In the Footsteps of St. Herman

It is already Saturday. Sitka is our longest single stay anywhere apart from Moscow, and yet time is rapidly passing.

The vacation rental we have is across the street from the location where the Sitka Farmer’s Market is held periodically. Locally grown fresh vegetables, baked goods, fried bread, jellies, fish and craft items are among the many items for purchase. We stocked up on things to eat while here and found some gifts for relatives and friends.

We then headed to the Russian Bishop’s House, one of the few examples of Russian architecture left in America and one of the most completely preserved and restored. It had been built for the needs of the bishop as the name implies, by the Russian American Company. It is now owned by the National Park Service and our Ranger gave a very informative talk about the building’s history and its most renowned occupant, St. Innocent (Ivan Veniaminov).

An orignal traditional Russian chant book (Sputnik Salomchik) on display at St. Innocent's private chapel.

Having seen various examples of Russian wooden architecture earlier on my pilgrimage, there was much here which was familiar in technique and style. The Bishop’s House is constructed of square-hewn logs of Sitka Spruce, 65 feet (20 m) in length, 12 to 18 inches (30-45 cm) square. They are joined together with mortise and tenon joints in the wall sections, and scarph joints in the foundation. This method of building causes the joints to get tighter over time, rather than loosening. These were techniques pointed out to us in Karelian buildings in Kizhi.  Interestingly enough, a number of the builders in Sitka were Finnish ship builders.

Especially fascinating was the insulation found under the floors, a combination of sawdust, gravel and sand on a subfloor.  Sitka lies as far north as settlements in Russia familiar to the builders.  But Sitka has a far milder climate.  The insulation was, in fact, overkill, but it provided for a very warm edifice.  This was coupled with a heating system that made use of warmth accumulated in the kitchen for dispersal upstairs, and European-style room furnaces — not fireplaces — which kept heat stored in the brick around the fire-boxes to radiate heat during the day.

(I once stayed in a monastery in Romania which utilized this system. A fire built in the small fire-box in the evening would provide heat which lasted throughout the night and for the next day, as well.)

The first floor contains general information about the history of Sitka, the building and its occupants.  Here was the kitchen, offices, living quarters for the students when this served as a seminary, and classrooms, both for seminarians and indigenous children. In one of the cases are examples of the wooden-peg calendars which St. Innocent designed to help Alaskans calculate the Church feasts and fasts. One is rectangular, looking somewhat like a cribbage board. The other is circular.

A desk built by St. Innocent.

The second floor was the bishop’s living quarters and private chapel. The wallpaper is a reproduction of the original design. In fact, 30 layers of wallpaper were removed in restoration, upstairs, while numerable layers of paint had been applied to walls downstairs over the years.

Some of the furniture is original, including a chair crafted by St. Innocent to match other chairs already there. St. Innocent was a carpenter among his many other talents. A desk he built remains in his private office. It contains three secret compartments for the storage of important documents. Each compartment could be opened only by one who knew the location of the special, spring-loaded fixture which would trigger access. St. Innocent’s private library is located off his monastic bedchamber.

The Chapel of the Annunciation in the Russian Bishop's House, which served as St. Innocent's private chapel. Today, services are held here twice a week.

On the opposite side upstairs is the Chapel of the Annunciation. Several icons, including two on the iconostasis, are of St. Innokenty (Sibersky). Following the 1966 fire which devastated St. Michael’s, the chapel was used by the cathedral community until the church was rebuilt.  Today, services are held here twice a week, on Tuesday and Wednesday afternoons. Our ranger noted that they have to make sure and turn the smoke detectors off at those times.

Some of the appointments are now property of the Park Service and some are on loan from the cathedral.

One of the great things about Sitka is that we can walk to town, immerse ourselves in one particular aspect of its history, and then retreat to rest and reflect. Of all the many places, we’ve visited over this wonder-filled summer, Sitka certainly stands out on our repeat visit list. And this is not to slight any of the other sites we’ve visited. Though it is across the continent from our home in Pennsylvania, a return trip here is easy to contemplate.

(Postcard image: A blockhouse from the Russian Redoubt St. Michael.)

Today was a day we chose to avoid Sitka’s downtown for the most part. Almost 4,000 tourists were in the harbor and most were headed for shore. Fact is: Sitka has resisted the cruise companies’ desire to dock right in town. So, boats anchor in the channel and passengers are tendered ashore. Fr. Sergius at St. Michael’s had already warned us how busy things would be.

A memorial commemorating both Holy Trinity Church which stood at the redoubt and the site of St. Yakov Netsvetov's burial.

We did explore around Redoubt St. Michael, a fortified area overlooking town about a half block from our lodgings. It marks the location of Holy Trinity Church, no longer extant, as well as where St. Yakov Netsvetov had been buried.

We also got our exercise by ambling over to the supermarket and stocking up for our long week’s end here. Being on foot meant we also had to waddle back the half mile carrying our groceries. Fortunately, everything fit in two brown paper sacks.

