Moscow/City

Unlike this guy, I experience preemptive nostalgia. So the last few days, or sometimes weeks or even months, before I leave a place take on that special glow. This is usually wonderful: it makes pleasant things bittersweet (so I really try to enjoy them) and unpleasant things bearable (I have in mind here mainly the cold water affair -- really not so bad after a long day on the metro). Just keep this in mind when you're tempted to roll your eyes at the following.

Yesterday Kostya and I met to exchange gifts, and then we got a bite to eat. I have to admit I was apprehensive. He speaks very little English, I find men on the whole more difficult to understand, and finally, what did we have to talk about? I needn't have worried about the last point -- we covered:

a. Joe Biden in Ukraine and Georgia

b. Chechnya

c. the Gates debacle

d. Russian stereotypes

e. the Cuyahoga River

f. Kazakhstan in comparison with other Central Asian republics

g. tomato-growing and attendant problems, именно raccoons -- "енот," in case you were wondering

h. why Russia and America don't get along

It was a good test of my conversational Russian, and I understood at least the gist of everything above. I also hit a career high for ice cream consumption, which due to aforementioned phenomenon, did in fact taste sweeter than usual. But the best part was that, because of the Blue Beret festivities (who are they? -- be warned, it's more than you ever wanted to know) and subsequent mutual fear for my safety on the metro, he drove me home. There is, in my opinion, very little that compares to being driven through a city at night at high speed (excepting, ahem, my doing the driving). It's a great way to see the city, it's a special treat after the metro, and it's summertime. This was made even more, скажим, interesting than usual by the fact that Kostya kept pointing out his various projects while driving, bringing us alarmingly close to the guardrails on the on-ramp. Someone who can talk on his cell phone, shift gears, and point out nighttime attractions all at the same time is a guy after my own heart. So what did we see?

Moscow City, where he proudly showed me the largest digital clock in the world, lit by his company. Here is a hilarious entry about it.

His other project was construction crane on top of a building; these are semi-permanent fixtures now that the crisis has called a halt to a lot of building projects. It was outlined in neon blue. Tacky? Actually no. It's a crane -- anything's an improvement.

These are all newish buildings towards the center. Out by me it's all strip mall-type neon lights. Look, I know you think it's ugly and modern. And if you're like Andrew Biliter from the link above, you might add cheesy AND dystopian (only here is that combination even possible). But I think it's gorgeous.

But that's not all; the glow extended much, much further. I also:

1.had TWO great interviews, one set up just hours in advance. However, when I arrived at the second one on time -- a minor miracle in its own right given that this organization had two different offices at the SAME address but actually in two different buildings (yeah, that's what I've been trying to tell you) -- I asked for a glass of water, and in the midst of changing the water cooler, my interviewee pushed a plastic piece into the bottle, at which point I watched as all five office employees attempted to retrieve it with any number of implements, including a ruler, tongs, several knives, and fingers. Needless to say, the interview was a raging success.

2. bought all the souvenirs I could carry, including one fantastic purchase that the recipient will probably be less excited about than I am, in which case I'm keeping it. You know something strange is going on when I'm able to tolerate Arbat Street.

3. had another heart-to-heart with another Russian. Как ни странно, the Cuyahoga River did NOT come up. Weird. Also, it's not fair that I've only just discovered poppy-seed blinchiki.

4. found the Baltika rainbow in my supermarket after all,

5. saw the sky glowing across Leningradskoe Shosse,

6. opened the broken door to my apartment building to find the whole staircase smelling of flowers, and

7. discovered a use for the abandoned washer.

Oh Moskva. Never has one woman loved you for so many of the wrong reasons.

One unrelated thing [Q: Unrelated to what, Lizakhon? This whole post is a jumble of things. A: Oh please, this post is about how amazing Moscow is, AGAIN. This paragraph, on the other hand, is about the bad news for Dmitri Anatolyevich]: Danielle and I went to see the Faberge Exhibit at the Pushkin Museum of Art Special Collections Museum [Q: How was it? A: I am strangely seized by the desire to own a cigarette case. That is to say, fabulous] and it was there that I first noticed the striking resemblance Nicholas II has to a certain leader close to our hearts. It's uncanny. Apparently I'm not the only one who has noticed this: Look at this! It's incredible! No wonder Putin is more popular with the Russian public. Don't worry Dimz, you're still #1 with ... me.

