the jubilee edition of Bulgarian Bestseller, The Tarnovo Constitution 1879. Bulgaria Returns to Europe. Guest of the evening was the author, Stoyan Raichevsky. The audience showed great interest in his other books, too, which are the result from profound research, some of which have been published as supplements to Bulgarian Diplomatic Review magazine. The first issue of the magazine this year, dedicated to the Year of Bulgaria in Russia and containing a section on Bulgaria-Russia diplomatic relations, was in the hands of our guests within minutes. People of diverse professions and interests, they were obviously concerned with a circle of contacts with Bulgaria broader than the cultural aspect. For good reason. That’s the way things work – on the wisdom of the official relations depends the normal exchange of people and ideas in any sphere: in the economy, in the social sphere, in education, etc. Therefore in the course of years, and particularly in 2008 and 2009 – Year of Russia in Bulgaria and Year of Bulgaria in Russia, respectively – the magazine devotes a special section to the intercourse between the two countries. The magazine is published also in Russian thanks to the desire of Russia and the exceptional support rendered by the law firm Sikaylo, Gabbasov, Romakhova & Partners, without seeking privileged treatment at that.

The pleasure from this meeting was complemented with the performances of Alexey Lyubimov and the Bessarabian Bulgarian Donna Mikhailova, who had come to greet the audience and us. Alexey’s sax seemed to draw The Old Castle in colour, with the refinement inherent to the sensitivity of Mussorgsky. True joy that was a gift from his young heart. The young virtuoso in fact gave a whole concert, dedicated to the occasion. We heard Concert Etude by K. Revchun, and Alexey recited Bulat Okudzhava’s poem Musician as a compliment to the audience.

And certainly not only the Bulgarian hearts in the hall stopped beating at the cosmic unattainability of the Rhodope melodies and thumped with the Macedonian rhythms in the splendid performance of Donna. Her face beamed with genuine delight in singing our unique folk songs.

Engrossed in conversations, exchange of impressions, questions and answers, we didn’t notice the nightfall come (in Moscow, by the way, it gets dark rather late). We parted happy, but unwilling, we wished to be together longer. And to hope that the inevitable parting promises another meeting. So much for the “alienation.”

I read somewhere the words, attributed to Belinski, “to the Russian born in Petersburg, Moscow is just as amazing as to the foreigner.” I can say that, especially if you are seeing it for the first time, the city is

stunning with its dimensions

You anticipate it, yet you are impressed. In the perspective of the huge non-built-up areas, the green gardens and parks, the rising buildings look even more imposing. The space permits it, too. Here filled up with immense buildings, there dominated by if not boundless at least very wide expanse. You breathe unincommoded by the proximity of walls on all sides, and it is a feast for the eyes. This is a specific feature of the Russian capital, noted by tourists who have been around the world. As far as I gathered from old gravures and photographs, the panorama follows traditional continuity – the broad streets, the spacious squares and the imposing buildings have not sprang up in the last century, only the stories have gone dangerously up. But what is really charming is that on every house, even the newly built ones, there is some decoration – a cupola, a steeple, a spire…

With very few exceptions, construction shows special love and persistency for decorations. All kinds of arches and little arches, columns and little columns, covered galleries, older Moscow is decorated with plaster ornaments and sculptures. There have been times, and even nowadays some people think this is superfluity. But I liked it. What filled me with even greater respect was the fact that whatever styles were employed, in each silhouette the Russian element is discernable or even dominant. Even the mosques are built in this proper Moscow style, which is seen also in the smooth polish of the new glass-steel complexes. The latter, resembling vertical isles, pop up suddenly now on the left, now on the right, depending on which ring you are approaching by (don’t try to find your bearings in all these “rings”, you won’t have enough time for the historical sights as it is) and are equally beautiful at night and in daytime. At night, because then the whole of Moscow is lit up. The advantage of having gas resources.

Just a pro po, at least to the onlooker, driving in the Moscow streets seemed to be a real pleasure. In any case, there isn’t a single bump on the road, and as it appeared to me, parking is not a big problem. Muscovites also have a strange idea of traffic jams, too. The same syndrome is evident in Bulgarians who have spent a long time there. Surely, when they return to Bulgaria they miss for a while the “plugs” at whatever “ring”.

