So. Another Moscow weekend has come and gone, along with some very important lessons.
Yesterday, I went with Agata (my Polish friend), Elena, her Croatian friend, and Jan, the really cute Czech boy, to an ice sculpture garden on the other side of the river. To get there, we walked through Sparrow Hills. This area is on the north side of the university. During weekend days, souvenier hawkers abound, and there are a ton of little shops selling food and the like (including, inexplicably, 2-3 kroshka kartoshkas, these little fast-food places that specialize in putting yummy-looking things on potatoes). But the area is mostly where people do snow sports... skiing and sledding, to my knowledge. So, we walked through there... it was largely scenic. We considered coming time in the near future to go sledding... apparently, you wrap your pillow in plastic and use that! lol.
Side note: I skipped my first class yesterday. I wasn't sick or hungover or anything, but there was a pounding from the room above mine until 4am, so I couldn't sleep. Plus, my Russian professor had moved class an hour earlier, and I was kind of protesting getting up at 8am on a Saturday to walk to class in the snow. It seemed unreasonable.
So anyway, we walked across the river, past the sports stadium (I think this is where the 1980 Olympics were... it is now a hotel and stadium) to a little ice park. It cost 300p to get in, but was pretty cool. I have a few pictures... It was essentially 3 loops, and I wish we had walked back around so I could have taken more pictures. Some of the figures were Ice Age-themed (?) including two plushie squirrels, encased in ice, facing in, to a giant ice acorn. The rest were dragons. One looked like Cthulhu, with dyed-red eyes, but as we did not walk back around (I hadn't realized there was a separate exit) I didn;t get a picture. Another part had sea creatures and aquarium scenes in clear ice, so they looked like still fish tanks.
We stopped and drank some tea in the little cafe there, and watched Duck Tales and Ratatouille in Russia. I still cannot get over how badly-dubbed things are. Apparently, some of the people here have issues with roaches and mice. None of us had bugs, but Jan had a mouse come in under his door one day...
So, we walked to the nearest metro (two away from universitet). We had to walk under a bridge, where a little sketchy-looking flea market was getting taken down. So, from there we went to Fruzenskaya, which features a 24-HOUR MY-MY!!! (Moo-moo in English). I don't know if I had mentioned My-My before, but I am pretty obsessed with the place. It is Russian fast-food. You grab a tray, go down the buffet, and tell them what you want. It is pretty inexpensive, and the best food I've had in Moscow...
Jan did tell me you aren't allowed to take pictures of the metro. Which is good to know before I enacted my "Walking photo tour of Moscow's metros" I wanted to try on a boring off-day.
So, I got home just in time to meet the other girls and Spencer to go to a Tchaikovsky concert we were given tickets to. As we were going out from there, I put on cute high-heeled boots, in case we went to a place with face control. Bad idea. The directions Marina sent us were terrible. She had us get off near Red Square, then wander around to Ohotny Ryad (the next metro stop! WTF?). Then, it turns out we had to get on a different metro line, and it was right by the stop... something nobody told us.
From there, we walked to the Starlite diner to meet everyone... it was so late, they weren't going to let us in. I know, crummy American diner... wasn't my idea. I had some chili cheese fries (which I've been craving), Russian champagne (85p a glass) and the most amazing, delicious, overpriced monstrosity known to man... a peanut butter nutella waffle ice cream sandwich. Yes, that just happened.
From there, we went to an American-themed bar on the corner. I finally had a white Russian, and we just chilled for awhile. We were going to go to Papa's Place, the cheap Monday night spot, but decided instead to go Club Propaganda. Grisha got talked into taking a cab, so we took a cab for 100p apiece... still not bad. As soon as we got to the club (it was 1130, so it wasn't a club yet... it changes over at 12) almost everyone decided to leave to drink in the dorms. Grisha, Will, Dan, and I soldiered on, claiming half the fun was going out. Jeff soon joined us.
Propaganda is one of Moscow's most famous clubs. It kind of looks like a warehouse, and has very few drink options, but the drinks are cheap and there is no cover. Most of our friend who have been here a while aren't very fond of Propaganda, believing it to be a foreigner's club. I don't know how true that is... The clientele seems to be mostly older women and hipsters.
One of the boys tried to hit on a much older woman (a gynecologist fluent in 5 languages) and her receptionist (speaks only Russian). The recpetionist, Sveta, took a liking to me, said I spoke good Russian (huh?), dragged me on the dance floor constantly, and grabbed my hand to escort her to the ladies' room. SOOOO much energy. The music was odd techno, which took a bit of getting used to, but was really fun. Eventually, the boys kind of pawned Sveta off on Grisha, as they know almost no Russian. Apparently, either Sveta or the doctor, Inya, had a boyfriend. I thought he was hitting on me (kept plying me with drinks every time I tried to sober up), but he was apparently being generous. He approached Grisha about hitting on his girlfriend, but they talked all night and ended up best friends. He encouraged Grisha to go into office, and called him "the next Lenin," also pledging to be his follower. Everyone involved was a little concerned.
At one point in time, Dan decided to leave to find a brothel. Luckily for EVERYONE, he wound up at a diner instead.
Lacking the encouragement of a Red Devil, I ended up really tired at around 3am. But we waited to leave until 5:30, when the metros opened. And then, of course, Grisha was talked into getting a taxi.
We got dropped of in g so Will could get home safely, but he ended up walking to v with us to get snacks. We all three sat in the basement, they with their Sharma (microwaved kebab) and me with my pereshok. Finally, we made it to our rooms about a quarter to 7.
I can already feel Russian changing me as a person. No just the alcoholic that I am likely becoming, either. So many things back home seem so trite. And as much as I miss fountain Coke, I more or less freaked out when everyone was out of cabbage pereshok for 5 days, and I had to settle for mystery meat. So there's that...
Stayed tuned next time for my "Russian Girls: a Case Study."
Also, I made supper tonight that more or less is actually what it was supposed to be... pasta in veggie sauce with cheese. Really good, but I don't know if I can deal with that much veggie.
It was also brought to my attention that the American boys in this trip a. seem to think I am interested in relationships, and b. think I get offended. One apologized for saying they didn't like to cook, and would rather a woman do it. Ha. And what about my demeanor makes people think I want anything serious while in Russia? gaaaaa
Oh, and seeing how I was walking and dancing in those boots for 14 hours straight... not a good idea. Unless you KNOW you are going somewhere with face control, wear good shoes.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Friday, February 25, 2011
"This 'love' intrigues me. Teach me to fake it. "-Dr. Zoidberg
So. One of the many things that ceases to amaze me are American cultural influences I find over here. It is SO much bigger and more amusing than just McDonaldization (although, I haven't eaten a McDonald's hamburger in the US since I was six and started caring what I put in my mouth, but I had one yesterday and... AMAZING). For example, since I've been here, I have heard:
a. Chuck Norris Jokes
b. Blonde Jokes
c. How Many.... Does it Take to Screw in a Lightbulb... jokes
d. "Epic Fail"
and, what has to be my favorite:
e. Sitting at a bar with two Russian men making lobster claws of our hands and mouth tentacles and quoting Zoidberg from Futurama
Well, some of the American boys went out the night before last and had too much fun, i.e. Spent like $15,000 p between them, came home at 6am, and missed their classes. As a result, nobody wanted to go out last night. Which sucked, because I haven't class until 2:30 today, and I have class at 10am on Saturday (so no going out tonight). So, I got home from Ashan and took a nap. I woke up to a call from Nikita, asking if we could meet up. So, I got dressed and went to meet him in the cafe. He always seems so concerned that he is keeping me from something important... as if I actually have anything important to do. So, we chatted over tea, and then retired to his room for awhile. He showed me pictures of his camping in the Crimea and of St. Petersburg, and and I showed him pictures of the moors of England. Luckily, he is a Sherlock Holmes fan, and I was able to tie in the Hound of the Baskervilles story.