Tomorrow, we will do more touristy things: take a town tour of the major sites and visit the native heritage center. Tonight, we went to go to church for an akathist to St. Herman and got to visit with some of St. Michael’s parishioners. We then returned for dinner at home. Nothing special, but that is what makes it so special. The two of us have not sat down together to eat something we have prepared since May. And it’s almost August!

We boarded the M/V Fairweather at 8 a.m. for the four-plus hour ferry ride from Juneau to Sitka. We are tired from two days of sightseeing in Juneau. As the boat moves out from port at Auke Bay, we are able to catch a magnificent view of the Mendenhall Glacier that we visited the day before.

Yesterday, we first rode the aerial tram to the top of Mt. Roberts for a majestic view of the city, Gastineau Channel, and beyond.

After lunch, (at the Red Dog Saloon where I ate reindeer), we mailed a package to Deacon Mark for Holy Trinity’s Vacation Bible School. Our theme this year is “Let’s Go with St. Herman”. Students will learn about his missionary journey to and life in Alaska. We were able to purchase a number of Alaskan themed items to use for craft activities.

The native culture around Juneau is heavily Tlingit, one of the people groups missionized later during the Russian period.

Mid-afternoon we took a shuttle to the glacier. The Mendenhall Glacier is an incredible 1,000 square miles of ice, gradually melting into the Mendenhall River. In the last 70 years the glacier has retreated up the Mendenhall Valley about 2.5 miles (4 km). This is related to the earth’s cycles of warming and cooling.

At the Mendenhall Visitor’s Center, films and displays give much information about the shape of the glacial field while providing an incredible scenic overlook of the river, the face of the glacier, and a tremendous waterfall pouring out of the mountain’s side.

For the inquiring mind: Why is glacial ice blue?

Glacial ice is blue because it absorbs all colors of the light spectrum except blue. The ice on the top has not frozen or compacted enough for it to appear blue. But deeper down in a crack or fissure in the mass, the blue ice can be clearly seen.

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The ferry seems virtually deserted. It will hold 250 passengers, but today I don’t think we have more than 40, if that. It is a quiet trip. It is so quiet that I sleep in my reclining chair in the forward lounge as the Fairweather maneuvers through narrows and straits to Sitka, again going in places cruise ships can’t.

Sitka was the capital of Russian America and then the US Territory of Alaska until 1906. It lies 180 nautical miles (205 miles; 1 nautical mile = 1.15 land miles) south-southwest of Juneau. Air miles between Juneau and Sitka are approximately 95. The “fast ferry” we were on takes about 4.5 hours.

At the junction of Sitka's main thoroughfares (literally: it's in the middle of a traffic circle), the Cathedral of St. Michael the Archangel stands in harmony with its surroundings.

The only Southeast Alaska port on the Pacific, Sitka was strategically and commercially important for Russian America as well as today. Originally called New Archangelsk by Europeans, Sitka — which means “People living on the outside of Shee (Baranof Island)”  – was renamed to reflect its Tlingit heritage. However, the dedication of the cathedral to St. Michael the Archangel reflects its previous nomenclature. It had been called New Archangelsk as (old) Archangelsk was the hometown of then Russian American Company governor Aleksandr Baranov.

Today’s cathedral is not original. The first, built in 1846, using plans drawn up by St. Innocent sadly burned in 1966 in a fire that swept through much of downtown. I recall reading about the fire as a teenager: how townsfolk banded together to save as many church artifacts as possible in the face of the conflagration. Most were rescued and can be seen on display in the church today, including the cathedra or throne that the bishop uses. St. Michael’s cathedra was carved by St. Innocent and has been used by all his successors.

Among the artifacts on display at St. Michael's Cathedral is the Gospel Book (Greek: Εύαγγέλιον, Evangélion) presented to St. Innocent in 1846.

The present church was rebuilt using the original plans executed by St. Innocent. St. Michael’s sits in a wide spot in the middle of the street, cars diverting to the right to drive past with oncoming traffic coming round it on the other side. It gently dominates the downtown skyline, harmonious with the overall setting.

The Finnish Lutheran Church (1843) across the narrow street also burned, but was replaced with a building with all the character of the 1960′s. (Frankly, it’s hard to tell it is a church except for the sign in front.)

[Are you wondering why Finnish Lutherans were allowed to build a church in Russian territory? Since 1809, Finland had been part of the Russian Empire and Russia had guaranteed religious freedom for Finns. Finnish independence came in the early 20th century.]

St. Innocent's Cathedra, rescued before flames engulfed the church during the 1966 fire, also on display at St. Michael's.

St. Innocent’s missionary labors here began as part of a second wave of Orthodox missionary work, a generation following that of St. Herman. St. Innocent, born John Veniaminov, was a Siberian native, from north of Irkutsk, actually not that far from the headwaters of the Lena River. He also was a married priest, unlike the all-monastic contingent of St. Herman’s.

