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From Kazakhstan back to Russia: Yekaterinburg

Articles | Publié le 10.11.2011 Part eight - Leaving the rough beauty and sadness of Kazakhstan behind, I stepped back into Russia. This was almost an inevitability for me, though the routes of the Silk road spread out in every direction.

Yekaterinburg, now a provincial capital, was once the center of the ancient Urals mining civilization, which spread tales of giant cats and bewitched caves to ward off thieves. Had Russia not have expanded eastward into Siberia, this might have been the last outpost of the Russian imperium, as well as the last city in Europe.

Differentiation

"I told you, we are not European", says Sashulya, almost defiantly. For me, after having spent more than a year in Asia, returning to Europe was more meaningful than I had thought. "It's only a point on the map, man. The pillar, that's just some Tzar's prick. He's compensating." We laugh, and head out to the border.

The border between Europe and Asia, marked by a 19th century pillar is probably the most inoffensive border I was to cross on this entire trip. Were it not for the precise measurements of the Tsar's geographers and advisors, you would never even guess it were there. On one side Europe, and on the other Asia. On both, empty bottles of champagne and word out bouquets. This border crossing attracts far more wedding goers posing for photos than it does tourists or smugglers.

In between, and off again

The people of Yekaterinburg pride themselves on their Urals heritage. Occupying a half-way point between the Russian west and the Siberian wastes, they have developed their own identity based on this balance. This is a balance between the hardship of life in the Siberian far east and the softness of life in the west. "We don't need that, neither of them. We have our own resources, and we are resourceful", says Vanya (as he tips his hat!).

Russian hospitality

Invited to spend the day at a Datacha, a typically Russian country house, I went out into the countryside. Looking around for the mighty Urals mountains, I can find none. "Well, they're not so much mountains, you see, says Valentina, as if I had just asked a stupid question. There are some hills around, but you the nearest mountains are a thousand kilometers or so to the north”. Another preconception shattered.

After a lunch that seems to go on forever, we talk about the silk road over coffees, Russian tea and vodka. Dusk is closing in, and I can feel the chill of winter chasing my heels. When I started this Journey, I was in Japan at the height of the summer, with 35 degrees, dense humidity and the earth still shaking. In Yekaterinburg, the winter seemed to stalk me, sending a shiver down my spine. "Time for Banya!", Declared Sashulya, and I went along. Stripping naked, apart from the mandatory felt hat, I allow myself to be beaten by bunches of branches white birch tied together. All in the name of cultural exchange. Profuse sweating, more vodka and dousing myself in ice water felt like a punishment, but gave a sublime sense of purity.

Show me the way to go home

Yekaterinburg, then, is the first properly European city on this trip. An important Russian city, and capital of a culture onto itself, Yekaterinburg is a special place. Sashulya makes no bones about it, though, as he leans over and says softly in my ear: “Stop thinking about Russian destiny, Rónán. We are not Europeans.” I have no choice but to agree with his prognosis.

Rónán Mac Dubhghaill, Dublin Irlande

//Galerie

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//Rubrique Société