Ryazan monogatari

Day 1

I'm writing these lines deep into the night, sitting at the little table in my room at the "Lovech" Hotel (note to self: really should find out what that name means). In the corner, the TV is quietly mumbling something in Italian. Surprisingly, the hotel offers a pretty decent selection of channels. And the room itself, though small, is actually quite cozy.
But let’s take it from the beginning.

So, why did I come to the glorious city of Ryazan? I was driven by a thirst for knowledge. Tomorrow, Ryazan State University is hosting a Japanese culture festival — something I couldn't possibly miss, especially since I’m studying Japanese myself.

Money saved up, ticket purchased, there I was, standing at the bus station in Lipetsk, waiting somewhat anxiously to board.
The anxiety was understandable: judging by the local bus fleet, it seemed highly probable I'd be traveling in something halfway between a prehistoric Ikarus and a rusty tin can inexplicably mounted on wheels.
However, things turned out a little better than expected: a bright neon canary-yellow Peugeot minibus, proudly plastered with ads about itself, pulled into the platform with great enthusiasm.
Not bad, really.
Except for the part where there was barely enough room for legs, meaning I spent the entire ride performing various acrobatic sketches just to fit myself in.
The ride also featured a delightful level of turbulence — at one point we hit a bump so hard that my headphones were catapulted out of my ears like a party crasher getting kicked out of an elite university.
Quickly and irreversibly.

As for the scenery — well, there's not much to say.
Cows. Horses. Ramshackle one-story huts. Endless fields.
Rinse and repeat randomly for the entire stretch between Lipetsk and Ryazan.

And what about Ryazan itself?
Weirdly enough, it felt like stumbling into some unexplored corner of Lipetsk: everything looks familiar yet somehow slightly off.
Phone numbers, billboards, store signs — little details like these kept reminding me that, no, I wasn't at home.

You can tell that she is tired of waiting for him to pop The Question

One thing that did bring a genuine smile to my face was the sight of a McDonald's.
Sure, the health inspectors might be ringing alarm bells, dietitians cursing in twelve languages, and anti-globalists clutching their pitchforks — but me? I was otherwise occupied.
After all, a Big Mac and fries aren’t going to eat themselves.

Day 2

Waking up at 6:30 AM actually turned out to be a good idea.
After a pretty hearty breakfast, I set out on a scouting mission — to find the university and get a closer look at the city.
A sweet little observation: Ryazan has a lot of sky.
What I mean is, there aren’t many tall buildings — five stories is about the max, and most places are just two or three.
In general, getting around the city was easy: the main traffic artery slices Ryazan almost perfectly in half, so if you stick to it, you can get pretty much anywhere without much drama.

After making it to the statue of a certain bald Soviet-era leader, I realized it wasn’t going to be quite that simple.
No point wandering blindly, so after interrogating two lovely Ryazan ladies with extreme prejudice, I hopped onto a marshrutka.
Seven minutes later, I found myself staring in wide-eyed admiration at the university.
The building looked like it had stepped straight out of some pre-revolutionary photograph of Tsarist Russia.

Inside — even more awe: soaring ceilings, plasterwork, columns, a grand central staircase that just begged for an impromptu photo shoot.
After a bit of wandering, I found the department I needed.
One glance at the surroundings and a line from Bashō popped into my head:

"The sun lightly touches Mt. Fuji —
Learn from it, O you who are in love!"

Photos of Japan everywhere, posters, announcements written in Japanese with Russian translations — the place breathed with Eastern spirit.
For a while, I even forgot why I'd come.

Eventually, a poster caught my eye, and I reassured myself that I hadn’t screwed up the dates: the Japanese Culture Festival was definitely happening, welcoming guests and participants alike.
Like a little piece of Ukiyo-e — Ryazan-style.

The festival itself was chaotic, brilliant, and fleeting — like happiness itself!
It started with Ryazan State students performing songs and dances in Japanese.
You can't help but feel a wave of linguistic respect when you see young Slavic-looking girls chattering away fluently in Japanese.

The hosts were a delight — two Russian girls in kimonos.
One would announce performances in Japanese, the other would translate into Russian, and sometimes they'd switch it up for fun.
It was pretty entertaining to watch the Japanese guests bowing from their seats after each performance.