Sitka, though founded in 1799, was not firmly established for several decades. The Tlingits were particularly resistant to Russia’s first incursion and in 1802 a major battle ensued which routed the Russians for a time. St. Innocent’s ministry began here in 1828, a decade before the repose of St. Herman on Spruce Island in 1837.

We are setting up shop here in Sitka for a short while. Instead of a hotel, we have rented a condo that allows us the freedom of movement and relaxation impossible in a hotel. It is only a few blocks from downtown, making getting to church and elsewhere on time not a problem.

Feast of St. Yakov (Netsvetov)

As we ate breakfast before disembarking in Juneau this morning, an eagle swooped by, outside the dining room on the Columbia. It was one of several of these great raptors we have seen. The locals are rather non-plussed in comparison to those like me, saying: “Look at the eagle! Look at the eagle!”

Our trip from Ketchikan to Juneau took about 15-16 hours and ran through the Wrangell Narrows, which made our Inside Passage route all the more spectacular. The Narrows are so-named because they are so narrow! The ferry is able to take this route. Cruise ships are not. One can sit in the front viewing lounge and see both banks easily on this 22-mile journey. Eagles, bear and moose are often viewed, though we just saw the eagles last evening.

Juneau, Alaska’s capital since 1912, has a population of only 31,000 and has the distinction of not being connected by highway to the rest of the state. The only way in or out is by boat or air. When the cruise ships started docking around 11 a.m., the capital city started waking up too. Before then, it seemed like there were only a few in town besides Matushka and me.

One of the principal sites in Juneau, besides the Capitol building, is St. Nicholas Church, which sits about two or three blocks away from it. It is the oldest original Orthodox church still standing in Alaska and dates to 1893. There we met Fr. Killian, a professed monk, who will be finishing studies at St. Vladimir’s Seminary this fall. He is serving this summer by running the church bookstore and conducting tours of the church.

St. Nicholas is a wooden structure, built in a style reminiscent of the tent-style belfries of many Russian churches; and thus, it is an octagon. The smell of incense lingered from a celebration of liturgy earlier this morning in commemoration of St. Jakov’s feast day. We were able to pray a while there. This felt so good since we had not had liturgy the day before.

We left St. Nicholas and headed right for the Postal Service Office to ship home the treasures we had purchased from the church’s own lavka.

Afterwards, we soon made our way to the Capitol building. It had served as the Federal and Territorial Building and Courthouse before statehood. Built in 1931, it is as unassuming as is the rest of Juneau. (What is spectacular about Juneau, besides St. Nicholas, is its physical setting, backed by Mount Juneau, surrounded by evergreens, narrow cascades descending the steep mountainsides, all overlooking the Gastineau Channel.)

Since leaving Seattle, we have been going progressively northward, by a tad northwest at times. It means that we are now above the 58th parallel in Juneau, and days have gotten longer and longer, again. It is past 23:00 (11 p.m.) and it is about dusk. Seoul, being south of the 38th (37° 34′  08″ N), was seeing darkness fall before 20:30 (8:30 p.m.). (By comparison, Yakutsk is 62° 02′ N; Vladivostok, 43° 08′ N; and State College, 40° 47′ 49″ N.)

Tomorrow, we head for nearby Mount Roberts by tram, and then the Mendenhall Glacier. We caught a road’s eye view of the latter today. On Wednesday, we’ll take a day ferry, the Fairweather, to Sitka.

I have arisen early to watch us dock in Ketchikan. It is 6:30 a.m. Alaska Time. We’ve been on board the Columbia roughly 36 hours before we reach this first port of call. Sometime during the night we actually entered Alaskan waters. Since leaving Bellingham, WA on Friday, we’ve been on Alaska Time on board, 4 hours earlier than Eastern Time. Again, the arbitrariness of man is shown. On either side of us in the Inside Passage, the land visible was on Pacific Time, whether the brief portion of Washington State or the more lengthy stretch through British Columbia waters. The Alaska State Ferry is not unlike the rail system in Russia. It is a time and an entity unto itself.

A canoe crafted in the style of the northern Native Alaskan peoples by artisans for the Totem Heritage Center in Ketchikan.

For the first Sunday on my Sabbatical, there is no Orthodox Church to attend on Sunday. A Reader’s Service in our cabin will have to suffice. I think of St. Herman, who for so many years lived with out the ministrations of a priest. Yet, St. Herman was not unprepared for lengthy periods of solitary prayer in the wilderness. Valaam still marks that place in the woods, “Ghermanova“, where St. Herman would retreat for solitude.

As I ponder all this, Matushka joins me for the view. Shortly, a special blessing swims by off the ship’s bow. He blows his spout, flips his tail and dives back into the water, a whale!

We had several hours in Ketchikan allowing us enough time to view both a totem history exhibition (see pictures of our visit here, here, here, here, and here.) and a salmon hatchery. The ferry port is two miles from the town center, inspiring the “Mrs.” that we should walk back instead of catching the city bus that had brought us to town. It was a way to get in a day’s worth of exercise.

