Random Conversations

McCombs Mill McCormick County

As a painter, I often sought picturesque landscapes and interesting buildings to paint. One Sunday in the fall of 1972 I was working on a painting of Long Cane A.R.P. Church in McCormick County just about a quarter of a mile from the ruins of McCombs Mill. McCombs Mill had long been one of my "to do" paintings. The problem was the mill was in ruins and had no roof.(I wanted to paint the mill the way it was before falling into ruin.) But on this particular day I was creating another painting of Long Cane Church. I was alone and a soft breeze was rustling the newly fallen leaves. Yellow butterflies flew spastically seeking the nectar of autumn flowers. I was indeed enjoying my creative experience in solitude. The building is in Greek Revival style and very picturesque. The silence was broken by onlookers. As a plein air painter I long ago reconciled myself with the fact that onlookers were an occupational hazard. It normally doesn’t bother me except when they begin to tell me how to paint. This man and woman did not. Only an occasional “O-o-h !” and “A-h-h!”. They kept their conversation low and unobtrusive. I finally engaged them in conversation. They were from Lexington, South Carolina, and searching for relatives in the old church cemetery. I told them a bit of the history of the church and how my family had attended services there since the 1700s. I had almost asked them about their hometown of Lexington when they told me their surname was Cuttino. Remembering the grisly murder of thirteen-year-old “Peg” Cuttino, I thought I would steer the conversation clear of such subjects.  During our conversation Mr. Cuttino (I don’t remember his first name.) said that his grandmother was a watercolorist. As a painter you get used to someone always telling you that they

sketch by Tony Young

have a grandmother, aunt or some other relative that is an artist. However, Mr. Cuttino  said his grandmother had painted a picture of the mill, McComb’s Mill.  I could barely contain my excitement when I asked about the roof.  “Oh, it had  hip roof,”  he said.That made my day! I would finally be able to do that painting of McCombs Mill I had always wanted to paint!

Lower Long Cane Associated Reformed Presbyterian Church

Making a Documentary Video

I have made over one hundred YouTube videos in the past few years. However, I've never considered any of them that great. Perhaps it was because my methodology was backwards. Or maybe I'm just too much of a perfectionist. Probably 90% of my videos are about travel. I would shoot photographs or video on vacation and upon returning home make my YouTube video from these. 

Ken Burns

In my most recent video, the SO Young Story, I had began collecting data, still photos, documents, and video clips pre-production. That's moviemaking speak for: "getting your stuff together".  My normal process. I had an idea of what I wanted to do, and that was to tell the story of my great grandfather. As a part of my ongoing educational process, I watched a video about film editing featuring Richard Speziale. Then I realized I had no definite plan. I wrote a script, something I had never done before. Previously I added commentary after I completed the

Casey Neistat

video part of the project. Now I set to work using photos, video, etc. to illustrate that script. I found that one of the secrets is to get more material than you can possibly use. Part of the difficulty in making this video was that I had only three photos of the subject of the video. I had to come up with new and interesting methods to present information. In any work of art whether painting, film or book you must create interest and entertain the viewer/reader. For example, when I told of my ancestor buying property I showed the bill of sale of the property with money laid bill by bill on top of the bill of sale. The documentary filmmaker Ken Burns shows considerable creativity in his films. A procedure for filming still photographs is called the Ken burns Effect. On perhaps the opposite end of the spectrum Casey Neistat uses creative yet different techniques than Burns. I borrow from both.

The most important part of the process is to never forget that the purpose of the video is to tell a story.

This is my most recent video.  This was the first video I wrote a script for before beginning. The S O Young Story video is special and personal.

This video I made, which has no narration (it isn't necessary), was made after I found interest in paper engineering. The video is quite short  I had learned the importance of brevity.  Television commercials tell a complete story in 30 seconds. But it is hurts to discard footage ( to use film nomenclature). One must CUT, CUT, CUT and cut some more.

Good Luck?

How many times have you wished someone "Good Luck"? What did you mean exactly? If they were a competitor did you really wish that they have good good luck?  Wishing them good luck would actually be verbalizing your desire to lose. And that would be rather unlikely, wouldn't you say? This leads me to another thought. (Is that creating a "thread" in computer telecommunication speak?) But that would be digressing. Back to good luck.  Aside from someone wishing good luck are there other methods by which one can obtain this somewhat elusive state? (state?) We are extremely fortunate to live in world in which those items or actions exist that can produce this good luck. And from whence did said objects and actions receive such powers. The origins of such are somewhat blurred by the passage of time. But does it really matter what the origin was? Me? I'm only interested in the end result.  Let  the academicians determine origins.  I am not a superstition person. However, I'm not opposed to a bit of good luck.  Maybe... more than a bit.

When I was younger I always carried a rabbit's foot. Usually on a keychain with one lonely, solitary key.  Probably one I had found somewhere.  I don't recall if the rabbit's foot ever brought me

good luck or not but I did clutch it in my hand when I was around Linda Sue McAdams in the lunchroom.  I had a strong desire for her to smile at me.  But in the back of my mind was always the image of a three-footed rabbit hopping around.  Did that spoil the effect? I don't know, but smiles from Linda Sue were very rare.

