In the North of Russia, there is the Kirillo-Belozersky Monastery. A massive kremlin that had to fend off sieges seriously. It’s a beautiful place. This monastery is located in the town of Kirillov. Well, “located” might not be the right word… The town is essentially attached to it. It used to be a small village called “Kirillovo,” which grew around the enormous monastery that once owned not only this village but also 20,000 peasant souls. However, Catherine II decided that it was inappropriate for a monastery to be in a village, so she ordered the place to be designated as a town, apparently as compensation for the monastery’s land expropriation.
The “town” itself is unique. If you stand in the center of the “town,” you see the only hotel in front of you, and right behind it is a forest. Behind you, the road leads to Lake Beloe, to the right are a couple of houses and more forest, while to the left looms a massive monastery wall. In fact, my visit to those places left me with the impression that there had never been any Soviet authority there. Yes, the Bolsheviks came. But they weren’t let into the monastery. In reality, the Bolsheviks did take control, but that’s not the focus of this story.
Here we are, we arrived at White Lake and checked into the hotel, the one in the woods. It’s night. I’m sleeping. Suddenly, the phone rings. Half-asleep, I think, “How did someone figure out that I’m here?” “How did they find out my room number?” “Who needs me at three in the morning?” I fumble for the phone, still wondering why anyone would need me, bring it to my ear while still half-asleep, and hear a strained voice through the static:
— Hello!!! Is this Kirill?
— No, this is Petrov, — I reply and hang up the phone.
I only realized in the morning that I had responded inappropriately.