A Prayer in the Snow

Avignon brought us Catholic gravity, Kyoto Buddhist stillness, and Jaisalmer Hindu mysticism. Now we find ourselves in the hush of a Russian winter, where frozen pine meets drifting incense and the quiet devotion of Eastern Orthodoxy.

Imagine walking past a campfire deep within a forest of pine. The air carries the icy chill of somewhere distant and barren, infused with the sharp, leathery scent of smouldering birch wood. A hint of chili suggests a bright flame, but the rising smoke is quickly cooled by the night air.

This piney leatheriness never fully departs, but as we enter the sacred space, the scent softens. Lilac florals and citrus-tinged incense wisp around carved cedar pews, tempering the sting of the opening without diluting its austerity.

There’s no sense of Gothic grandeur here, nor the ecclesiastical richness we found in Avignon. This is hushed reverence in a snow-covered chapel, where birch, cedar, and frankincense linger in the stillness.

Birch tar is one of my least favourite notes, so even in its relatively restrained form, Zagorsk never quite sits right with me. The delicate florals and softer woods do little to fully soften its charred, leathery edge, which continues to grate against my nose until around three hours in, when only the incense remains. By then, however, the scent is almost undetectable.