Camping in Russia is fucking hardcore. Essentially they go out in the woods, in big scary mountains, with no food or water. Hence every tenth picture was a picture of cute wildlife ("aww... frog" "aww... lizard" "aww... hedgehog") and his response would be "yes, very tasty."
So, then we called Chris, and went to a bar in the mall near Ashan. It was pricey, but the beer was supposedly good. Well, I forced myself to drink the beer. Ugh. I try, and I try, but I simply cannot stomach beer. Nikita asked Chris about American politics, as in, why we have a two party system. After about 8 minutes of Chris giving a very enlightened and detailed explanation, with Nikita sitting there glassy-eyed, probably understanding every third word, I tried to explain it in two sentences. Chris was upset, as he has written papers on the subject. But when you start bringing numbers into bar conversations... it is time to give up and get back to talking about hedgehogs.
On that subject... Nikita has eaten some odd things. Namely, a lynx they caught in Siberia fighting their dogs. And a dog in a Korean restaurant in Siberia. Apparently it is a delicacy there
: (
So, after that, we went to two bars by our facultet. Unfortunately, they were both closed. So, we went to the cafe, ate business lunch, and went back to Nikita's room to drink and watch horribly-dubbed Futurama.
a. Chuck Norris Jokes
b. Blonde Jokes
c. How Many.... Does it Take to Screw in a Lightbulb... jokes
d. "Epic Fail"
and, what has to be my favorite:
e. Sitting at a bar with two Russian men making lobster claws of our hands and mouth tentacles and quoting Zoidberg from Futurama
Well, some of the American boys went out the night before last and had too much fun, i.e. Spent like $15,000 p between them, came home at 6am, and missed their classes. As a result, nobody wanted to go out last night. Which sucked, because I haven't class until 2:30 today, and I have class at 10am on Saturday (so no going out tonight). So, I got home from Ashan and took a nap. I woke up to a call from Nikita, asking if we could meet up. So, I got dressed and went to meet him in the cafe. He always seems so concerned that he is keeping me from something important... as if I actually have anything important to do. So, we chatted over tea, and then retired to his room for awhile. He showed me pictures of his camping in the Crimea and of St. Petersburg, and and I showed him pictures of the moors of England. Luckily, he is a Sherlock Holmes fan, and I was able to tie in the Hound of the Baskervilles story.
Camping in Russia is fucking hardcore. Essentially they go out in the woods, in big scary mountains, with no food or water. Hence every tenth picture was a picture of cute wildlife ("aww... frog" "aww... lizard" "aww... hedgehog") and his response would be "yes, very tasty."
So, then we called Chris, and went to a bar in the mall near Ashan. It was pricey, but the beer was supposedly good. Well, I forced myself to drink the beer. Ugh. I try, and I try, but I simply cannot stomach beer. Nikita asked Chris about American politics, as in, why we have a two party system. After about 8 minutes of Chris giving a very enlightened and detailed explanation, with Nikita sitting there glassy-eyed, probably understanding every third word, I tried to explain it in two sentences. Chris was upset, as he has written papers on the subject. But when you start bringing numbers into bar conversations... it is time to give up and get back to talking about hedgehogs.
On that subject... Nikita has eaten some odd things. Namely, a lynx they caught in Siberia fighting their dogs. And a dog in a Korean restaurant in Siberia. Apparently it is a delicacy there
: (
So, after that, we went to two bars by our facultet. Unfortunately, they were both closed. So, we went to the cafe, ate business lunch, and went back to Nikita's room to drink and watch horribly-dubbed Futurama.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Advice from a Polish Grandmother
So, for whose of you who don't religiously read my facebook, I have a Polish grandmother. I don't know too very much about her life, although I plan on sitting down with a stiff drink over this coming summer and asking her to tell me about it. I do know that she was born and raised in Poland, in the Eastern part that became Russian after the war. I also know that she was sent to a Siberian gulag as a child, saw her parents shot in front of her, and lived for two years in Moscow before being smuggled to South America. She spent two years in Mexico waiting for permission to come to the United States, and finally made her way to Chicago.
*side note: apparently there were a lot of Polish refugees who never got asylum, and thus there remains a Polish community in the Yucatan. hmm.
So, she has been *somewhat* supportive about me coming here. Needless to say, there is not lost love between her and the Russians. Here are some of the gems of conversations I've had with her over the past year:
"So, you are going to Russia? Yeah... my parents are buried there. That is where they killed them. And you know cousin Lester? He had a little brother who is buried there. He couldn't have been more than... 1 or 2 years old when they killed him"
"How are you eating? Is the food ok? Yeah, when I lived in Moscow, we were eating the dogs and the cats..."
She tells my mother:
"Make sure she gets tested when she gets back. She needs to stay away from the mean Russian boys."
"Make sure you don't go anywhere alone. They kidnap the pretty women, and sell them to Turkey for sex slavery. They would kidnap the children from the work camps when I was growing up. The parents would go off to work, and come back, and their babies would be gone. So they told us to never stray far from camp. Nobody believes me, but I know there are Polish children who were raised in Russia, not knowing what happened, not even knowing their last names..."
I'm sure there are more gems, but I just have to remember them.
In other news, went out to a Slovak restaurant with a bunch of Eastern Europeans. It was pretty good, but I only ordered soup because I couldn't read the menu. When everyone got their food, I realized all the possibilities... This super-cute Czech guy had pirogi! We should be going out again soon! Agata said that we should go somewhere together for Maslenitsa, which is next week! They started off speaking almost exclusively in Russian, and I only understood bits and pieces, but they finally started asking me questions in English. Primarily, they wanted to find out what I thought of Russian boys and the like.
*side note: apparently there were a lot of Polish refugees who never got asylum, and thus there remains a Polish community in the Yucatan. hmm.
So, she has been *somewhat* supportive about me coming here. Needless to say, there is not lost love between her and the Russians. Here are some of the gems of conversations I've had with her over the past year:
"So, you are going to Russia? Yeah... my parents are buried there. That is where they killed them. And you know cousin Lester? He had a little brother who is buried there. He couldn't have been more than... 1 or 2 years old when they killed him"
"How are you eating? Is the food ok? Yeah, when I lived in Moscow, we were eating the dogs and the cats..."
She tells my mother:
"Make sure she gets tested when she gets back. She needs to stay away from the mean Russian boys."
