Part 3
Photo: GORK
Geo: Brest, BY
The largest of the western cities of Belarus, Brest evokes mixed feelings. On one hand, the central promenade, reminiscent of Nizhny Novgorod’s Pokrovka, where historical plaques hang more often than every other house, cozy restaurants with an abundance of draniki and koldunds, and a measured life. On the other hand, the Brest Fortress — a harsh place of the heroism of Soviet soldiers that hits you like a hammer on the head.
The fortress occupies a considerable area, which has been turned into an open-air museum with massive memorials to warriors and stelae. Despite the wide space of the central square, there is a heavy feeling that seems to be absorbed by the very ground. It’s hard for me to describe it in words — you need to come personally and walk around the fortress. In the breach sector on the western part, the walls are sometimes simply absent, but where the structure of the outpost has survived, there is hardly a spot on the facades that is intact — everything is riddled with shrapnel and ruptures.
There is one thing that doesn’t fit in your mind: you exit through the bridge from the main gate, where the main assault took place, walk 150−200 meters, and see a large triangular archaeological pavilion. Inside, they discovered remnants of an ancient Slavic settlement made of logs and wooden pavements dating back to the 13th century. They were found in the late 1970s. Among the exhibits are unique remains of houses made from 12 logs — an extremely rare find for such age. The pavilion was built specifically to maintain a climatic regime.
After walking around the Brest Fortress, a reasonable thought arose in my mind that destruction also befell the rest of the city. However, outside the fortress, the architecture was practically unharmed, unlike Minsk, which was leveled during World War II and rebuilt in the post-war period.
Cycle Contents
@gorkjournal
Photo: GORK
Geo: Brest, BY
The largest of the western cities of Belarus, Brest evokes mixed feelings. On one hand, the central promenade, reminiscent of Nizhny Novgorod’s Pokrovka, where historical plaques hang more often than every other house, cozy restaurants with an abundance of draniki and koldunds, and a measured life. On the other hand, the Brest Fortress — a harsh place of the heroism of Soviet soldiers that hits you like a hammer on the head.
The fortress occupies a considerable area, which has been turned into an open-air museum with massive memorials to warriors and stelae. Despite the wide space of the central square, there is a heavy feeling that seems to be absorbed by the very ground. It’s hard for me to describe it in words — you need to come personally and walk around the fortress. In the breach sector on the western part, the walls are sometimes simply absent, but where the structure of the outpost has survived, there is hardly a spot on the facades that is intact — everything is riddled with shrapnel and ruptures.
There is one thing that doesn’t fit in your mind: you exit through the bridge from the main gate, where the main assault took place, walk 150−200 meters, and see a large triangular archaeological pavilion. Inside, they discovered remnants of an ancient Slavic settlement made of logs and wooden pavements dating back to the 13th century. They were found in the late 1970s. Among the exhibits are unique remains of houses made from 12 logs — an extremely rare find for such age. The pavilion was built specifically to maintain a climatic regime.
After walking around the Brest Fortress, a reasonable thought arose in my mind that destruction also befell the rest of the city. However, outside the fortress, the architecture was practically unharmed, unlike Minsk, which was leveled during World War II and rebuilt in the post-war period.
Cycle Contents
@gorkjournal