Service day and night

The policemen worrying for the Muromtsev dacha and the fireguards heroically holding their ground reminded us to include here this video spreading over the Russian web. The song, definitely recalling the soundtracks by Okudzhava, was written by M. Minkov and A. Gorokhov back in 1978 for the Soviet detective TV series Следствие ведут знатоки (The examination is lead by experts) which was popular in all the Eastern block: we still remember the melody. But we are sure that the general impression will evoke various memories from the recent and far away past not only to the former viewers of the series. The world is small.

Служба дни и ночи Наша служба и опасна и трудна, И на первый взгляд, как будто не видна. Если кто-то кое-где у нас порой Честно жить не хочет. Значит с ними нам вести незримый бой Так назначено судьбой для нас с тобой- Служба дни и ночи. Если где-то человек попал в беду Мы поможем - мы все время на посту. Ну а если вдруг кому нибудь из нас Тоже станет туго - Чтож, друг друга выручали мы не раз, И не раз согрело нас в тяжелый час Сердце, сердце друга. Часто слышим мы упреки от родных, Что работаем почти без выходных, Что разлуки нескончаемы порой, Встречи ненадолго. Только снова поднимает нас с зарей И уводит за собой в незримый бой Наше чувство долга. Наша служба и опасна и трудна, И на первый взгляд, как будто не видна. Если кто-то кое-где у нас порой Честно жить не хочет. Значит с ними нам вести незримый бой Так назначено судьбой для нас с тобой- Служба дни и ночи.

Service day and night Our service is dangerous and hard and at first glance almost invisible If someone somewhere sometimes does not want to live honestly, we wage an invisible war with him. This is our destiny, yours and mine – Service day and night. Wherever someone gets in trouble, we can help: we’re always on duty. And if someone of us in the meantime also gets into a mess – well, we’ve rescued each other and warmed the hearts of each other more than once. Often we are accused by our families that we work almost incessantly and that we spend so much time away and so few with them. And then again wakes us at the dawn and takes us away the invisible battle and our sense of duty. Our service is dangerous and hard and at first glance almost invisible If someone somewhere sometimes does not want to live honestly, we wage an invisible war with him. This is our destiny, yours and mine – Service day and night.

And believe me, with this clip you are much better off than with the one where the song is performed in full seriousness at the 2006 Moscow Policeman’s Day.

La casa que no existió

Fotos de doroti danini

Foto de Rustem Adagamov

Reportaje fotográfico de Lenta.ru 

La noche del 2 al 3 de enero ardió la dacha de Muromtsev, la última casa de madera del histórico distrito moscovita de Tsaritsino que a lo largo del pasado siglo fue hogar de conocidos escritores, pintores, músicos e investigadores como el Nobel Ivan Bunin o el mítico Venedikt Yerofeev —Venichka— cuya obra Moscú-Petushki (o, según otra traducción, Estaciones de Moscú), escrita en 1968 y durante veinte años solo divulgada clandestinamente como samizdat, fue la caricatura más cruel de la era Brezhnev.

Fotos de Ilya Varlamov, 3 de enero de 2010

Esta casa fue el último edificio de un asentamiento suburbano —podmoskovnaya— de dachas creado en el siglo XIX siguiendo una disposición radial según el espíritu de los «asentamientos comunales» de Ruskin. Los frondosos jardines arbolados de la urbanización se fundían imperceptiblemente con el gran parque decimonónico del Palacio Imperial de Tsaritsino.


Poemas del Río Wang

Durante el verano, las tradicionales dachas de madera eran ocupadas por distinguidos miembros de la alta sociedad de Moscú. El artículo de Aleksandr Mozhaev sobre esta casa habla de algunos de aquellos personajes. Su noble nómina incluye a Sergey Muromtsev, profesor de Derecho Romano en Moscú, presidente del Partido KD y del primer Parlamento ruso de 1906. Él fue quien construyó la casa, en el nº 3 de la Quinta Calle Radial y redactó entre sus paredes el borrador de la primera Constitución rusa. Aquella dacha fue un auténtico punto de reunión de la intelligentsiya de Moscú. Ivan Bunin, primer escritor ruso en ganar el premio Nobel, encontró aquí a su futura esposa, Vera, sobrina de Muromtsev.


En 1917 la propiedad de la familia Muromtsev fue confiscada. Se transformó primero en una oficina de reclutamiento y después de la guerra civil en escuela. En 1937, cuando la escuela de Tsaritsino se dotó de un edificio de piedra, los profesores se trasladaron a esta casa que todavía está parcialmente habitada por sus descendientes —y aún había una anciana de 104 años que había formado parte de los primeros inquilinos.


