Victory Day is perhaps my new favorite holiday. The streets of Moscow fill with people bearing orange and black ribbons, waving flags above the crowds. Everyone comes out of their hiding place to celebrate the day that Russia ended the Second World War.

The blini stand had a sign outside of it that read: “Сколько хотите, столько заплатите–Pay as much as you want, so long as you pay.” We confusedly fumbled with our rubles and, in keeping with the tradition of Minnesota nice, were perhaps a little too generous. We walked at a leisurely pace to Kuznetsiy Most’, where I payed 50 rubles for a sweet, carbonated drink from an old Soviet soda water machine. With my stomach full and thirst satisfied, I wandered the street to observe the festivities.

There were cries of laughter as children chased each other along the cobble-road. Someone actually smiled at me as they handed me a black-and-orange-striped ribbon. We passed a group of young men with horns and a drum kit. We were part-way down the street when we heard a familiar blaring of horns. We immediately turned back and joined the crowd that was now forming.
Katyusha is a song that was introduced to us back at Carleton, when the thought of going to Moscow was more a lofty consideration than reality. The song itself was composed in 1938, just before WWII. Katyusha wanders among the apple trees and thinks of her beloved, sending him a song of her love. Of all the wartime songs written during the era, soldiers were fond of this song, even nicknaming the BM-8, BM-13, BM-31 “Katyusha” rocket launchers. The song remains a token of the past, still known today even among the younger generations.
As the band played this lively song, a child began to dance. An older woman seized his hands and danced with him. Afterwards, she shouted “It’s Victory Day! We must all dance, we must all celebrate!” Unfortunately, my camera died at this point. As the next song started, she pulled people in, urging everyone to dance, including myself (I would like to note that she was supernaturally strong). Although I could feel my Carleton awkward seeping through, I couldn’t help but smile at her spirit and happiness.