In March 2019, I was actually pretty much stunned when my mom told me we would go to Tunisia in June. Back then, I had never been to any African country. To say that I was excited would be quite the understatement.

Honestly, Tunisia was simply nothing like I had expected it to be. Poverty and some reminders of the recent revolution? Yeah… Sahara and azur beaches? Yes, I saw those too.

In fact, northern Africa is very different from what we usually imagine when we think about life on this continent. As we drove from the airport to our hotel, we saw some absolutely amazing scenery. On the one side, olives grew there and the blue stripe of the Mediterranean Sea could be seen. However, this place is far from the luxury resorts of southern Europe.

Large plantings of olive trees were soon replaced by abandoned houses in the color of light sand, slightly damaged buildings standing along the road running through the desert. These were reminiscent of those American action films about Arab states, which often seem too clichéd. When we arrived at our hotel and met our guide, we learnt from her that those were in fact the footprints of the revolution that took place in the country in 2011. Since then, not all residents have been able to return to their previous way of life.

It's probably worth telling a little about the history of Tunisia. Firstly, it was the territory of this country that was part of the homeland of Hannibal, the great Carthage, which fell under the onslaught of the Roman Empire. Secondly, Tunisia was also part of the Ottoman Empire and the French colonial system until 1956. Now the former French colony faithfully preserves the features of the culture that left it. Here you can find both those cities that can be confidently called exclusively Arab, and those that can not be immediately distinguished from typical European cities.

When I came to Tunisia, I was sure about what exact places I wanted to see there. So let me share my experience with you.

The ruins of Carthage are definitely a sight to visit. It is a surprisingly accurate reminder of the former greatness of the once flourishing empire. It also resembles the familiar ruins of Italy and Greece. There is a lot to see and discover. We visited it as a part of the excursion to the famous cities of Tunisia.


Our next destination was Tunis, the capital of Tunisia. To be honest, the city is truly remarkable. This is a perfect example of the fusion of Arab and French cultures. Here, along with beautiful buildings reminiscent of old Paris, you can find European narrow streets filled with Arab traders, where you can buy everything that the Arab world is so loved for: spices, fabrics, Turkish delight, goods made from camel skin.

However, this city has another striking feature. Its upper floors are full of beautiful ornaments, elegant balconies and strict columns, but if you look down you will see overflowing trash cans, bags littering the roads and even people simply lying on the steps of some beautiful building. Yes, it is the main city in the country, its main street, but no one is bothered by the chaos that can be observed here.

Finally, we reached Sidi Bou Said. The incredibly picturesque blue and white town really seems unusual. In some ways it resembles the Greek Santorini, however, some “wear and tear” of the stairs and roofs of the city can be spotted. In addition, it is easy to observe the Arabic touch here, but this only makes the visit more interesting: you can buy pretty fascinating souvenirs here.

Reflecting on those city tours, I can state that, yes, Africa is hot. You can try to dispel this stereotype in Tunisia, but if you come here in July or August, you will not be able to do this. In fact, the weather here is amazingly strange. The horizon is always in a kind of haze, which dissipates only as you raise your head, wanting to look at the blue sky. In general, there is always a certain feeling of “fogginess”. However, the weather is truly desert-like. Despite the fact that during the day it can reach +45 degrees Celsius, in the late evening it will boldly fall to +20 degrees Celsius and will not dare to rise. It’s also funny that the rain here seems to be just trying to fall. The drops are very heavy and sparse.

If you think that with an impeccable knowledge of English you can defeat any foreigner, then I’m afraid that Tunisia will disappoint you. Here residents speak both French and Arabic. Of course, the second one is more preferable, and French is more like the language that the older generation speaks fluently. Young people only study it in schools and universities. Therefore, I can only advise you to learn at least a few basic phrases, because otherwise you will find yourself practically paralyzed in your language capabilities when in a public place.

After this remarkable journey, I think it's worth noting that Tunisia is a wonderful way to explore the exotic in somewhat familiar surroundings. Don't be afraid to come here. This is a place of warm sunsets and endless horizons.

On the final day of Moscow Fashion Week, the prestigious closing show featured the creations of St. Petersburg’s designer Ianis Chamalidy was honored to close the show. Amidst the bustle, thundering music and volunteers running back and forth, the runaway showcased silhouettes reminiscent of Greek Gods. However, upon closer inspection, it became clear that these figures weren’t gods, but models dressed as Greek heavenly warriors descended from Olympus.

They stood poised, each model holding their breath, waiting for the designer’s command. And afore came God himself, the black tall figure, with rings on his fingers and a starlike symbol on his head. Ianis Chamalidy. Magnificent and mighty. 

Since its inception in 1997, the fashion House of Ianis Chamalidy has been a pioneering force in fashion industry, showcasing how a Russian designer can win the hearts of customers amidst tough competition with French, Italian, Spanish, Japanese, Chinese and brands from other countries.

What is the place of fashion in the modern world?

“Many people think it’s just a human need, but I believe fashion is art. And fashion is  philosophy. The philosophy of fabrics,” enthusiastically explained Ianis.

Where did such unique philosophy come from? Why is it relevant today?

Humans today do not have time to live, sometimes they don’t have time to go home and change their clothes. In an era where time is scarce and mobility is the key, Ianis Chamalidy draws inspiration from his heritage - Greek mythology and images. He has introduced a revolutionary multiway clothing concept: At different times and different situations, clothes can be greatly transformed. Every shirt can be turned from classic to avant-garde.

“It all started with my Grandma,” Ianis Chamalidy recalls. As a child, Ianis spent summers with his grandmother, who was a seamstress making all types of outfits for her clientele. Sewing, fitting, cutting was Grandma’s magical world, where Ianis was first an observer, then a helper and one day a tailor himself.

Ianis has always tried to create something unique for his clients, and most importantly to unite people with one idea. He remembers his eighth birthday when he gathered his brothers and sisters at the table, asking them to cut out flags for a new game that he invented. Later, this desire to unite people under the same vision will give birth to what we now know as the Ianis Chamalidis brand.

Ianis Chamalidy’s brand emerged alongside iconic names such as Valentin Yudashkin, Tatiana Parfenova, Andrey Sharov and many others. Prior to the 1990s, Russia's fashion scene had been dominated by a single house: Vyacheslav Zaitsev.

It was in the 90s, a period when everything was falling apart. Ianis had just completed the courses of American makeup artist Joe Blasco and got a job as a consultant at Yves Saint Laurent. In Russia, partially nobody knew this brand back then. Ianis was the first expert who brought Yves Saint Laurent to Russia.

The history of the Chamalidis brand began when Ianis opened his own workshop and worked on individual orders. He sewed dresses and costumes for actors and actresses. Then he collaborated with the Mariinsky theater and the Jacobson theater in St Petersburg. Ianis’ breakthrough came when  fashion pioneer Isabella Blow, renowned editor of Vogue and Tatler, — introduced him to Vogue, propelling him into the spotlight.