I have always wanted to wish on a falling star for good luck. But I have never seen one.  'Though often I have gazed at the night sky with someone who was close to my heart I have never seen one. They would say, "Tony, did you see that one?" I would look but never see it. And four leaf clovers

have eluded me too.  I did throw salt over my shoulder once while scrambling some eggs for my Mom for Saturday breakfast once. I don't think a scolding qualifies for good luck. As a southerner I always have field peas and collards for a meal on New Years Day.  The peas for good luck and the collards for plenty of greenbacks. In Nuremberg I rubbed the magic ring for good luck. And I rubbed the nose of a dog statue in the Moscow Metro for the same reason.  Perhaps one of the most interesting attempts to achieve good luck was spinning around clockwise with my heel on the testicles of an mosiac bull on the floor of a shopping galleria in Milan. Thus far, I have no documented results of any of my actions or behaviors achieving good luck.


But good luck does find some people. My wife did in fact kiss the Blarney Stone in Cork, Ireland. before she found me.

How to...maybe...

I haven't blogged lately because I've been involved in other projects.  Primarily videos.  Some of the ones I've made are: the Wild Turkey Federation Museum, Healing Waters, Chip Clip. Yaroslavl, Russian Tourist Trap, and others.  Now I'm busy making a video about my great grandfather. Why? I don't know...maybe because I think he was an interesting character. But there is a lot of problems telling a story about a man you never met and about whom there little visual information about. Video is a visual medium.  Therein lies the problem.  So, I must use period video from archival sources to tell the story along with still images. It's a challenge.

I have been doing some storytelling as well. See my facebook fan page Tony Young Storyteller.  (http://www.facebook.com/TonyYoungStoryteller)  A told at a couple of extend car facilities, the North Charleston Harvest Festival and goose Creek City Hall. As a member of the Backporch Storytellers of Charleston I produced an audio CD and a video of the production of that CD.

Peter's Yard

Peterhof, translated from the Dutch, means Peter's court. The translation may seem rural and homey, but Peterhof is hardly that.  It is the palace of Peter the Great near St. Petersburg. We arrived there at about ten in the morning with our tour group. We were met by a military band. Militaristic music filled the cool morning air; a real wake-up call!  Soon we were ushered into the palace itself. Security was tight at the palace like at other tourist attractions we had visited in Russia. There is, however, no consistency in security regulations. Some places backpacks were allowed and in some not. Some places photos were allowed and some places not. Peterhof was no exception.

Built in the grand European style, it is actually a collection of several palaces.  Peter the Great, the builder of this palace, was a fan of European style architecture, in particular French Architecture.  The exterior of the palace was yellow, unlike the blue of Catherine's Palace  and the Hermitage. The chapel on the palace grounds has the traditional onion shaped domes gilded with gold. This palace like others had the beautiful wood parquet floors. What  makes Peterhof so unique, however, is its gardens. In 1730 the gardens of palatial homes were as much for entertainment as decoration.  The fountains of the gardens of Peterhof make it quite unique. Today the fountains are  the main attraction of this World Heritage Site. The gardens in the area between the main palace and the Gulf of Finland contain the majority of the estate's fountains. These are no ordinary fountains; these fountains have no pumps. The water pressure comes from gravity. Water is collected in ponds from natural springs behind the palace. The difference in elevation between the ponds and the fountains produces the water pressure to operate the fountains.  The Samson and the Lion fountain shoots a stream of water sixty feet in the air, the highest of any fountain.  This fountain, installed in 1730, has a special historical significance. On St. Samson’s Day Russia defeated Sweden in battle. The lion is on the Swedish coat of arms. Therefore, the statue of Samson killing the lion incorporated in the fountain is symbolic. The original gold clad statue scavenged by the occupying Germans during WWII has been replaced.

The fountains are operated only a few hours a day. This is quite an event.  The fountains are turned on with much fanfare at eleven o'clock.  It begins as a military band assembles in front of the Samson and the Lion fountain.  The band members stand at attention before the golden clad statue, and with a blast of trumpets water gushes skyward. As the music swells the fountains are activated and jets of water shoot into the air. This fountain is the beginning of the Sea Channel which is lined with fountains as it leads to the sea. The fountains along the sea channel begin as well.  The streams of water rotate and vary in height as the band plays. Peterhof is loosely based on Chateau de Marly of France.

These water works were once considered “the eighth wonder of the world”.  We thoroughly enjoyed visiting Peterhof.  If you’re ever in St. Petersburg, take the short drive to Peterhof to view some of the greatest fountains in the world and a beautiful palace too.

The Red Square

Moscow is the biggest city in Russia. The largest country in the world is quite sparsely populated but you wouldn't think that in Moscow traffic.  I don't believe there is a speed limit in Moscow as the natives drive around at breakneck speed in their Mercedes Benzes, BMWs, and other foreign cars. It seems the Russians can ferry people to the space station and back but can't build a dependable automobile. Our guide told us that only the less affluent people in outlying areas drive Russian cars.  The city police in Moscow drive Fords.  We saw a Lamborghini on a side street. Eighty-two per cent of that country's billionaires live in the capital city. They do have a great subway system to move Russians about the city of some twelve million people.  In many ways Moscow is like any other big city complete with oddly dressed teenagers who have the requisite cell phones stuck to their ears. And, of course, there are queues at McDonalds and Starbucks. We did not get the opportunity to visit McDonalds.  Why would you visit McDonalds in Moscow you may ask. Because Mickey Dees is an international chain and in each country it has some dishes indigenous to that country.  Kind of like you expect gumbo in New Orleans or livermush sandwiches in Gastonia, NC.   In Spain they had these delicious little croquettes at McDonalds.  Unfortunately, we did not have the opportunity to sample  the local delights of the McDonalds in Moscow.