Matushka met up with me in Seattle, a few hours after I had landed from Seoul on 22 July. We overnighted near the airport so we could catch a short flight yesterday to Bellingham, WA to board the Alaska State Ferry. The State Ferry system runs virtually the whole length of Alaska’s southern, southwestern and southeastern coastlines.

The ferries are not merely for tourists, but a critical link in Alaska’s transportation infrastructure. In fact, they are part of the state highway system. Our boat, the M/V Columbia will hold around 900 passengers at capacity. We are about 50% full. Some travelers have their cars or other vehicles aboard. Some stay in cabins, as do we. Others simply sleep in the lounge chairs. Some pitch pup tents on the deck. It is a varied bunch.

Facilities on board the Columbia include two lounges, a snack bar, dining room, gift shop and bar. Nature talks are given and movies are shown in one of the lounges, from time to time. The movies so far have been Avatar and Up. So kids and adults alike can be entertained. My idea of entertainment is a good book and a nap.

Our route takes us through the Inside Passage, from Bellingham, WA to Juneau, AK. A good stretch runs through British Columbia before we reach Alaska. After Juneau, we’ll head to Sitka, capital of Russian America and site of America’s first Orthodox Cathedral, St. Michael’s, designed by St. Innocent.

As I’ve stated earlier, this is not St. Herman‘s path. He traveled overland from Yakutsk to the village of Okhotsk, on the sea of the same name. There, he and his companions boarded a ship and headed south and then eastward around Kamchatka Peninsula to the Aleutian Islands. Here their missionary work began, moving along the Aleutian chain.

My path is virtually the exact opposite, starting at the southern most edge of Alaska and moving north, northwest and westward along the coast. The Inside Passage is so called because it is bounded, for the most part, by coast to the east and a series of islands to the west. Instead of visiting the lands first missionized first, we will approach those missionized last.

For the most part, the waters are very calm, one advantage of the Inside Passage. We did hit the Queen Charlotte Sound that is open water to the west. There was a noticeable shift in sailing conditions for a couple of hours, bothering some on board. (Not me.) Otherwise, this is a calm way to travel, bounded by forested islands on our left and mainland on our right, heading farther and farther north. Our ultimate destination by ferry is Kodiak, near where St. Herman spent the last 30 years of his life on Spruce Island. We will arrive in Kodiak on August 6, in time for St. Herman’s Feast Day and Pilgrimage on August 9.

By the miracle of air flight and the International Date Line, I’ll be in Seattle before I leave Seoul. My departure is not until 18:30 (6:30 p.m.), so this gives me virtually another whole day in town.

Let me update you a bit. Today, I went to Namdaemun Market, near my hotel. It is a large, traditional Korean market with vendors selling almost everything it seemed, from food to clothing, luggage to porcelain. Most items would be what Koreans would use everyday. I’ve already forgotten how many merchants fill this shopping zone.

Namdaemun Market, located next to main southern gate to Old City Seoul,

Nameadun reminded me of Mexican mercados, except there is no roof over this one and it depends on your definition of a souvenir whether you can find one here. Rather, there are manifold shops opening into a warren of streets. Merchandise spills over on the thoroughfares. Some merchants simply set up shop in the streets, and sit under a large parasol or umbrella. Had it not been so hot and sticky, I would have stayed longer. I did find one rather large area that was indoors and air conditioned, on two different floors.

The hotel extended my departure until 14:00 (2 p.m.), which worked well with my late flight. I was able to take it easy and still get a cab to Incheon Airport with no hassles.

Korean Air seems to have studied everything they do at Disney World. I’m back to that theme. But Disney has always been above and beyond society at large in technology and treating people well. There were no long lines to check in at the ticket counter. In fact, they actually opened more counters so there would less standing in line.

Airport Security was courteous, even apologetic, when they disallowed my jar of organic honey from Ekaterinburg. I had forgotten it was in my carry-on. It was over the contents limit. I understood completely.

At Immigration, I even found an officer with a sense of humor. He was checking my passport, and I asked whether or not it looked like me. It’s about six years old. He smiled and said, “Well, with the beard you look like Santa Claus”. The last two words were almost a whisper. I asked him if he thought I could get a job, and he allowed how that might be possible on the flight. Young guy, nice young guy.

I got to the gate before boarding. Another agent in uniform asked to see my passport and boarding pass. “Stand right here,” he said. Here? I thought and hesitated. No stand here. The only problem was they had just announced that this line was for First Class and Business. OK. I’ll just get a jump in boarding.

But when I presented my pass, the gate immediately called another to her. In Russia, this would have meant real trouble. The second agent quietly said, “You have the opportunity to be upgraded to Business Class.”

I didn’t quite make it out.

She repeated: “You have the opportunity to be upgraded to Business Class.”

“Thank you, Lord!”

What a welcomed way to cross the Pacific tonight. And it looks like there will be no one next to me either.

(Postcard image courtesy of NORAD.)