“I am always on the lookout for inspiration, new colors, motifs. This is very important for a designer. Therefore, when I look at my favorite artists and listen to musical works, I understand that their authors created not just masterpieces, but meanings. I want to do the same thing, but through clothes,” the designer pointed out.

Inspired by various artists and composers, Ianis never stopped search for meaning in the paintings by Malevich, Kandinsky, Rodchenko, Tatlin, Larionov and music by such masters as Stravinsky, Rachmaninoff, Rimsky-Korsakov, El Greco, and Dürer. The influence of painting was reflected in Ianis’ graduation collection, which was devoted to the Russian avant-garde, including Malevich and with it began a new and totally unfamiliar avant-garde in fashion. The same colors and shapes Ianis wanted to give to his future collections.

It is worth noting that of Ianis' clothing concept partially echoes the philosophy of Japanese designers.

“I was certainly very influenced by the Japanese school of Yoji Yamamoto. I was also very close to the aesthetics of Issey Miyake,” Ianis shares.

Inspired by designer Yoji Yamamoto, designer, Ianis now incorporates laser-assisted cutting into his designs — a technique which reshaped European clothes, encouraging designers to be bold with fabrics and cuts.

Now 48, Ianis describes his main purpose as “to allow young people to express themselves through clothes in this cruel modern world, full of stress and chaos”. According to Ianis, this will foster a journey of self discovery and inner harmony.

“We want to create a completely new industry, develop as creative people and show that dreams can come true if you put your heart, desire and emotions into it”.

Li Yilian reveals the insights of studying in Moscow as a foreigner, shares her opinion about Russians and gives some advice to Chinese learners.

Passion for Russian culture

Li Yilian got a bachelor’s degree in “Russian Language and Literature” in China. Li mentions “White nights” by Fyodor Dostoevsky as her favourite Russian book.


Now the student is doing a master’s degree at the Faculty of Journalism at MSU. Furthermore, she works in an online school and runs a speaking club for Chinese learners in Russia.

In her interview, Li admitted that adaptation to the Russian language was the trickiest thing for her. Li Yilian said: “Learning your language is a hard thing to do, especially if we are talking about grammar. However, practice helps a lot.”

Russian vs. Chinese education

“In China, you cannot change your exam mark, and all the tests are hand-written,” Li Yilian remarked. “You may skip the lectures and it will not affect your final results.”

In Russia, everything is different. Li explained that at MSU it is possible to raise the grade of the exam, adding that the attendance is crucial for academic performance above other aspects. If you want to pass the exam successfully, you are to do homework and be active in class.

“In the first term we had 4 exams and around 9 credits. Some lecturers can ask you to make a presentation or conduct research, and you will get a pass by doing that”, she added.

Answering the question about the leisure time after studies, Li Yilian said: “In China we walked a lot and went to karaoke. In Moscow, there is no time to rest. I read, do the home assignments and prepare for tests. However,  I don’t have any regrets about that. My knowledge and competence are growing.”

Tips for learning the Chinese language

Li is employed at an online school, so she knows what the most difficult things for Russians that learn Chinese are. Li Yilian noted: “It is well known that Chinese pronunciation is challenging. We have various tones that are hard to hear and articulate. The hieroglyphs are also very complicated.”
She also shared some advice:

To learn Chinese, you ought to:
Begin with Mandarin tones

Mandarin is a tonal language, so the meaning of a word can change depending on the tones and inflections used to pronounce it. Mandarin has 4 main tones:
A high and flat tone – lē
A tone that rises slightly – lé
A tone that falls, then rises – lě
High to low – lè

Learn pinyin

Pinyin is a transliteration tool to write the Chinese characters in Roman letters. It contains 26 letters that are almost the same as the Roman alphabet. You can learn every sound in Chinese simply by learning that system.

Work on your pronunciation and tone of voice

If you are not using the proper tones, native Chinese speakers won’t understand you. One of the ways to cope with that is to record your speaking and then analyse it, comparing with the pronunciation of a native speaker. 

Learn new words together with hieroglyphs

You can use visualisation to remember hieroglyphs, and once you have done that, you may learn words where they appear.

Get acquainted with a native speaker

Fortunately, there are lots of Chinese students at MSU who, according to Li, are “really convivial and ready to help”.  In return, they expect  you  to  teach them Russian a bit.

Russians from the Chinese point of view

“I have always dreamt of studying abroad to explore other cultures and sights,” Li Yilian said. “The atmosphere is great in Moscow, the architecture is amazing and, of course, people are outstanding here. You know, there are prejudices that Russians do not smile, that they are gloomy and sad. It is not true at all. In reality, Russian people are so kind and responsive! I see them smile a lot!”  Li said this with warmth and enthusiasm in her voice.

“Even during tough times, life in Russia continues, people are calm and serene,” she pointed out. “I think it's a great nation.”

I come from the south, and I spent all my childhood under the heat of the bright sun and the salty wind. I spent it in short skirts, thin T-shirts and a cap on my head. But here I am, in Moscow, I'm already 19, the world is no longer so warm and not so simple. My whole being is exhausted, emaciated and tired. I needed to give my body a break from sitting at my desk, my mind from annoying thoughts, and my heart from the memories. I bought tickets in a half-desperation to escape from a city that carries memories in every nook and cranny. All I was thinking about was to jump on a train and gain such a high speed to escape from the whirlwind chasing me to a place that would be unlike anything from my life.

The train arrived at the station of Sortavala, a deceiver town, as it turned out. The weather forecast promised us the sun, but we were pierced by a freezing wind. We lodged in a small apartment on the edge of the city. It has been rented out for many years, a new family moves in and out here every month, but it still seemed to me more native and cozy than my apartment in Moscow. Porcelain figurines, paintings, not quite a successful design solution with photo wallpapers, dishes laid out perfectly in the closet, pasta on the shelf and a view from the window to the courtyard with a kindergarten. It seemed that I have lived here all my life: I would go to this kindergarten, I would ride the carousel in this yard, I would run to the store around the corner. No matter how northern and unfamiliar this place was, it still seemed to have been studied by me a long time ago in every detail. Even though I was running from familiar places, everything I saw brought calmness to my state. I knew nothing bad could happen here. This was my home.

I left the house and crossed paths with locals, and they greeted me - they know every face in this city, and tourists are strongly distinguished by a heavier and tired facial expression. I was very different from the women of this city. They were in the company of their husbands or a stroller with a child. In general, this town is a huge vacuum of stillness and silence. It doesn't make a single sound, but if you do hear people, it's more likely their profanity or laughter, loud stories or the clink of bottles in bags. Not a single purchase at a local store here was complete without alcohol. When I passed by a small swamp where hopeless revelers fish, I felt how their skin was soaked through with cheap vodka.  But what was most surprising: I was not afraid of them. Somehow they all looked benevolently there resting with each other without noise and unnecessary swagger.