We were lucky not only with the weather, which was mostly good, without being hot, so no physical inconveniences stood in the way of the mind and the soul. They say lately most of the time one of the domes of Vasily the Blessed was in restoration. We had the luck to see the cathedral in all its splendour. The multicoloured domes of the eight smaller churches comprising the temple, and above them – the golden dome of the Church of the Holy Shroud, shining in the sun. In the Red Square naturally it is always crowded, full of tourists who go around, pointing at things, clicking with their cameras. Newly weds who observe the custom of ending up their wedding ceremony under the Kremlin towers. And groups of young people, strolling and laughing. Evidently local, evidently gone out for amusement. For the outside visitor this parade of youth lends a surprisingly intimate atmosphere to this place – girls in summer dresses and on thin high heels, and boys obviously flustered in the pit of the stomach but with joyful faces… Enough effusions but I cannot omit to say that we were attracted by the Red Square and we visited it several times. One of the monkeys in front of the Museum of History wanted to go away with Lucy, faultless nose for the greatest defender of the animals’ cause. He took her hand but then he remembered something and looked sacredly at his owner who was busy explaining the price list for photos with exotic animals. So, we had to go back especially for the “kin” to earn his bread.

I am not going to rewrite the guide to Moscow, an impossible undertaking, all the museums, galleries, palaces and mansions (called “osobnyak”) and the incredible architectural and historical treasures and art objects, the numerous churches and little churches, parks, etc. Muscovites are particularly happy with the newly erected Cathedral of Christ the Saviour, which was literally raised from the ashes. It took fifty years to build the original in memory of the victory in 1812. It was painted by eminent Russian artists: Surikov, Vereshchagin, Makovsky, etc. For many years there was an outdoor swimming pool on top of its ruins. The cathedral has been restored in its original form and since the year 2000 divine services are held there. The frescos of Surikov and the others are gone, but the young icon-writing school preserves and continues the tradition and, they say, it is in no way inferior.

The finger of fate or Hristo Obreshkov was impatient to take us there, but the very first or second day we were able to see a relic that is in a way Bulgarian –

the little monastery of St. Kiprian,

Metropolitan of Moscow from the Tarnovo family Tsamblak. His fellow disciple, and probably close relative (history is still to say its final word) Euthimius, Patriarch of Bulgaria, died at the hands of the Ottoman invaders. At about the same time, Kiprian with his clergy and the wonder-working Vladimir icon of the Mother of God led the procession which put the Tatars to flight. We treaded the ground where he had trodden, we touched the wooden walls of the monastery, lit candles in the church. It was the day before Trinity and the temple was full of worshippers. I had an urge to ask someone if they knew where their first saint had come from, but the people were so absorbed in their prayers and thoughts that I humbled myself. All the same, my heart was filled with joy as I saw with what great faith they honoured him.

We devoted one day to see

the residence of Ekaterina II, Tsaritsyno

A very romantic place, with ponds and pools and exquisite bridges thrown over them. The ensemble of all the buildings required by an estate, in compliance with the strict canons of classicism and at the same time “warmed up” by stylized ancient Russian ornaments, is situated on a hillside and even in bad weather looks flooded with light. At the foot – a large artificial lake. A large solid bridge, in the style and colour scheme of the main palace, over a deep ravine leads to it. In a word, an idyll, and I mean it. We interrupted it because we were invited as guests.

Cosy family houses with yards at the end of a narrow path, winding between green groves – beautiful… and familiar. Soft voices are heard in the yards and from time to time a dog barks. Our cordial hosts treat us to genuine pilaf on original Bulgarian tablecloths. In the car on the way back we are quiet. Without asking each other we know that we are all trying to catch the thread of time and tie a knot, an amulet with the feeling of human warmth.

And this moment lasted as long as it needed because we had a journey ahead of us – eight hours in a sleeping car.

We admit Moscow is amazing but

Saint Petersburg is a real fairytale in the open

In the Bulgarian sites and forums you can come across many very well described impressions of Bulgarians, and all of them – delighted. I can’t but agree with the quite adequate adjectives: easy-going and artistic. Peaceful. Aristocratic. The only unpredictable thing in Petersburg is the climate, which within a day can go through three seasons and the respective intermediary seasons. But this concerns only the new-comers, the inhabitants of Petersburg are not bothered by the abrupt caprices of nature. They seem to bear the imprint of this perfect city. Its eternal beauty, untouched by time, does not suffer at all from the patter of rain which welcomes us at the Moscow railway station. It is raining in Pushkin and in the gardens of Ekaterina’s palace. On a sunny day it must be even more beautiful but this wet impression goes so well with the pavilions, open and covered arbours, hushed under the draining raindrops. The rain makes concentric circles on the surface of the ponds, the boat tied to a peg suddenly makes your own presence real, and in a daze, you enter the palace – an embodiment of architectural perfection and ceremonial glamour of royal power. There is also another exceptional treasure here, the Amber Room, restored to its original splendour.

The rain pours down on the next day again. In Peterhof this does not matter. Water, this could be its third name (the second one is “the capital of fountains”). It springs up in silver spouts from wonderful golden sculptures, flows down powerfully or tenderly washes the glittering gold of the elegant statuettes and ornaments on the cascade steps. The lavish decoration and design of Peterhof is absent in the so-called Peter’s part of the palace. The oak study of Peter I is a modest, comfortable room, with low ceilings and without a trace of luxury. Befitting a learned man.