Cold and Hot (much like my taps, assembled every which way such that even Katy Perry would be confused.)

Since we last hung out and listened to music together,

I have:

1. had my hot water shut off for the annual pipe-checking (or whatever it is they do for 10 days while the hot water for a whole neighborhood is off). I don't know how everyone else deals with this, but I do not.

2. flubbed an interview.

3. seen the trashiest wedding dress of all time.

I've seen a fair number of wedding dresses here and there, but this one made my jaw drop, so I know you want to hear about it (or at least JPey does). Imagine the reverse mullet as interpreted in ivory lace. If you only saw it from the back, you would think it was inoffensive, if fussy. It had a floor-length full skirt, a vague but functional top part, and a floaty, half-hearted veil. Perfectly normal and appropriate. But the front was -- well, the top was a transparent corset, and the bottom a mini-skirt. Of ivory lace! That sloped down on the sides to a full-length skirt in back! Oh, how I wish I had managed to get a picture.

Now if it is your fondest girlhood dream to look like a prostitute on your wedding day, I can respect that (with minimal snickering) and admire your audacity. But the combination of the two -- one part Victorian bride, one part stripper -- made me wonder if this dress was some sort of compromise (between the bride and her mother, the bride and her sister, the bride and her own twisted, Posh-like sense of fashion) or just a failure of nerve. I'm somewhat embarrassed to admit this, because it's awfully snotty of me, but I thought the best part was that they were taking pictures in front of the Cathedral of Christ the Savior. Fitting.

4. been to a fantastic museum, just a hundred yards away from above event, and just when I thought I'd seen everything in the way of art museums here.

This is the part of the Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts (Государственный музей Изобразительных Исскуств им. А.С. Пушкина) called the Gallery of American and European Art of the 19th-20th Centuries.

Now before you get all huffy that I'm excited about the American and European art wing in Moscow, just look here.

As in other museums, there's graduated pricing: for foreign students it's 150 r, about three dollars more than the Russian citizen rate (forget about the Russian student rate, which is practically free). So I was scrounging for change and getting increasingly pissed off in the process (I was mainly upset because I didn't have enough money on me, and because the exchange rate has taken a dive over the last week, and because I already take enough flack for being foreign. Okay, that last one's not true, but I object to discriminatory pricing practices.) So I scowled broadly, told the woman that I didn't have "sufficient money," and walked away.

"Devuska," I hear behind me, and I turn to see her motioning to me conspiratorially. She slides across the calculator with "100" typed out. I shell it out (hey, it's a 33% discount), and she gives me a 60 r. citizen's ticket. Where does the extra 40 go? Who knows?

I'm just happy to get into this fantastic little museum. I snuck some photos for you again. That's the main hallway. See the lights?

The first floor was 19th century. The second floor was mostly Impressionists, which I'm not crazy about. I like geometric things.

At the top of the staircase:

That is my kind of Notre Dame, all straight lines and grays and browns (it's even more severe than the picture makes it look). The thing in front is a burned violin encased in plastic. It's called "Burnt out Violin."

But I also got to see Paolo and Francesca, Kandinsky, Picasso, a whole room of Matisse, and then, in the last little alcove, two Chagalls that were breathtaking. I didn't even get irritated with the loud English guys in front of me.

5. attended "Giselle." Perhaps my feelings on this ballet could be surmised from the following summary. Giselle, initially dressed like Dorothy, falls in love with a nobleman who's disguised himself as a peasant. When his true identity - and betrothal to a condescending artistocrat -- is revealed, Giselle dies of a broken heart. But! In the second act, she returns as a ghost to save her very betrayer from death. You see, he's come to mourn her in a graveyard at night, where he almost falls prey to the ghosts of other jilted girls who, dressed as a troop of dead brides, like to take their revenge on men by dancing them to death. Here's a clip.