Of course, stopping in Seoul has nothing to do with this pilgrimage directly, but I did want to keep traveling eastward to reach Alaska. Flights don’t normally fly from eastern Russia to Alaska, although attempts have been made to establish a route from Kamchatka to Anchorage. It wasn’t going to happen just for me. So, I chose Vladivostok to Seoul and Seoul to Seattle. From Seattle I’ll connect up with the Alaska State Ferry System and travel by boat to Kodiak.

As well, I could have flown from Vladivostok via Seoul to Seattle in one incredibly long series of flights. I chose to see Seoul, rather than merely change planes here. I’m so glad I did.

On leaving Vladivostok, there was a cultural shift immediately upon entering the Korea Air jet. All the stewardesses were smiling. They were waving. They were welcoming each and every passenger aboard. It was a gracious mood lifter for me, immediately.

I’ve now been in Korea for 30 hours. All I can say is that I haven’t felt this warmly welcomed any place since my last trip to Disney World in 1994. Seoul is a magnificent, gleaming, modern, and prosperous city.

The Gyeongbok Palace Main Audience Hall.

After breakfast this morning, I took a city tour that gave me an overall view of town. My special intent was to see the palaces. My son Chris had been in Seoul last summer. He couldn’t rave about it enough. (I can certainly see why.) He urged, if I did nothing else, to see Gyeongbok Palace. I did, along with nearby Changgyeong and Changdeok Palaces too. There are more in fact, but this is all I had energy to do.

I had lunch in a “typical” Korean eatery, on the second floor of a building near the hotel. Every table had a grill built right into the middle of it. The menu was glued to a four small pieces of masonite that were taped together into a more or less permanent folder. I wasn’t offered an English menu. (I doubt they had one.) But there were pictures and I took a stab at one of them, hoping that my choice didn’t contain peanuts. (I have an allergy to them and Chris warned me to be careful.)

I don’t know the name of my dish. It was a big bowl of squid in a milky broth, with cabbage, and about one pound of cooked spaghetti in the bottom. I knew it was going to be squid from the picture, so I wasn’t surprised. I couldn’t find any peanuts, so I was safe on that score. I’m sitting there with a huge bowl of squid in broth, a smaller bowl to eat my portions from, and a spoon with a flat bottom like you see in Oriental restaurants at home. But no forks or knives. I don’t think my waitress knew any English. She didn’t let on if she did. She had gestured to the chopsticks: nice metal ones in paper sleeves. I figured if I were to eat that was the utensil of choice.

Each of my sons uses chopsticks at restaurants. Two have traveled in Asia. They make it look so easy. And by this time I was so hungry, I decided, “When in Seoul, do like the Seoulians.” I grabbed the chopsticks and started eating. I wondered, “What if someone sees me and laughs?” Actually, I was too hungry to care much about that. Then I remembered: bowls are held close to the mouth, especially if there is something to slurp — long spaghetti in milky squid broth fits that bill. The bowl seemed so large that when it came for the kitchen, I doubted that I could finish it. My doubts were allayed in short order. I almost did.

I had chosen my hotel for several reasons, one of which was the fact that it had a laundromat in it for the guests. Since I will be heading directly for the ferry within a day of my arrival back in the States, I wanted the laundry to be clean. So then it was off to wash the clothes.

But my day wasn’t over. I had reservations to see a performance of “Jump”, a thoroughly entertaining martial arts comedy routine. There is a vague story line to provide a backdrop for the performers. Then it is 80 minutes of non-stop physical comedy mixed with martial arts skill. This was a thoroughly diverting evening.

Before leaving, I plan to visit one of the traditional shopping markets pointed out on today’s tour. And I hope to write some reflections based upon my tour of the palaces as well as upon the Confucian values still present in Korean society as whole. Confucianism is more a code of conduct than a religion: civic order and respect being paramount, especially respect for elders.

Clockwise from top left: "Seoul Sister" (Anastasia), "Seoul Brother", "Seoul Child", and "Seoul Friend"... Even though they may not be calling him "Santa", friendly Koreans are still practically lining up to get their picture taken with Fr. John.

I’ll also need to think about why I keep attracting attention (not negatively, I hope). Obviously I’m a Westerner and the kids want to try their English skills, even the little ones who were out today with Sister Anastasia for a field trip.

I really think it’s the beard. No, they didn’t call me Santa, but I didn’t realize that I was so well marketable! Come to think of it, I could put a little chair on the street with a sign saying: Have your picture taken with the grey-bearded guy and brush up on your English skills while you’re at it.

I’m certainly meeting a lot of interesting people this way and I’m not even scaring the children. I’ve just never had a grown man want to hold my hand and have his picture taken with me!

(Postcard image: Liliana and Natalya pose for Fr. John’s camera outside their parish in Vladivsotok. They truly represent the “Heart of Russia.”)

Pokrov (Protection of the Mother of God) Church in Vladivostok. It was originally built between 1902-05, then closed in 1935. In 2005 it was renovated and later reopened in 2008.

Last evening, I packed and rearranged my bags. My flight is not until 15:50 (3:50 p.m.) and I’ll be able to stay at the hotel all morning without rushing. Before leaving town, I wanted to stroll the seaside again.

