Boston has over 30,000 wooden triple deckers built between 1880 ad 1920, meanwhile in Russia people were building Izbas. They look vaguely like the shotgun houses in New Orleans,, with three windows at the front, with intricate gingerbread molding and a side entrance. From the outside they seemed to hold one or two rooms. Darius and Lena lived in a neighborhood of them in Ivanovo. They bought one and tore it down to build a new house, and they just bought the one behind their property for $50,000 with the idea of tearing it down and putting up a guest house. I had John snap a few pictures of them when we were over there.
Thursday we were taken on an excursion to the old town of Plyos on the Volga River. We saw the Isaac Levitan museum and had a picnic, but the highlight of the day was when we got a tour of an izba. A n older woman dressed in traditional sarrafin linen cloth with a red kerchief welcomed us in. There was a hallway with garden tools, boots and a big brick oven called a “pech”. We were led into a single room, with bare linden walls and croched hangings. A black and white picture with a solemn Slavic family (like the one hanging in my hallway) was on the wall. The group of Russian Rotarans and the GSE team sat around the table while the woman told us how the house had been built in 1910 by her grandfather with his own hands because he didn’t trust any carpenters in town. He was afraid they would screw up something, there would be an argument over money, and then the workmen would leave a cracked egg in the wall. Once grandfather built the house they had the priest over to bless it, then grandma went back to the old house and left gifts of bread and vegetables for the house spirits so they would decide to move to the new house. There was a song, like “Don’t Worry Baby” by the Beach Boys kind of, if they sang in Russian and added some Middle Eastern twists to the melody, that the woman sang to us.
Then she had Sarah come up and demonstrate how to spin wool into thread. There was another song about a girl sitting in the window spinning hoping the cute boys would notice her. Then she brought out a wreath decrated with fake red roses and put it on my head. I was told I had to pick a woman in the room and give it to her, she would then become my wife. I figured Nadezhda was the logical choice, since she had been doing such a good job of feeding and caring for me. We then got to put on some old clothes and everyone joined in to sing a spirited song that included (for the Amerians) the w
ords “Michael” “Nadezhda” and “Super Horosho”. I was moved to sing a few impromptu bars of “If Ever I Would Leave You” with about half the correct lyrics. Then I was told to head out to the pech and bring in the prridge (or Kasha) . There was a long handled hook that fit around the porridge pot, and I walked in saying “Honey, I’m home!”. Everyone was given a little porridge to eat, then I got the pot and a giant spoon decorated in ornate gold, red and black. The paterfamilias back in the day had to have a big mouth. Kasha is 1/3 wheat, 1/3 milk, and 1/3 sugar and it was quite tasty.
Nadezhda lost little time in telling me what to do, and I answered with the two words that I long ago learned were the key to marital bliss, “Yes, dear”.
Thursday we were taken on an excursion to the old town of Plyos on the Volga River. We saw the Isaac Levitan museum and had a picnic, but the highlight of the day was when we got a tour of an izba. A n older woman dressed in traditional sarrafin linen cloth with a red kerchief welcomed us in. There was a hallway with garden tools, boots and a big brick oven called a “pech”. We were led into a single room, with bare linden walls and croched hangings. A black and white picture with a solemn Slavic family (like the one hanging in my hallway) was on the wall. The group of Russian Rotarans and the GSE team sat around the table while the woman told us how the house had been built in 1910 by her grandfather with his own hands because he didn’t trust any carpenters in town. He was afraid they would screw up something, there would be an argument over money, and then the workmen would leave a cracked egg in the wall. Once grandfather built the house they had the priest over to bless it, then grandma went back to the old house and left gifts of bread and vegetables for the house spirits so they would decide to move to the new house. There was a song, like “Don’t Worry Baby” by the Beach Boys kind of, if they sang in Russian and added some Middle Eastern twists to the melody, that the woman sang to us.
Then she had Sarah come up and demonstrate how to spin wool into thread. There was another song about a girl sitting in the window spinning hoping the cute boys would notice her. Then she brought out a wreath decrated with fake red roses and put it on my head. I was told I had to pick a woman in the room and give it to her, she would then become my wife. I figured Nadezhda was the logical choice, since she had been doing such a good job of feeding and caring for me. We then got to put on some old clothes and everyone joined in to sing a spirited song that included (for the Amerians) the w
ords “Michael” “Nadezhda” and “Super Horosho”. I was moved to sing a few impromptu bars of “If Ever I Would Leave You” with about half the correct lyrics. Then I was told to head out to the pech and bring in the prridge (or Kasha) . There was a long handled hook that fit around the porridge pot, and I walked in saying “Honey, I’m home!”. Everyone was given a little porridge to eat, then I got the pot and a giant spoon decorated in ornate gold, red and black. The paterfamilias back in the day had to have a big mouth. Kasha is 1/3 wheat, 1/3 milk, and 1/3 sugar and it was quite tasty.Nadezhda lost little time in telling me what to do, and I answered with the two words that I long ago learned were the key to marital bliss, “Yes, dear”.
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