The Volga

One of my absolute favorite things about Russia and the Samara/ Kazan/ Saratov oblasts (Russian equivalents to counties, well sort of) is the Volga. It was the first thing I walked to, not flown to or driven to, but my own two feet took me there.

The two days of travel prior to the river walk were killer. We spent almost a full day in the Moscow Airport after a long morning at the embassy. I remember everyone passing out, forgetting about the luggage and everything going around us. It was if someone had tainted our drinks. Lucky for us it was just jet lag, and nothing was stolen.

That brings me to a fact about Russians. They are incredibly honest. Almost to the point that they are blunt. Honesty is a great lesson I learned from them. Not that I wasn't before, but it's just a commonality among them. Like a silent pact to be honest and kind. Of course there are exceptions as there are everywhere.

Anywho, once we got to Samara we were taken straight to the Aurora Sisters' apartment, well just the sisters, and there were five of us, and twelve sisters were already at that apartment for transfers. This apartment had one bedroom and a medium sized living room. Most of the sisters were sprawled all throughout the living room and kitchen. The five of us newcomers had to cram three more mats into the bedroom with the already present two beds. One of the beds was as if it was made for a family of three two.

The next day we went to the mission home for orientation. It was grand, well at least comparing it to the over crowded apartment we had all just been shoved in. When we took a break I was introduced to my favorite river in the entire world.

The Volga is famous for being the largest river in the world. Wow! This picture above doesn't do it justice. I have plenty more photos where you can't see the other bank, or when it's completely frozen over and people are casually strolling on it. But this photo is special. It captures my first moment there. Behind where we are all standing was this gorgeous monument, rich with history.

This is reason number one why I love this river. The monument shows men on the shores, dressed poorly, with gloomy expressions as they trudge along the river yoked to a boat. A boat that these workers are tasked with to carry up river.

This isn't my own picture. I selected this one to see the monument clearly. These men had this awful job to do each day. Physically straining as well as mentally. You can see that their shoes are torn, if they have any. Their faces are weary, most looking down as if giving up. But there is one looking up. It doesn't show it well here, but he has a cross. It's been rubbed so much that it has a golden shine to it.

The message of hope is engraved in his face. And the message caught on. People noticed it. They rubbed the cross he wore as if cheering him on. People think that Russians are mostly Atheist. While a lot are, there are even more who are stout believers of God. His hand is visible in Russia, even to the Russians themselves.

This river was a place of hope for me. We called the street leading to the Volga our "miracle street" we always met the kindest or most open people here. It was my favorite spot, not only because of its beauty but of the hope it brought. This place is monumental in history and in it's message.  It has claimed a wide portion of my heart to reside in.