But first I had a present for the church I attended over the weekend. I walked down the hill once more, not knowing who if anyone would be there, or how I would leave the icon I carried if no one were.

I had hardly walked up the steps to the little park in front of the church when I hear: “Batiushka Ioan, is that you?”

It was Lillian. She had been assigned to me to help translate, as she knew a little English. But she greeted me in Russian. She was working at the church today. “Would you like to enter the church to pray?”

“Of course! Thank you!”

“Natalya, look. It’s Batiushka Ioan who was with us yesterday!”

I walked down the steps into the lower church, very thankful that my silent prayers had already been answered.

“I have a present for the church here. Can you see that Fr. Nikolai gets it?”

“Of course. May we see it now?”

“Certainly.”

“Why, it’s the one we need. We don’t have this one, do we Natalya?” It is the icon of Our Lady with the Chalice in front of her: it looks similar to Our Lady of the Sign. They call it “Chasha” meaning “chalice”.

“We do an akathist for this icon.”

How wonderful it all feels. And it is a wonder-filled moment.

“Father, give us your email.” I do so and supply the Blog address as well.

We walk up the stairs. The park air is nice and cool by this time. (It had been 29°C / 84°F earlier, the last time I wanted to look at a temperature sign. With the humidity from the sea, without a breeze, you are hot and steamy quickly during midday.)

“Batiushka, we want to give you something! Sit down, please.” They rush over to the lavka, which is a freestanding booth in the park. They come back with a CD of Russian and Ukrainian Christmas carols, sung by a local choir from churches in Vladivostok. I tell them how Nicholas, especially, will be overjoyed to receive such a present.

We sit and talk a while longer. “Father, would you like tea?”

“Sure.”

“Natalya, let’s fix Father some tea.” Before I know it, water is being boiled: “Tea or coffee?”

“Coffee, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“It’s not.” So, coffee it is for me; tea, for the ladies. Candies had already been brought out of the church basement, and now Natalya comes back with a plate of cookies and cymki (soomky). Cymki are little round tea biscuits, almost pretzels, without the pretzel taste or salt, shaped in rings, almost like miniature bagels.

I admire the coffee mugs: each one looks like a little white flowerpot. The rim is decorated with flowers. “They’re from China,” Lillian laughs.

“Really? It’s so close.”

“Batiushka, please take it, you like it so.” I was able to fend off the generosity.

We sat and talked a bit more, about how many churches remained open here previously — Lillian counts up: nine, maybe ten. I wonder why there seemed to been more in Vladivostok? She has no answer. Who does?

Lillian and Natalya tell me about the island Natalya lives on, Russkiy Ostrov. Its 40 minutes away by ferry. There is monastery there, about a dozen men in the brotherhood. Natalya helps the monks, too.

Had I only known! I can’t afford a rush trip across the bay tomorrow morning and get back in time to catch my plane.

“Zhal!” (What a pity!), exclaims Lillian.

Indeed: “Next time,” I say.

“Next time.” Natalya and Lillian agree.

“Will you go to Magadan?”

I explain the difficulty obtaining visas for longer than thirty days and how this compromised my itinerary a bit by the time the longer visa came through.

“Really? Only 30 days for Americans?”

“A hold-over from the Cold War,” I attempt.

We talk about how we are one people, with one faith, with one Name under heaven and on earth, no matter who we are, or where we are. We ponder how God helps us sit and talk and understand each other.

Three black and white cats, nine or ten months old, seem to attend this parish, too. Litter mates, obviously, they have virtually the same markings, and look a little like those black and white bunnies some people keep for pets. Another lady from church had walked by, to sit down and eat a bite, and feed the cats. I tell her not to feed them too much, or they will get fat like Batiushka and not eat any mice. They all laugh.

The belfry at St. Tatiana's Chapel in Vladivostok.

It’s time for me to go and finish my stroll before light fades. They all stand and ask my blessing.

Another unexpected joy! I had been busy today seeing more sights and churches. This was the perfect way for this day to draw near its close.

I wound my way the block or so to the Gulf of Amur once more. I remember regretfully the Oceanarium there that I had made a mental note about on Saturday to visit before leaving. Again, it will have to be next time.

The souvenir salesmen were starting to pack up. Twilight was approaching. At this latitude and longitude and in this time zone, it gets dark quicker; by 10:30 it’s dark. Folks on the beach are folding up lounge chairs. People in the paddleboats make for shore. Strollers still walk the “board walk” around me while I snap a few shots. (By the way, it’s not a wooden boardwalk. It’s masonry with polished granite balustrades.)

I notice the sign on the building opposite: Pacific Ocean Yacht Club! OK, that’s the new Russia, for sure. I snap some shots of new construction on the hill above my hotel. It’s pleasant way to have ended my last full day in Vladivostok.

There will have to be a next time! Adios, Vladivostok, not Goodbye!

