One Day in Minsk

Today, I continued my visit of Minsk, I’ve see the awful building of the new library, the very curious architecture school. J. came with me to those places, and we laughted a lot during this walk.

I’m not exaggerating, this building has been elected one of the most ugly in the world.

That’s a sort of big, empty box, so much heavy visually. It looks like a huge spaceship unable to take off. Worse, the ground is marshy and unstable, calculations have been done in a wrong way, and the library is slowly sagging. It definitely won’t fly away to the sky, but sinking until the center of the Earth like a mass ( It is Le Musée de Confluences of Lyon, but power 1000). At night the construction is enlightened with all colours, more or less of a good taste. Nevertheless, this building touches me by its clumsiness.

On those Soviet buildings, we can see large decors praising the exploration of the cosmos.

When architects drew this school, I’m really wondering what they were thinking about, how did they get there? That’s just beyond imagination. It turns out that this is a achitecture and construction school. When you get out of that, don’t be suprise to have a strange vision of space.

“Scienta est potentia” in the USSR, for better and for worse.

J. finds the photographer in action more intresting than the actual subject. In generally, Minsk inhabitants don’t really see what I can find attracting over here.

I’ve been walking a lot alone as far as home.

The huge avenues transfom the walk into a hike.

Here is for instance a bus station, characteritic of the modern constructions od the town. This is the perfect anti-model for all architecture studiants. The achitectural idea is good, we understand it. A central pole hangs a ring sheltering the users from bad weather. A suspension can rhyme with lightness. We should have the impression to forget the material, to have a efficient protection above our heads, forgeting gravity. But here, the architects have totally failed their project. Gravity is omnipresent, instead of a pole, we have a sort of huge central mass a lot too heavy, having to support the rest with a thousand cables. The metallic structure of the disk is too complex as well, and so, too heavy. That’s a pity, but this mistake often happens.

You start with a good, funny idea, and you wade throught dirty oil for its realisation.

I think this is a center for the supervision of radiations. But the looking of that building does not inspire rational things though.

Inner courtyard, typical in Minsk. Here again, we see that the façades not facing the streets are completely abandoned. Boulevards are decors.

A nth poster “I love Belarus!”

Here, not much advertisement in the streets. In contrast, the campains of the government make eyes sting, in big fomat. It’s in that kind of efforts that appears propaganda. Belorussian People, let’s be pround, we love our country, let’s not forget this. Meaning, we love it the way it is, let’s not change anything. These posters deal with all the clichés of the country, about nature, traditions, familly. They are themes working just well for titilate the nationalist feeling. The bad taste of those campains is glaring, and I think they are financed with the money of the taxes, it would be logical.

Here, I only have on thing to say: we are in the pure international style, thank you Le Corbusier. I’m pretty critical, but in the end, I like it.

A train completely reserved for children.

This clock, could we honestly make it bigger? That’s obviously linked to the scale of the streets which are real freeways. A friend told me that there’s not such a word as path, or alley in Russian. If it’s true, that means a lot.

Science academy.

Some heritage from Antiquity, it seems like the Soviets has just wanted to remember the infinite vertical columns.

At one point, I stopped by a shop. I wanted to buy a piece of sausage, and get it cut. I don’t speak a good Russian, but seriously, here, nobody makes any effort to understand me, too shocked to meet a stranger. They keep it all inside. Even in the shops, they don’t want to look me in the eyes. So, as the clown that I am, I drop my piece of sausage in front of the checkout. I do prefer laugh about that and make a joke to make the atmosphere less tense, but the cashier stays impassive. Nothing, no possibility of joke, as friendly as a prison gate.

I’m totally clumsy with the legal tender, because 1 euro becomes 10000 roubles. I’m a milionnaire, I’m mixing up all my money notes. Honestly, I can’t do it, and no one’s laughting at the checkout. I’ll be talking about money and economy later.

I love this façade enlightened at night. Here with the concrete, the majority of the time, it just makes you sick. But one time out of twenty, there’s a moment of grace, and you fall on your knees in front of the purity and plasticity.

I joined G. at the apartment. We got ready and we went to one of her friend’s, A., who was giving a liltle party, by the underground. I met a bunch of new people very pleasant, among them J.’s boyfriend, and we’ve had a great time together. I was telling my first impressions about Belarus, and also sharing a few stories about France. My episode with the sausage made them laught. I decided to make a film about it. In contact with strangers, we become even more critical with the other culture, as ours. Some funny details about France and its inhabitants appeared to me while I was talking about it, as simply as that. The look of the others is a great questioning. For them as much as for me. We played the game of the Loup-Garou (Werewolf), called Mafia here. The chance has wanted me to be the only Mafia against all the others. I managed to win, playing the innocent, and faking not to understand to subtleties correctly. Actually, I love this game. We’re eating cut fruits, drinking tea. It seems to me healthy. You always have to take off your shoes when you come in at someone’s. I can’t get used to that. I feel like I’m a dirty French guy.

The eternal flame on the Victory Square.

When we got back, I had a long, and strong conversation with G. in the course of which I’ve been almost moved to tears.

I felt like I transported myself in the 1984 novel,

I know the Belarusians I meet are not representative of the majority of the people here. They are undeniably more open minded and curious, but still suffering from the weight of dictatorship influencing their minds. Who would ever knows how I’d be thinking if I were born at the same place, if I had grown up here? Would I have the same ideas? Hard to know.

Speaking about political things with G., we sometimes had different point of view. When I was justifying my ideas, she was realizing that she was in fact totally agreeing with me. But she was also realizing that the repetitive communications of the government was getting into her mind and telling her naughty things. Propaganda uses racism, nationalism, the withdraw into one’s self, fear. I think fear is the most efficient weapon. While the government should be fearing the people because it’s indebted to them, the contrary happens, like if the government was a disconnected entity from the country whom they’d have to give them an account.

At the same time, I received on my phone the results of the first round of the french presidential elections. I was disappointed in the pitiful support given to the ecologist candidate. Normally, I would have been depressed. But living this event in Belarus put things into perspective. In this atmosphere, I was simply pleased to be able to vote in my country. Here, the votes are rigged and Loukachenko ( the one who must not be named) is re-elected by 80% of the voters, while only a few citizens are satisfied. The simple fact that a left-wing candidate is leading on the first round sounded to me like a song full of hope.

Speaking like this with G. brought me down, obviously, but this is very good. That’s what I was looking for in Belarus too. But this means that I’m feeling more and more friendship for G. and I think she knows.

***

It was only one day from Lorenzo Papace’s 10 days’ trip to Minsk. The rest of the story you may find on his blog.

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