The 44th President of the United States of America

Did you know that Barak Obama is actually only the 43rd president of the United States? That is because President Grover Cleveland served two nonconsecutive terms and gets counted twice. How do I know that when yesterday I could not even tell you who Grover Cleveland was? Boston Metro published a special inauguration edition today (which I seem to be unable to find online), and it was full of fun facts about U.S. Presidents.

I leave you with a photo published today in that same Boston Metro special inauguration edition. Photographer Pete Souza took this photo in Moscow in 2005.

Don't Talk to Strangers

Do not talk to strangers and certainly do not get in their cars. That is what I have been taught all my life. Yet, getting into a stranger’s car is exactly what you have to do in Moscow, if you want a ride from point A to point B. Taxis in Moscow are almost non-existent. You can order one over the phone, but it will take considerable time for it to come and pick you up.

Entrepreneurial car owners work hard to fill this deficit in licensed taxis. If you stand on the curb and stretch your arm out, a private car will inevitably pull over. You give the driver your destination and bargain over the price. Once you agree on the price, you can get in the car. If you cannot agree, you try your luck with a different car and driver.

Russian society is still rather male dominated. A lone woman hailing a car late at night would not surprise many. However, a woman, accompanied by an able man, yet still doing all the talking, and making decisions herself does put the drivers on guard. Since Nick does not speak Russian, I had to talk to the drivers, while they stared at Nick clearly wondering why they had to deal with a woman.

As on our previous trip, when coming back from our friends’ house late at night, Nick and I decided to get a car. Our friends expertly flagged down the car, settled on the price, and ushered us in. Since all the required conversation with the driver was finished, I let Nick get in the front in hopes of preserving appearances.

The minute we got in the car, the driver yelled at Nick for closing the car door too hard. I apologized profusely, while Nick, all flustered, kept trying to buckle up. “You don’t need to buckle up,” said the driver. “He likes to,” I squeaked from the back seat. “What is he, American or something?” So much for appearances. I had to admit that Nick was American, and thus a can of worms was opened.

While speedily weaving between traffic and swearing at his fellow drivers, our driver proceeded to tell me the story of some distant relative of his wife, who moved to Anchorage, Alaska, after marrying an American woman. Six children later, this relative left the woman because she gained 200 pounds. The story did not end there. The woman’s second marriage, 3 more children, and a divorce were all presented to prove the inferiority of American women.

I tried hard to keep quiet and agree with everything the driver said. The conversation soon shifted to comparing salaries and the cost of living in Russia and US. One careless statement from me, referring to “our country” when talking about US, and my last secret was out. “What, you live there too?!” “Yes actually, that is my husband sitting in the front.” The driver’s interest only perked up, and more questions about money, jobs and real estate prices followed.

At some point we started talking about taxi cabs. I had to explain that if I tried to flag a car down in Boston, only licensed taxis would pull over, and that I would never get into a private car even if one did stop. He was surprised to hear that I was weary of being assaulted or kidnapped when getting into a stranger’s car that was not a licensed taxi in any city including Moscow. The driver laughed when I asked him if he was afraid of being assaulted or robbed when picking random people. He said that unlike in other cities, people in Moscow were very friendly—in the past year he has been assaulted only 3 times. “My point exactly,” I thought to myself and felt very thankful that we were almost home.

The Omnipresent Shoehorns

What is the last time you saw a shoehorn in US? Yet a shoehorn is something no self-respecting Russian can live without. Or at least so it seems.

Our friends in Russia always offered us a shoehorn on our way out. (It is customary to take your shoes off when entering someone’s house in Russia). The little apartment we rented in Moscow did not have a cork screw in its “fully equipped” kitchen, but it had a two foot long shoehorn. The Red Arrow train overnight kit included a shoehorn along with a toothbrush and toothpaste. Even the Domodedovo airport had a shoehorn for passengers to use after they had removed their shoes to go through security.

