As I write this, I’m sitting in a grand old hotel in Moscow – a relic from another era – watching the snowflakes fall outside. I’m here on a whirlwind 48-hour fashion adventure (more on this later) – something which in itself feels terribly exotic.
For me, Russia – Moscow in particular – has always held the lure of the exotic; a place so steeped in rich history and culture, and yet cloaked in a foreign mystery. Growing up, my parents presumed that I would become a concert pianist, or perhaps a professional ballerina (little known facts about Miss B: I have an AMusA in classical piano and music history, and though you wouldn’t know it to look at me know, was for 13 years a dedicated, spindly ballerina). The sounds of Tchaikovsy, Stravinsky, Prokofiev and Rachmaninoff filled my years growing up, and I dreamed of tutus and the Ballet Russe and performing Swan Lake in one of the grand theatres of Europe. I saw Russia as a magical land of ballerinas and fairytales and musical prodigies.
When I arrived at university with the dawning realisation that theatrical aspirations were somewhat unrealistic in a society that cares little for the arts, I spent a few semesters trying any subject I could enrol in (from genetic biology to sociology to screen studies) trying to find my new calling. I took a leap of faith, worked tirelessly to score an internship in Washington, and just like that, I discovered a viable career option that excited me in the same way the theatres of Europe did in my childhood (and the way the couture runways of Paris do today). I studied politics and international relations and secretly fancied myself as a diplomat or a secret agent (a consequence of watching far too many James Bond films, I’m sure). Once again, whether entirely realistic or a creation of my over-active imagination, Russia was a land of mystery to me; of empire and revolutions, of clandestine spies and political deals done in smoky rooms, of brutal dictators and Soviet fortresses.
Whilst in my mind Russia remains a mysterious fusion of all these things; of gilded theatres, espionage and the sort of dark glamour as manifested in Coco Chanel’s odes to Moscow, in reality appears to be a strange hybrid of a country fiercely proud of its rich history, yet struggling to come to terms with modernity. In much of the city, the Cold War-era grimness (grey, derelict concrete slabs of buildings) sprawls persistently while the smell of cigarettes and greasy food hangs thickly in the air, punctuated only by a gaudy, gilded cathedral, or else by the sort of eyewateringly expensive establishments frequented by the oligarchs and oil-industry billionaires. Similarly, it feels as though the popular culture is exactly as it was in the Western world at the time the Cold War finally ended (I constantly felt as though I’d travelled to 1989) – as though the country has struggled to evolve beyond that era, while the people struck as as either brutally unfriendly or of a new generation fighting for modernity, for equal rights and for a new way of life.
Of course, these are merely the observations of a girl who dreams of the Russia of spies and glittering theatres.
Is there any place that holds the lure of exotic fantasies to you?
Lyubof*, Miss B xx
* James Bond informs me this is ‘Love’ in Russian…
You write so beautifully Briony! Sounds like you had a great time on your whirlwind Russian adventure. For 18yrs dancing was my life, but I was all about jazz and tap dancing! I actually saw a documentary on my Qantas flight that you might like. It was called ‘A thousand encores – the Ballets Russes in Australia’ and was produced by ABC in 2009. De x
Oh don’t you worry, I was a proper mini Ginger Rogers too (and when I wasn’t pirouetting about the living room, was constantly leaping about the house in my tap shoes). Thanks for the recommendation, will try and track down the documentary
B xx
The beautiful descriptions you describe might still exist! When I visited Russia a few years ago, we flew into Russia had similar reactions to the post cold-war austerity of the very soviet Moscow. Of course, Moscow was the capital of USSR. St Petersburg, on the other hand, where we scooted off to on an overnight sleeper train (romance in itself!) was just full of how one imagines Tsarist and storybook Russia to be (especially in the -40 temps we saw in Feb). If you are looking for the buildings and old grandeur, then head up there next time, it won’t disappoint. One of my favourite memories was going to see the Ballet there and seeing all the Russian Ladies rock up completely in furs and boots, nip into the ladies and emerge in slinky gowns, diamonds and high heels, the cloakroom rammed with furs..
Rosie, thank you for such a wonderfully romantic image. Although it wasn’t possible on this trip, I would absolutely love to visit St Petersburg (perhaps via train on a journey through several exotic cities) some day. Thanks for confirming that the stuff of my fantasies does still exist!
B xx
Beautiful post, I always thoroughly enjoy reading your blog.
Sorry to hear Russia wasn’t what you’d hoped it would be,but a girl can still dream and watch more Bond films!
Cant wait to hear more about your whirlwind fashion adventure.
Abigail x
http://www.abigailsplace8.blogspot.com
B, you should come to Russia again and well take sleeper car to St Pete 🙂 Old-style, with tea from classes with silver cupholders and icy vodka from restaurant-car. 🙂 And aspirine for the next day!
You make us feel like we were there with you! Beautifully written – and interesting to know about your days as a ballerina! Still enjoy a good twirl or two?
i really enjoyed learning more about you! i would so love to visit russia. and you look stunning too, love the brooch ensemble.
… and Mr Bond should know!
Loved reading your beautifully descriptive account or Russia B… as always, so wonderfully written. Gorgeous photo of you and cant wait to hear more about it! Have a lovely weekend my friend xxx
I’m jealous (but in a good way)!!! Have fun lovely lady!
Hi there, love your blog! I don’t know if you take ‘post requests’ but since you always look so impeccably manicured and made-up in your photos, it would be lovely if you could share any hints and tips.
Thank you Sarah! And yes, always happy to take ‘post requests’. Will certainly do a beauty post if you like – anything in particular?
B xx
Wonderful! Manicures please- my paws are an abomination.
Sarah x
Great post dear! You really know your way around words. Such a pleasure to read your posts.
I haven’t been to Moscow, but as a child of a similar system (not the same, we were always far too relaxed to go all the way… we invented capitalist communism. The goal was to live like Americans, while working little to none. Smart I know! :-P), I can definitely confirm this is the most accurate description I’ve seen in a while. Though there is something magnetic in that strange hedonism of theirs.
M
You write wonderfully. Without sounding somewhat obvious- France, Prague and Spain have always seemed so terribly exotic and lovely to me. I will of course be able to see for myself next year when I travel to Europe (-:
“eyewateringly expensive establishments frequented by the oligarchs.” That’s exactly why I too have a sort of fascination with Russia. Your article has painted an image of the old Russia, glamorous and full of deadly spies.
The country which holds my imagination is Tokyo; it’s not just the neon lights, but the ancient ways of the Samurai, Geisha’s and rich silk kimonos. True the way they lived was harsh, making women the weak and inferior to men, but the food such as sushi and the festivals is like another world to me.
Thank you, Bianca. And my gosh, I am actually obsessed with Tokyo (or Japan generally). It’s one of those wonderfully multi-layered places that shocks you at first, and then gets under your skin and lingers so that you fall more and more in love with it. Like Russia it has an extraordinarily complicated history, yet from the ashes of WWII has developed and modernised in a way still, I think, unsurpassed – resulting in the most fascinating melting pot it is today. Do let me know when you get there!
B xx