Desde los 60, funcionó aquí un instituto de investigación en ciencias naturales, y algunos de  sus miembros se establecieron también con los «nativos». Por las características de las familias y de su círculo de amigos, desde los 70 la casa se convirtió en el centro cultural (no oficial) de Tsaritsino. Se organizaban exposiciones, se montó un teatro alternativo y el jardín acogía veladas donde los escritores leían sus nuevas obras. Varios artistas se instalaron por períodos más o menos largos, en especial Yerofeev, que escribió aquí Vasiliy Rozanov y La noche de Walpurgis. Sus fotos, manuscritos y libros, así como documentos de la historia de Tsaritsino fueron aprovechados por los vecinos para erigir en esta casa el Museo en memoria de Yerofeev.

Dos fotos de Dmitry Borko

Tras el cambio de régimen en 1989, el ayuntamiento pasó la gestión del territorio a una compañía desconocida llamada «Merkuriy». Esta empresa descatalogó la casa, la declaró como inexistente y la eliminó de todos los registros y mapas de Moscú. Sus habitantes, con todo, se negaron a abandonar la casa en que habían nacido y en la que habían vivido por décadas —también porque no tenían otro sitio adonde ir—. De este modo, arreglaron su propio sistema de aprovisionamiento de agua, calefacción y electricidad. Publicaron una web profesional con el título «La casa que no existe» para difundir noticias sobre el museo y la documentación de sus luchas legales. En 2005 iniciaron los procedimientos legales sobre la casa sin propietario, alegando el derecho de 15 años de prescripción positiva, pero los tribunales de Moscú desestimaron su demanda. Se dirigieron luego en busca de apoyo a la asociación Arkhnadzor, que ha hecho mucho para proteger los monumentos históricos amenazados de Moscú. Arkhadzor ha propuesto oficialmente que la casa entre en la lista de monumentos conservados por el estado. Hasta que el Ministerio de Cultura no resuelva esta solicitud la casa no podrá ser demolida ni evacuada.


Después de todos estos trámites, como se contó hace unos meses en la web de la casa, aparecieron unos policías para advertir a los inquilinos de que, al margen de cualquier protección cultural, «debían comprender que en una casa así puede ocurrir cualquier cosa, por ejemplo un incendio». Y la profecía se cumplió al poco tiempo.


El incendio del 3 de enero prendió en una habitación deshabitada. Parecía poca cosa al principio y los inquilinos confiaban que con la rápida llegada de los bomberos quedaría extinguido. Pero los bomberos declararon que sus superiores les ordenaron no salvar la casa. Y, de hecho, no apagaron el fuego; al contrario, al romper las ventanas contribuyeron a su veloz propagación.


Tenemos las fotos, hechas por los vecinos y sus amigos, de los bomberos quietos observando las llamas. Pero no tenemos suficiente estómago para repetirlas. Bastará echar un vistazo a esta de un bombero apaciblemente sentado en la centenaria mecedora de Sergey Muromtsev: al acabar su actuación se la llevó consigo junto a tantos otros objetos valiosos saqueados de la casa devastada.

Foto de Mat’-Ekhidna

Y a la mañana siguiente, como si hubieran soñado los acontecimientos, ya estaban las excavadoras preparadas para retirar los restos calcinados.

Foto de Borimir Piasetskiy

Y si la historia no acabó aquí, como la de tantos otros edificios antiguos —pues este método está ampliamente extendido en la región, y muchos comentaristas han apuntado su práctica en Moscú, Kaluga, Ryazán u Odesa— es debido en buena parte a la asociación Arkhnadzor que llamó la atención de la prensa y el público. El pasado año organizaron una serie de veladas en memoria de Yerofeev, en la dacha de Muromtsev, que fueron cubiertas por la prensa diaria. Las fotos que siguen se tomaron durante una de esas reuniones, en julio de 2009. Pueden verse más en la evocadora página de Rustem Adagamov.