Did you guess how well I liked it? If this is what Misha and Tanya had tickets for when they were late to the Bolshoi, they didn't miss much. But maybe I'm being unfair -- my Russian friend seemed to think this group in particular was mediocre.

As far as I understood it, the choreography from their performance debuted in 1944 and has not changed since then. Notice the peasant girl ultimately triumphs in the class struggle of the first act. Well, morally.

Check it out:

This was performed in the National Youth Theatre. There was a sign asking spectators to refrain from bringing large purses, drinks, and ice cream into the auditorium. Ice cream, I thought, Really? Is it that much of a problem? But at intermission, everyone was drinking chilled champagne and eating ice cream from Mary Coyle-style bowls, which made a lot of sense since the building was not air conditioned. Poor Giselle.

I have not:

1. had a single pleasant experience in the Russian post office.

Me: I'd like five stamps, please.

[I'm holding out my 50 r. bill because each stamp costs 10 r. It's a straightforward transaction.]

Pochta Lady: How many postcards do you have?

Me: It doesn't matter; I'd like five stamps please.

PL: How many postcards do you have?

[Look. I have one postcard. But you know what, I might buy more in the future! Maybe I have a letter I want to sent -- gasp! -- WITHIN Russia! Maybe I want to send a package somewhere! Maybe I want to send a heavy letter, not just a postcard!]

Me: I have one. But I want five stamps.

PL: But you need two stamps per postcard.

[For the love of God, lady, I know that it doesn't make any sense to you why someone who can't remember the genitive plural of "stamps" (argh, I should have asked for 4) would need an ODD number of them when each postcard requires two stamps, but just SELL THEM TO ME ALREADY.]

Me: I UNDERSTAND. BUT I WANT FIVE STAMPY-THINGIES.

[Just because you're allowed to open and read my mail does not mean you know my postal needs better than I do.]

Pochta lady #2 -- interrupting her own functional transaction to step in -- getting me five stamps out of her drawer: Here.

Me: Here. Hmph.

Incivilities having been concluded, we part ways -- five stamps in my pocket, 50 r. in their coffers, and I'll make sure the next postcard I write, with my extra decyat' stamp, is addressed to them.

2. bought any more presidential merchandise. On that note, I'll leave you with this:

"There are also fewer of those who want to 'lie on the president' than those who want to 'lie on the prime minister.' Pillows with Putin's likeness sell much faster than those bearing the face of Medvedev."

Tourists, part ii

For the past few days I've taken my parents sightseeing in Moscow. This included

1. visiting the Imperial Porcelain factory, former purveyors to the tsars. For my mother, no trip is complete without checking out the local pottery/porcelain/china. I don't know much about this (for example, I couldn't explain the difference between three things above), but I know THIS has to be the best stuff she's seen. I mean, look who uses it:

I just really love that they thought it was necessary to include this picture in their store.

2. A trip down Arbat street, a place I've been avoiding all month, and rightly so -- it was full of tourists, Russians dressed in traditional "Russian" garb, and artists selling their abilities with pictures of Dima and Britney Spears.

This picture doesn't begin to capture what it's like. I'm not sure what the draw is.

When I went in to look at a store, the salesgirl quoted me a price on something that was over three times what I'd paid in St. Petersburg (with a little bargaining). I turned to leave, and before I could get out the door the price dropped two more times -- but was still higher.

3. St. Basil's.

Isn't it nice?

4. An Uzbek restaurant for dinner, which had

a. servers who weren't familiar with non (bread)

b. enough horse on the menu to freak out my mom

c. enough morozhenoe on the menu to pacify my mom

d. belly dancers.

It might've had cockfights as well, but we didn't stay long enough to see.

5. A tour of the two places in Moscow open at 8 am, Coffee House

and the bakery near Patriarch's Pond. I like it better at 8 pm.

6. Sparrow hills, another place that's way overrated, to get the panoramic of Moscow.

It's not even a great view. You can see a few churches from here but mostly you just see new skyscrapers. Again, I don't know what the big fuss is about.

