up on the hill

Paraskeva Pyatnitsa Chapel, as seen in person and on the ten-ruble note

On Saturday I went to Paraskeva Pyatnitsa Chapel, a landmark in Krasnoyarsk famous for appearing on the ten-ruble note. My roommates were all either working or sleeping when I left, so I set out alone, the sun shining and the temperature climbing into the 50s (Fahrenheit, although I’m beginning to force myself to think in Celsius). For the first time in a month (and likely for the last time in about five months) I wore a light coat, unbuttoned, with a light scarf.

The chapel is located far up on a big hill (or is it a small mountain?) north of the center of the city, and the bus I took wove first through my neighborhood; then across the bridge that casts shadows on train tracks and small homes below; then through downtown; then up one side of the hill and onto a busy street; and then at last off the busy street and onto a quiet, dusty one, lined with more small homes. These homes were made of wood or stone, curtains hanging delicately in the windows and dust sitting in the air filling the yards. As the bus twisted and turned, I stared out the window, grateful to be on a new route seeing new corners of the city.

houses surrounding the bus stop

When I got off the bus I was hit with the smell of something burning nearby and the feeling that nothing looked the way it had looked on Google Maps Street View the night before. I poked around the quiet streets surrounding the bus stop, climbing higher up the hill and then descending again, at last reaching the grassy slope of the hill that faces downtown below and the river beyond it and the mountains on the other side. The houses on this street were bigger and newer. I followed the road as it wove along the side of the hill, eventually finding the chapel.

i like this picture because it shows the hill, a bit of downtown, a tiny bit of the mountains, and a bit of everything else

Suddenly it wasn’t sunny anymore. The temperature dropped as a light drizzle began to fall and a strong wind whipped across the top of the hill. I shivered as I took in the views of the city below: the dark blue-gray clouds framing the sky, interrupted by patches of light where the sun poked through over the distant mountains; the traditionally unattractive but undeniably compelling buildings of the city; the Yenisei river, flowing indifferently (or majestically, maybe (which aren’t usually words I mix up, but I’m really not sure)).

I followed the same road back to the busy street the bus had gone up, but instead of taking the bus back down, I walked, lowering myself back into the center of the city slowly, like a child lowering herself into a cold pool, eventually acclimating myself to the sights and sounds and letting them cover me, wondering how any other surroundings (be they the dry air outside a pool or the narrow deserted streets up on the hill (slight Steely Dan reference here)) could have ever felt comfortable.