Hard to believe that I’m leaving Russia tomorrow, more than half the world away from my origination, and yet not at my final destination either. Two months on the road in foreign countries will expose anyone to new sights and new insights, as well.

Today I had a little time to reflect about the last eight weeks: the people, the places, the funny, and the profound. It’s not that the sabbatical is winding down; on the contrary, I’m reaching the midpoint of my odyssey.

The People(s):

One should never stereotype any group of people. It’s impossible to be accurate, and in fact, “the people” are always, in actuality, many peoples. Russia in its vastness is no exception. I’ve met blond haired-blue eyed Karelians and dark skinned Azeris. Slavs and Armenians, Europeans and Asians, all share a single citizenship, a single national identity, and a common language despite their many ethnicities.

If raised during the Cold War years, Americans especially can be inclined to rely on the TV images of Krushchev and Brezhnev when forming their impressions of Russia. This, of course, is unfair not only to Russians but to Americans as well. It distorts the reality of the former and limits the horizons of the latter.

The citizens of Russia are like citizens of any country. They have their commonalities with one another and their peculiarities, which are dictated by custom, habit, and social systems.

When citizens of two different countries interact, all sorts of responses should be anticipated. Depending upon the circumstances, the encounter can be pleasant, humorous, or mutually gratifying. Or it can produce frustration, anxiety, and ultimately anger.

I have travelled through Russia in various circumstances since crossing the border on June 4, both with private drivers and using public transportation, having English-speaking tour guides and winging it on my own through museums, airports, train stations, restaurants and shops. The truth is, people are people. Some smile and some won’t. Some try to listen patiently to a foreigner’s attempt to fumble his way through their language, and some don’t. Some are grumpy and some are — like so many I’ve met — true unexpected joys.

The ultimate key to communication is finding what one has in common with another. Breakdowns always point to the loss of commonality, whether dreams and goals, or things far more trivial.

It is true, different cultures act differently in different circumstances. A visitor always has to remember this when his cultural values clash with different cultural values in a new situation. We’ve been taught to act and to respond differently. It is unreasonable to expect an entire nation to conform to our ideas and social norms. Of course, in a panic, we will retreat to that which is most familiar, and this will always limit the possibility of finding that common thread which the traveler ultimately needs.

The Places:

From the moment we crossed from generally prosperous Finland to Russia, we were struck with the contrast between the two countries. Rural poverty in Russia is particularly appalling, especially when there is so much land and natural resources available. But people have left rural life for the city in Russia as they have in many other countries. And the state collective farms have been largely abandoned in great numbers. There is no tradition of landed farmers left, thanks to the previous economic system. As state owned businesses collapsed during Perestroika, the people were the victims of privatization. This is particularly acute in the rural areas. Quaint Russian villages are not that quaint, without plumbing or paving.

In the cities, there is the opulence of the old, Tsarist past in the museums vying with images of the new wealth of Russian consumerism in daily life. Couple this with the incongruity of communist monuments, heralding the Glory of Soviet Power, juxtaposed to the construction of new churches. The gleaming golden domes of the latter sparkle not only on the skylines but also in promotional brochures for business and tourism. New apartment complexes stand next to Soviet apartment blocks. Progressive Western Europe stands next to sometimes decaying relics of a different epoch.

The Russian landscape on my route has been predominated by forest — the taiga — and rivers, dotted with villages. The cities have been as varied as cities can be, anywhere. Some are thriving and some are in definite decline. Some seem to look to the future, while others seem gripped by the past.

The Funny:

Take for example, the queue. (For American readers, it’s the line you stand in waiting to take your turn to do something.) In Russia, once upon a time there were manifold queues: lines for bread, lines for milk, for meat. It didn’t matter. In fact, an oft-told story is one about people seeing queues and simply joining them without knowing what was available. They figured something was available. And it might prove useful later, for trade if for nothing else.

Suffice it to say, I think that the queue has virtually disappeared, except in certain places, like cordoned-off areas. Still, they don’t function like queues elsewhere. For instance, waiting to purchase Metro tickets. Approach an open ticket window. Be prepared that someone else will also approach as you are in mid-sentence and ask the clerk a question, say, for directions. If nothing else, I’ve noticed a curious tendency for Russian queues to veer to the right. Before you know it, it has veered into the next queue. It’s like the people behind you are interested in what you are doing or where you are going. At least that’s the feeling I get. I know it’s all my problem for thinking that queues are supposed to be straight lines.

Funny, number 2, speaking Russian: I’ve thought about entitling the Russian portion of my journey as Russia on 100 Words or Less. It’s not that I think everyone should speak English (although it was certainly relaxing in Finland where almost everyone does). In fact, I’ve always enjoyed learning language on the road.

Americans are stereotyped as not only wanting the world to speak English, but actually thinking that anyone can actually understand English, if only the speaker speaks slowly and raises his voice.