"Make sure you don't go anywhere alone. They kidnap the pretty women, and sell them to Turkey for sex slavery. They would kidnap the children from the work camps when I was growing up. The parents would go off to work, and come back, and their babies would be gone. So they told us to never stray far from camp. Nobody believes me, but I know there are Polish children who were raised in Russia, not knowing what happened, not even knowing their last names..."
I'm sure there are more gems, but I just have to remember them.
In other news, went out to a Slovak restaurant with a bunch of Eastern Europeans. It was pretty good, but I only ordered soup because I couldn't read the menu. When everyone got their food, I realized all the possibilities... This super-cute Czech guy had pirogi! We should be going out again soon! Agata said that we should go somewhere together for Maslenitsa, which is next week! They started off speaking almost exclusively in Russian, and I only understood bits and pieces, but they finally started asking me questions in English. Primarily, they wanted to find out what I thought of Russian boys and the like.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Lies Denner Told Me
More Moscow adventures...
My adventure when I returned home from the bar is that my door wouldn't open. I played with the lock for 15 minutes, and the key turned, and the lock would turn, but not enough to open the door. I called Grisha, who explained to the police (who guard the entrances to the hallways), who explained to the dejournaya. She walked me back to my room, and I immediately knew it would open with her breathing over my neck. It did.
I get in my room, and my bedroom light blew out. Yes, my brand new one. And so did my vanya light. Leaving me with NO light.
So, I force myself up at 1ish to go on a walking tour with one of the SRAS directors. It was incredibly amazing, if obnoxiously cold. First we talked about 45 minutes about Russian politics which, I mean... it was fucking cold. The most interesting part about this was one Russian politician who is essentially a Stalin-like figure... a strongman. A few years ago, during a televised debate, his opponent pressed him on an issue, and refused to step down. Finally, he got so annoyed he told his bodyguard to take the opponent outside to kill him. The bodyguard then chased the man around the studio, as the cameras were rolling and the producers stood there dumbfounded.
We walked to one particular bridge, named after the former mayor of Moscow (the one that was kicked out for corruption.) This featured the "bench of reconciliation," a bench with two rings above it (wedding rings), and is curved in a U, so that a couple on it would slip to the center and snuggle. On the bridge, there are metal trees covered in locks. Couple in love write their names on the locks, then throw their keys in the water.
We stopped at a park and looked at one of the neatest statues I've ever seen. On it, blindfolded children play as the the "sins of capitalism" look down upon them hungrily. It is truly one of the most amazing statues I've ever seen. There is drug addiction (a skinny man with a giant needle), prostitution (a melting frog), bad science, child labor (a fat man with a tiny factory, featuring the tiny handprints of those trying to get out), war (a robot-looking thing in a gas mask, holding a bomb with Mickey Mouse's head), amongst other sins.
Here is a link: http://englishrussia.com/index.php/2009/03/17/the-sins-monument/
By then, we were more or less frozen, and stopped at a yummy Uzbeki place for... ok, I can't remember what it is called. Essentially meat-stuffed baked/fried eggy break. Amazing,
Next to Red Square. There, we discussed the corruption that plagues Russia. It is estimated that corruption and inefficiently raise the prices of everything here 30-100%. Land is very difficult/unprofitable to develop, so there is little restaurant space, so restaurants pretty much can name their prices. Buildings begin being built and then stand idle for years, sometimes because the owners make too much money on using the space for illegally large ads. Food from the south is expensive because the roads are barely protected, and the roads from the south are plagued by FUCKING PIRATES. Crazy shit, man.
We took a bunch of pictures of St. Basil's and the like. We decided to walk through ГУМ as opposed to walking through Red Square. OMG I AM IN LOVE. Denner described it as an upscale flea market, not a nice Western-style mall which, while a little more expensive than its American counterparts, has giant fake cherry blossoms and pretty fountains and artificial flowers at every crosswalks. We watched a bride take pictures and... God, I want wedding pictures there. A-f*ing-mazing.
Finally, we walked by the Bolshoi. We also discussed Russian culture here. While many Russians view Americans as individualistic, and only caring about themselves, we discussed Russian clan systems... Essentially, you care about your friends and your family. Russians don't usually give to charity, adopt orphans, and can even bribe their way out of vehicular manslaughter. Da.
At home, I went to borrow a lightbuld from one of the girls. On my way back to my room, I ran into a few Russians, Nikita and Sonya. Nikita asked me if we could get together, because he is working on his English for the TOEFL, to study in Colorodo next year for graduate school. We made plans to meet in the cafe.
In my room... the fucking lightbulb wouldn't work. So, I went to the cafe to finish my homework before meeting the Russians.
Once they got there, we drank tea and chatted about America for awhile... the school systems and how alcohol and cigarettes are so much more expensive (they don't believe me). For the second time on my trip, I had to explain, in very great detail, how certain words, while similar to their Russian counterparts, are NOT OK. Namely, those pertaining to race. Seriously, who the fuck taught the Russian youths the "n word?" I asked Nikita what he thought of Jews, as I knew Russians are pretty anti-Semitic. Turns out, he is Jewish, and was incredibly excited that I had good Russian friends back home.
Nikita paid for our drinks and Sonya's supper without me even noticing. Finally, one of THOSE Russians. Sonya went home, and I went to Nikita's room because, hey... no lights in mine. He showed me his pictures of Talinn while plying me with Estonia coffee liquor, and I showed him pictures of Rome and corrected his English.
I really couldn't tell if he was coming on to me or not. Usually when men pour you giant glasses of alcohol when you tell them no more, and then insist that you HAVE to finish your drink because you are in Russia now, some sort of mild seduction is afoot. But he mentioned his girlfriend twice, so... yeah, pretty confused. Finally, I insisted I go home, as I had to be up at 9 (to do more paperwork! Yay!). He walked me downstairs and talked to the dejournaya to get my lights fixed! Yay! He also challenged me to a cooking competition, but then decided I was too modest about my abilities (because I am a woman and must thus automatically be better than him) and backed down. I don't think my American food would be pleasing to a Russian palate, and I'm not even certain where to get supplies. We don't even have ovens here.
My professor never showed up for class today. This is pretty common in Russia, but is really annoying if you have to wake up, get pretty, put on make-up, blow-dry your hair (so as not to catch cold) and walk twenty minutes to class.
All of the Americans were supposed to go to a particular bar tonight, but, as there is no class Wednesday (for a national holiday) everyone is saving their livers for tomorrow night. Amateurs. Chris and I soldiered on to the one bar one of the boys got toasted at last wee... Papa's place. Essentially, on Wednesday, certain drinks (vodka shots, Long Islands, tequila shots, rum and Pepsi, Whisky and Pepsi) follow a schedule:
7pm: 4 for the price of 1
8pm: 3 for the price of one
9pm: 2 for the price of one
10pm: regular price
And it starts over again at 11. Food is also cheap... Chris and I split a 12" pizze for about $10. Also, this bar has an expat night and ladies night. Can you say favorite place EVER. So, Nikita and one of his friends met us there. We had some fun conversations, like, YET AGAIN explaining why "negra" is not an OK term in America, and how not every girl you are having sex with is your girlfriend, but you don't call such a girl your "fuck buddy" to her face. The "having sex with three or four girlfriends" thing explains Nikita coming on to me. Turns out, there were two American students and a Canadian girl sitting at the table next to us. We put our tables together and exchanged numbers. Nikita's friend invited me skiing on Wednesday... I might go, but I was also inexplicably invited to the Slovak embassy by my Polish friend, so I might do that instead. The boys spent a good deal of time plying me with 4 for 1 whisky Cokes, and Nikita did his "but you HAVE to drink it" schpeal again. Apparently he knows a better, cheaper bar we are hitting later this week.
