TulaMapSeptember 30 — October 1, 2006 Just two hours drive from Moscow you’ll find the only Russian city where you needn’t bring your own samovar (it’s the equivalent of carrying coals to Newcastle) — they’ve got more of their own samovars than they know what to do with.  The people who live here are exceptionally empathetic. That’s why they are asked to do unusual things.  Avoid simultaneous contact with the ground and the body of the trolleybus We clicked on a few links and found the address of a four-star hotel called “Demidoff style” (the Demidoffs were a prominent noble family from Tula). There was only one review of it online, some lady saying that she’s never seen anything shittier in her whole entire life. Despite the title, the hotel did in fact turn out to be a total shithole. An office desk is twice as wide as the bed in that place. As befits a Soviet establishment, the woman at reception has not been given any financial incentive to retain customers. That’s why when we asked her point-blank if there were any better hotels, she was honest and directed us elsewhere.  In case of fire, exit through the corridor of the “Deluxe” room and down the fire escape The exotarium in Tula is a must-see.  Exotic Animals Zoo Monkeys live here. 
Dear visitors, The hedgehog will never read the mirror image of his own name from behind the glass. 
Long-eared hedgehog UH Plus there’s a wide array of reptiles here.  Animals that made Tula famous! You don’t see embankments without granite nor bars in Moscow anymore.  Let’s keep walking.  Getting acquainted with this centaur monument.  On the back there’s a message from his illiterate descendants, who never learnt the difference between a hyphen and a dash.  TO THE MASTER-FROM YOUR DESCENDANTS Some will even scrimp on the hyphen before the libo in chem-libo, Russian for somehow. 
Always be of at least some use to the fatherland While the city fathers couldn’t give two shits about visual culture, mobile network operators aren’t wasting any time. “Beeline” has bought up all the lamppost ad space on the road leading into the centre of town, those on the road out of town were nabbed by “MTS”.  But “Beeline” has gone the extra mile— it’s installing branded bus stops. In only one instance do they call a spade a spade: this stop is called “Soviet”. Although all of the other stops are similarly Soviet. They’d be better off sticking in milestones with route numbers on them.  I get it, but why drink out of a rubbish bin?  Do not litter There are samovars for sale outside the entrance to the kremlin (there’s a kremlin in Tula). Since no one buys them (Tefal: making your lives easier), the sellers have invented special prices: 
The samovars are checked Since the journalist who goes by the name of Norwegian Forest (there’s a guy in Tula called Norwegian Forest) gave the woman a tenner, she had to photograph him holding a samovar.  The inside of the kremlin is pleasantly empty. A dog sleeps peaceably next to the till.  Unfortunately, the torture chamber was closed already. 
XVI century torture and punishments Everything shuts early on a Sunday.  Closed The cash machine has disappeared.  A preved is driving around the city (a play on the Russian words for hello (privet) and bear (medved), cf. John Lurie’s “Bear Surprise”).  A road worker grabbed his own arse with a pincer.  This sausage with an army-issue hip flask has blown his top.  Fresh material for the illustrations section in the dictionary of abbreviations.  It’s hard not to like this town. 
I love you, Tula! Yasnaya Polyana The estate where Leo Tolstoy’s house museum is located is only 20 minutes drive from the centre (they don’t like dashes here either). 
The writer’s grave is a place of worship for people from all over the world. Silence shall reign here. This place is beautiful, sumptuous even — the estate’s surface area is comparable to that of Tula’s city centre. 
Since ancient times the Tolstoys entrusted the carving of their veranda barriers to virtuoso masters of wooden architecture.  The writer’s grave is right here, on “the spot of the green stick”. It’s so unimposing that at first it isn’t clear why this woman with a bunch of autumn leaves and a plastic bag that says “cosmopolitan” is making a protracted bow.  Once your eyes adjust you begin to distinguish the greenery on the grave from the surrounding grass and trees. Opposite people sit with their eyes closed, mediating in complete silence. Someone comes up and does the sign of the cross. It’s utterly surreal.  The museum’s management had to mark technical rooms with a “no entry” sign in order to cool the ardour of those wishing to soak up the surrounding greatness a little. After all, no amount of slush will stop pilgrims from excess veneration.  * * * As you drive out of the city there are a few dozen tents along the side of the road selling the same array of stamped, glazed sweet pastry made using high- grade flour and various fillings. Taking your own samovar to Tula is just as dumb as leaving Tula without the baked goods it’s famous for.  |