Russians have another approach to linguistic differences. If you ask if they speak English, and they cannot, they look insulted that you’ve asked. If you try to speak Russian, they can get very excited and speak even faster. At least it sounds like that to me. Certainly, you don’t get cut any slack. There are exceptions, two come to mind quickly: ladies at the shops in churches, even when they don’t know I’m a priest, and younger clerks, especially at upscale, American retail shops.

Then there were those two really nice young waiters at Sir Lancelot’s, with the ruffled collars. I see one whispering to the other, “I think we need an English menu.”

“Hey, what gives me away?” I ask Ka’ren. He only smirks.

As my parishioner Alla says, quoting a Russian proverb: Fr. John is like dog: he understands everything and can say nothing.

(Well, not quite but close.)

Funny, number 3, the Babas: I mentioned before the role which Russian grandmothers (babas) play in keeping order in the churches. Ever on watch for a miscreant at prayer, they can appear out of nowhere to correct with walking stick or shaking finger.

Fortunately in my case, there was no weapon. I had transgressed local custom in the route I took to venerate the icons. Enter, the baba: She looked at me and came forward. I thought she was going to ask a blessing. Then, I realized I didn’t have my cassock on, so wait a minute. What was up?

She explained that I should not have crossed in front of the Royal Doors to reach the other side of the church after venerating the icon of the Saviour. I should have cut a half circle around the center analoi and then approached the other icons. I beg her forgiveness. I make sure to bow lower than she stands. She is very short. Finally, she smiles. It never hurts to be chastened.

Scripture talks about the Lord chastening those whom he loves. It never says he will use babas to do it, but then again, it doesn’t matter. If we can’t accept chastening from babas whom we can see, then how will we accept it from God whom we cannot? Honor thy father and thy mother, and this includes babas, even if they aren’t yours.

Funny, number 4, Russian road rage: So many cars being driven by so many people here over the last twenty years has impacted the Russian highway infrastructure in many ways. One is the traffic jam. (Is it dzham?) Anyway, they can be as dense as any in America’s big cities. The best thing to do is attempt to avoid them.

Folks who can afford it hire drivers. While this leaves the driving to someone else, it does not take the fun out of riding on Russian roads, especially in the country. I’ve noticed a curious habit that drivers will attempt to pass on the slightest margin. Then it is a question of whether that four-cylinder engine really has the juice to get around all those trucks (or cars) and make it safely back in lane before the oncoming traffic reaches where you are. (Obviously, in my case, they have so far.)

Drivers will take all pains to miss potholes. This makes for a driving pattern that looks much like Olympic figure and speed skating all rolled into one event, except that your competition is skating toward you. It is sort of like Roller Derby on tires with the Kansas City Bombers coming from the other direction.

If your driver misses the turn or exit: no problem. If no traffic is coming behind you, he will simply back up. I could have sworn we were approaching about 250 meters (800 feet) in reverse that day in Vladimir.

Funny, number 5, walking down the street: People tend to walk on the same side of the sidewalk that they drive on the road in most cultures, especially if most people can drive. The same is true for stairwells.

Americans tend to walk on the right, just like they drive. Just try getting off the plane in London in the morning after a transatlantic flight. You head for the first people-moving sidewalk you see. But, wait: Not this one; that one! Which one? The one on left. Brits and Americans can meet head-on very quickly.

In Russia walking is sort of like Russian driving, too. Especially, when attempting to pass or to turn across pedestrian traffic to enter a shop. Usually in the US, if two people see that they are about to collide in another two seconds, both will pause a minute to reroute. In Russia, it doesn’t work that way. Only the American pauses. Just because you pause doesn’t mean anything for oncoming foot traffic. They just keep coming. If you don’t move out of their way, you should.

Hey, it doesn’t mean anything for the folks behind you either. They’ll just pass you on the right. (They do that on the roads, too.) So, be careful when walking in Russia.

And, I still hold doors for ladies. That’s another pause, and a bit unusual against the backdrop of Soviet-style egalitarianism. No one holds doors for anyone.

Funny, number 6, the toilet: This is toilet humor, but not the type you think. (Hey, why should you think it and I write about it, anyway?) The funniest moments have come from reading the instructions inside the many WC’s across the land. Some of the best:

• On the train: “Do not stand on the toilet.” (OK. That’s fine by me. From the picture, it looked a prohibition against washing feet in the toilet. Not a problem, either!)
• On the train, again: “The request! In the toilet, not to throw! Anything!”
• In the hotel: “Anzeige” — followed by the rest of the warning in English. Anzeige? But be on anzeige (notice), then, “Don’t suppose a constant channel at water use.”
• And at the monastery: It is easier to clean the toilet than to clean your soul. (Graphic, but pithy!)

Funny, number 7: Say, What?!? :

• Sign at the 24-Hour Convenience Store:  “Open 8:00-20:00″
• Notice at the hotel: “For information about tours in our area, ask a staff member at Reception about what’s available.” Reception’s response:  “I don’t have any idea.”
• Ashtrays provided in “non-smoking” rooms.
• Cigarettes provided in mini-bars in “non-smoking” rooms.
• Smoking in “non-smoking” rooms. (Uh, you think?)