The first attraction we visited in  Moscow was Red Square.  My first view of the world famous real estate prompted two questions.  Why was it not as large as it appeared on television?  During the cold war, when we would see the Soviet troops parading with their war machines, Red Square seemed to be huge. I reality it appeared much smaller than what I expected. Propaganda maybe? It isn't red so why is it called Red Square.  Initially the name probably comes from the Red Army of the revolution of 1918.  (They also had a white army,but it lost.) Or because meaning for the word  meaning  "Beautiful" in the old Russian language became the color red in modern Russian. I think the old Russian definition still is applicable. Therefore, Beautiful Square?  It was a beautiful day when we visited. Saint Basil's Cathedral was just like in the post cards. The multi colored onion domes are truly unique. When you're looking at the 16th century cathedral the tomb of Lenin is on your right.   It was not open for viewing when we were there.  But we did not desire to see the mummified body

of this instigator of the Russian Revolution. Opposite the tomb of Lenin on this square whose origin is credited to Ivan the Great was the GUM (pronounced, "Goom") department store which occupies almost a complete side of Red Square. GUM actually represents the Russian words meaning "state department store". This store could be considered a monument to capitalism. Inside are all the great names of modern fashion; Versace, Burberry, and Moschino. But there is also a place to get ice cream. The store was rather crowded.  We window shopped a bit and were able to find a cafe table outside overlooking the square. It was a great place to people watch.  There was one annoyance though. Vendors hawking tours for tourists through blaring loudspeakers.  We were taken aback by a Vladimir Putin look-a-like  that suddenly appeared from around a corner. Natasha, our guide, whom we had rejoined said, "No! No! That's not him!" We did not think that he was the real thing, although the American press depicts him as sort of a villain we did not think he would resort to frightening tourists. The Russians, or at least the ones who voiced their opinions, like Putin. He has brought back some prosperity after the debacle of attempted democracy and a rising feeling of nationalism. The Russians will tell you, "Who needs democracy when you're hungry?"

Near the Square is  Russia's Tomb of the Unknown Soldier but we missed the changing of the ceremonial guard.  Those Russian soldiers do some high stepping.

Soon we were back aboard ship, somewhat tired, and ready for a leisurely dinner.

The Burial of R. McKinney

It was a hot August day when my mama called to me as I was finishing up an oil change on my old Toyota. “Son,” she said, “get ready to go. Gene just called and said that Rascal was bad sick and she wants to take him to the doctor!”

Aunt Gene was my mama’s sister, and she was a widow woman whose life revolved around a Boston Terrier. Boy, did she dote on that dog, treated him just like a child.  She and Uncle Alvin never had no children.  Yep, that Rascal was the apple of her eye. I mean, when she sat down to eat she fixed the dog a plate just like hers, right down to desert. Sometimes I believe that dog ate better than I did.

When I heard Mama's call, I wiped the engine oil off my hands and cranked up the Toyota.  She was in the  passenger’s seat by the time the engine came to life. “You better hurry,” she  said, “you know how upset Gene can get!”

The little town of Bradley was disappearing in my rearview mirror as we gained speed. I drove frantically down the country road across Hard Labor Creek  and the branch called Cunning Ford. Mama held her handbag in her lap with white-knuckled hands. We made the usual 20 minute trip in about half the time. Aunt Gene was waiting for us by the road. She had the little Boston Terrier wrapped up in a blanket and her handbag hung on her arm.  She was carrying that dog the way a mother would carry her baby. She climbed in the car with tears streaming down her face and we lit out.

‘Bout halfway to town I heard a whimper from the back seat. "I believe he's gone," she said,  her voice cracking.

"Maybe not," I said, trying to reassure her. "We'll be at the vet's in a few minutes."

Upon arrival she carried the little dog into the doctor's office and, sure enough, he was pronounced DOA.

But that's not the end of the story.

"We have to get a casket!" she said, as she got back into the car. She still had the dead dog wrapped up in the blanket.

"What?" I said.

"Go by Walker's, they were good at Daddy's funeral."

I found myself driving to Walker's Funeral Home, one of the two in town. At the rear  were quite a few parking places, and I parked there. Mama had not said a word, but I could imagine what she was thinking. She had a dim view of Aunt Gene's relationship with her dog. “Get him a nice one,” she said, as she  pushed a roll of bills into my hand as I got out of the car. I entered the backdoor of the mortuary and found myself in a room of thick carpeting, dark wood paneling, and soft music. Almost like an apparition Jackson Walker appeared. We had been classmates in high school. Even then, Jackson had the manner of an undertaker; the sympathetic smile, the soft modulated voice, and radiating an eerie countenance.

"My, my! Is that you Tony Young? I haven't seen you since we put your grandpa away," he said.

"I've been kinda busy," I said, which was sort of the truth. I really do not move in undertaker circles. They kinda give me the heebie jeebies.

