Fidel: A Lover Scorned

"The Cuban model doesn't even work for us anymore" - Fidel Castro

Fidel Castro has always struck me as a scorned lover, a man who expected to be embraced by his first love - the U.S. - but who was torn asunder in the end. I mean, the guy loves baseball, after all.

The Cuban Revolution was about justice, often brutal and bloody, but justice, nevertheless. Fidel wasn't a Marxist-Leninist. Within four months of taking Havana on January 1, 1959, he was in Washington shaking hands with then Vice-President Richard Nixon and denouncing any affiliation with communism:

"I know what the world thinks of us, we are Communists, and of course I have said very clear that we are not Communists; very clear."

Fidel has always known his audience.

So it doesn't strike me as a big surprise that Fidel is currently making news - via Jeffrey Goldberg - by aligning himself with current U.S. policy on Iran and stating unequivocal support for Israel's right to exist. He likes Obama's sincerity and loathes Ahmadinejad's religious dogma. This may be his last chance to woo U.S. sympathies before the Dems get torn asunder in November. Game on.

Master Bulgakov: A Satanic Soviet

"Manuscripts don't burn"

I've recently been reading one of the greatest novels to come out of the former Soviet Union; Mikhail Bulgakov's subversive classic, The Master And Margarita. The basic premise has Satan (Woland) paying a visit to Stalin's atheistic Moscow in the 1930s and wreaking havoc on all and sundry.

Satan is accompanied by a very large demonic cat, Behemoth, who has the ability to walk on his hind legs, speak and enjoy vodka. The novel is a huge sensation in Russia with Bulgakov's former Moscow home now a museum, but it wasn't always this way. Bulgakov took over 10 years to finish it - even burning the manuscript once - and continued working on it right up until his death in 1940. Even when it was finally published in the Soviet Union almost thirty years later in 1966, it was heavily censored. It appeared in the West at around the same time and has been cited as an influence on Mick Jaggers' lyrics for "Sympathy For The Devil" released in 1968.

Bulgakov was born in 1891 in Kiev, Ukraine, and after the revolution and civil war, he arrived in Moscow in 1921. He was a novelist and a successful playwright for only about eight years before critics began sniffing him out as "anti-Soviet." By 1929 he was prevented from publishing or staging any new works and he spent the last decade of his life working on The Master and Margarita before dying of the same kidney disease that claimed his father.

The Master and Magarita is a cleverly written satire spoofing the Soviet bureaucracy and makes use of magical realism and some post-modern elements. As a playwright first, Bulgakov appreciated the possibilities that could arise from mixing genres and the novel reminds me of some of Tomson Highway's work, especially Dry Lips Oughta Move to Kapuskasing.

Here's an excerpt from Chapter 22, "Satan's Grand Ball":

"Let the ball commence!" shrieked the cat in a piercing voice. Margarita screamed and shut her eyes for several seconds. The ball burst upon her in an explosion of light, sound and smell. Arm in arm with Koroviev, Margarita found herself in a tropical forest. Scarlet-breasted parrots with green tails perched on lianas and hopping from branch to branch uttered deafening screeches of ' Ecstasy! Ecstasy! ' The forest soon came to an end and its hot, steamy air gave way to the cool of a ballroom with columns made of a yellowish, iridescent stone. Like the forest the ballroom was completely empty except for some naked Negroes in silver turbans holding candelabra. Their faces paled with excitement when Margarita floated into the ballroom with her suite, to which Azazello had now attached himself. Here Koroviev released Margarita's arm and whispered:

"Walk straight towards the tulips!"

A low wall of white tulips rose up in front of Margarita. Beyond it she saw countless lights in globes, and rows of men in tails and starched white shirts. Margarita saw then where the sound of ball music had been coming from. A roar of brass deafened her and the soaring violins that broke through it poured over her body like blood. The orchestra, all hundred and fifty of them, were playing a polonaise.

