My Santiago

Uglich - 138 Moscow

Pleasant cacophony, Four piece make - shift band greets us, As we disembark.

This is the Uglich’s big day, With boats berthing for the afternoon.

There’s money to be made, And the four men Bring reprise rusted snare drum, accordion and trumpet.

At the Uglich Kremlin, Stand the Babushka clad ladies; Two sweet fifty - something locals, Singing in offbeat tremulous voices. The place is old, Careworn, Steeped in history, myth, superstition; The son of a Tsar strangled with his necklace by two men In the middle of the street.

The murderers, Stoned by the peasants but the investigation pronounced guilt on the townspeople, Sending some to Siberia, Along with the ‘guilty’ bell;

Which failed to raise the alarm.

The bell in back in town now, Pride of place restored!

The Convent, Destroyed by Bolsheviks, Now undergoing gradual renovation to its past glory.

Each year, Just a bit more appears, A miracle in the making.

Our guide, Vladimir, tells a joke about the KGB, Involving a two-story building