"So what can  I do you for?" he asked.

"I need as casket for a dog," I blurted out.

"Oh, okay, let me see what I can find," he said in his undertaker's voice.  "I may have something in the attic. Most people use an infant's casket. And what was the name of the deceased?"

"Rascal, and he was a Boston Terrier," I answered.

"That's a small dog, right? I don't care much for dogs myself. My oldest brother, the one in the Marine Corps; he had a dog. And you know what? It bit me! Never cared much for dogs after that.  I believe Rascal will look good in that little white casket I've got upstairs."

"Could you hurry it up a bit?  Mama and Aunt Gene are waiting for me out in the car with a dead dog, and the air conditioning’s busted on the Toyota."

"I'll be right back," he said, as he scurried up the stairway with his hand on the polished rail to steady his considerable bulk.

He returned quickly with a small white coffin on his shoulder. "That'll be $140," he said.

I peeled seven twenties off the roll Aunt Gene had given me and handed them to him.  He

gave me the casket.

"You give Mrs. Young and Mrs. McKinney my deepest sympathies, you hear," he said as I was almost out of earshot.

I took the casket out to the car, and we put little Rascal in it. By this time he had swollen up a bit and was stiff as a board. I must say he probably looked better than he ever did with his head on that little white lace pillow. It wasn’t easy, but I managed to get the casket into the trunk of the car. There was a piece of rope in the trunk I used to tie the trunk lid down. I would not hazard a guess as to what passersby might have thought they saw.

The drive back to Aunt Gene's house was uneventful. She was sitting in the back seat sobbing. Mama would look at me every now and again and roll her eyes. Seeing an eighty year old woman roll her eyes was kinda funny, but I could only smile because my aunt was broken hearted in the back seat.

Once home Aunt Gene picked a place near the muscadine vine beside the house for Rascal’s final resting place. I placed the small white casket on the ground and  went to find some digging tools.  It was about 2:30 or 3 in the afternoon and I’m sure the temperature was nearing triple digits. My Lynard Skynard tee shirt was wringing wet, and my Levis and BVDs would be next.  I scrounged up a mattock and a shovel and began to work. I pulled a bandanna from my pocket and wiped the sweat from my eyes.  As I looked to the sky, what did I see but rock birds.  When I was younger I had worked some with my Uncle Alvin digging water wells. Every time we would see those buzzards in the sky he would call them rock birds.  And sure enough we would almost always hit rock while digging. I sure hoped I wouldn’t hit rock digging this grave. But I’m sure that rock would not have been much harder than the red clay I was digging. It had not rained in two months.  In August, with no rain and the hot sun, even your tomatoes would get blisters. I sneaked around the house and brought two five gallon buckets of water to try to soften the clay.  I would’ve carried more but was afraid I would take too much water from a well that seemed to be going dry. Lot of folks’ wells went dry in the hot summer with little rain.

About two hours later I finished the job. I grabbed a bunch of bitter weeds with their bright yellow flowers and put them on the grave. I was tired, and about the only thing dry on my body was the tops of my socks. Thank goodness, she didn't want a tombstone!

Amber was not just for Dinosaur DNA

We boarded the bus on  a fairly cool Friday morning  to tour one of Russia's most famous palaces. Naturally it was from the years in which the czars ruled the country, but this palace was not named for one of the czars but rather for the wife of a czar. The palace is known as Catherine's Palace and is often thought to be the palace of Catherine the Great. Not true. Catherine the First was the wife of Peter the Great, and it is her name that is lent to the palace.

Catherine I was quite an interesting person.  Her time and place of birth is not known; only that it was not in Russia. She was a servant girl when she caught the eye of Peter the Great. There are very few "rags to riches" stories that can top this one; from servant girl to Empress of Russia.  

The palace itself follows the grand European style of palaces and was completed in 1756. The exterior is blue with gilded stucco. More than 220 pounds of gold were used in decorating the exterior and various statuary. That would be worth $3.6 million today.  It is rumored that even the roof is covered in gold. As we walked through the rooms of the palace which are open to visitors, we commented on the features it had in common with the abodes of other monarchs of the era. Ceilings were high and decorative. Windows were huge, primarily floor to ceiling in height. There was extensive use of mirrors, and there were huge paintings, some ten by twenty feet in height and width. There was a total lack of tapestries, which we had seen in most european palaces. Huge ceramic stoves were in many rooms. 

 The grandest feature of this palace is the Amber Room. Amber is fossilized tree resin. You may recall that in Michael Crichton's novel, Jurassic Park,  the dinosaur DNA was found in amber. Amber has been coveted for centuries as a semi-precious gemstone. In Catherine's Palace the world famous Amber Room has the walls covered

with thin layers  of amber. The beauty of the amber is enhanced by gold leaf and reflecting mirrors. The room literally glows. No photographs are allowed in the amber room. The room was first assembled in a palace in Prussia and then given to Peter the Great, Catherine's husband, as a gift to seal an alliance against the Swedes. Ordinary words cannot adequately  describe it. Like most palaces of the 18th century, Catherine's Place has beautiful gardens as well.  These are formal gardens beautifully designed and maintained.  There are blooming plants and statues galore.  There are small structures, garden houses to allow guests a bit of privacy for perhaps a tet-a-tet or rendezvous. As we wandered the gardens our guide, Natasha, filled our ears with facts about the palace. Our grandiose surroundings had been enjoyed by the eighteenth century Russian aristocracy, and the lady who built all that we saw began life as a servant!