The concert itself was short — maybe 30–40 minutes — and then came the seminars.
The offerings were refreshingly diverse: origami and the tea ceremony, ikebana and bon-odori (some kind of dances), anime discussions and beginner Japanese classes.
There was even a Japanese book sale — all proceeds went to earthquake relief efforts.

I popped into the seminars here and there, but as usual, ended up behind the scenes.
I got roped into helping, alongside a few girls, to escort Madam Hinako, who was planning to bring some souvenirs from Central Russia back to Osaka.

Within seconds, my meager stock of Japanese words was exhausted, and I shamefully switched to English, abandoning the languages of Kobo Abe and Kabuki theater for the rest of the evening.

Toward evening, the unofficial part of the mission began: escorting all the Japanese guests to the bus station.
Picture this: 18 people, each with an unstoppable urge to photograph every single bush.
Complicating factor: they kept scattering like school kids caught smoking behind the gym.

My cellphone was dead by then, and my camera was safely forgotten back at the hotel, so all the selfies with Japanese students and the chaos of the escort mission are now tucked somewhere deep in my brain cortex as pleasant little memories.

For those who are curious it says "dozo irasshaimase" in Japanese. "Please come in" that is.

After what felt like an endless cycle of farewells, we finally managed to bundle all our Eastern friends onto the Moscow-bound bus — complete with endless bows and heartfelt "sayonaras."
In a noble effort to improve my linguistic competence, I swapped addresses with Yoko — an utterly charming girl wearing sneakers so loaded with glitter that even Elton John would’ve been proud to strut around in them.

As the bus pulled away, we started heading back to the car.
Our arms were practically sore from waving — the entire Japanese group spent a good five minutes enthusiastically waving back from the windows.

But it wasn’t over yet.
While the bus made a loop to leave the station, we managed to cut across and meet them again at the exit.
Cue another round of furious waving and beaming smiles.

I barely made it back to the hotel when the girls from Ryazan State University dragged me back out for a nighttime stroll around the city.
Turns out, language students really are cut from the same cloth: random impromptu switches into English and a shared disdain for hardcore linguistics theory made it feel like we'd studied together all along — even if it was in different cities.

Day 3

Looking back, I’d say the trip was a success. No two ways about it. Ryazan turned out to be a charming little place. Even the weather — nonstop drizzle and a gloomy +12°C — couldn’t spoil the mood.

Now, about the Japanese guests. I’d read about their culture. I’d read about their manners. But I never expected them to be this way: cheerful, curious, and — yeah, it’s a cliché — positive. Full of life. Expressive. That was a real surprise. We’ve all heard the stereotype of the ever-composed Japanese. And sure, maybe that holds for the older generation — Hinako-san, for instance, was all politeness and composure. But the students? They laughed easily, gasped openly, and lit up like kids at Disneyland. Way more alive than I imagined.

Watching them interact in real life was something else. Anime and movies don’t prepare you for this. It was… just cool. No better word comes to mind.

I already wrote a bit about Ryazan, but now I want to talk about the feeling of it. For me, Ryazan will always be “the city with too much sky.” Maybe it’s because of the cursed rain that kept pulling my eyes upward, searching for a break in the clouds. But no — it’s more about the scale of the place. The part of town I wandered through had barely any tall buildings. Some five-story ones, sure, but more often it was just one or two floors. And not in a run-down way — these were lovely little houses, like something from old postcards of Lipetsk.

And the thing is — that only made the city more beautiful. It gave it character. Maybe it’s just my aversion to loud cities, or my fondness for quiet charm, but I really loved the homey feel of Ryazan. Its modest appeal. Its laid-back charisma.

The people, too — incredibly kind. I don’t know why, but literally everyone — from souvenir shopkeepers to marshrutka drivers to bored-looking receptionists — was warm and helpful. And don’t even get me started on the RSU staff or the local police. They were all endlessly patient with this lost and clueless Lipetsk tourist, answering even the dumbest of questions with grace.

And finally — a massive thank you to Irina Sergeevna Idilova, the head of the Eastern Languages Department and the person who first invited me to the festival. And of course, to Inna and Katya — my charming Ryazan guides who helped me realize that Japan isn’t nearly as far away as it seems.

 

Unknown connoisseur of Ryazan is sure that "if you want to be something in Ryazan - be f*cking impressed!"