The road from the little swamp led to the exit to the embankment. Just like where I grew up. Old houses with their own vegetable gardens, standing on the shore, seem to float on the river. Part of their territory was flooded with water, but in the small windows you could still see the silhouettes of lonely old women sitting at tables with a tablecloth. Rakes, shovels and mattock were scattered in the vegetable gardens. Cars were already occasionally passing here, and a faint pulsation of the city was felt. The river was swinging its waves, trains were rushing and disappearing between the trees, birds were circling, and a taxi was approaching us on the road.

I saw this as an opportunity to talk to a local and the taxi driver told us: it's a gloomy town. Life here is not 365 days a year, but one big timeline of birth, adulthood and death. Life slowly flows, crawls, stretches from one day to another and no one notices how a day, month or year has passed. Reed thickets are too lazy to get knocked out by the cold wind, buses are not in a hurry to go to the bus stop, letting every pedestrian pass, elevators do not rush up and down. The taxi driver told us this, but he himself once ran away to a big city and came back because life there was strangling. Here's the paradox - the smaller the town, the easier it is to breathe in it.

Definitely a deceiver town. The taxi driver claimed that people in Sortavala are despondent, because they don't know how to get out of this hole. But not a day has passed without exchanging a kind word with someone, a funny story or a case that causes a smile. The taxi driver himself brought us to tears with his stories about how he tried to shoot a bear. Or how he walked around a tree for an hour from a rabid boar until his friends came to look for him in the forest to help. Each such story is simple, without stretch, told as if by a distant relative at the table at a family holiday.

All this is true, many will find it scary: life in a remote provincial town. It's like they're cut off from the whole world here. But this is what I needed for a week: to cut any ties in order to be completely free. This unknown hometown calmed me down and on its scale I didn't feel small, unnecessary and lonely.

Retro or vintage, goth or steampunk: whatever your cup of tea is, you will find something that catches you up at the Camden markets. In the old days, the Camden area was inhabited by artisans. There they made watches, pianos, furniture and jewellery. Now there are flea markets, shops, restaurants and cool foodstuff markets. The construction of the railway, canal and shops attracted the first residents of Camden Town, especially the Irish workers. Within a short period of time, the area became a favourite shopping centre, attracting the public and two new cabaret houses where regular star performances were given. In 1907, the first underground station was opened here. This was the last step towards making the suburban Camden Town a real city itself.

Now it is one of the most colourful areas: just get out of the underground, as creative people surround you everywhere - someone dances with a dog, someone smokes marijuana on the steps. This is where the centre of the English underground movement has developed over the decades; it is home to some of the most famous representatives of all kinds of subcultural trends, such as hippies and punks; all the more so because all these free culture engines consider the central part of the district a Mecca. The Camden area is considered the artistic and bohemian centre of London. Camden was the birthplace of Britpop, a separate branch of music that reminded the world of Britain's role in music history. It was home to many iconic musicians who were famous not only for their creativity but also for their unique style. Wardrobe items such as polo shirts, polo jackets, panama jackets and old-school sneakers were popular in many ways thanks to music stars from Camden. The local pub The Good Mixer once hosted musicians from the bands Oasis, Blur and Supergrass.

Countless colourful souvenir shops, tattoo parlours, snack bars; recording studios, disc layouts, in general, everything you can imagine in this context is located here. This diversity makes Camden Town the most unique place in London. Every owner tries to beat their neighbour, so on some buildings, an antique brick covers graffiti, while others have a huge boot statue instead of a window. The authentic atmosphere is so appealing to tourists and Londoners themselves that sometimes they even have to close the Tube station on Sunday in order to avoid pandemonium.
The first thing you will notice when you get to Camden is a chaotic combination of music, smells, groceries and shops that quickly gives way to a lot of amazing experiences! Would you like some Ethiopian food? What about Peruvian, Malaysian, Korean, French, Venezuelan, Turkish? Most shops will even offer you a taste of their delicious cuisine - so this is a great way to eat and choose what you like best.
When you go to Camden, don't forget about shopping! Take hot apple cider in winter or cool down your mojito in summer on your way to the famous Cyber Dog shop, where you will see dancers in colourful costumes enjoy music and neon lights that will touch every feeling you have! This is one of the most famous shops in Camden, and it has literally everything.

The artistic spirit of Camden has created a market here that is absolutely unique in its atmosphere, unlike any other market in London. If you want to immerse yourself in something out of the ordinary and atmospheric, welcome to Camden. You won't be bored here for sure.

Voronezh is as severe as a cold bayonet, Voronezh is as solemn as Victory Day. The main streets are replete with classic buildings of Stalin’s time. It seems there hadn’t been any Voronezh before they were constructed , and only a few quiet churches near the bank reminds us of more distant centuries.

Just walk along the long bridge over a water storage in the morning, no later than 9 a. m.  Look at serene fishermen, who are standing on the concrete slopes of a pier. The water is sparkling; the cars rushing nearby are keeping you from admiring landscapes. You may sing out loud here – and no one will hear you: the fishermen are too far away, and there are very few passers-by on the bridge in the morning.

If you have seen this side of Voronezh , you are lucky enough, but an empty city is not actually a city. That’s why I enjoy this town more in the evenings when illumination is switched on, the main avenue is crowded, the signboards of shops give off such attractive light. There are some important memorials here: Andrei Platonov, Osip Mandelstam… But all of them are becoming inconspicuous in the atmosphere of pure joy, which is blazing and intensifying. Laughter, shouts, jokes, songs – they are everywhere. There is no past in the city now, only the present happiness.

Though it’s just Friday, not a holiday, not Victory Day, there is a large crowd near the House of Officers. What is happening? It’s just a music band, which is doing their best to gladden the locals. A drummer is putting all his effort to make the sounds louder. Then there is a short break, and a soloist is discussing all the city news with occasional passers-by as if they have known one another for years. Why not?

Another song – and the soloist addresses a short girl in the crowd. It seems to me she is not confident, though she is already hobbling towards the band. The musicians are starting the song from the very beginning, but does she know the words? Several minutes – and the listeners are applauding and thanking her for her passion. I don’t know whether she belongs to the band or not. But does it really matter?

I’m heading to a café while the band is singing about a barrel of rum. ‘Just give it to people!’ – the voice is rattling like thunder calling for someone. Voronezh now is truly a little bit drunk, flighty and unstoppable. Electric scooters are whooshing along the pavement, and I wonder why a relatively new technology is so common here.

There is only one free place in the café; fortunately, I’m fast enough to occupy it. The waiters are rushing back and forward pretending not to notice me. I have nothing to do but to listen to a love story, which is told by a lady sitting not far from me. A fellow of her boyfriend… picked her up by taxi… waited for her near the house… A dark porch… The man twisted her arm as if he wanted to take her away… Oh, my tea is already in front of me.