Cosmonautica?

On our recent trip to Russia there was one place that interested me probably more than any other: The Museum of Cosmonautics. I'm sort of at techie at heart.  My wife, Claudette, can attest to this having visited many aircraft, railroad, automobile and naval museums with me.   What better to summarize Russian technology than a museum dedicated to space exploration? It was a "must see" for me in Moscow. The museum is located at 111 Prospekt Mira, VDNKh, and it was easy to find once you learned how to read the Russian metro maps. Like most subway maps the lines are numbered, named, and color coded. Moscow subways are world renowned for their uniqueness. Nearly seven million people a day ride the Moscow subway.  There are two ring lines with a male voice announcing on the clockwise train while the opposite is announced by a female voice.  875 direct current volts move the trains along the tracks at what seems to be extremely fast rate. Published rate of speed is only 25.9 miles per hour. I tend to believe that is an exercise in creative writing. The subway was opened in 1935 and has highly decorative Art Deco waiting platforms with arched ceilings decorated to celebrate the Russian worker. At the end of one of the platforms was a huge hammer and sickle. We queried our guide about it, but she said that was from the old Russia. Russian guides tend not to talk much of the communist ruled Russia or the days of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. The columns are connected by archways, many of which have decorative statues. The statues are painted black, but there is a statue of a dog whose nose is shiny bare metal. Thousands of Russians each day rub his nose for good luck.  Claudette and I did too. You can never have too much good luck.

We had to change trains twice to get to our destination.  If you turned left when you exited the train, you were at the museum, but you may not know it.  A man pointed toward a giant monument when I finally got him to understand what we were looking for. This was the Monument to the Conquerors of Space.  It was very impressive.  There is a titanium rocket atop its trail three hundred fifty feet in the air. The base was over fifty feet long and had steps all around. We could see no entrance. I sat on a bench while claudette reconnoitered. While  I sat a few Hare Krishnas came by chanting and beating a drum. The were followed by what appeared to be Russian college students. I guess some things are the same all over. When Claudette returned we decided we would go back to the street and venture further away from the train station.  Sure enough, in less than a block we found the entrance to the museum. We had not turned left when exiting the train.

The Museum of Cosmonautics is sub-terranean beneath the Conquerors of Space monument.We paid an  entrance fee  of 200 rubles, or $2.95.  They wanted an extra 200 for the right to take pictures, and even more if you wanted to shoot video. I thought this was ridiculous.  Instead, I did drawings. Fortunately, I had my Moleskine sketchbook with me. Don't get me wrong, I love to draw, but it An Astronaut's Guide to Life on Earth, all spacemen, whether astronauts or cosmonauts, must perform a specific act to insure a safe flight. When the vehicle which transports them to the spacecraft stops midway, they must get off the bus and urinate on the back tires to ensure good luck. This fact may or may not be listed on a caption in the museum.  My Russian is very poor.  

slows you down when visiting a large museum.   The museum is fascinating and had recently undergone a renovation. It traces Russian space exploration from its humble beginnings to the present day.  I remember when the Russians launched the first artificial satellite. It was called Sputnik.  It was only about the size of a volleyball with some antennae sticking out. People would go outside and look into the night sky and claim they saw it. In cartoons it always made a "beep-beep" sound. The U.S. was caught dreaming about space while the Russians were going there. As a result, American education systems placed renewed emphasis on science and mathematics. Soon the Americans caught up with the Russians and probably surpassed them in space exploration. Yuri Gagarin was the first man to orbit the earth, and his space capsule is on display.  Once he had entered the earth's atmosphere and was at a fairly low altitude he ejected from his capsule and parachuted to earth. The Russians, unlike Americans, always recovered their cosmonauts and their craft on land rather than sea. Gagarin, now deceased, started a pre-launch tradition the is still observed today. According to Chris Hadfield's book,

There are many space capsules and models of spacecraft to be seen. A model of a space shuttle very similar to ours as well as robotic moon rovers which were placed on the moon in 1971 were on display.  The moon rover was actual size.  All displays are extremely well executed. One diorama shows cosmonauts having landed in mountainous terrain during winter. It is a full size rendering of the event. Very realistic. There were two stuffed dogs representing the dogs that flew into space atop huge solid fueled rockets early in the space race. They looked like Jack Russell terriers. It was very interesting to walk through a mock-up of a section of the Mir space station.  It was a reminder of the space station at the Museum of Space and Aeronautics in Washington, D.C. My biggest criticism of the museum is the lack of English captions on displays. Unfortunately, I could not use the translator in my phone because it involves using the camera and I stupidly did not pay the extra 200 rubles for camera use. Also, there were very few direction signs in the multilevel facility.

Did I like it? You better believe it! Would I like to visit the Museum of Cosmonautics again?^ Absolutely!