I don’t know how it is done but I can only acclaim the fact that Petersburg has this finished appearance, because here they never break a law of Peter the Great – no building shall be taller than the gilt pinnacle of the cathedral in the Peter and Paul Fortress. Well, may be a little, unnoticeably, but these are so rare cases that they are mentioned specifically. Another factor is the combination of architectural styles. Even though there are no two identical buildings, each one matches the surrounding ones and in no way upsets the overall picture. Petersburgians live in them, they put up with eventual draughts from the wooden window frames (for the architectural monuments PVC and other clever contrivances for sealing are absolutely forbidden!) and no force, not even the invention of the ancient Phoenicians, is capable of erecting nearby any box of glass, steel and plastic of a dozen stories. Congratulations! Because the houses in Nevsky Prospekt and the streets along the canals with their beautiful bridges are wonderful and the pleasure of feasting your eyes on them is like listening to a virtuoso performance without a single false note. Although we had only two days, we did a lot of sightseeing and managed to take pictures of ourselves

at ten o’clock in the evening in front of the sunbathed Hermitage

At five in the afternoon the rain would stop and after a while the sun shone in Saint Petersburg. It wasn’t exactly the height of Polar nights, but the day was long enough for us to see most of the famous places. On the second day our guide was Rusi Naidenov, counsellor at the Bulgarian Consulate. He treated us to a motor tour and showed us the sights from different angles. We didn’t have enough time to see the whole Hermitage, so we galloped through it, but we spent another late “afternoon” in Petersburg thinking how good it would be to live in one of these big houses and walk about one’s business. We passed by Pushkin’s cafe, where the poet used to pop in in his dressing-gown, however Alexander Sergeevich wasn’t there to have a cup of coffee with us.

The only modern facility we saw was the open-air stage in the Palace Square, where the Alexandrian Pillar rises. This is the venue of the big concerts of world-famous performers and groups. Maybe this is the best place for complete fusion with the exciting decibels, but as we found out, these are detrimental to the valuable canvases in the museum. It would be a pity if the masterpieces burst some day, there is no way they could be painted again.

Reading Moscow

Most probably misled by the fact that we work in a publishing house, the very first morning our hosts from the Bulgarian Cultural Institute dropped us opposite the Home of Books in New Arbat Street and went about their business. However, we immediately turned down a street on the right – not for the world would we devote this hour to anything but the famous Old Arbat. Of course, we wouldn’t leave without visiting this book kingdom. So, we gave it special time, double and triple. In the bookstores there is always a sufficient number of people hanging around so as not to feel sorry for the bookmakers profession and the printed book in general. But I wish to see the Bulgarian young people, too, absorbed in reading instead of talking loudly on their cell phones in the public transport. Here, in peak hours or not, sitting or standing, travelling even for one stop in the metro or trolley bus, everyone produces a book and pores over it. It does not mean they have less trust in the internet, they simply don’t rub your nose into it as an ubiquitous source of information.

In this large book centre, on one of the countless racks, we came across a familiar title. The Bulgarian Bestseller book The Eternal Katun by Dimiter Tomov has been translated by Astrel Publ. and in the words of the publishers it became a bestseller in 60 days. We believe this not only because the book, published in many-thousand copies is almost out of print while orders keep coming in, but also because these short stories are studied at the Faculty of Philology of Moscow State University, the author is listed on the state final certification examination synopsis.

I made myself a present – I was greatly intrigued by a series Walks in Old Moscow. For reasons of excess luggage I could not buy them all, my suitcase was crammed as it was. After a long hesitation I took the book I first reached for, Lubyanka. I felt sorry for the rest, especially Arbat, Petrovka and Prechistenka, but I decided to trust my intuition.

Indeed, there are no accidents. In the evening we often passed by a fabulous palace – the long side wings with covered galleries on the facades form a semicircle, the rotunda portal supports an open colonnade. Dimly lighted, it looked ghostly mysterious but cosy at the same time. The unfolded wings seemed to be reaching out for a hug. It was attractive, intriguing. We found out that it housed the First Aid Institute. The mystery thickened, why in this ancient building? Back home, in the book I had bought I read a story both sad and very beautiful. Count N. P. Sheremetev married one of his serfs, an unprecedented act in genteel Russia at the time. Well, the wedding took place a bit late even according to present-day standards, but the count did love Praskovya from the depth of his heart. And when after the birth of their son she was mown down by tuberculosis, his grief was immense. In memory of his beloved he built a Hospice in Moscow. Its purpose was to shelter and support 100 persons – poor, aged or disabled, and another 50 poor men to receive free medical care. Honestly, my desire to make any analogies concerning charity suddenly vanishes. Besides, I am still to arrange the English garden of my countless impressions. Maybe some other time, maybe when I add new ones. It is worth it. And also it is true that roads are made by walking.