I’m going out of the café, and I realize that something has gone wrong. No lights, no illumination, only some low sounds somewhere far away… It’s just a half past ten!
Faces in the dark, closed shops, empty windows. Woe betide a mayor who follows a timetable ordering citizens when to have fun and when to go to sleep. How inhuman it is!

Yes, there is really something contrived in Voronezh – the city built on the artificial lake, the city stopped intentionally when it becomes more and more beautiful.

The sound of tram wheels… Father sitting on the seat next to me is smiling. He is young. Younger than now. I am happy with my new Lego set and staring out of the window: people walking on the pavement, cars rushing somewhere, and buildings, buildings everywhere. Then the focus changes and I see my reflection in the window – the seven-year-old boy extremely proud to travel around the city of Kolomna…

Kolomna has never been an Emerald city to me, even in the days when mother was reading the book of Lyman Frank Baum to me: I early understood that in Kolomna, like in other cities in the world, behind the clean and bright main streets there are junkyards, among friendly people, there are persons who openly hate you. However, there is still something that attracts me to this city, something that has roots in my childhood.

If one day someone asked me to describe the city of Kolomna only in two words, I would answer: “Churches and manors.” I think practically all Russian cities with a rich history, which dates back to the times of some glorious kings, fall under this description. But this doesn’t mean that the buildings from the old days are superfluous in the overall picture of the city. I would even prefer one merchant house of the 19th century to 10 modern skyscrapers.  That is why I like Kolomna with its authentic streets, its ancient kremlin with the monument to Dmitry Donskoy, and its magnificent cathedrals. My Kolomna has little of the style of the old Moscow perfectly described by Gilyarovsky, little of the smell of Saint Petersburg with many “vintage” pastry shops and pubs, little of the soothing atmosphere of Sergiev Posad with lots of churches and bell ringing.  Kolomna is not a city for me– it is a story of Russia: near the high red walls of Kremlin, Dmitry Donskoy was gathering troops, in the high old tower the wife of False Dmitry I was kept, in the mass grave the bones of the first revolutionaries and the victims of the Civil war are buried.

There is a special feeling that comes to me only in Kolomna. While walking in the old part of the city, I can forget that I am in the 21st century: a soldier wearing a 19th-century uniform is standing in his white and black-striped booth, merchants in their two-story houses-shops are selling gingerbread, old steamboats are sailing on the Moscow River.

Many years have passed since the time I was riding the trams with my father. One day I decided to try it again: caught the tram, paid for the ticket, and took a place in front of the window. The snowflakes were falling and melting on the glass. I was standing and thinking sadly about the upcoming session while noting how the city had changed. But now I understand: the city was the same. And probably the tram was the same too. But the boy from the window vanished somewhere…
The sound of tram wheels…

"The train to Rostov departs at 18:40 from the first track," a monotonous female voice uttered from the loudspeaker of the Kazan railway station. The eight of us were on our way to Taganrog, a provincial town in the South of Russia. Tossing suitcases and bags, we climbed into our compartments and dumped all the food on a small table. We're off. In Rostov-on-Don, the main train was unhooked, and the two remaining cars went to Taganrog. Upon arrival, we were exposed to humid southern air, intoxicating heat, and cheap taxis.

Taganrog is not popular amongst tourists. It is visited by twice as few people as Sochi or Sevastopol each year. The only well-known fact about Taganrog is that Anton Chekov was born and spent his youth there. Located in the Rostov oblast in the bay of the Azov Sea, the town has no more than 260,000 residents, and the population decreases consistently.

The five of us settled in the apartment of my relatives because part of my family hails from Taganrog. The others moved into a guest house nearby. I used to spend every summer here and served as a guide on this trip. Our apartment is located in a typical Taganrog courtyard with abundant landscaping, ornate gates, and masonry. For tourists, the conditions may seem a little out of date: somewhere there is no glass in the windows, in some places, amenities are unavailable. Yet the yard has its charm. Taganrog locals do not need modern conveniences to lead the usual relaxed lifestyle.

Peter the Great, who established the town in 1698, hoped to make Taganrog the capital of the Russian Empire.

The Russian-Turkish war is believed to have interfered with the plans, and the city remained unfinished until the end of the 18th century. Ruins of military fortresses and palaces of Mediterranean merchants are located side by side on the main streets because Taganrog used to be the largest military and commercial port.

We tried to plan our week, yet following the schedule turned out to be quite difficult. All of us felt relaxed once we got there as a break from Moscow's routine was what we needed heavily.

In the morning we went to the Central Market for groceries, where all the local flavor is concentrated. A mix of chicken squeaking and the cries of the barker traders could be heard everywhere. Sometimes understanding what the sellers were talking about was confusing — there are a lot of dialectisms in the local speech.

• "Zherdela is a wild apricot (grammatical forms of words are preserved —   Editor's note)," the trader told us.
• There are also interesting verb forms: "skuplyatsya" ("to buy" —  Editor's note)  and  "spechsya" ("to be baked" —  Editor's note).
• And Taganrog residents simply call the bushes "kushari". Having spent a week in the town, we lost our Moscow accent and began to speak like locals.

In the afternoon a cultural program was scheduled. Singling out the best sight of Taganrog is challenging as all of them are worth visiting. Taganrog itself is an attraction. The Museum of Urban Planning, built according to Shechtel's project, is an art museum where the collections of both the XVIII and XXI centuries are displayed. Its mosaic ornament is commonly considered to be a masterpiece. Multiple sights are related to Chekhov's name: the writer's family store in Gogolevsky Lane, the gymnasium, where the playwright studied, and the family nest. The latter makes a strong impression regardless of its modest size and decor. Being formerly used as an outbuilding, the place has green-painted shutters and a sloping roof. It is so tiny that one has to bend down to fit inside the rooms. Visiting Chekhov's house felt like travelling back to imperial Russia. Furthermore, we got to understand many of his characters better. All of them are inspired by Taganrog residents.

The evenings were usually spent at the public beach on the coast of the Azov Sea. It is easily accessible if you go down the Stone staircase, the symbol of Taganrog. 188 stairs is not a big deal after all! You have to do it both ways, though. Going down, small islands of greenery where youthful companies gather can be seen. Two embankments — Pushkinskaya and Chekhovskaya —  are decorated with a scattering of copper statues and bright blue tents with inflatable toys and souvenirs.  Everything is traditionally Russian there: hot corn from local merchants, noisy family and friendly trips with beer and loud music, mud treatments. And, of course, inflatable "bananas" and "vatrushkas" are available for a risky ride. The water is warm, like from a tap, greenish-turbid and fresh.

As a person who has been visiting Taganrog since early childhood, I was overwhelmed with nostalgia.
The trace of the rich past, the commercial and cultural life of the seaside city is visible everywhere: on wide landscaped streets, on dilapidated walls, in narrow shady alleys, in windows with peeling frames and courtyards, cramped and rocky. It seems that the city has frozen, remained in the past.
But I want it to live and hope we can make that happen.