Yaroslovl

After the ship docked at Yaroslavl it was time to explore the city.  Soon we were in the historical section of this World Heritage Site.  We began where the city began.  There is an overlook with a gazebo where you can see a park flanked by the Volga and  Kotorosl Rivers.  A notable feature in this treeless park is the bear, and it is a big bear. The bear, which is standing holding a battle axe, is on a white shield. This image is on the flag of the city. The shield and bear are over 100 feet long and are the center piece in a garden.  It is spectacular when viewed from above. Legend has it that Yaroslov, the city founder,  killed a bear on this spot and that is the reason for its use here.  It is a beautiful city with wide  boulevards and streets. Actually, it was once the capital of Russia, but for just a short while.

We walked around the historical part of the city and ventured into the city market. It was covered and sold primarily fruits and vegetables, but also included some sausages and cheeses.  The chef from the ship was there helping hand out samples. The bite-sized samples were delicious. We sought ice cream.  It was a warm day, in the eighties. We could find none, so we went outside. The tent-like booths were close together with narrow alleys between them.  It reminded us of Turkey and Morocco.  We found clothes and other non-food items, but no ice cream. We gave up on our search for that frozen dairy delight, because we had  to meet the tour group at the Church of Saint Elijah the Prophet.

The Church of St. Elijah the Prophet had green onion-shaped domes. The interior of this church is known for its murals. A team of fifteen artists did the painting. The most unusual fact about this mural is that it

depicts figures other than holy ones. Indeed, ordinary townpeople are shown. It is said that the priest responsible for paying the  artist withheld payment. In response, the artist depicted the priest in the mural in a very unflattering manner. The mural is beautiful and has only been cleaned since the seventeenth century. It is rare that a mural of this age has not been repainted. 

Our next stop was the Govermor's Mansion.  Near the entramce there were tables of  extraordinary crafts for sale. Tiny boxes from one inch to one foot were for sale, but these were no ordinary boxes.

They were made of papier mache and embellished with gold leaf and intricate paintings. They were some of the most expensive handicrafts we saw for sale in Russia, but they were objects of unusual beauty. 

The governor's mansion was actually built in the 19th century for a resting place for Emperor Alexander I. Royalty often built mansions throughout the country for restive stops during their travels about their country. This mansion was splendidly decorated and it houses a great art collection. Once we disembarked our motorcoaches we entered the large house and were met by a guide in period dress of the 19th century. She was young, hardly out of her teens, and was dressed in a flowing white gown. I had a momentary wish to become a young Russian male.  In an ornate room with paintings all around and devoid of furniture, she stood by a near waist-high vase of flowers. She gave each of us one to hold. She asked us to present it to someone close to us as she told us the significance of each flower. I'm not sure what this had to do with Russian culture, but it was interesting. Besides, I Iike interactive events. In the next room she told us about the governors who had lived in the mansion, and one tourist who answered a trivia question correctly was allowed to sit at the ornate governor's desk. These were minor treats compared to what was next.  The next room we visited was clearly the largest room in the mansion.  It was the grand ballroom. Claudette clutched my arm as we entered.  "I think that's Strauss," she said referring to the music we were hearing.  In the corner of the large room, which had windows along one side, was a trio of a violin, cello and piano, the source of the music. Along the walls from which hung ornately framed oil paintings were chairs. The tallest painting of a striking ffigure of a man in an 18th centrry military uniform was over ten feet tall.  Soon the ballroom was full of onlookers, and dancers in period dress began to perform.  The young ladies were in their long dresses and the young men in the militaristic outfiits of blue trimmed in white. It was very entertaining. After performing several dances  from earlier centuries the performers picked audience members for dance partners.  It was at that time that an old man's dream became reality. Yes, I, the rhythmically challenged, was on the ballroom floor with a beautiful young Russian girl in my arms attempting to move my body to the rhythms of  Johann Strauss.  Good dreams do come to an end.  The music stopped and Claudette reminded me of reality. 

We were rather tired by the time we were back aboard the Ingvar.  We did not attend the daily briefing, choosing instead to watch it on the closed circuit television. By dinner time we were quite hungry. We dined with Barry and Pamela.  They were a British couple.  He looked very patrician; tall, with well barbered but thinning hair and classic facial features. And she, well she was as prim and proper as could be. We had visited much of the area in England where they lived. Barry was quite a connoisseur of wine and ordered a bottle of Argentine cabernet sauvignon and shared it with us.  Barry liked it, and I thought it was good, although I could not extol its qualities the way he could.   Dinner with Barry and Pamela was the perfect ending for our first day on the Volga.  

Kizhi, Russia

It was a warm morning under a cloudless Russian skies as we walked onto the pier at Kizhi.  Actually, my problem with this place was like many others I had encountered since landing on the largest country on earth. HOW do you pronounce the names of some of these towns?  Even if you see it written that is not always helpful, because they use a different alphabet. So what was it?  How did you pronounce the name of the town? Fortunately the Russian guides came to my aid. I don't think I would have ever realized that it was "Ki-zee" or as they would have printed in Time magazine, rhymes with "Lizzy". There was a boardwalk across a marshy area  from the pier where the big white river cruise ship tied up. Our guide warned us about the possibility of snakes. I thought it was too cool for them to be out but watched my step anyway.

