You know the rest... the saying exists in Russia too, where the cat came in the form of my great boss, Roman, who was nice enough to go on a
week long trip to Toronto to attend the
international BBBS conference.
He got some amazing ideas of how to better market the BBBS brand here in Russia and how to improve employee and board of directors standards.
I got to be the excuse for the "mice" to skip out of work early many days in order to make sure I was getting a proper "Russian experience" during my internship.
Monday saw us riding on boats on the Moscow river:
On Thursday, I found myself
rollerskating in a beautiful park with the usual suspects (Marina and
Ilena):
Valentine opted for 2 wheels
instead of 8
We were determined not to let a few ominous grey clouds ruin our plans for a good time. Even when the thunder roared angrily, we skated with as much reckless abandon as one can manage when dominated by thoughts of keeping one's balance.
*
*
Then the rain hit.
*
*
This was no pedestrian, vanilla summer shower. Moscow was once again telling me that I should never taunt it (ask me personally about the multiple slices of humble pie I've been served in this city during this and my last visit). We sought shelter in one of the many Shashlik (meat on a skewer- oh yeah) stands, underneath a tarp that provided just enough shelter from the blowing rain. We huddled around the umbrella post in the middle to get as far away as possible from the angry, horizontal drops. Not satisfied, the clouds unleashed the hail, threatening to destroy our flimsy covering and clogging the drains. This resulted in our serious consideration of the possibilities of finding Noah as the level began to rise...
and rise... oh dear. We were huddled on the
pedestal of the
umbrella, a good 4 inches off of the ground, and were even higher due to our skates, but the water crept up and threatened our dry toes.
*
After it ended, we said a little prayer of gratitude and, realizing that my hour of skate rental had just rolled over
into two, took full advantage of the additional time to enjoy the much less crowded park.
Ilena's second time ever on
rollerblades was successful and we all left the park dry, tired, and without a single spill between us. The only strange
occurrence was the rental
location's insistence that I take their socks to wear. I had perfectly good rainbow striped socks to enhance my appearance and wore them instead (life's always better with funny socks, thanks for teaching me that, Grandma :). In communist Russia, socks wear you! No no, I didn't just do that, did I? Mi
Dispiace!
When we realized we had about five minutes to return my rentals and were on the other side of the park, we got crafty and I got the fastest blading experience of my life.
Thanks Valentine!
Friday was a day to get out of the city, to see Russia as the majority of its residents experience it every day. I got a very old sense of
deja vu as I turned off my
conscious mind and let my "
spidey senses" guide me to my meeting spot with Marina at
Savelovskaya, the metro line I used to use each day as I traveled to my internship at
Kidsave,
Intl. From there, we purchased tickets and rode for an hour and a half on the big lumbering
green metal train that groaned in protest as
Newon's laws were
demonstrated at each stop and start. We hopped off at
Marozki, the village where Marina grew up. Its bordered on
the west by a
manmade canal, said to be "built on bones" because during Stalin's reign, many prisoners lost their lives digging it and were buried in the ground as other worked around them.
We walked to the local preschool where her mom was about to get off of work. From there we went to her apartment where Marina and her mom had lived together until she got married last year. The simple two room apartment had the smallest kitchen I had ever viewed. Marina's bedroom was covered with Beatles posters, and decorations from all kinds of American bands. The paper on walls of the aging flat were ripped almost to shreds by one very naughty but charming individual named Thomas (aptly named so since he used one of two pets, sharing the living space with a rat named Jerry):
Her mother,
anticipating our arrival, had purchased "Confetti" which are the delicious
individually wrapped chocolate or taffy based candies that one can purchase so
inexpensively in bulk at almost any store or metro station. The varieties are infinite- tender marshmallow covered in dark chocolate, rich nut truffles, soft
toffees enrobed in chocolate, fruit cordials, wafers with cream... awesomeness,
individually wrapped.