Well, I have made it home, not dead, without being drunk enough to remotely fall for Nikita's charms. As per the title, there are a list of things Denner told us that are simply not true. I have been around Russian men and still had to pay for my own drinks/food. It is illegal to drink booze on the streets and the metro (but the bribes aren't expensive.) They rotate security in the dorms, and there are camera, making it impossible to bribe the cops. There are many more, but they escape me.
So, before we set out for the bar, I was able to get all of my lights fixed! Yay! Nikita said I was very lucky, as they usually take weeks, but the program supervisor, Marina, spoke to them, and probably got the wheels turning. I'm just a little annoyed because the first guy said I had to buy lightbulbs, but the electricians brought their own, so I now have four lightbulbs. I guess, in case they go out again.
*Something to keep in mind* One of the many things here that will shock you are the conditions of the dorms. Yes, you expect them to be smaller. But my floorboards are coming up, and I had to tape my windows shut to keep from freezing to death in my sleep. And I am in one of the nicest, newest sectors in the main building. Also, if you choose to cook, there is no pilot light, so you have to buy matches. I've cooked once... I bought what I thought was a frozen rice and veggie mixture for a side dish, but it is actually fried rice that you, well, have to fry. I didn't have oil, so I cooked it in broth and had "Surprise! It's soup!" I will soon be eating pasta with eggplant sauce, potato-filled pasta, and broccoli. Or just eat out. Its more expensive, but much quicker and easier. Try doing dishes in a tiny tiny tiny bathroom sink. Also, I finally did laundry... $11 for two loads, washed, dried and folded. Not bad for two weeks of laundry, but I imagine it'll be a bitch to do bedding... the blankies will probably be multiple loads. It's also annoying because they fill up at night, so you often have to leave them for 24 hours, or even bring them back the next day to be dropped off for those 24 hours.
Another one of Denner's lies... that you can get everything in Moscow. Still haven't found Kahlua, and Nikita said White Russians are impossible, because Russian milk (which is powdered then mixed with water) clumps when mixed with vodka. Not cool, dude. They really pull the room together.
My adventure when I returned home from the bar is that my door wouldn't open. I played with the lock for 15 minutes, and the key turned, and the lock would turn, but not enough to open the door. I called Grisha, who explained to the police (who guard the entrances to the hallways), who explained to the dejournaya. She walked me back to my room, and I immediately knew it would open with her breathing over my neck. It did.
I get in my room, and my bedroom light blew out. Yes, my brand new one. And so did my vanya light. Leaving me with NO light.
So, I force myself up at 1ish to go on a walking tour with one of the SRAS directors. It was incredibly amazing, if obnoxiously cold. First we talked about 45 minutes about Russian politics which, I mean... it was fucking cold. The most interesting part about this was one Russian politician who is essentially a Stalin-like figure... a strongman. A few years ago, during a televised debate, his opponent pressed him on an issue, and refused to step down. Finally, he got so annoyed he told his bodyguard to take the opponent outside to kill him. The bodyguard then chased the man around the studio, as the cameras were rolling and the producers stood there dumbfounded.
We walked to one particular bridge, named after the former mayor of Moscow (the one that was kicked out for corruption.) This featured the "bench of reconciliation," a bench with two rings above it (wedding rings), and is curved in a U, so that a couple on it would slip to the center and snuggle. On the bridge, there are metal trees covered in locks. Couple in love write their names on the locks, then throw their keys in the water.
We stopped at a park and looked at one of the neatest statues I've ever seen. On it, blindfolded children play as the the "sins of capitalism" look down upon them hungrily. It is truly one of the most amazing statues I've ever seen. There is drug addiction (a skinny man with a giant needle), prostitution (a melting frog), bad science, child labor (a fat man with a tiny factory, featuring the tiny handprints of those trying to get out), war (a robot-looking thing in a gas mask, holding a bomb with Mickey Mouse's head), amongst other sins.
Here is a link: http://englishrussia.com/index.php/2009/03/17/the-sins-monument/
By then, we were more or less frozen, and stopped at a yummy Uzbeki place for... ok, I can't remember what it is called. Essentially meat-stuffed baked/fried eggy break. Amazing,
Next to Red Square. There, we discussed the corruption that plagues Russia. It is estimated that corruption and inefficiently raise the prices of everything here 30-100%. Land is very difficult/unprofitable to develop, so there is little restaurant space, so restaurants pretty much can name their prices. Buildings begin being built and then stand idle for years, sometimes because the owners make too much money on using the space for illegally large ads. Food from the south is expensive because the roads are barely protected, and the roads from the south are plagued by FUCKING PIRATES. Crazy shit, man.
We took a bunch of pictures of St. Basil's and the like. We decided to walk through ГУМ as opposed to walking through Red Square. OMG I AM IN LOVE. Denner described it as an upscale flea market, not a nice Western-style mall which, while a little more expensive than its American counterparts, has giant fake cherry blossoms and pretty fountains and artificial flowers at every crosswalks. We watched a bride take pictures and... God, I want wedding pictures there. A-f*ing-mazing.
Finally, we walked by the Bolshoi. We also discussed Russian culture here. While many Russians view Americans as individualistic, and only caring about themselves, we discussed Russian clan systems... Essentially, you care about your friends and your family. Russians don't usually give to charity, adopt orphans, and can even bribe their way out of vehicular manslaughter. Da.
At home, I went to borrow a lightbuld from one of the girls. On my way back to my room, I ran into a few Russians, Nikita and Sonya. Nikita asked me if we could get together, because he is working on his English for the TOEFL, to study in Colorodo next year for graduate school. We made plans to meet in the cafe.
In my room... the fucking lightbulb wouldn't work. So, I went to the cafe to finish my homework before meeting the Russians.
Once they got there, we drank tea and chatted about America for awhile... the school systems and how alcohol and cigarettes are so much more expensive (they don't believe me). For the second time on my trip, I had to explain, in very great detail, how certain words, while similar to their Russian counterparts, are NOT OK. Namely, those pertaining to race. Seriously, who the fuck taught the Russian youths the "n word?" I asked Nikita what he thought of Jews, as I knew Russians are pretty anti-Semitic. Turns out, he is Jewish, and was incredibly excited that I had good Russian friends back home.
Nikita paid for our drinks and Sonya's supper without me even noticing. Finally, one of THOSE Russians. Sonya went home, and I went to Nikita's room because, hey... no lights in mine. He showed me his pictures of Talinn while plying me with Estonia coffee liquor, and I showed him pictures of Rome and corrected his English.