As we walked out from beneath the trees that border the lake the first thing we saw was the Church of Transfiguration.  Around this church with its twenty-two onion shaped domes was a high wall.  As we walked toward it I could hear a voice in my ear. (When we were touring a site with a guide she would transmit commentary to the small radio receivers we carried.) It was kind of like that little voice Magnum, P.I. heard, but not quite.  She was telling us why the church looked so strange. And indeed, it did look strange! That is if you can imagine a multi-level octagonal structure topped with domes appearing stranger than usual. What she was referring to was the fact that you could see

through the midsection of the church.  That was strange. The church was undergoing restoration. In doing so the conservators had built a steel frame inside the church to support it during restoration. This steel skeleton was visible where the midsection of the building was missing. As we entered through the gate in the surrounding wall we got a closeup view of the church.  I'm always fascinated by construction methods. The church is built of wood, scots pine logs actually. The notched logs are joined at the corners. There are eight corners in an octagonal building. However, the logs are joined in a crude tongue and groove fashion.  This eliminates a gap between the logs.  There was no "chinking" (mud between the logs) you see in American pioneer cabins. No nails are used in the construction of this 37 meter tall structure.  And the seventeenth century builder used only an axe.  Folklore says that when he finished the church he threw his axe into the lake, proclaiming that he could never build a more beautiful church. Next to it is a bell tower which is almost as tall. The Church of Transfiguration may be the tallest wooden church in the world.

Next we visited a typical house of 17th century Russia. It was a log house in a rectangular shape. The second floor was for people while the lower floor was for storage and animals in the winter. The living area was dominated by a huge ceramic stove. It was used for cooking as well as providing
heat. An interesting feature was the bed on the top of the stove for the elderly and children to sleep in during the cold Russian winters. Furniture was simple but  functional and there was a lady in peasant dress making lace. She had samples of her work for sale for a few rubles. Next to the living area for people was a huge loft with a ramp to allow livestock access.

There were several other structures on the tiny island in Lake Onega.  There was a sauna bathhouse, a wind powered mill, and another church. We saw a woman tending her vegetable garden near the bathhouse and a man making roofing shingles in the shade of a huge tree. He was fashioning the shingles from birch wood with a hatchet. It was similar to a teardrop shape like those covering the domes of the churches.  I recalled  how shingles were made by my great uncle with  mallet and fro. He could make a half dozen cedar shingles in a minute. This Russian craftsman could make one in about half an hour, but his were pretty. 

The last place we visited at Kizhi was the Church of Intercession. It was less grand than the Church of Transfiguration, with only nine domes, but was accessible.  The interior had icons on all walls. These are of the Byzantine style, showing biblical characters with elongated faces and bodies.

Russian Orthodox religion is similar to the Greek Orthodox faith. The main room is divided and only men are allowed behind the second wall. Women must cover their heads when entering the Russian Orthodox church. The rooms had high ceilings and a number of monks serenaded us with a cappella singing. It was beautiful, although I understood not a word. 

There was a leisurely walk back to the ship.  Upon leaving we felt we had seen a bit of Russian history. After all the palaces in Saint Petersburg it was good to see how the lower classes lived. That night we dined with Eli and Nina.  The retired couple was from San Francisco but had seen much of the world. He was a big man in his late seventies with thinning gray hair and a slight aquiline nose. He spoke in a low tone modulating each word that rolled off his tongue. Eli had previously owned a manufacturing company and was most interesting in discussing the United States policy toward Israel. The former businessman was from Israel and I believe he had relatives there. He told how the Israelis had built a hospital near its borders, which served the wounded children from either side. Nina, who was perhaps a bit younger but had added significant pounds during the aging process, spoke in accented English. She wore her make-up well with what I would consider "ultra red" lipstick. Born in the Ukraine, she had immigrated Israel and then to the Unite States as a young woman.  She, like her husband, was very pro-Israel. They were delightful conversationalists and we enjoyed our evening meal with them very much. 

There was hardly a hint of movement as the Ingvar sailed across Lake Onega. Kizhi

would be a place we would always remember.

Mouth of the Neva.

After a good night's sleep aboard the Viking ship, Ingvar, we set out to explore Saint Petersburg, the second largest city in Russia. There are quite a few "must-be-seens" in this city, which is situated where the Neva River enters the Gulf of Finland. We were very excited to see the Hermitage, one of the greatest art museums in the world. The large fifty passenger motorcoaches were waiting on the pier for us. We each picked up a bottle of water as we left the ship. It was going to be a long day. On board the bus with us was Natalia,our Russian guide.  Unlike our other river cruise this one had on board guides. I must admit I liked this idea.  Natalia spoke excellent English and had visited the U.S.A. I found her quite knowledgeable, although I did not agree with some of her political views.

Our bus let us off in front of the eighteenth palace built by Catherine the Great. Natalia told us not to expect the bus to be in the same place after our tour because parking was not allowed

where we disembarked and to leave our bottles of water on the bus.  They would not be allowed in the museum. One thing we noticed immediately about Russian street traffic was the speed at which everyone drove, fast.  And how courteous they were to pedestrians.  If you put your foot in a pedestrian crosswalk the traffic comes to an quick halt,  According to our guide there are severe penalties to those who violate pedestrian rights.  There was not as much traffic as I would have expected for a city of almost five million people. There was a long line to enter the museum, but it moved quickly. Security at tourist sites in Russia is unusual.  I would prefer the term "quirky". Sometimes handbags are allowed and sometimes they aren't. Sometimes long coats are allowed and sometimes they aren't.  There seems to be no rhyme or reason for some of their rules.  It is easy to see why Saint Petersburg is called a very western city.  The czars liked France and sought to copy its architecture.  The interiors as well as the exteriors reflect this.  But I don't think I saw a blue building in Paris trimmed in white.