Seeing Margarita the tail-coated conductor turned pale, smiled and suddenly raised the whole orchestra to its feet with a wave of his arm. Without a moment's break in the music the orchestra stood and engulfed Margarita in sound. The conductor turned away from the players and gave a low bow. Smiling, Margarita waved to him.

"No, no, that won't do," whispered Koroviev. "He won't sleep all night. Shout to him 'Bravo, king of the waltz!'"

Margarita shouted as she was told, amazed that her voice, full as a bell, rang out over the noise of the orchestra. The conductor gave a start of pleasure, placed his left hand on his heart and with his right went on waving his white baton at the orchestra.

"Not enough," whispered Koroviev. "Look over there at the first violins and nod to them so that every one of them thinks you recognise him personally. They are all world famous. Look, there … on the first desk – that's Joachim! That's right! Very good...Now – on we go."

"Who is the conductor?" asked Margarita as she floated away.

"Johann Strauss!" cried the cat.

Riga: Art Nouveau

While much of Riga was decimated by the Nazis and then the Soviets, large sections managed to survive to become a treasure trove of some of Eastern Europe's finest architecture.


Not only is there the exquisite Old Town around the train station...



...which includes such reconstructed Medieval masterpieces as the Blackheads' House (1344) on the Rātslaukums...

There's also the small enclave in the Central District just north of the Freedom Monument...

It's completely devoted to Art Nouveau, or what the Latvians call Jugendstil (Youth), from the German.



Dating from 1899, many of the buildings were designed by Latvians, but some of the more audacious creations were made by Mikhail Eisenstein, father of the famous Soviet director, Sergei Eisenstein.

Art Nouveau was originally influenced by Japanese Ukiyo-e (woodcut) artists such as Hokusai and Hiroshige. Europeans like Czech artist Alphonse Mucha got caught up in the wave of Japonisme that was sweeping the continent at the time and began to develop their own style. It eventually evolved beyond the decorative arts, culminating in some of the world's most unique architecture.

Yuko and I spent an afternoon exploring the neighbourhood, frolicking around and getting freaked out by the faces that seemed to be clawing themselves away from the building's facades.


UNESCO included this neighbourhood as a world heritage site in 1997 saying it has "the finest collection of art nouveau buildings in Europe."


This is precisely why I travel - to discover the unknown, to upend my assumptions and find beauty in corners of the world I never would have expected.

Art Nouveau in the Baltics? You bet - a treasure trove.

Šiauliai: Hill Of Crosses

In the early 19th century, on a hill in the north of Lithuania outside of the town of Šiauliai (pronounced shau-lay), a simple act of faith was transformed into a defiant protest. People started placing crosses in memory of departed loved ones. During the 1831 Uprising against the Russian Empire, rebels would disappear and in place of a grave a cross would be erected to commemorate family members who had perished.

Over time it grew to include crucifixes and icons from anyone who wished for a simple blessing or good luck like obtaining high marks in school exams. They multiplied like grain, sprouting from the bald hill until they grew into a forest. When the Soviets occupied Lithuania from 1944-1990, they recognized the hill as a threat and tried banning people from placing anything here.

Under the cover of darkness, people kept coming. Then the Soviets attempted to bulldoze the hill, flatten it into plain of nothing, but the people returned to put up more. When the Soviets disappeared, the crosses flourished again and now it’s a booming forest called Kryžių Kalnas in Lithuanian or "Hill of Crosses", attracting people like us from all over the world.

Most are from Catholics (Pope John Paul II visited in 1993), but we saw a few Jewish Stars of David, and even an advert from a car dealership.

Moomin World: Pleasuredome of Innocence

Every once in a while a body needs something light to refresh itself, something not too taxing or demanding. After weeks of being immersed in Stalin's purges and pogroms, Putin's fatal indiscretions and brooding Russian existentialism, it was time for the kind of change that not even vodka can offer. When Yuko and I arrived in Helsinki we took a trip to the land of plushy trolls and bucolic innocence - Moomin World (Muumimaailma in Finnish). It's a magical place that sweeps you up into its stately pleasuredome the moment you enter its gates and rolls you back out on a whiff candyfloss a few hours later.