One week passed so fast that it could barely be noticed. We found ourselves standing at the Kazan railway station again. This time Moscow awaited us.

“St. Petersburg was described so far ago, and what’s not described should be seen by yourself”, Ivan Goncharov said.



Maybe it is. However, with every description of this city, you find some new shades of the unforgettable flavor of the northern capital.



My way started with a really hot atmosphere: we were late for the train and it was boiling hot in Moscow, I felt every single gram of my bags though almost everything was carried not by me. We kept running without looking around and didn't even stumble (for me it’s a great achievement). Luckily, we found our carriage fast and the first trip together started.

Chinese Wonderland

Four days, two people and only one fabulous city – nothing more is needed. On the last day, when all our excursions plans almost came true, we could relax and act as we wanted. It is about 1 p.m. After a long lazy lying on the bed and even longer getting ready to go out, we decided to eat something. We didn’t have a strict itinerary, just moved towards something special. On Ligovsky Avenue a very pesky girl with a smile from ear to ear (like a Cheshire cat) started begging us to visit a Chinese tea tasting. Actually, this girl scared me because she looked a little insane (or maybe too active) and she asked us to go to an empty backstreet to the basement. “We’re in a hurry,” I said but my trouble-free boyfriend didn’t play along with me, so we went there. Fortunately, there were natural Chinese drinks and a cozy tea shop inside. The boyfriend was satisfied, me too (I didn’t try it, after all, you know, God saves man, who saves himself).



ATTENTION: getting fresh information from my groupmate, I’ve known that there are a lot of so-called tea shops’ lures in St.Petersburg. The groupmate’s friends were cheated for money in one of these shops, so be careful and keep your wallets!

Lucky find

Then we found a strange turn to a narrow hidden art street. It’s a colorful bright bystreet where in the daytime you can buy some cool things: T-shirts, souvenirs, strange socks with funny pics and letterings. And in the evening it's a modern stylish space destined to become the background of your Instagram photos. By the way, there are special photo booths where you can take photocards with the project logo on them. In this very place, you’ll find an entrance with a staircase, leading forward to the loft-project “The floors”. It’s a specially equipped observation deck on the roof and floors with art space for different cultural programs, artists’ exhibitions, festivals and concerts.

Here you can find project posters with upcoming events:
https://www.loftprojectetagi.ru/


My first time

Our eyes were satiated with beautiful views of the city but our stomachs were still empty. To be honest, I’m a terrible sweet tooth - I wanted something dulcet. Volchek's bakery was right on the way. There are 91 of these bakeries in St.Petersburg. It was my first time in this warm cozy place, where every centimeter is saturated with the smell of fresh pastry, where every pie, cake, bun, and bread is tempting you to buy everything. My favorite one was “smetannik”. When I had a bit of that, I hopelessly fell for it though it was very dangerous love (I have an allergy). It is perfectly balanced: not too treacle but honeyed enough, with delicate velvet biscuit. Apart from all these things, it's pretty inexpensive there, which is why it makes this place more attractive for students. When we were going to leave the city, this bakery was visited twice on the same day. Now I’m going to come back to St. Petersburg again and again at least for the sake of this bakery.



Following the link below, you’ll find all bakeries’ addresses:
http://fvolchek.ru/


Can't stay dry

About 3 p.m. We sailed on a motor ship from the pier of Neva. About half an hour – and we got into a fairytale. Museum-reserve “Peterhof” caused a childish delight even in a brutal and stern man. Baroque, rococo and classicism combination of majestic palaces locked the spirit. I felt a strong desire to open my eyes as wide as possible. The sky was clear blue, it was reflected in the Gulf of Finland. There was pleasurable heat: the sunbeams gently touched our bodies and caressed us like mother’s hand. In a word, the atmosphere foreshadowed something unforgettable.



The entire park of Peterhof is filled with a miraculous ensemble of fountains. A huge variety of them is decorated with gilded or marble sculptures, some of which are based on Greek myths and take us to the ancient world. Museum construction started in 1714 but the composition was replenished until the 20th century.



We tried to have time to see everything. Walking through the parking zone, we met a squirrel which put nuts by her large, fed cheeks. It stopped our movement for some time while the surroundings continued to amaze us with their juicy greenery, artificial rivers, and nature in general.


There are six palaces on the territory of Peterhof. If you think that it’s enough to see only one of them, you’ll make a huge mistake because all of them are unique.


When the heat stopped to be as pleasant as it was at the beginning, I decided to wet my feet near a large fountain. Its flow watered the square around. Jet fountains were also installed on the sides of the nearby benches; they were hidden and turned on rarely. I tried to wait until it finished its work to keep my clothes dry. Suddenly, when I came closer, it turned on again. I was all wet but happy: I didn’t feel heat any further. Later I found out that people control these fountains, called “Shutihi”. Thus, no matter how you try to guess the shutdown time, you won’t get through dry because of a tricky controller.

Fairytale gone bad
Looking around and enjoying the architecture, we didn’t notice how we went too far from the pier. Almost no time left before the last motor ship would leave for the Neva, so…we ran again. Very fast. On the way, we managed to laugh and take some photos and be on time. It was the happiest moment of my life but every fairytale has an end. However, every ending means a new beginning. Sailing away from Peterhof only one thought came to my mind “I hope I’ll be back here soon”.

The sound of tram wheels… Father sitting on the seat next to me is smiling. He is young. Younger than now. I am happy with my new Lego set and staring out of the window: people walking on the pavement, cars rushing somewhere, and buildings, buildings everywhere. Then the focus changes and I see my reflection in the window – the seven-year-old boy extremely proud to travel around the city of Kolomna…

Kolomna has never been an Emerald city to me, even in the days when mother was reading the book of Lyman Frank Baum to me: I early understood that in Kolomna, like in other cities in the world, behind the clean and bright main streets there are junkyards, among friendly people, there are persons who openly hate you. However, there is still something that attracts me to this city, something that has roots in my childhood.

If one day someone asked me to describe the city of Kolomna only in two words, I would answer: “Churches and manors.” I think practically all Russian cities with a rich history, which dates back to the times of some glorious kings, fall under this description. But this doesn’t mean that the buildings from the old days are superfluous in the overall picture of the city. I would even prefer one merchant house of the 19th century to 10 modern skyscrapers.  That is why I like Kolomna with its authentic streets, its ancient kremlin with the monument to Dmitry Donskoy, and its magnificent cathedrals. My Kolomna has little of the style of the old Moscow perfectly described by Gilyarovsky, little of the smell of Saint Petersburg with many “vintage” pastry shops and pubs, little of the soothing atmosphere of Sergiev Posad with lots of churches and bell ringing.  Kolomna is not a city for me– it is a story of Russia: near the high red walls of Kremlin, Dmitry Donskoy was gathering troops, in the high old tower the wife of False Dmitry I was kept, in the mass grave the bones of the first revolutionaries and the victims of the Civil war are buried.