 Catherine the Great founded this museum in 1764 which, incidentally, was about the time my ancestors were  building their log cabins in the new world. There are three million pieces of art, antiquities, sculpture, and culture in the museum, which is comprised of six buildings.  When you visit one of the great palaces of Europe you become aware of what the wealth of the purveyors of

absolute power can buy.  All of the great masters are represented there. From Egyption art to the

present there are paintings and sculptures. I was fascinated by the collection of twenty-three Rembrandts, an incredible collection  of the Dutch master's work. The tour of this museum, which also included some palace rooms, was five hours long.  Although we did not see everything, we were ready to leave. It was crowded, although we had seen greater crowds at the Louvre in Paris and the Prado in Madrid. We found our motor coach a few blocks away from Palace Square, 2.

Back aboard the Ingvar we had an early dinner. We dined with a lovely couple from England. They lived near the Cotswolds, one of our favorite areas of the UK.  After a brief rest, a shower, and a change of clothes it was time to attend the ballet.  I am not a huge fan of the ballet, but I was in Russia and Russia is famous for ballet. Therefore, I put aside my prejudices and attended a performance of Swan Lake.  Once aboard the motorcoach we were told we were going back to one of the Hermitage  buildings. It seems one of the buildings was a theater. Many of us changed into some dressier clothes for the event. I put on a new pair of blue jeans. One fellow whom we would get to know better wore a Scottish outfit but with trousers instead of a kilt.  He said that he had heard that Mr. Putin did not care for men in skirts.The performance was great and was accompanied by an orchestra. The story was quite simple, and the dancing was fantastic.  Nevertheless, there is something about men in tights dancing on their toes that's not quite my cup of tea. But I do admire the athleticism required to dance the ballet. There was one ballerina that caught my attention. She was buxom! A rarity. After this performance, which we were not allowed to photograph, we returned to the ship slightly after ten o'clock.  There was plenty of daylight at ten o'clock, because St. Petersburg is at the same latitude as Anchorage, Alaska. A buffet awaited us.

We enjoyed our first full day in Russia and were anxious to see what tomorrow would bring.

Boarding the Ingzar

Our flight from Amsterdam was uneventful.  I sort of felt strange going through Russian security though. Perhaps it was from growing up during the cold war and having seen too many spy movies. The uniformed personnel said little, merely stamped our documents and waived us through.  They were very efficient.   Polkova International Airport was not very crowded and as usual the Viking representative met us at the airport. This would be our second cruise with Viking Cruise Lines.  Our first had been a thoroughly delightful voyage from Amsterdam to Budapest. This cruise would be from St. Petersburg to Moscow. Many of our friends had openly questioned our wisdom about traveling to Russia, given the current Ukraine situation and Russian American relations. However, we paid them no heed.

About an hour and a half after landing we were aboard the Viking MV Ingvar. Our cabin was on the second deck almost directly above the dining room. On this ship we had opted for a room on the port side  with an accessible deck.  One of the things we like most about this mode of travel is the handling of the luggage. Once it was stored on the motorcoach which transported us from the airport, ships personnel carried it directly to our room. It's like moving into a hotel room that travels with you.

Dinner tends to be a welcome event for us on board.  Not only is is an opportunity to enjoy some great food and drink but open seating and a casual atmosphere is very conducive to making new friends.  The first night we had dinner with a couple of Mennonites and a woman from Maui with chronic wanderlust.  The lady Mennonite was the minister to a congregation in the midwest.We had the usual "welcome aboard" meeting in the lounge which also served as meeting room.  Crew introductions were made and we were informed about certain particulars of the cruise.  Who to see for what, mealtimes, safety regulations, et cetera.  There were 192 passengers and about one crewmember for each two passengers. One difference in this cruise from our previous was the inclusion of three onboard tour guides. After this informative gathering we went back to our room and continued settling in. This ship unlike the other ship had few 110 volt  outlets. But we had adapters with us to adapt the European style receptacles to our American plugs.  I had to check out the television remote.  (It has been said that I am addicted to television.) Shipboard television usually has local TV and maybe two English speaking stations. Normally, there are feeds from several onboard cameras as well. There are cameras on the bow and in the bar/meeting areas.  So if you don't get to the daily briefing, You can watch it on the television in your room. Staterooms are quite compact although we once stayed in a hotel room in the UK that was smaller. The bed was kingsize and flanked by an bedside table on either side.  There is a desk/vanity/whatever with a stool on which to sit. The wardrobe is built in  of course. The bath with shower is a model of efficiency.  There is a telephone and a smoke detector. Shipboard announcements are no longer made via the speakerphone in your cabin but announced in the passageways only.  It seems some passengers complained about hearing them in their cabins.  However, if you have your television on you may not hear the announcements at all. WIFI,which we have become accustomed to is "iffy".  It depends on where the ship is. We locked our passports in the safe and settled down to a good nights sleep.  It had been a long time since we left Goose Creek. Below is a look at our cabin.

(The bed had a duvet. I HATE duvets! The allow you to be either too cool (without) or too warm (covered).