Near Bulla’s former studio in Saint Petersburg, stands a bronze sculpture of him photographing a bulldog. Passers-by stop and rub his nose (!); I did ask, couldn’t find out why they do it, but I guess it must be because they believe it brings luck, or makes them healthier or happier. Not sure about any of these, but am certain it does make his nose shiny.

Peterhof is beautiful, but following Saint Petersburg’s example, such a fine example of IF LOUIS XV HAS ONE, I WANT ONE TOO!!!!!!Also, as almost everything built at that time – it has to be ready by ‘tomorrow’ and I don’t care how many lives we’re going to sacrifice.

A beautiful place, and still this Russian Versailles left me thinking that Russians absolutely love to show off!

I did like Saint Petersburg, and that is mainly for its buskers. Free from pretence, the most genuine presence in this city – they give life and character to a place imposed on the future, the most artificial place I’ve seen. A place so beautiful, but so sad.

I know our brain alters everything we see, and I don’t think that’s not a bad thing. Few lucky ones get to see behind Saint Petersburg beauty, its glorious palaces, fine bridges, The Hermitage, The Bronze Horseman and its winding canals.

One thing I know about Saint Petersburg is that the place really needs its music. Shostakovich’s Seventh Symphony live performance strengthened the city’s will to resist one of the most gruesome episodes of WW2- the siege of Leningrad.

Ed Vulliamy described Leningrad Radio Orchestra’s performance on 9th August 1942 and, in 2001, tracked down the last few surviving members. Their testimonies are terrible, and I remember reading the The Siege of Leningrad (the story from the city dwellers themselves) more than 15 years ago and wishing I could disbelieve what they were saying.

An aged clarinetist recalled what he saw when the snow began to melt in the spring of 1942: dead or half-dead people, sometimes from injuries they had done to themselves, dismembered corpses that had been hidden under the ice. Severed bodies with meat chopped of them (…), which people had taken to eat.

Lots more to say, but won’t any extra details here, as these authentic accounts (read far too early) had a huge impact on me as a kid-

Another of V’s interviewees, recalled her arrival at the first rehearsal:

“I nearly fell over with shock. Of the orchestra of 100 people, there were only 15 left. I didn’t recognized the musicians I knew from before, they were like skeletons… It was evident we couldn’t play anything, we could hardly stand on our feet”

When the conductor raised his arms to begin no one had the energy to move:

“The musicians were trembling. Finally those who were able to play a bit helped the weaker [ones], and thus our small group began to play (…) I remember the trumpeter didn’t have the breath to play his solo and there was silence when his turn came around. His was on his knees, poor man… Everybody did his best, but we played badly, it was hopeless”

I don’t know how they found the strength to persevere… Four of them died of starvation and others had to take their place. Eventually, reinforced by musicians from military bands serving at the front, they were ready to perform. Some people made it and stood in the auditorium of the Philharmonic Hall, some listened on the radio, some in the trenches. The German troops were able to hear Shostakovitch’s work too (the concert was broadcasted on loudspeakers.

Leningrad’s self-defense came at a huge price. In 1944, when the 900-day siege ended, 1.2 million civilians had died and those who survived would be permanently marked by what they had endured.

You’d think that’s why I said Saint Petersburg is sad. Not in the slightest!
-to be continued-

The dolls have a very interesting story: the Bolsheviks thought matryoshki were not consistent with regime’s artistic and ideological goals and therefore banned the depiction of such CONTROVERSIAL figures as tailors, bakersor any entrepeneurial types, gypsies, Jews or any other ethnical groups and even figures like mermaids or goblins. Eventually, the dolls’ diversity and creativity diminished and she adopted one standard female image

Never before Moscow has the fact that people make places been so obvious to me.

Getting lost is definitely the best way to explore the Medina – Arabic for the ‘city’. The area within the walls isn’t huge, but, you see, the miles do add up with all the wrong turns you make.

I find the Berber culture fascinating (a dear friend is Berber and I know she’ll smile when she reads this)! Original inhabitants of North Africa, more than a thousand years before the Arabs began heading west from the Arabian peninsula, even before the rise and fall of Carthage and Rome, the Berbers developed a complex clan system and dug into the Rif and Atlas mountains. There they remained unconquered: the Romans couldn’t dislodge them and neither could the Arabs, who enede up living alongside them.

My favourite story is that of the Almoravids. Tribe after tribe forayed out the Atlas or Sahara to found dynasties in the North in the ninth and tenth centuries. The trans-Saharan trade routes were established by now, mostly for gold – exchanged for salt (!) in the Niger region.

There was a fierce competition for control of the caravan routes and one tribe of nomadic Berbers came out on top. Being nomads, they’d never done much in the way of building cities, but as their dominions grew they saw the benefit in having a central store of weapons and food and as they were Muslims they wanted somewhere to build a great mosque. It was 1062. At a location offering control of the most import Atlas passes, they founded Marrakech.