Photograph by Rick Olivier

Siberia and Beyond
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No geographical entity has more stereotypes--most negative--than "Siberia." Common usage in many languages has detached the term from its specific meaning to signify a brutish place of punishment. Yet with all the fervor of the lately converted, I now see that an understanding of Russia--in whatever discipline--is immeasurably enhanced by knowledge and experience of the north Eurasian land mass.

[I should point out that my own work throughout this area benefited greatly from assistance provided by the historic preservation section at the Ministry of Culture of the Russian Federation.]

My route followed the old path from Moscow to Vladimir and Nizhnii Novgorod, and from there to Viatka (now known as Kirov). There is a sense of boundary as the train crosses eastward over the majestic sweep of the Volga River and leaves behind the high, western river bluffs at Nizhnii Novgorod. Here is the broad conduit along which merchants from the Orient and nomadic invaders from Asia's highlands moved toward the ancient territories of the Slavs. And in the opposite direction, Russia's merchants, troops and settlers moved inexorably toward the east. Asia is still far, but Eurasia feels near at hand.

Yet this is all still Europe. Kirov itself, located on picturesque hilly bluffs overlooking the Viatka River is not even the beginning of the end of the European continent. This ancient town, first mentioned in Russian chronicles in 1374 under the name Khlynov, arose in an area along the Viatka River that had been inhabited by Finno-Ugric tribes long before the first Slavs. Like so many other provincial Russian capitals, Kirov is struggling to modernize its economy while retaining a sense of cultural heritage.

On the one hand, people rising to new positions of responsibility in the professional and administrative worlds show the signs of at least modest prosperity. On the other hand, the legacy of the 1998 financial crisis is still bitterly felt. These are not "new Russians," with money to burn, but white-collar professionals who looked forward to an increase in the standard of living. For them the devaluation of the ruble, although necessary to develop the Russian market, was devastating.

This is particularly a problem for the many single-parent families created by Russia's high divorce rate. The daily frustrations are immense, yet these people understand that the only solution is to work toward the continued improvement of the system within which they live. At the same time, many are increasingly supportive of political factions that emphasize the return to a strong state system. As one of them told me, "Russians have always been a state people (gosudartsvenny narod)." Would this attitude change as I moved toward Siberia?

The morning express train from Moscow leaves Kirov for Perm at 8, and for most of its distance the rail line to Perm follows the Cheptsa River. The beautiful rolling hills alternate with fields and forests. August weather varies greatly in this part of the world, and throughout the eight-hour trip, massive rain clouds alternated with sunlight that was all the more brilliant on rain-drenched leaves. Picturesque villages, many with stout log houses, alternated with the all-too-familiar scenes of industrial desolation: rusting, abandoned factories, reinforced concrete shells, tottering sheds. This detritus can be found in any industrialized country. But there is an unusually large amount of it in Russia, the legacy of a centrally directed state economy that wasted resources on a colossal scale and began hundreds of industrial building projects that were left unfinished when the money ran out and the state collapsed.

Such thoughts were banished, however, as the train crossed the mighty Kama River and pulled into the Perm station on a rich, late-summer's afternoon. Perm is an attractive city with a cosmopolitan look to its main boulevards and a number of distinctive, pre-revolutionary neighborhoods. But for historic architecture, the smaller towns to the north such as Solikamsk, Cherdyn and Nyrob present a far richer array of monuments.

Returning to Perm and taking the night train to Ekaterinburg, I finally crossed over the spine of the Urals, left Europe and entered Asia. Not that Ekaterinburg seemed any less European than Perm. Indeed, for those interested in the history of Soviet Constructivism, the architecture of Sverdlovsk (as the city was called in the Soviet period) is the best-preserved anywhere in Russia. Not even Moscow can boast of such a dense concentration. But for all the progress of the Soviet and post-Soviet period, Ekaterinburg is still best known as the site of the brutal murder of Nicholas II and his family in July 1918.

Here, too, local architects and preservationists arranged travel for another historic town to the north--Verkhoturye, founded as a major transit point to Siberia for early Russian colonists, who could continue down the Tura River and eventually reach Tobolsk. Throughout my journey eastward, I regularly made trips north to regain the original Siberian trail, considerably to the north of the current main line, the "Moscow Road," established in the late 18th century.

The symbol of Verkhoturye's pivotal role in extending Russian authority is its kremlin and church on Trinity Rock, high above the Tura River. What makes the Trinity Church so unique is not only its spectacular location, but also the rich combination of elements from the Italian Renaissance, medieval Muscovy, Ukrainian baroque, and a flair for ornament evident in the façade's green ceramic work. Although the interior was ransacked and has only recently been cleaned and subject to basic repairs, the exterior is in superb condition, thanks to restoration work supervised by Elena Dvoinikova.

My introduction to Siberia proper occurred, finally, at Tiumen, also on the Tura River. Tiumen is now flush with oil money, but it has managed to preserve much of the distinctive wooden architecture of its historic center, and a number of churches are being rebuilt. Particularly impressive are the early 18th-century "Siberian baroque" churches, with Ukrainian influence. From Tiumen I again made my way north, this time to Tobolsk, the 17th-century "capital" of Siberia. From its perch on high bluffs overlooking the mighty Irtysh River, the Tobolsk Kremlin (fortress) with its ensemble of churches and towers is one of the most impressive sights in Siberia. Most of the city's ornate 18th-century churches are still abandoned, yet a few have been restored to parish use, as has the Polish Roman Catholic church.

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