7. Yet more Kremlin sightseeing. This time I saw in addition to everything else I got to see the Armory museum, which was amazing. They had Ivan the Terrible's throne! Faberge eggs! Boris Godunov's armor! And other things that are exciting only to Russian history geeks.

1,2,3, etc.

1. Remember the jaguar benz? Well apparently that's a real thing here. For example, this young man had a picture of a woman (not his girlfriend) surfing on his car. But the best was in St. Petersburg, where I actually stopped on the sidewalk and gaped at a black Porsche Cayenne with naked female body parts on it. I would have taken a picture, except that it was sort of X-rated. Can you imagine driving around in that car? Can you imagine it, period?

2. In the past few weeks I've been to two events that required a line of policeman to stand between the event and the metro in order to keep crowds in line. Here's the second: a Lokomotiv game. (They tied Tomsk 0-0, which apparently is the same result these teams have had the last four or five times they've faced each other. The first half was great, the second pretty dull. Why? Because Tomsk was counting itself lucky to get a tie, which meant they sat back all second half and defended. I'll try again this weekend.)

3. In Russia, there's a flavor of ice cream called byely, or "white." It is frozen cream with sugar, I think, and it's disgusting. Or as disgusting as frozen cream with sugar can be. White ice cream should be vanilla, or coconut, or even pina colada.

On the other hand, here I was, calling these ice cream flavors by their colors because I didn't know what flavor they were, and it turns out I was absolutely right. Sometimes (consider my predilection for dark literature, need to take off my shoes inside the house, reckless sincerity, adoration of Russian women, ability to shake my head at the hijinks of young people) I think I was meant for Russia.

4. In the U.S., when an area is roped or fenced off, no matter how small that barricade, it's generally respected. But not so here. Let's take a look.

This is part of Alexandrovsky Sad, the garden just outside of the Kremlin. It has a very low (maybe 6-inch high) wrought-iron fence around it to keep people out of the geometrically perfect flower beds. Does it work? Nope! It's all one with the picture-taking culture that requires people not just to look like idiots but to actually climb over guard rails into fountains to take pictures.

5. You asked about food. Here's a salad:

FAQ

What's the white stuff all over it? Sour cream.

Where's the lettuce? There isn't any.

What about that green stuff? Dill. Get used to it.

6. Finally, here's where D.A.M. works every day when he's not on vacation in Africa/getting drunk at the G8 (look, allegedly -- you know I don't buy it):

So today while we were at the Kremlin maybe eight black Benzes pulled up, and we (by we I mean I, as I frantically scrambled for my camera/Russian introductory phrases) thought that D. Prez himself was going to emerge from the cars to briefly interact with the people. But it was not to be. Alas.

If you were the Baltic Sea and I were a cup.

Okay. I might have been just the slightest bit wrong about Petersburg. I will review the evidence, and you can judge for yourself.

Exhibit A. My friend Charlie is working there for the summer. This means that we got to hang out a bunch, and the following took place:

a. an interview with a drunken Russia at a little market. Charlie, whose version of the evening's events you can read here, doesn't give credit where it's due. Mostly to his own patience. He must've talked to this man for 10 minutes, in the course of which d.r. asked six times, "Do you know Russian?" (Answer: Obviously.)

Not only was this accompanied by hand gestures, but the man grabbed Charlie by the shoulders and shirt, gave him a lecture about his beer choices, then proceeded to get out his ratty notebook and write down Charlie's information. D.R. also lectured him about a city tour and some other b.s. I couldn’t hear because it was a man-only, confidential chat. Charlie is completely right that I got a kick out of it. I made no effort to help him; instead I documented events for you (and for YOU, readers of Charlie's blog who never get to see him in action):

b b . b. an evening at the Irish pub where they played a lot of western music, in the course of which I realized I’m not the only one who really digs this:

c. viewing of St. Petersburg's bridges at night. The bridges are illuminated when it gets dark, and then a bit later, around 1 am, portions of them are raised for big boats to pass underneath. It was pretty spectacular. Look here:

and here:

Charlie illustrating how the bridge mechanism works:

And here's what I would have done if Charlie weren’t so common sensical (“uh, sure, if you want to fall in the Neva”).