We had some tea and munched on our snack while talking about her life growing up and the
privatization process she was going through in order to "own" the apartment they had technically been leasing from the government since Soviet times. Like any change in policy, it is sold as a "free and easy" process. It's free if you have hours and hours to spend on paperwork, always returning to the same office only to be sent on another paper trail. Free also if you let an inspector come into your flat- paying for his taxi and using your own time during business hours to accompany him. Or, you can pay about ten grand to a lawyer who will have it done for you the next day. Skepticism is rampant here, one need to do little digging to understand why.
When her mom came home, we hit it off immediately. She really wanted to feed us but we had other plans, so she was
satisfied with making sure I had one of every kind of Confetti she had bought to take with me and we said our goodbyes. Marina then took me on a walk around her beautiful little village where I could take in the houses displaying what is fast becoming one of my newest
fascinations: old,
pre-soviet Russian
architecture.
This house is unique, typically the houses look like they come from a fairy tale... perhaps a very ancient fairy tale because they are largely dilapidated, but still have their steep pitched roofs, intricate mouldings around the trim with tiny cutouts, and pastel colored wood accents contrasting nicely against the darker wood that makes up the majority of the house. I think what makes these houses so appealing is that you can really still feel them when you look at them. These homes were made by hand, and were quite labor intensive. You can feel the energy that comes from someone putting their all into creating a dwelling that the family has used for generations. Most people live in large apartment complexes if they live in any kind of populated area, only those living in the tiniest villages live in houses. The majority of the apartments were constructed during Soviet times and are all about the same from the outside. They are worn on the outside, all stacked next to each other, but they all have playgrounds outside and inside are families who make the most of what they have. I think I had been brainwashed into thinking your mood can be heavily influenced by your houses appearance... I think I'd allowed Better Homes and Gardens and
HGTV to convince me of that crap.
No, the families who live here do what they can to make the homes reflect who they are. The children are the same as anywhere, they love to play on the aging playground equipment and have no idea it's not state of the art. Kids chase each other, swing, play
with slingshots, and get yelled at by their parents. The families are so hospitable when you enter their home, offering little confetti, tea, cakes, anything they have in their tiny kitchens (Stalin envisioned people eating in workplace cafeterias largely and having little need for expansive home kitchens or living rooms for that matter). Even with almost nothing (five children shared one bicycle!), Nadia told me her childhood was happy and loving. I'm humbled by the
strength of these people, and sad at their pessimism about the future of their country and people.
So we hopped back on the train for another 20 minutes and got off in
Dimitriov, or "Little Moscow" because it was also founded by Yuri
Dolgoruki (Translates as Yuri
Longarms). We had a fun time in this newly revamped city that boasted shops, restaurants, and a freshly built feel, something unusual for this country and rather out of place. Still, one can't argue with inexpensive but yummy sushi (ALWAYS prepared by
Kazaks) available outside of Moscow or St. Pete. The business lunch deals make almost any restaurant affordable. I witnessed "hot rolls" for the first time, which are white fish fillets
surrounding rice, wrapped in seaweed, and then deep fried. They are then cut into the
familiar shape and topped with rich sauces. I stuck with the ones, but was amazed at the
different varieties on my plate that I had never experienced before.
We played in the old parks, shopped in the new stores, and actually bought the same shirt (different colors!), which indicated to us that we had been spending a wee bit too much time together.
The week ended too quickly, and Roman was back by Tuesday. I brought in cupcakes to welcome his return and give everyone a taste of proper baked goods, which never, ever come in shrink wrap.
That's right, Turns out Moscow, which has prettymuch everything you want in a big city, also has an underground Mod scene. The Vespa-worshipping, suit and dress clad hipsters take over clubs like Sixteen Tons and get old Mod revival bands travel from the other side of the iron curtain to provide the soundtrack for forgetting about everything and dancing your little booty off. Sixteen Tons is an amazing destination because its record collection is expansive and includes tons of rare vinyls whose music you'll never download on I-Tunes. DJ's here actually still spin records, and the crowd is small but energetic.