Back when my parents and I lived in Russia, we had a shoehorn too. It hung on the coat rack by the door. My parents did not use it often—it was mostly for guests, but my grandparents on the other hand used their shoehorn all the time.

Ideally you want to slide your foot into a shoe without damaging its back. You could step into the shoe, and jiggle your foot until it goes in, but that is not ideal for the shoe. You can also help your foot with your hands, but you need to bend down to do that. This is where a two foot long shoehorn comes in very handy—no need to bend down, and no need to bend the shoe.

Moscow and Portable Toilets

How did Moscow solve the common problem of people in need of answering the call of nature while walking around the city? In a very simple way—porta-potties.

Porta-potties of every color pop up all over the city. Upon first seeing the porta-potties in Red Square, I thought that the authorities brought them out to accommodate the crowds expected on Victory Day. However, as we spent more time in Moscow, we encountered similar facilities almost everywhere we went.

Prices varied depending on the location. The closer the porta-potty was to the city center, or a major tourist attraction, the higher was the fee to use it. Strangely enough we saw some free ones along Nikolskaya Street, but nobody was using them. Perhaps they were locked—I did not check.

Each row of porta-potties was attended by a woman, often an older lady, who collected the money and kept the units relatively clean and stocked with toilet paper. Every porta-potty attendant had her own port-potty. In other words, in a row of porta-potties, there was one never used for nature calls. Instead, it was furnished, probably by the attendant herself, to provide a comfortable shelter from the elements. The ones I happened to see were often decorated, and always well stocked with cleaning supplies, food, newspapers and magazines.

The porta-potties definitely provide an excellent and cheap solution to the common problem of people looking for a public restroom while walking around in Moscow. However, despite their colorfulness, they do not add to the beauty of the city.

Elusive Tanks

As I mentioned in the previous post, this year was the first time the tanks took part in the Victory Day parade since the collapse of the Soviet Union, and Nick and I were determined to see them. Yet, finding the tanks proved to be more then trivial.

In any “normal” country, such “patriotic display of force” would be well publicized, with the route and street closures announced far in advance. But that is not the Russian way. Nobody we talked to knew the exact route the tanks would follow. Following our friends’ advice we headed to the Pushkin Square, hoping to see the tanks along Tverskaya Street on their way to Red Square.

The parade on Red Square started at 10am. When we arrived at the Puskin Square shortly before 10, Tverskaya Street was closed to traffic. Enormous crowds filled the sidewalks, threatening to spill out into the street. To prevent such a calamity, yellow tape was strung up along the edge of the road, and militiamen, Russian equivalent of policemen, spread themselves out along the sidewalk intimidating some with their presence.

Yet, everyone around us was in a festive mood. Everyone, young and old, came out to see the tanks. Adults were as giddy as their children with excitement. Throughout the week we saw people wearing St. George ribbons on their clothes, bags, attached to their car antennas. Now everyone also proudly waved Russian flags of all sizes. Nick and I found a good spot on the edge of the sidewalk, and settled in to wait.

Further down the street, a few people ducked under the yellow tape and ran across Tverskaya. Almost immediately a militiaman came running down the street screaming into a megaphone. What would you expect a US policeman say in this situation? Perhaps something like, “Please stay on the sidewalk! Please do not step out onto the road.” The Russian version of the same directive translated to the following, “Get off the road! Can’t you hear me? What part of what I am saying don’t you understand? Yes, I am speaking to you! Off the road now!”

As we waited, we noticed that the militia cars zooming back and forth were occasionally shouting something into their megaphones. In fact, they kept repeating that the tanks would not pass along Tverskaya Street, and that we should all stop waiting for them here. This information was confusing to say the least. If there would be no tanks along Tverskaya, then why the road was still closed to traffic, and why all these Muscovites continued to wait not moving an inch.

A little old lady standing next to us with a little boy, probably her grandson, seemed quite upset by the militia announcements. “They are bluffing,” she said. “They just want us all to leave.” She was determined to stay where she was.