En aquellas veladas, a través de los blogs se difundió a toda Rusia información acerca de la dacha de Muromtsev y del museo de Yerofeev. Así, cuando pasó el desastre, se disparó enseguida la actividad y movilización de la red. En el momento de la llegada de las excavadoras ya estaban allí docenas de pesonas, periodistas y reporteros de TV preparados para emitir. Las excavadoras se esfumaron de inmediato y en las últimas dos semanas no han vuelto a asomarse. Los bloggers —de algunos hemos tomado estas imágenes pero hay muchos otros— pidieron ayuda para el alojamiento provisional de los inquilinos (y hasta de sus gatos), para proporcionarles ropa, comida y dinero, y para retirar las ruinas. Han seguido publicando fotos y noticias y han creado una Asociación de la Dacha de Muromtsev cuyo blog cubre los acontecimientos en directo. Los inquilinos insisten en no abandonar el caso ni cejarán en su lucha por la supervivencia de la casa. Y sea cual sea el final de la historia, esta solidaridad, colaboración y resolución merece todo nuestro respeto, nos da ejemplo y esperanza no solo sobre el futuro de Rusia. Os damos las gracias.

“Así ocurría que antes de los setenta, cuando la ciudad mantenía un crecimiento a buen ritmo, los palacios de madera y las casas nobles desparecían una tras otra, junto a los cortesanos y primos de los antiguos pachás que habían luchado encarnizadamente por la herencia, dividiendo entre ellos los antiguos edificios en pisos o incluso en apartamentos, y dejándolos luego pudrirse sin ningún cuidado, la pintura que se caía y la madera negra por la humedad y el frío; y con frecuencia eran ellos mismos quienes prendían fuego a las casas de madera para que se pudiera construir en su lugar un edificio de muchas plantas.»

Orhan Pamuk: Estanbul

«No hay nada eterno, excepto la deshonestidad.»

Venedikt Yerofeev

Continuación: La casa que ya no existe más

The house that did not exist

Photos by doroti danini

Photo by Rustem Adagamov

Photo report by Lenta.ru 

On the night from 2 to 3 January burnt down the Muromtsev dacha, the last historical wooden house of Moscow’s Tsaritsino district, which in the past century gave home to renowned writers, painters, musicians and scholars like Nobel laureate Ivan Bunin or mythic Venedikt Yerofeev – Venichka – whose Moscow-Petushki (or in some translations Stations of Moscow), written in 1968 and circulating for twenty years only as a samizdat, has been the most cruel caricature of the Brezhnev era.

Photos by Ilya Varlamov, 3 January 2010

This house was the last building of a suburban – podmoskovnoe – dacha settlement established back in the 19th century on a radiating ground plan conceived in the spirit of Ruskinian “communal settlements”. The large, wooded gardens of the resort settlement almost imperceptibly merged with the vast park of the 19th-century Tsaritsino Imperial Palace.


Poemas del Río Wang

In summer the traditional wooden dachas were inhabited by several distinguished members  of the Moscow high class. The article of Aleksandr Mozhaev on this house mentions several of them by name. Their imposing list also included Sergey Muromtsev, professor of Roman law in Moscow and president of the Kadet Party and of the first Russian parliament of 1906, who put on paper the plan of the first Russian constitution in this house, built by him at number 3 of the Fifth Radial Street. His dacha was a meeting point for the Moscow intelligentsiya. Ivan Bunin, the first Russian writer who would win a Nobel Prize, encountered here his future wife Vera, niece of Muromtsev.


In 1917 the cottage was  confiscated of the Muromtsev family. It first became a conscription office and after the civil war a school. In 1937, when the Tsaritsino school received a new stone building, the teachers moved in this house which is still being partly inhabited by their descendants – what’s more, the 104 years old granny belonged to the first inhabitants.


Since the 60’s a research institute of natural sciences has worked here as well, and some of its fellow colleagues also settled with the “natives”. Due to the families living in the house and their circle of friends, from the 70’s the house became Tsaritsino’s unofficial cultural center. Exhibitions were set up in the house, an alternative theater worked here, and evenings were organized in the garden where authors read their new works. Several artists lived here for a shorter or longer period, first of all Yerofeev, who wrote here his Vasiliy Rozanov and Walpurgis Night. Their photos, manuscripts and books as well as the documents of Tsaritsino’s history were used by the inhabitants to establish the Yerofeev Memorial Museum in the house.

Two photos by Dmitry Borko

After the change of regime in 1989 the city council passed the management of the territory to an unknown company called “Merkuriy”. This firm already in 1990 wrote the house off their books, declared it as non-existing and had it cancelled from the registers and maps of Moscow. The inhabitants, however, did not want to leave the house where they had been born and where they had lived for decades – also because they had no other place where to go. Thus they organized their own provision of water, heating and electricity. They set up a professional home page entitled “The house which does not exist” for spreading news about the museum and documenting their legal fights. In 2005 they initiated legal proceedings for the house without owner, with reference to their right of fifteen years of positive prescription, but the Court of Moscow has refused it. Then they turned for help to the Arkhnadzor association which has done much to protect the historical monuments in danger of Moscow. Arkhadzor has officially proposed the house for the list of the monuments protected by the State. Until the Cultural Ministry passes judgment on their request, no dislodgment and demolition is possible.


