On the journey from St. Petersburg to Moscow, visitors begin to appreciate the vast natural resources of Russia. Photo credit: M. Ciavardini
The story in the film Roads to Koktebel, that of a widower trekking to the Black Sea with his young son in the hope of starting a new life, seems emblematic of the Russian experience. The characters are resolute, obdurate. Their terrain is vast and harsh, but they’ve found a way to adapt, to make their way, to make the realities of their existences work for them. Vodka helps, and hurts. The father and the son jump on trains, steal apples, barter work for a room and board, and resolutely soldier on. They’re in the land of not expecting much but still hoping for just a bit more.
I’m confounded that anyone would ever invade Russia with any real hope of taking it over. Here in the movie, as I saw on my own visit, are vast forests, small towns, rundown dachas, much nothingness. The draw is understandable: Those resources would serve many oh so well. Yet the country is so broad, and the climate so harsh, and the population so scattered that it’s unclear how any entity could possibly exercise control over the place. Or even, really, to understand it.
Life in the Russian countryside seems simultaneously pastoral and harsh. Photo credit: M. Ciavardini
© Lori Tripoli