I really couldn't tell if he was coming on to me or not. Usually when men pour you giant glasses of alcohol when you tell them no more, and then insist that you HAVE to finish your drink because you are in Russia now, some sort of mild seduction is afoot. But he mentioned his girlfriend twice, so... yeah, pretty confused. Finally, I insisted I go home, as I had to be up at 9 (to do more paperwork! Yay!). He walked me downstairs and talked to the dejournaya to get my lights fixed! Yay! He also challenged me to a cooking competition, but then decided I was too modest about my abilities (because I am a woman and must thus automatically be better than him) and backed down. I don't think my American food would be pleasing to a Russian palate, and I'm not even certain where to get supplies. We don't even have ovens here.
My professor never showed up for class today. This is pretty common in Russia, but is really annoying if you have to wake up, get pretty, put on make-up, blow-dry your hair (so as not to catch cold) and walk twenty minutes to class.
All of the Americans were supposed to go to a particular bar tonight, but, as there is no class Wednesday (for a national holiday) everyone is saving their livers for tomorrow night. Amateurs. Chris and I soldiered on to the one bar one of the boys got toasted at last wee... Papa's place. Essentially, on Wednesday, certain drinks (vodka shots, Long Islands, tequila shots, rum and Pepsi, Whisky and Pepsi) follow a schedule:
7pm: 4 for the price of 1
8pm: 3 for the price of one
9pm: 2 for the price of one
10pm: regular price
And it starts over again at 11. Food is also cheap... Chris and I split a 12" pizze for about $10. Also, this bar has an expat night and ladies night. Can you say favorite place EVER. So, Nikita and one of his friends met us there. We had some fun conversations, like, YET AGAIN explaining why "negra" is not an OK term in America, and how not every girl you are having sex with is your girlfriend, but you don't call such a girl your "fuck buddy" to her face. The "having sex with three or four girlfriends" thing explains Nikita coming on to me. Turns out, there were two American students and a Canadian girl sitting at the table next to us. We put our tables together and exchanged numbers. Nikita's friend invited me skiing on Wednesday... I might go, but I was also inexplicably invited to the Slovak embassy by my Polish friend, so I might do that instead. The boys spent a good deal of time plying me with 4 for 1 whisky Cokes, and Nikita did his "but you HAVE to drink it" schpeal again. Apparently he knows a better, cheaper bar we are hitting later this week.
Well, I have made it home, not dead, without being drunk enough to remotely fall for Nikita's charms. As per the title, there are a list of things Denner told us that are simply not true. I have been around Russian men and still had to pay for my own drinks/food. It is illegal to drink booze on the streets and the metro (but the bribes aren't expensive.) They rotate security in the dorms, and there are camera, making it impossible to bribe the cops. There are many more, but they escape me.
So, before we set out for the bar, I was able to get all of my lights fixed! Yay! Nikita said I was very lucky, as they usually take weeks, but the program supervisor, Marina, spoke to them, and probably got the wheels turning. I'm just a little annoyed because the first guy said I had to buy lightbulbs, but the electricians brought their own, so I now have four lightbulbs. I guess, in case they go out again.
*Something to keep in mind* One of the many things here that will shock you are the conditions of the dorms. Yes, you expect them to be smaller. But my floorboards are coming up, and I had to tape my windows shut to keep from freezing to death in my sleep. And I am in one of the nicest, newest sectors in the main building. Also, if you choose to cook, there is no pilot light, so you have to buy matches. I've cooked once... I bought what I thought was a frozen rice and veggie mixture for a side dish, but it is actually fried rice that you, well, have to fry. I didn't have oil, so I cooked it in broth and had "Surprise! It's soup!" I will soon be eating pasta with eggplant sauce, potato-filled pasta, and broccoli. Or just eat out. Its more expensive, but much quicker and easier. Try doing dishes in a tiny tiny tiny bathroom sink. Also, I finally did laundry... $11 for two loads, washed, dried and folded. Not bad for two weeks of laundry, but I imagine it'll be a bitch to do bedding... the blankies will probably be multiple loads. It's also annoying because they fill up at night, so you often have to leave them for 24 hours, or even bring them back the next day to be dropped off for those 24 hours.
Another one of Denner's lies... that you can get everything in Moscow. Still haven't found Kahlua, and Nikita said White Russians are impossible, because Russian milk (which is powdered then mixed with water) clumps when mixed with vodka. Not cool, dude. They really pull the room together.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
If I sober up in six months, there's gonna be a helluva hangover...
Moscow, I have learned tonight, has the ability to kill even the most seasoned American partier. Oh, where to begin. I suppose our story begins like many modern stories (though most authors shall feign to admit it)... with a text message.
I texted the American who was in Mosco last semester, sometime this afternoon, asking innocently if we all could go out tonight. He said yes, and we made plans to go to Propaganda, the big club here that mostly caters to foreigners.
Considering I was out until 3:30 the night before (but I still made it to my 10am Saturday morning class!) I had planned on taking a nap, and not drinking tonight. And then I couldn't fall asleep, so I decided to man the fuck up.
I met Jeff and Chris in their lobby. Chris has had problems getting into his building, as out proposk (passes) expired after only two weeks for some reason. I haven't had too many issues, as sektor B is mostly open. But G is like maximum-security, with cameras everywhere and the like. He decided not to go out, in case he couldn't make it back into the building. So, I went with Jeff to his suitemate's room, where Carmel (a German) and Dan (fratty American) were watching the ManUnited game. I watched with them, we all did a few shots of vodka, and I chugged my little Red Devil in the 15 minutes we had to meet everyone.
Needless to say, I was more or less useless from there on out.
We walked to sektor B, and met up with more people.. Ukrainians, Croatians, French, Irish. While everyone else was getting ready, four of us stole to my room so I could change shoes. Someone pointed out that I had vodka. Within minutes... I had no more vodka.
We finally left. To be honest, I don't remember much of the trip, besides talking with one of the Frenchmen about how I should eat something. I also remember being very, very proud that I had managed to keep up with the boys' walking, something my tiny little legs usually don't allow. Thank goodness for Red Devil.
We finally made it to the bar and... woah. It was four stories tall. At one point in time, I went up to the third story, which had a hallway full of abstract paintings, and a really low desk with a blonde girl in a medical face mask behind it. She did not allow me to go any further. The walls were a blue, and the lights had a strobe-like quality to them without actually being strobe lights.
Inside the bar/club (2nd floors) we took up one of the longer tables. And then, when more people arrived (we had managed to lose the Irish and Croatians) we took over an even bigger table. I split a margherita pizza with someone, but wisely chose to avoid alcohol for awhile. After an hour or so of bullshitting, I went to the dance floor (100p entry) with Piedra.
Piedra is the Peruvian girlfriend of Dima, the Swede I had met yesterday. We hit it off. She is a very sweet little thing, in Russian because her father, a Peruvian Air Force General, is here for three years as an atache. I'm pretty good at aligning myself with the "right people," apparently. After an hour or so, Dima wanted to go home, so she left.
Russians are, largely, horrible dancers. Some of the women are pretty sensual, but others look more or less exactly like they have perfected the art of suffering seizures while staying upright. The men sort of jump around like they have some horrible, painful poison in their veins.
