richly oxymoronic

my father would have returned from moscow with rolls of film if rolls of film were still used these days. his digital images threw me into a world of russia far different than i had imagined, one far from the grey, stained walls of churches i'd visited in saint petersburg. old churches, burned down by stalin, were rebuilt in moscow with their old charm. deep reds and pale blues characterized the classic city squares. the sun shone. people looked... happy.

but behind the cosmopolitan air of downtown lay corners wrought with history, and for some reason, history seems to have a twisted sense of humor in moscow. the large market hall that housed the communist state department store (an old-timer's russian walmart) now screams capitalism and is home to the boutiques of YSL, dior, hermes, and chanel.

the building on the embankment, where stalin's cronies were forced to live and where knocks on your door in the middle of the night meant that you'd never see your family again, now is prime real estate. i can just imagine the tour... "and the apartment on your left was home to bukharin until he was bloodily executed for having a sensible but slow economic plan. you can own it today. the real estate office is downstairs. they will collect your deposit..."