There is a special feeling that comes to me only in Kolomna. While walking in the old part of the city, I can forget that I am in the 21st century: a soldier wearing a 19th-century uniform is standing in his white and black-striped booth, merchants in their two-story houses-shops are selling gingerbread, old steamboats are sailing on the Moscow River.

Many years have passed since the time I was riding the trams with my father. One day I decided to try it again: caught the tram, paid for the ticket, and took a place in front of the window. The snowflakes were falling and melting on the glass. I was standing and thinking sadly about the upcoming session while noting how the city had changed. But now I understand: the city was the same. And probably the tram was the same too. But the boy from the window vanished somewhere…
The sound of tram wheels…

Have you ever travelled around Russia? I bet it is wonderful! I would have never learned that if not for my groupmate and friend, Lera. This August I jumped into a chance to travel to North Ossetia-Alania and spent 7 unforgettable days there.

I will not torment the reader with facts, traditions, and travel tips, as you can easily find all the information online, plus the “Orel and Reshka” program has been filmed there recently. I will better try to tell you an aspiring story of one day of my trip, after which, I hope, you will give this region a chance.

We decided to go to the mountains by car with a company of Lera’s friends - 2 boys and a girl. We aimed to reach a bench, which stood blissfully alone over the cliff of a precarious bluff.

It was popular among the tourists for the picturesque panoramic vista and the inscription "Happiness is not behind the mountains, but it is in the mountains" right on it.

Having spent a lot of time getting together, we started our journey late, at 4 p.m. The road was pretty long and we had to stop here or there often- at the gas station, at the shop to buy some freshly baked flatbread, the smell of which would make us drool. We also stopped at a scenic pasture to take some cinematic shots against the background of dozens of grazing horses and cows. I was captivated as a child by seeing calves and foals.

By the time we started to drive up the serpentine, darkness was dancing slowly around the mountain peaks, swelling by every turn. Dusk comes early in that region. An enormous herd of sheep sprawled grandly on our way. They were returning home under the supervision of a shepherd and his kind-eyed herding dog. The mountainside, covered with kelly-green grass, was literally teemed with animals, creating a chorus of strange natural sounds.
It was about 8 o’clock when we were higher than the clouds. The world around us was mysteriously blue and dark purple. The lights of the city were faintly sparkling in the distance. The road was becoming narrow and steep. Suddenly we realized that none of us knew the accurate location of the bench. We were literally somewhere in the sky, searching for a mysterious place while the majestic mountains were deepening down into the darkness.

The girls, Lera and Dzera, started to panic, as they were not allowed to be outside that late, a conservative rule for young girls in Ossetia, but I tried to keep calm and calm down the others. I wasn’t scared for a second and even enjoyed the spirit of adventure in this incomprehensible situation.

We left the car, as we couldn’t drive anymore and turned on our iPhone flashlights, though they were not strong enough for night adventures in the obscurity. I was only wearing a short skirt, a top, and a translucent shirt, and the others had something similar. It was pretty cold, and going up for a long time was difficult because of oxygen deficiency, though I didn’t pay attention to that due to overexcitement It was darker and darker with every minute, and our flashlights were as useless as our light T-shirts.

We wandered around for an hour or so, experiencing a terrifying total silence. Soon not far from us, we heard loud cheerful sounds of joyful company of people. The people must have rented a birthday house, so high above the ground, with such stunning views, changing every second. "This is my dream! That is how I want to celebrate my birthday once", I thought. This situation is probably typical for Ossetians. I generally noticed that incredible mountain landscapes do not inspire admiration in them as they are already used to seeing them often.

I wanted to continue searching for the cryptic bench, but realized that it may be really dangerous, as the only normal light source was the huge moon. We had to surrender because everybody was nervous.

Our way back was something out of mind. We turned on the spellbinding M83 music. Everybody sitting at the back fell asleep, and I was watching August shooting stars, my head out of the window. I was feeling utter pleasure. It seemed as if only space was above me, I swear. That moment was worth the whole trip, it was unforgettable. I wish everyone to experience that at least once.

We returned to the city, exhausted but full of amazing emotions, and wrapped up the trip with a true Ossetian late-night dinner- tasty meat, fresh salads, dzikka (wheat flour, sour cream, and cheese cooked in a cast iron), and of course, Ossetian pies with meat, cheese, and beet leaves.

We were completely exhausted but totally satisfied with the trip. Aiming to reach a famous silly bench, we found something bigger, ethereal, and more important.

Moscow — Saint Petersburg. "The train arrives at Moskovsky railway station in 5 minutes. Please don't forget your luggage."

I am back in my city, dear to me like my tears

Like small veins, swollen glands of my infancy years.

— Osip Mandelshtam. «Leningrad»

Translated by Dmitry Berger

I have known St. Petersburg since my childhood. At first, the city introduces himself as a stern gentleman in a tailcoat. When you see the incredible decorations of St. Isaac's Cathedral, Peterhof with its beautiful greenery and fountains, the Hermitage with its stately and most famous halls for the first time you get in love at once.

But while over the Neva's glitter

That immaculate hour lasts

And the May wind swirls past the columns

At the water its fragrant breath,

You're a sinner who sees his holiest,

Sweetest dream on the verge of death.

— Anna Akhmatova. «How I love, and I used to, this pageant...»

Translated by Natalia Kharag

Afterwards Petersburg makes you depressed about its grandeur and historical past. Walking along the embankment of the Moika River with a cup of coffee, you may suddenly realize that Pushkin died close to your location. Or running into a bookstore on Liteiny Prospect, you stop next to the Fountain House and think about Anna Akhmatova writing Requiem here almost a century ago.

And the deathly stars hanged our heads over

And our Russia writhed under the boots –

With the blood of the guiltless full-covered –

And the wheels on Black Maries’ black routes.

— Anna Akhmatova. «Requiem»

Translated by Yevgeny Bonver

And in the end, you understand and accept how granite embankments and the endless expanses of the Gulf of Finland create the ensemble of the city.  It seems to be clear, how does it happen that a person, leaving the Hermitage, goes straight to a bar and stays there until dawn. In spite of sincerely hating the transport system and the climate of St. Petersburg, I have a great pleasure in taking a Sapsan train to go from Moscow, I feel the joy of a future meeting with my lovely city, my St. Petersburg.

Breathing blessings,

Sweet caressings

Is the all-entrancing  night!

Mute and speechless,

Blue, bewitching,

Of the sky a northern child!

