|Welcome to my humble abode|
The past has an irresistible pull, drawing you deeper into the yellowing pages of a half-open book, or the folds in a fine gown that hasn’t seen a ballroom in centuries, until you find yourself growing nostalgic for a time you never lived in and people you never had a chance to meet. There is something strange and wonderful about old mansions, with their majestic balconies and sweeping staircases, a half-open door like a beckoning glove-clad hand. A few weeks ago, I had the chance to explore an early 18th century estate on the outskirts of Moscow, perhaps one of the best-kept secrets of the area. Although it was built from wood alone, there are hardly any signs of wear to the structure. Three hundred years later, the estate lives on as a museum and occasional movie set.