Armenian influence
My path took some interesting directions during 2005 and introduced me to new fields of awareness and self-knowledge. It had started with the vision quest and the arrival of ‘Tone’ in the Cedarberg mountains. I then traveled to Russia in July to meet up with Ronald who had been learning the language in Samara – a distant town on the Volga, seventeen hours from Moscow by train. He had been under the impression that his next posting might be in a Russian-speaking country and was adding a seventh language to his existing skills. He had learnt as he was leaving for Samara, however, that he would be returning to Angola. He would therefore need to brush up on Portuguese. So, he was rather tired when I met him in Moscow, having done Russian classes in the morning and his own Portuguese in the afternoon! His Russian was understandably limited but sufficient to guide me through museums, the metro and menus.
I loved the energy of Moscow, although normally I am not very comfortable in huge cities. But there was such dynamism and life in the streets. We were also fortunate to connect with an Armenian artist, Ashot R. Khachkalyan, whose painting we finally bought after seeing a photograph of it in the brochure his brother-in-law had at the artist kilometre -long street market. He actually took it off his wall at home and carried it through the streets of Moscow, standing and observing us from a distance for quite a while before he approached. And even then, he didn’t quite part with it. We spent hours with him, being introduced to the rich Armenian sub-culture which underlies Moscow.
Under Ashot’s guidance we moved through the ‘alternative’ financial system, the taxi system, the restaurants and music scene. That evening we found ourselves at a jazz club with a blind pianist. All the while carrying the large painting with us. Finally at some late hour we were back at the hotel. Ashot saw us to the door of our hotel room and then, with much emotion and promising to be friends forever, he handed us the painting. It was with total trust as we had not been able to cash the required amount in all our attempts at banks.
One other memorable experience of Moscow was finding Scriabin’s home, now a museum on the famous Arabat street. I spent several hours in this atmosphere, examining the books on the shelves, quite a few in Sanskrit. His experiments with color and sound, ahead of their time. I had been guided to research Scriabin through reading Cyril Scott, a British twentieth century composer with esoteric leanings and was fascinated by what Scriabin was exploring at the time of his death at thirty three.
Finally, we had been able to secure tickets for the last night of the mid-summer music festival in St Petersburg, known as the ‘White Nights’ since the sun seems never to set during this time. We boarded the midnight express; the overnight train from Moscow to St Petersburg. It was a red-carpet affair rolled out on the platform at Moscow station. A band was playing while white-gloved, black-hatted officials helped us onto the train where we had our own small compartment. There was already a tray of champagne and caviar waiting for us! I can almost swear that the band had been playing ‘Midnight in Moscow’! Or maybe not…
The three days and nights in St Petersburg, when the light doesn’t completely disappear, were intensive experiences to say the least. I worked out that on one day I walked for fourteen hours! And then in a Russian production of ‘Tristan and Isolde’ awake for almost another six! The last hour was indeed like doing penance, as it seemed impossible for Tristan to die! Every time it looked as if it was over, Isolde would trill out ‘Tristan’, which seemed to revive him once again and they would embrace, and the end was averted! Ronald was beside himself. We were totally shattered and stumbled out at two in the morning.
But a most interesting visit it was, and particularly the visit to the Hermitage. There were not many tourists around for some reason, and we could move through the rooms in that gracious and light-filled building in our own time. Our return train trip to Moscow was less clichèd and took place during the daytime which allowed a fascinating glimpse into rural Russia – a far cry from the materialism, brutal capitalism and glitz of Moscow.
When we returned to Thonon, Ronald began preparing for his departure to Angola. The posting was possibly for one year. We would schedule regular meet-ups in Namibia for when I was in Cape Town later in the year. I would fly up from Cape Town and he would fly down to Windhoek. In addition, he would have several return trips to Europe during this time.
It was in early August before he actually left, that I had another very powerful dream suggesting self-knowledge, which I was again able to share with him.
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