Nick and I were less persistent—we decided to follow militia’s advice and move on. After taking a leisurely stroll around the Patriarch Ponds, we walked over to Sadovoe Koltso, one of the locations mentioned by the militia cars. In the end the tanks did follow Sadovoe Koltso and not Tverskaya Street on their way back from Red Square. Ironically, militia provided us with correct information after all. The mystery still remains as to why Tverskaya was left closed to all traffic if not in use by the tanks.

May 9th in Moscow

In Russia World War II is referred to as the Great Patriotic War. Growing up I remember being taught that Russia single-handedly defeated the Nazis and won World War II. So naturally, May 9th, Russia’s Victory Day, is a very important holiday celebrated by everyone in the country. In Moscow, the day is commemorated by a parade in Red Square, as well as many smaller parades all over the city. Fireworks brighten the skies in the evening.

When I was little, I remember celebrating May 9th very well. There were always special pre-holiday events at school. On May 9th, my family usually gathered at my grandmother’s house in the afternoon for dinner. My dad or my grandfather would take me to the nearby sports complex to watch a local parade and other festivities taking place there in the morning.

Early May is a beautiful time to be in Moscow. Lilacs, apple and cherry trees are in bloom. The greenery is still of that tender green color, not yet tainted by pollution. Beautiful tulips are nicely arranged in flowerbeds all over the city. It is possible that this year particular care has been put into making the city center look nice and clean, because the new president of Russia, Dmitry Medvedev, was inaugurated in Kremlin on May 7th.



Also for the first time since the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, tanks rolled through Red Square as part of the Victory Day parade. Nick and I could not pass up the chance to see the tanks. Of course, Red Square has been closed to ordinary people since the day before, so watching the parade itself was out of the question. However, all the heavy artillery had to drive to and from Red Square, though the route seemed to be a mystery not only to us—foreigners, but to many Muscovites as well—more on that later. We finally saw the tanks along Sadovoe Koltso, each one bigger and more powerful then its predecessor, as they returned from the parade.

Later in the day we saw a small parade along Arbat. World War II veterans surrounded by family and supporting each other, many of them carrying flowers, walked with gloomy faces behind a small military marching band. All over the city I noticed many people carrying bunches of flowers. They would give single flowers to veterans passing them by on the street.

Блинчики

While in Moscow, Nick and I ate a lot of blintzes. We ordered them at the restaurants and cafes. We bought them ready made at grocery stores. We ate the at my friends’ house. Plain, filled with meat, tvorog, mushrooms, red caviar, or smoke salmon, they were delicious.

Unfortunately, here in the US blintzes are not as readily available. So Saturday morning I decided to quench my nostalgia and make my own blintzes. I followed the recipe from Victor’s Café, making 1/3 of the amount and adding a little extra sugar. Starting with a few somewhat thick and slightly darker ones, I managed to produce a few round thin blintzes. Nick and I opened a jar of red caviar, made some tea, and relived some of the best moments of our trip.

Treasure Hunting

When I was little, New Years was a very big holiday for us, just as it was for most people in the Soviet Union. Dad and I put up our fake New Years tree. We decorated our apartment, and I waited for presents from Father Frost on New Years Eve.

As far as tree ornaments went my mom loved large balls, and greatly preferred them over various figurines. Every December, despite the cost, she bought one or two of these ornaments for the tree. By February the decorations were wrapped in napkins, put away into large shoes boxes, and everything together with the fake tree went back to grandpa’s garage. There the treasure lay until next December. And there it lay untouched for many years.

Recently I realized that if I am ever to put up a Christmas tree in my house, I would like to have some of the ornaments I so dearly loved when I was little. Coming to Moscow this time I was determined to get to those shoe boxes and bring back a couple of those pretty balls my mom bought.