Dan had managed to "make friends" with a little tiny Russian girl, and we all did our best to help him along. Ok, well, "girl" isn't the right term. She is 28 (he is 20) and definitely and old maid by Russian standards.
But I danced. And danced some more. Black Eyed Peas, Michael Jackson, you fucking name it. Two black Frenchmen break danced to such hits as "Time of My Life" and the crowd surrounded them for awhile.
Even Grisha came out, with a girl. I was initially jealous ( HOW DOES HE GET LAID SO EASILY?) but I eventually made friends with the girl. But that is later. For the time being, she looked like she had been crying, and I wondered what he had done or said to her.
In the room with the dance floor, I noticed a man who looked pretty out of place. I was pretty certain he was gay (Fruit Flies are universal). He wore point black shoes and a purple scarf, and was much older than most of the crowd. I started dancing with him. 41 year old Rotarian banker, half German, half American. Danced like a gay guy. Only his mention of his 12 year old daughter and how odd he felt to dance with someone so close to her age made me wonder if he was straight. He bought me a drink, and we made observations about people. Such as Dan...
Dan was wasted. The Rotarian asked me where he was from, and we laughed over how he fulfilled every single American sterotype, trashed fistpumping on the dance floor. Oh, Dan.
Even Grisha joined us on the dance floor for a few minutes, to "Sweet Dreams" by the Eurythmics. The Rotarian quickly identified him as "The Russian" thanks to his style of dancing... just standing there pointing.
Before leaving, I made friends with Grisha's podruga.. I guess they had been at his brothers earlier drinking, and she continued at the bar. As a result, she was pretty drunk. I helped her to the bathroom (I had to sneak her in, as the cleaning ladies said it was closed) and shared my thermos of water with her. She was very concerned that we would take the metro home, as her home is far from the station, and nobody would walk her home. She seemed not too convinced Grisha was taking her. I asked if she wanted to crash at the university, and she explained that Grisha and her were not a couple, as if it was a big secret. As if Grisha has actual relationships.
Four of us took a cab home, including Dan. Still so wasted he couldn't make it into the cab. He talked so loud the cabbie turned his music up loud. Honestly, speeding through Moscow at 6am in the wintertime listening to blaring Indian music (souuuu-pa, souuuu-pa sou-pa) was the trippiest thing ever. Dan fistpumping the entire time didn't help.
I'll tell you of my adventures getting into my dorm later. For now, I need fucking sleep.
I texted the American who was in Mosco last semester, sometime this afternoon, asking innocently if we all could go out tonight. He said yes, and we made plans to go to Propaganda, the big club here that mostly caters to foreigners.
Considering I was out until 3:30 the night before (but I still made it to my 10am Saturday morning class!) I had planned on taking a nap, and not drinking tonight. And then I couldn't fall asleep, so I decided to man the fuck up.
I met Jeff and Chris in their lobby. Chris has had problems getting into his building, as out proposk (passes) expired after only two weeks for some reason. I haven't had too many issues, as sektor B is mostly open. But G is like maximum-security, with cameras everywhere and the like. He decided not to go out, in case he couldn't make it back into the building. So, I went with Jeff to his suitemate's room, where Carmel (a German) and Dan (fratty American) were watching the ManUnited game. I watched with them, we all did a few shots of vodka, and I chugged my little Red Devil in the 15 minutes we had to meet everyone.
Needless to say, I was more or less useless from there on out.
We walked to sektor B, and met up with more people.. Ukrainians, Croatians, French, Irish. While everyone else was getting ready, four of us stole to my room so I could change shoes. Someone pointed out that I had vodka. Within minutes... I had no more vodka.
We finally left. To be honest, I don't remember much of the trip, besides talking with one of the Frenchmen about how I should eat something. I also remember being very, very proud that I had managed to keep up with the boys' walking, something my tiny little legs usually don't allow. Thank goodness for Red Devil.
We finally made it to the bar and... woah. It was four stories tall. At one point in time, I went up to the third story, which had a hallway full of abstract paintings, and a really low desk with a blonde girl in a medical face mask behind it. She did not allow me to go any further. The walls were a blue, and the lights had a strobe-like quality to them without actually being strobe lights.
Inside the bar/club (2nd floors) we took up one of the longer tables. And then, when more people arrived (we had managed to lose the Irish and Croatians) we took over an even bigger table. I split a margherita pizza with someone, but wisely chose to avoid alcohol for awhile. After an hour or so of bullshitting, I went to the dance floor (100p entry) with Piedra.
Piedra is the Peruvian girlfriend of Dima, the Swede I had met yesterday. We hit it off. She is a very sweet little thing, in Russian because her father, a Peruvian Air Force General, is here for three years as an atache. I'm pretty good at aligning myself with the "right people," apparently. After an hour or so, Dima wanted to go home, so she left.
Russians are, largely, horrible dancers. Some of the women are pretty sensual, but others look more or less exactly like they have perfected the art of suffering seizures while staying upright. The men sort of jump around like they have some horrible, painful poison in their veins.
Dan had managed to "make friends" with a little tiny Russian girl, and we all did our best to help him along. Ok, well, "girl" isn't the right term. She is 28 (he is 20) and definitely and old maid by Russian standards.
But I danced. And danced some more. Black Eyed Peas, Michael Jackson, you fucking name it. Two black Frenchmen break danced to such hits as "Time of My Life" and the crowd surrounded them for awhile.
Even Grisha came out, with a girl. I was initially jealous ( HOW DOES HE GET LAID SO EASILY?) but I eventually made friends with the girl. But that is later. For the time being, she looked like she had been crying, and I wondered what he had done or said to her.
In the room with the dance floor, I noticed a man who looked pretty out of place. I was pretty certain he was gay (Fruit Flies are universal). He wore point black shoes and a purple scarf, and was much older than most of the crowd. I started dancing with him. 41 year old Rotarian banker, half German, half American. Danced like a gay guy. Only his mention of his 12 year old daughter and how odd he felt to dance with someone so close to her age made me wonder if he was straight. He bought me a drink, and we made observations about people. Such as Dan...
Dan was wasted. The Rotarian asked me where he was from, and we laughed over how he fulfilled every single American sterotype, trashed fistpumping on the dance floor. Oh, Dan.
Even Grisha joined us on the dance floor for a few minutes, to "Sweet Dreams" by the Eurythmics. The Rotarian quickly identified him as "The Russian" thanks to his style of dancing... just standing there pointing.
Before leaving, I made friends with Grisha's podruga.. I guess they had been at his brothers earlier drinking, and she continued at the bar. As a result, she was pretty drunk. I helped her to the bathroom (I had to sneak her in, as the cleaning ladies said it was closed) and shared my thermos of water with her. She was very concerned that we would take the metro home, as her home is far from the station, and nobody would walk her home. She seemed not too convinced Grisha was taking her. I asked if she wanted to crash at the university, and she explained that Grisha and her were not a couple, as if it was a big secret. As if Grisha has actual relationships.
Four of us took a cab home, including Dan. Still so wasted he couldn't make it into the cab. He talked so loud the cabbie turned his music up loud. Honestly, speeding through Moscow at 6am in the wintertime listening to blaring Indian music (souuuu-pa, souuuu-pa sou-pa) was the trippiest thing ever. Dan fistpumping the entire time didn't help.