After these passes, as it was described already some months ago on the site of the house, some policemen appeared in the house to warn the inhabitants that, independently of any cultural protection, “you should understand that in such a house anything can happen, for example a fire”. As it did happen, in fact, in due time.


The fire of 3 January broke out in an uninhabited room of the house. First it seemed insignificant, and the inhabitants trusted that the fire brigades quickly arriving on the spot would extinguish it. However, the firemen declared that they had commands not to save the house. And in fact they did not extinguish the fire, but on the contrary, by breaking in the windows they contributed to its quick propagation.


Here I should include the photos made by the inhabitants and their friends on the fireguards just standing there and watching the fire. But I have no stomach to insert them. It is enough to have a look at this one, made of a young fireman peacefully sitting in Sergey Muromtsev’s hundred years old armchair who at the end of their performance took the chair with him, together with a number of other valuable objects saved from the burning house.

Photo by Mat’-Ekhidna

And the next morning, as if they had dreamed about the events beforehand, there were the bulldozers to sweep off the ruins of the house.

Photo by Borimir Piasetskiy

That the story did not finish here, as that of so many other old buildings – for this method is quite widespread in the region, as it has been noted by several commentators referring to actual cases in Moscow, Kaluga, Ryazan or Odessa – is due to a great extent to the Arkhnadzor association which has called the attention of the press and public on the Moscow buildings in danger. In the last year they organized a number of Yerofeev memorial evenings in the Muromtsev dacha, also covered by the daily press. The following pictures were made during one of these evenings in July 2009. Their complete – and evocative – series can be seen on the page of Rustem Adagamov.




Through these evenings information about the Muromtsev dacha and Yerofeev memorial museum has also spread throughout the Russian blog world, which now has immediately mobilized their network. By the time the bulldozers arrived, there were already dozens of people, journalists and TV reporters on the spot. The bulldozers have immediately disappeared and in the last two weeks they have not popped up again. Bloggers – those we have now borrowed pictures from, and several others – have asked for help to the provisional accommodation of the inhabitants (and what is more, of their cats), to provide them with clothes, food and money, and to the removal of the ruins. They have kept publishing photos and news, and they have founded an Association of the Muromtsev dacha whose blog has covered the events in real time. And the inhabitants have insisted not to give up the case but to endure and fight for the survival of the house. And whatever the end of the story will be, this solidarity, collaboration and resolution in any case merits great appreciation, sets an example, and raises hopes in the future of Russia. Many thanks for it.

“It happened so that before the seventies, when the city kept growing at a quick pace, the wooden palaces and noble houses disappeared one after the other, together with the courtesans and cousins of the former pashas, who had fought tooth and nail for the heritage, dividing among each other the old buildings by floors or even by flats, and then leaving them to be rotten without any care, the painting to be fallen, and the wood to get black of the cold and humidity; and frequently it was them to set the wooden houses on fire, so that a multi-storied building could be built on their place.”

Orhan Pamuk: Istanbul

“Nothing is eternal, except for dishonesty.”

Venedikt Yerofeev

Continuation: The house that does not exist any more

The forms of time

We realize that having the table full of books, papers and articles facilitates unexpected constellations and coincidences and recalls memories long forgotten. Today we have opened a beautiful book, the Oaxaca by Juan Rulfo (Mexico: rm, 2009). It contains 64 photos by this shy, invisible and startling photographer who, mostly because of his non-photographer jobs, had wandered with his Rolleiflex all over this bleakest part of Mexican geography. Rulfo took many photos of the architecture of the places he visited.


The coincidence of today is that the view of those half-demolished, dusty churches in the far away Tierra Caliente where there wander forever the living grievances of Pedro Páramo and of all the souls of Comala, has suddenly inspired us to seek out this other photo whose mere existence we had in oblivion.


It was in fact made by us and it is Wang Wei sitting there in the doorway. For many years this church was in ruins and the entire neighborhood abandoned. This is the barrio of El Molinar in Palma, in 1983. The other side of the street is the very sea all the way up to the shores of the fishermen. Some gitanos had also settled here at the time. Today everything is different. These photos are of this afternoon.

It is not easy to recognize the rests of the church.

The sea across the street is now separated from the houses by a promenade.