“Internal escape”, suppose, is as typically Russian as “internal exile”. Let me add the New Way Collective Farm, a tiny anarchist community near Boksitogorsk, ~200 miles east from St. Petersburg, to my collection. Established in the late 80s or very early 90s, at the hight of the “back to earth” sentiment.


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Escapism.. — 3 Comments

    • That’s great they live with their farm animals as companion animals, and don’t eat them, only obtain milk and eggs from their goats, cows, and chickens.
      Weather seems to be always overcast sky there, with weak sun.

      • Gloomy weather is Russia’s calling card. Most of our “great literature” relies on low overcast sky and drizzling rain. Or a continuous blizzard.

        There, where days are cloudy and brief,
        Are born a people to whom death brings no pain.

        Whimps who are into sun and warmth shold go to the French Riviera or whatever it’s called if they got the dough, or to Turkey or Tailand otherwise. Russia offers the more subtle aesthetics of shades of grey, and refined pleasures of discomfort. Think of Russia as the travel equivalent of moldy cheese. Or that addictively stinky durian fruit.

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