I'll tell you of my adventures getting into my dorm later. For now, I need fucking sleep.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
This Country Wants Me Dead... and other things to keep in mind
So. It is 3:39 local time, and I am just getting back from Elizabeth's boyfriend's place. I stand corrected about my previous post... I suppose I could say I have a few Russian friends here. But they are all men... mostly nerdy. The WOMEN here are stuck-up.
In reference to the title of this post: Russia does, indeed want me dead. How do I know? Shall I count the ways?
Vodka for $5 a bottle
Red Devil (a yummier alternative to 4Loko, which I SHOULD NOT be drinking at midnight-3am) $1/can
The constant toasting Russians do, and the mild pressure to keep drinking, even if you have class at 10am the next morning.
Lightbulbs that come apart when being changed, as if their only joy in life comes from electrocuting you.
The fact that pedestrian lights go from green to red with only a split second of yellow in between.
How cars here think it is a race with pedestrians to see who gets to the corner first. If it is the car, and you happen to still be in the road... tough fucking luck.
How the university locks the passageway between sectors at like 10pm.
I must tell y'all about what I call the "magical mystical horror-movie-esque underground passageway of death and wonder," or the "magical mystical passageway" for short and less fear. When they close the sectors at night, and you do not feel like braving the cold and possibility of being kidnapped by walking all the way around, you walk thorough the secret passageway. It goes through one of the courtyards (the one to the rear/most used entrance). This is filled with cars, possibly hiding rape0orcs from plain sight. I was not aware of how terrifying this passageway was until I took it this evening, still drunk, but largely alert thanks to "alcoenergy." I started down the stairs in sector Б, and rooted through my purse to find my phone. You know, in case of rape orcs. While standing on the stairs, one of the revolving doors constantly revolved, as if moved by the invisible hand of every crappy B-movie propmaster. Offstage, a light singing could be heard. As it was in Russian, I'm not sure what it was exactly, but I imagine the rough translation was "You won't die in your sleep... Oh, no... You'll die facing them... With terror in your eyes... You'll die standing... Facing Them" or something similar.
I bravely soldiered on, descending two flights of stairs, and pushing past two metal doors with Russian writing (what I can only imagine was the lyrics to the song I heard sung earlier...)
The first courtyard was minimally scary. However, you have to pass under a decrepit... well, underground area to get to the next one. And it is sketchy as all get-out. Broken vents hang from little plastic threads, covered in ice. Various alcoves prove to be the perfect hiding spots to rape-orcs. My high-heeled boots make a conspicuous *crunch crunch crunch*, giving away my position to any who wish to do me harm. More strange Russian writing, along with crude drawings of a Cthulu/octopus love child are scrawled on the walls.
I spend much of my time here wondering how much time Douglas Adams spent in Moscow.
Next you get to the next courtyard. This is slightly scarier, either because you are all scared already from underground death-lab, or because there are dumspsters overflowing with cardboard boxes (AHHHHH! NO RECYCLING?!?!?! Ha, yeah right...) where possible murderers/rapists/kidnappers might be hiding. Also, one of the cars in this area inevitably has an alarm, with a glowing red light that shines at you like the eyes of Satan himself, waiting to devour your very soul.
Just as you reach the door, the very image of safety and warmth, it opens... You give out a terrified yelp, like a startled Chihuahua who may or may not have seen a moth land on a windowsill. A very nice-looking couple emerged, looking at you like you are, indeed, touched. You try to cover your face with you hair, in fear that they might recognize you in daylight as the idiot American afraid of doors. You are unsuccessful.
But hey. You survived!
In reference to the title of this post: Russia does, indeed want me dead. How do I know? Shall I count the ways?
Vodka for $5 a bottle
Red Devil (a yummier alternative to 4Loko, which I SHOULD NOT be drinking at midnight-3am) $1/can
The constant toasting Russians do, and the mild pressure to keep drinking, even if you have class at 10am the next morning.
Lightbulbs that come apart when being changed, as if their only joy in life comes from electrocuting you.
The fact that pedestrian lights go from green to red with only a split second of yellow in between.
How cars here think it is a race with pedestrians to see who gets to the corner first. If it is the car, and you happen to still be in the road... tough fucking luck.
How the university locks the passageway between sectors at like 10pm.
I must tell y'all about what I call the "magical mystical horror-movie-esque underground passageway of death and wonder," or the "magical mystical passageway" for short and less fear. When they close the sectors at night, and you do not feel like braving the cold and possibility of being kidnapped by walking all the way around, you walk thorough the secret passageway. It goes through one of the courtyards (the one to the rear/most used entrance). This is filled with cars, possibly hiding rape0orcs from plain sight. I was not aware of how terrifying this passageway was until I took it this evening, still drunk, but largely alert thanks to "alcoenergy." I started down the stairs in sector Б, and rooted through my purse to find my phone. You know, in case of rape orcs. While standing on the stairs, one of the revolving doors constantly revolved, as if moved by the invisible hand of every crappy B-movie propmaster. Offstage, a light singing could be heard. As it was in Russian, I'm not sure what it was exactly, but I imagine the rough translation was "You won't die in your sleep... Oh, no... You'll die facing them... With terror in your eyes... You'll die standing... Facing Them" or something similar.
I bravely soldiered on, descending two flights of stairs, and pushing past two metal doors with Russian writing (what I can only imagine was the lyrics to the song I heard sung earlier...)
The first courtyard was minimally scary. However, you have to pass under a decrepit... well, underground area to get to the next one. And it is sketchy as all get-out. Broken vents hang from little plastic threads, covered in ice. Various alcoves prove to be the perfect hiding spots to rape-orcs. My high-heeled boots make a conspicuous *crunch crunch crunch*, giving away my position to any who wish to do me harm. More strange Russian writing, along with crude drawings of a Cthulu/octopus love child are scrawled on the walls.
I spend much of my time here wondering how much time Douglas Adams spent in Moscow.
Next you get to the next courtyard. This is slightly scarier, either because you are all scared already from underground death-lab, or because there are dumspsters overflowing with cardboard boxes (AHHHHH! NO RECYCLING?!?!?! Ha, yeah right...) where possible murderers/rapists/kidnappers might be hiding. Also, one of the cars in this area inevitably has an alarm, with a glowing red light that shines at you like the eyes of Satan himself, waiting to devour your very soul.
Just as you reach the door, the very image of safety and warmth, it opens... You give out a terrified yelp, like a startled Chihuahua who may or may not have seen a moth land on a windowsill. A very nice-looking couple emerged, looking at you like you are, indeed, touched. You try to cover your face with you hair, in fear that they might recognize you in daylight as the idiot American afraid of doors. You are unsuccessful.
But hey. You survived!
Friday, February 18, 2011
How many American girls does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
Today has seemed like a succession of mildly off-color jokes. After class, Jeff (one of the Americans) and I met up with a few of his friends from last semester.... Dima, who is Swiss, and Victor, a Mexican. Yes. We took a mereshoka (one of those smallish buses/largisg taxis they have here, which Grisha calls "moving tombstones" because of the fatality ratings) to the mall. Jeff wanted to buy shoes and, come on... you always need something from Ashan.
