I have followed the many ranks of people who have gone to ogle at a dead man in a glass box. Not any dead man, granted, but the (in)famous Lenin, who’s image is all across the city.
What strikes you first, of course, is the imposing size of the mausoleum, the large, dark stone slabs and the minimalist, geometric style. Nice guards at the gate give away to frowning, serious guards inside, shushing any conversation, and hurrying you along, creating a feeling of rushed solemnity.
The man himself is also a surprise. Small, lying seemingly asleep, he looks like a wax statue from Madame Tussauds. The only thing I could think, as I walked around the glass coffin, was that small men have large power complexes…and immediately felt sacrilegious so attempted to look at the big hall, the minimal soviet symbolism (the use of red blocks, some common motifs on the coffin).
It was all over surprisingly quickly, especially when you take into account that there was barely anyone there. We felt rushed however, under the watchful gaze of the grim, uniformed men.
It is a bizarre experience. I don’t know what else to say.