— Pyotr Vyazemsky. «Breathing blessings»

Translated by Natalia Kharag

*The translations of the poems are respectfully borrowed

In my younger and more vulnerable years, I dreamed of moving to Moscow. Moscow was always my end goal, eyes on the prize. I was living in a small city on the banks of the Volga River in the southeast of the capital. It seems like Togliatti was the smiling shabby and swift Italian boy from somewhere in the province. The single most hopeful person I’ve ever met and am ever likely to meet again. Moscow is completely different. It’s a tall tough young lady with an iPhone in her right hand and a thin mint cigarette in her left. Wearing only branded stuff, she gives her preference to Dior, Yves Saint Lauren, and Balenciaga. But at the first glance, this lady is smiling broadly and handing candy to you.

The tempo of the city approached hysteria. Here the people are hell-bent machines boomed in a steady golden roar. The shows are broader. The buildings are higher. The morals are looser. Here was the city in brief: uncaring, cruelly beautiful, and out of reach. Despite this, Moscow was luring the young and ambitious. And I was one of them.

I moved to Moscow 2 years ago, a sort of bookish nerd who graduated from school with all A-s. The first thing I saw when I got off the train was a filthy hobo leaning up against a wall, humming some song and drinking beer. Perfect! I was never scared in Togliatti. Here your fear was sitting right in front of you. But I loved it. In the backseat of the taxi, I looked into all the cars passing us amazed that it could all exist without people crashing into each other.  I thought I would find my place here if all those people around me could.

I arrived at my dormitory. The tremendous building of Soviet times with many identical windows seemed homey and cozy to me. I thought about my neighbors just on the other side of the wall, and I got a glass and pressed the bottom to my ear and tried to hear them. Endless entertainment. I couldn’t wait to live like this.

I forgot about my purpose for which I came here. I was drowning in all that riotous amusement that beckoned from the walls of that colossal castle, where I was living all my life. Every weekend I spend time in bars, nightclubs, restaurants. Drunk and dreaming I came to my room after 2 AM. I was absolutely joyful with my life. But….

One day I was walking down Moscow’s streets. It seemed like the city itself was leading me somewhere. I turned into an alley and came across an old lady with a cane. She was small round-shouldered with coarse and wrinkly hands and white hair with a silver sheen. She was sitting on the wooden bench reading a book. As I walked right up to her, she looked up suddenly and I could see her sparkling eyes under the wide brim of her hat.

“All the bright precious things fade so fast. And they don’t come back," she grinned, "all that you have is brightness and colorfulness hiding mental dullness. Don’t run from yourself, change yourself.”

I recognize her. She was Moscow herself, not those rude tall women I imagined. She was so gorgeous. I just stared.

When you are offered to go on a trip, sunny beaches of Turkey or the ancient heritage of Italy most likely come to your mind. What if I offer you a completely new destination, one as North Ossetia?

My decision to visit North Ossetia was as spontaneous as my decision to travel in the summer during the pandemic. I had to write an article for a special issue of the magazine, go to the editorial office, and get a new transcript done as soon as possible. Instead, during my morning coffee, I listened to a voice message from a friend who decided to go to Vladikavkaz with her boyfriend on the spur of the moment and invited me to join them. Then I wrote a message to the CEO, met this friend and in the evening I had a plane ticket, a booked apartment and a complete misunderstanding of how it all happened and what to do next. All the rest – the tumultuous writing of the interviews, closing of the deadlines, quick packing, and here I am, putting on my seat belt sitting next to my sleepy but enthusiastic friends on "Pobeda" plane.

Flights from Moscow to Vladikavkaz are regularly scheduled. We had an early flight so as not to lose a precious day. There were minimum baggage and maximum expectations with us – the expectations of a good time in a new place with good old friends.

So, on our first day we decided to stay in the capital of this Caucasian republic named Vladikavkaz. It is one of the most beautiful cities in Russia with its flavor that is unique. It is divided in two parts – the old and the new ones. The new part is the central street called Prospect Mira and its environs with the embankment near the fast-flowing Terek. While you are strolling along, it may seem to you that you are in Europe as the main street is narrow and well-groomed and there are small neat houses on its sides, breathing with an ancient splendor and wealth. There are many places to go out to, ranging from inexpensive diners to high-end restaurants along this street.

Speaking of food, you can’t leave North Ossetia without trying two things: a real Ossetian pie and a unique Ossetian arak. At any feast you will be served with mouth-watering pieces of this pie mostly baked with meat, cheese, potatoes, greens and beetroot, and a spirit of transparent yellow color. These are Ossetian national treasures. If you haven’t tried them, you probably haven’t been to Ossetia. We have been.
The old part of the city is more authentic. It preserves the city’s historical heritage. In particular, these translate into pre-Soviet constructions that have been built soundly 200 or even more years ago.

Then, we devoted the rest of the trip (there were 5 days in total) to the natural beauty of North Ossetia. As someone has said, the key to a successful trip is to plan out the route through the most picturesque places. It's also worth noting, that for traveling through the Caucasus a car is needed. We were lucky enough to have a personal driver, because our friend had an acquaintance here. By the way, it was a wonderful experience of communicating with a local. Therefore, we noted right away that people there were hospitable and caring.

Any car drive here becomes a memorable journey. As soon as you leave the city, an untouched nature sprawls grandly on the sides, while the distinctive outline of the cliffs looms ahead.

Our first goal was the Alagir gorge. On the way we stopped at one of the hills, which main attraction was a huge swing. Just imagine – an altitude of about 1 km, irresistible expanses with serene exquisiteness, cascading clifftops around you. There are well-preserved ruins of a medieval battle tower next to you, while scenic pastures span over the mesmerizing countryside under you. The extensive natural beauty is lulling here. And it's just the beginning.

When we arrived in the Alagir gorge, the sky turned gray and it started to rain. The mountains began to look not hospitable but mysterious. Clouds were tangled at their tops. If you find yourself in such conditions, do not sink into despair. As for us, we decided to make a barbecue. It was a wonderful idea. Energizing music, the smell of burning firewood, light rain, my friends, smiling and singing loudly and imposing mountains around us. That is why North Ossetia is absolutely perfect for travelling with friends.

Clouds parted slightly, and finally we thought of winning over a pristine hillside. It was no easy feat, especially after a heavy downpour due to which the stones underfoot became slippery and the mountain river rebelled, flipping down madly. By the way, the shoes we wear were not at all suitable for climbing as the smooth sole is not for hiking in the mountains. So here's my advice. If you don't want to risk your life, buy proper gear.

However, this did not bother us. We had been climbing for about an hour when suddenly we found ourselves in the clouds. The stones slipped from under our feet, several times we had to jump over wet blocks to cross the mountain river (once my friend slipped and fell into the icy water, luckily, he got out quickly). The stream was frantic, creating an incredible atmosphere with its roars. We climbed to a height of about one and a half meters, where the panoramic vista opened. Being engrossed by the beauty, my friends started taking pictures, while I was climbing higher. Five minutes after, standing blissfully alone at a precarious bluff, I couldn't believe that I was there, in the Caucasus.