But Lizachka, you’re saying. Charlie is not a permanent fixture of Petersburg. That doesn’t really count. That's not very nice of you, but point taken:

2. Peterhof. Yes, it's true: this is one of the most beautiful places I've been. And I almost didn’t go. Thank you to those of you who expressed in no uncertain terms what a life-altering experience it could be (that would be Olya and Olya) and no thanks to everyone else.

So Peterhof is Peter the Great’s summer estate, which has been greatly expanded since he designed it. It was wrecked during the war but there’s been extensive renovation. If I lived in St. Petersburg, I would be a regular visitor. Also, I would get married there, preferably to an oligarch who would buy me a piece of the property before fleeing the country.

Let’s discuss at great length.

So when you get off the boat

you see in front of you a long boulevard with a canal. At the end of it are huge fountains and the palace at the top of a hill.

Wow, you think. How wonderful. Well, Moscow-jaded veebs says that. You would more likely gasp in awe and start making plans to move here. But wait! On the grounds there are both wooded areas

and more than one nice beach.

Here’s one of the brides.

This is a landscaped terrace on the outside of the one of the smaller palaces.

There are a series of gardens around the palaces, and this one

included a fountain that was suspiciously similar to the one in Millennium Park (open mouth spouting water, unpredictable timing, low water level and all). I suspect whichever jerk designed it ripped this one off.

This fountain, without any machinery, rotates.

Here's the view from the steps of the palace looking out towards the Gulf of Finland. We did a tour inside the palace but a. you’re not allowed to take pictures there this year and b. those kinds of overly ornate baroque/classical rainbow rooms leave me kind of cold. My favorite part of the tour was actually going underneath the palace to see the fountains' internal workings.

From the spot in the picture above, I walked down a short set of stairs and then back underneath the black and white floor to get into the stone passageways. After you go through the pipes, you come out to stand at the level of the fountain itself, a place that is not only covered in water but constantly getting hit with the spray from other fountains. It was like Louis XIV's version of a water park.

[Don't look too closely -- I'm frowning for some reason. I really don't know.]

Not sure yet how you feel?

How bout now? Are you ready to come visit?

Exhibit C/Begrudging Admission: The people in St. Petersburg are much nicer than Muscovites. Maybe they’re in a better mood because their city is prettier or maybe they’re just used to tourists, but it was a pleasure to have people smile at me when I spoke with them in a way that didn’t convey contempt.

Exhibit D: the Dostoevsky factor. How could I not be charmed by a city that was home to such fantastic artists? Like Jpey, I snuck some illegal pictures.

Dostoevsky's study.

There were a lot of other contributing factors, like four days of glorious weather with only a wayward rainstorm, cheap cab rides, charming waitresses, and the color of the Hermitage – oh wait.

Exhibit E: The Hermitage. I guess maybe from watching Russian Ark (what's that? -- ugh, it still makes me shudder), I had this image of the museum as a dreary, dark place. But it’s actually incredible. So the Hermitage is the biggest museum you can imagine, set up in the winter palace of the tsars. Lots of rooms are exhibits themselves, but what’s really astounding is the breadth of art contained there. There’s some incredible statistic about how looking at piece of artwork a minute for the rest of your life wouldn't cover a fraction of what's there.

Here’s what it looks like from the outside:

Inside it alternates between disgusting (full of tourists/opulent) and amazing.

Finally, I'd like to draw your attention to two things. First St. Petersburg's anti-corruption campaign takes the form of these stylized ads. Here the fist is crushing "corruption." Moscow, not surprisingly, has nothing along these lines.

Second, look what I found on the shelves of my local bookstore.

Just to really underscore the difference between the cities, the night train back to Moscow was waaay less interesting/wonderfully old fashioned than it sounds/Cary Grant made it out to be, and the conductor hated me. Now that I think about it, she was probably from Moscow.

So I'm back home, where I can scowl all day if I want to, bitch about grimy streets and bad weather, obsess about the state of Russian media, and not have to worry about tourists getting between me and morozhenoe.