We went to Burger King (Бергер Кинг) for some nibbles, which was fine by me, as I had been craving fried things (namely chicken) and fountain Coke with ice. Somehow or another, the girl accidentally charged me and extra $2 for a fish sandwich I didn't order, but it took them 3X as long to make my chicken as the boys food, so I just gave up and went to eat.
I finally broke down and bought some cooking supplies for my room (a pot, a strainer, and a spoon) as well as some pasta and eggplant sauce to make with it. I also bought 3 cans of red devil, for about $10 total. This country is bound to kill me.
Dima and Victor are hilarious. They remind me of my friends at home... constantly bothering and teasing each other about everything. Dima is a partier, but finally settled down and got a girlfriend recently (a Peruvian), while Victor is apparently quite the ladies' man... Jeff was complaining that every time they all go out he steals all the women.
We had a few interesting conversations about relationships and sex in Moscow. Apparently Propaganda, the mostly foreigner's club, is where Russian women go to find rich foreign men. I ask where foreign women go, and they all laughed... Foreign women never come here to find Russian men. Jeff apparently had a Russian girlfriend last semester, but dating between the foreigners and Russians is pretty uncommon. Unlike in the US and most other places, college in Russia is a time to find someone to settle down with... Russian women are considered past their prime if they don't marry by 25. Which brings me to the observation that Moscow is a horrible place to try to learn Russian... The Russians are... how do I say this is a nice way... a little, teensy bit stuck up. The foreigners at МГУ all stick together, which is why I know more Americans, Germans, and Russians than Americans.
After Jeff and I got back to his place to separate out purchases (I still cannot get used to buying groceries for under $20, including alcohol. But I guess I still go out and spend twice that on food on a daily basis...) we sat and had tea with his German suitemate, Benny. Benny has an Italian girlfriend, which helps to prove the above point. We talked American culture and Europe and such, and then the boys went to play football. I went to the campus store, bought some bleach and a lightbulb I hoped would fit in the light socket in my room. Which brings me to the story I know you are DYING to hear.
This morning, as I woke up to get ready (ok, afternoon... semantics, semantics...) I turned on my light, only to have it blow out on me. This is quite problematic, as my class got out about the time the sun goes down, and changing a light bulb in the dark is not fun. In addition, the lightbulb in the hallway burned out the week I moved in, so I'd have pretty much no light to fix this. Also, I am in the habit of being 5 feet tall...
So, I pull down the sheet over my window (the one that keeps me from freezing to death in my sleep), open the bathroom door, turn the bathroom light on, and get as much light as I can in my room. I step very precariously on the Stalinist-era wooden table in my room, convinced that at any second I am going to fall through to the floor below, dying in a suede skirt and bra in some poor Russian's dormitory. I begin to pull out one of the lightbulbs and... it comes out without the metal base. Fucking Russian industries. I twist my light (which has three bulbs on it) to the next light bulb. Apparently, someone before has made the same mistake I had... no light bulb, but the base for one was stuck in it. The final light still had a light bulb in, but I had issues taking it out. I texted one of the Americans on the trip, who I learned today was an electrician in the Navy... I figured I needed someone taller and more experienced to take the lightbulb bases out. I'd get electrocuted and then my hair would NEVER recover from that perm...
When he took too long to respond, I decided to man the fuck up. I perched precariously on my tiptoes, and ever so gingerly unscrewed the lightbulb. And the base came out with it! Huzzah! So, I then was able to screw my lightbulb in (yay! correct lightbulb!) and had light without being electrocuted even once! So, thank goodness for small miracles.
We went to Burger King (Бергер Кинг) for some nibbles, which was fine by me, as I had been craving fried things (namely chicken) and fountain Coke with ice. Somehow or another, the girl accidentally charged me and extra $2 for a fish sandwich I didn't order, but it took them 3X as long to make my chicken as the boys food, so I just gave up and went to eat.
I finally broke down and bought some cooking supplies for my room (a pot, a strainer, and a spoon) as well as some pasta and eggplant sauce to make with it. I also bought 3 cans of red devil, for about $10 total. This country is bound to kill me.
Dima and Victor are hilarious. They remind me of my friends at home... constantly bothering and teasing each other about everything. Dima is a partier, but finally settled down and got a girlfriend recently (a Peruvian), while Victor is apparently quite the ladies' man... Jeff was complaining that every time they all go out he steals all the women.
We had a few interesting conversations about relationships and sex in Moscow. Apparently Propaganda, the mostly foreigner's club, is where Russian women go to find rich foreign men. I ask where foreign women go, and they all laughed... Foreign women never come here to find Russian men. Jeff apparently had a Russian girlfriend last semester, but dating between the foreigners and Russians is pretty uncommon. Unlike in the US and most other places, college in Russia is a time to find someone to settle down with... Russian women are considered past their prime if they don't marry by 25. Which brings me to the observation that Moscow is a horrible place to try to learn Russian... The Russians are... how do I say this is a nice way... a little, teensy bit stuck up. The foreigners at МГУ all stick together, which is why I know more Americans, Germans, and Russians than Americans.
After Jeff and I got back to his place to separate out purchases (I still cannot get used to buying groceries for under $20, including alcohol. But I guess I still go out and spend twice that on food on a daily basis...) we sat and had tea with his German suitemate, Benny. Benny has an Italian girlfriend, which helps to prove the above point. We talked American culture and Europe and such, and then the boys went to play football. I went to the campus store, bought some bleach and a lightbulb I hoped would fit in the light socket in my room. Which brings me to the story I know you are DYING to hear.
This morning, as I woke up to get ready (ok, afternoon... semantics, semantics...) I turned on my light, only to have it blow out on me. This is quite problematic, as my class got out about the time the sun goes down, and changing a light bulb in the dark is not fun. In addition, the lightbulb in the hallway burned out the week I moved in, so I'd have pretty much no light to fix this. Also, I am in the habit of being 5 feet tall...
So, I pull down the sheet over my window (the one that keeps me from freezing to death in my sleep), open the bathroom door, turn the bathroom light on, and get as much light as I can in my room. I step very precariously on the Stalinist-era wooden table in my room, convinced that at any second I am going to fall through to the floor below, dying in a suede skirt and bra in some poor Russian's dormitory. I begin to pull out one of the lightbulbs and... it comes out without the metal base. Fucking Russian industries. I twist my light (which has three bulbs on it) to the next light bulb. Apparently, someone before has made the same mistake I had... no light bulb, but the base for one was stuck in it. The final light still had a light bulb in, but I had issues taking it out. I texted one of the Americans on the trip, who I learned today was an electrician in the Navy... I figured I needed someone taller and more experienced to take the lightbulb bases out. I'd get electrocuted and then my hair would NEVER recover from that perm...
When he took too long to respond, I decided to man the fuck up. I perched precariously on my tiptoes, and ever so gingerly unscrewed the lightbulb. And the base came out with it! Huzzah! So, I then was able to screw my lightbulb in (yay! correct lightbulb!) and had light without being electrocuted even once! So, thank goodness for small miracles.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)