Waterfalls were supposed to cap off our trip. However, instead of a huge roaring stream of water, we saw only a thin sounding stream. So here's one more tip for you. If you want to enjoy the large waterfalls, you need to go in hot sunny weather; otherwise, you risk coming to the frozen peaks.

The next day we went to the Tsei glacier. The entrance and the ride on the funicular costs 300 rubles. In winter, it is a ski resort, while in summer - one of the natural wonders. Morning is the best time to go there. First, there are few people, and second, it's easier to climb.

After the funicular trip to the glacier, you will have to climb by yourself. But in any case, it is more convenient than in the Alagir gorge. At an altitude of about 2.5 km my friend and I stopped, because we had no strength to go forward. In addition, the higher you climb, the colder it gets. However, our boys went further.

A breathtaking view of the glacier opens up from this height. The mountains are buried in rhododendrons, underfoot there is kelly-green grass, and around there are picturesque bright mountains, while overhead is cloudless clear azure sky and bright sun. The sun was so bright that at the end of the day we found out that we had sunburns. So a new tip is coming – use sunscreen.

Having come back to us, our boys mentioned that the view from above is charming, but it was much harder to breathe there and very difficult to go down. We also felt this on ourselves. So there is the warning again – do not go to the mountains in shoes with smooth soles, it is really dangerous.

The final event on our busy travel itinerary was a horse ride along the mountain peaks of the Mezur. It cost us 1,500 rubles for 3-4 hours. Here you capture the moments. And here is mine:

"The sun is shining brightly and it's a middle day of August, but it's pretty cool here, in the mountains. We are getting higher and higher on the pristine hillside, hoping to win over the imposing mountain. It's not a simple walk, it's a horse-trip in the wilderness area. My friends are taking photos of this picturesque setting, being right behind my back. My horse snorts, wags its tail, sometimes shakes its head, and I can feel the warmth radiating from its body. I run my hand along its neck, digging my fingers into its tough matted mane, telling it how beautiful it is. I still can't believe that I'm here, in the heart of North Ossetia, riding a horse while looking at the panoramic vista that has just opened from the top of the cliff".

It feels absolutely amazing to remember this moment.

Eventually, it was the most eventful journey for each of us. Incredible picturesque landscapes, delicious food, hospitable people – all this left a lasting impression in our memory. North Ossetia is remarkably different from other regions of Russia and is not at all suitable for traveling independently, because such strong emotions need to be shared with friends.

You don't have to be a passionate hiker to go to North Ossetia. Here you just become one. Whether you like it or not. Do you want to throw all thoughts out of your head and just enjoy the moment? Then this is the sign you've been looking for.

If Verona were to be called the city of views, and Provence - the land of smells, then Salzburg should definitely be called the city of sound.

In fact, one hears Salzburg long before one sees it. It all begins with the motorway stretching through the Austrian Alps. We still have half an hour left until we arrive, according to the GPS.  It is early morning and our car is still in shade, whilst the tops of the Alps are already bathing in the warm amber light. “Radio Salzburg,” the radio half-sings. The man speaking has a “Hoch Deutsch” accent, although we all know that Austrians only put on their posh accent when speaking to foreigners. I can just imagine the journalist finishing his broadcast, taking his earphones off and bursting into the melodious local accent, buoyant and colourful, like the Alps themselves.

The mountains are shrinking as we approach Salzburg- soon they will turn into hills. I catch a glimpse of an old castle, contoured by a slope surprisingly bare. I crane my neck to catch a better glimpse as the car speeds off. In my mind I can hear: “Mi, a name I call myself, fa, a long-long way to run…”. The words of the well-known song from “The Sound of Music” were sung on this hill for the first time. Now, as people drive past it, they do not even know they are seeing a world-famous sight.

Salzburg appears as unexpectedly as the mountains disappear. At first, the Alpine-style houses, turning gradually into colourful suburban flats. And then, suddenly, we are in the centre of the town. The shimmering river Salzach, the clattering traditional horse-drawn tourist carriages and the dome of the baroque cathedral on the other side of the valley- everything is summoning me out into the fresh air, into the city of music.
Walking to Salzburg’s historical centre feels like running to the beach after a long drive. Salzburg is waiting, Salzburg is calling. It is like a gust of cool air: so calm, yet so refreshing.

You hear it before you see it. As I drift through the park alleys, I can already hear music. It is a woman’s voice. She is singing an aria, and I can only just hear the soft sounds of the piano accompanying her. I turn left, pass the park gates- and there they are, the Mirabell Gardens, the heart of the Austrian city. They lie before me like a carpet, their colourful dahlia beds set off by the beautiful fortress on the top of the hill that stands over Salzburg like a candle.

And then I hear it again. The voice, the rolling trickling aria and its loyal companion, the soft music of the piano. As I follow the sound, I run past Mirabell Palace, the Pegasus Fountain. The music is becoming even louder… And there, on the other side of the gardens, I stop. Out of the window of a two-storey building I hear a woman singing Mozart. She is definitely a professional opera singer. Strong and tender, her voice escapes out of the open window and trickles over Salzburg, making people look up into the sky with wonder. What is the woman singing? Is it for her debut in the Opera Theatre tonight? What is she thinking about?

Perhaps about the same thing as me. Just a few steps away from here, on the other side of the road, stands an old two-storey house. It is of a light-pink colour, like many other buildings in old Salzburg. It stands adjacent to other buildings, yet somehow on its own, a witness to the past centuries. It is the house where young Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart lived. It was here (I tell myself, as I walk up to the front door behind which a chattering and coughing queue is to be seen), it was here that the great composer grew up, played music, composed his pieces.

It seems that this house, like an invisible epicentre of a musical earthquake, is vibrating, pulsating, sending out waves of sound all the way past the queues, the streets, Mirabell Gardens and the opera singer in her window. It will echo in nearby mountains and speed off into the outside world to become famous.

As I walk further on, I hear another sound. Now it is not a voice- at least, not a human one. As I turn the corner, I find myself in an empty colonnade. The streets had just been buzzing with tourists, but here it is so quiet that I can hear the hollow echoing of my footsteps. There, on the other side of the street, stands a young man. He is playing the violin. Lonely and simple, the music seems to be talking to me. It is arguing, it is singing a song of freedom. Freedom to play wherever you want. For it is only in Salzburg where you can hear a person creating music not for money, but for the music itself.

Probably it is for this reason that the air in Salzburg it is so unique, I tell myself in the car as we leave the magical city. Wherever you go, whatever you visit, the air in Salzburg will always be soaked with the sound of music of a lonely violin player in an empty colonnade. With the smell of fresh fir trees and moss coming from the mountains. With the feeling of harmony, rhythm and simplicity that only Mozart’s music can reflect.
Salzburg is the city of sound. Now, a thousand kilometers away from it, I can still hear it. Salzburg, can you still hear me?