Our first attempt to get into the garage was rather unsuccessful. None of the three keys available turned the giant padlock hanging on the garage door. Since neither my aunt nor my cousin harbored any hopes of finding the right key, only one option remained—cutting the lock.

The next morning, my aunt and I headed to the market. The sales person knew exactly what we were up to when we asked for the magic combo of a padlock and a saw. When I told him that I was planning to do the job myself, laughter erupted behind me. A young guy just could not believe his ears and there was nothing I could have said to convince him. Men in Russia still expect their women to cook, launder and bear children, and to mind their business when it comes to such manly tasks as sawing.

Back at the garage, I got through about 3 millimeters of the lock thickness in about 10 minutes, but progress was slow. The saw we bought was missing a screw, and the blade kept slipping. So I walked over to neighboring garage where an older guy was putzing around with some instruments. He gave me a doubtful look, but added a screw to my saw. As I started to walk back, he offered to do the job with an electric saw. As determined as I was to prove Russian men wrong, I could not resist the electric saw. Our garage neighbor cut the lock off in less then 5 minutes, and doing it by hand would have taken me close to an hour.

Pawing through cobwebs my aunt and I ventured inside. She held a rickety ladder as I climbed up to the shelf under the ceiling to extract the boxes of ornaments I knew so well. The boxes were beat up and dirty, but inside the pretty sparkling balls lay untouched carefully wrapped in napkins as if packed away just a few months ago.

As I picked out a few favorites, our garage neighbor came back. He clearly started worrying that he just helped two strangers break into someone’s garage. He relaxed when he saw no car inside, but wondered if New Years came early this year.

The shiny new padlock contrasted with the rest of the garage front, mostly unused in the last three years with grass growing across its entrance. As we left, my aunt was hoping that she will not have to go through the lock cutting process again, and I was wondering how in the world I would pack my shiny pretty treasure to stop it from turning into a pile broken glass during our flight home.

Чужой Среди Своих

There is this Russian movie made back in mid 70s, which by the way I don't think I have ever seen, that is called "Свой среди чужих, чужой среди своих". The Russian title approximately translates to "A Friend Among Strangers, A Stranger Among Friends", or "At Home Among Strangers, Stranger At Home." I thought that was an appropriate headline for this post.

During my previous visits to Moscow I have heavily relied on my mother's and my aunt's knowledge of the city. This was the first time I was hanging out in the city center without detailed directions from anyone on how to get to where I want to go. I did not realize how badly I know my way around the city. In other words, I do not know my way around the city.

Sadly I felt like I was a foreigner just like my husband and my friends. The only difference was that I could speak the language. Otherwise, I had to pour over maps, spend long time reading signs, ask questions on the street. I did not know how to go about doing some basic things, such as getting on a bus, for example. I thought that I would feel like a local just a few days after our arrival, but I did not.

Moscow is rapidly changing and losing its old ways, while I am rapidly getting older and forgetting the old ways.

We returned from Moscow happy, but exhausted. Our exhilarating trip was too short, as always.

In many ways Moscow has changed. Advertizement boards are everywhere, including the subway platform. The number of booths selling goods near the metro stations must has tripled. Plombir ice cream s eemed hard to find, while the ice cream booths overflow with Nestle ice cream bars. Pirojki are still sold everywhere, but so are hot dogs wrapped in puff pastry. The city center looked well taken care of--many old buildings were in the process of being restored or appeared to be newly painted. Yet the people have remained the same, though many more now speak some English.

Over all, the things that immediately come to mind are below.

I am so glad I

• spent some quality time with my friends and met their children, whom I will have a hard time recognizing next time I visit
• got together with classmates, some of whom I have not seen for over 17 years
• witnessed Alice and Jon first reactions to Russia

I wish I

• Spent more time with my aunt skipping any discussion on whether Nick and I have been eating properly
• Could stay in Moscow longer
• went to the Tretyakov Gallery, instead of the Pushkin Museum

More specific stories coming soon…

In Moscow and No Time To Write