It's all based on the novels and comics that Tove Jansson originated back in the 1940s. The Moomins have since become an international sensation - they're very popular in Japan - and are scheduled to be turned into a film, "Moomins and the Comet Chase".
Moomin World is in Naantali, a small seaside town about 45 minutes outside of Turku. The Moomins live on their own tiny island in a bay linked by a bridge to the mainland. It's not immediately accessible or that well advertised, which is how it should be with these types of folks...

Canadians Abroad: Prague

Yuko and I just spent 5 days in Prague kicking down the cobblestones and skipping the light fandango with an old friend I haven't seen in at least 15 years and maybe even as long as 25. And I've got Facebook to thank for it. If not for this magical matchmaker of the ethersphere I wouldn't have met up with Steve, his Czech partner, Tslata, and their beautiful baby boy, Elvis.


Since Yuko and I finished traveling across Russia about 2 weeks ago, we've been making it up as we go along. "Finland? Sure! Lithuania? Of course!" When we found ourselves in Kraków in southern Poland, we decided to head west. Neither of us had ever been to Prague and I thought it would be a cool place to spend my birthday and hey! - maybe I could meet up with Steve. We reconnected just last winter and have kept in touch via FB ever since. It was weird enough experiencing a cyber-reunion, but were we ready to take the next step - full, frontal, face-to-face communication?! What would I wear? One problem - due to our whimsical travel schedule, I literally gave Steve a day's notice. It turned out to be good timing - he passed on his contact info and we were ready to rock!


We've all been there before - the dreaded reunions with people we haven't seen in ages...I mean, we were basically children the last time we "knew" each other and who's to say what might transpire? It turned out to be a blast. Steve is an excellent guy, a geniune gent. He's been living in Prague for a few years now, painting these beautiful canvasses, falling in love and...oh yeah, having a baby. If not for him, I never would have played the ultra-cool Red Room ("Wild Mountain Thyme", "Men Who Drank Canada Dry", "All Day Eggs"), seen the sun set from Letna Park, met Ilan or got an insider's perspective on life in one of the world's most remarkable cities. So here's to Steve, Zlata, Elvis and Ilan...long may you run.

Majestic: Reubens At The Hermitage

There it is - served up on Dvortsovaya square like a huge mint birthday cake floating on the Neva River. The Hermitage is Russia’s Louvre and like its French compadre, it would take days, if not weeks, to see all 3 million works of art within its hallowed halls. The former Winter Palace for Tsars and Tsarinas, it's St. Petersburg’s most recognizable landmark and one of its greatest pains in the ass. For years the city was desperate to fund its restoration and protect its spoils. It eventually found support from the world’s well funded international family of galleries.



I spent the most time inside the incredible Peter Paul Reubens room. More like a chapel, the room is the size of a bowling alley and is painted in bright orange/umber.


Some of Reuben’s finest works such as Venus Disarming Mars are on display and you can feel his power and presence radiating from the canvasses the moment you step into the room.


The one that caught my eye was Christ just before being crucified - Crown of Thorns (Ecce Homo). His shoulders and chest are smeared with the grime from a soldier’s grip and on his head rests a particularly sharp crown of thorns. A crimson satin sheet surrounds his body, while his arms are bound behind him pushing his naked torso forward so it resembles the powerful and erotic poses of a wounded St. Sebastian. It’s as though he’s stepped right out of a Derek Jarman film.


But the painting’s sublime expression resides in Christ’s eyes. Despite the humiliation and pain he's already endured they still retain a human majesty of tender proportions. He’s transcended his suffering and defeated his tormentors by offering them his forgiveness. It’s a perfect synthesis of the sacred and profane and unlike other works on the same theme, Reubens' Christ is utterly human.