Q: What will you do when you get back to the states?

I know you're expecting that here is where I will mope over what I've lost, but there's been entirely too much of that lately, so I will limit myself to delights and whatever gripes don't involve a solid 25 hours of traveling.

When Danielle was helping me carry my FIVE bags downstairs to find a taxi to take me to the airport express train to take me to Sheremetevo (whew), we were stymied by our broken door. Then a typical Russian man (all in black, sunglasses, cell phone attached to belt, briefcase) came barrelling through it, and he asked us where we were going. He offered me a ride to Vodny; when he learned that I was actually going to Savelovskii Vokzal, he offered me a ride there instead. I'd already popped half a xanax, Danielle had the number of the militsia, and I had a 70 pound suitcase. So off we went.

This was one final test of my conversational Russian before I leave, and I have to say, I rocked. Vlad and I talked about work, our respective salaries, traffic in our cities, green spaces, and fencing. It's a measure of my cultural adjustment that when he told me that my suitcase was "just impossible for a girl to take on the metro," I agreed -- and completely meant it. When we got to the vokzal, Vlad and the militsia officer had an argument about parking his car there, and he insisted that my bags were too heavy to park elsewhere. Finally, when I offered to pay him a little, he shrugged it off and insisted that it was all in the spirit of international friendship.

What followed was the usual airport maze, a 10 hour flight to New York, then a 5 hour layover. I know you don't care about that. Actually, there's probably only one question you have.

Q: What was the first thing you ate when you got back to America, Ebeth?

A: A turkey sandwich. It was terrible, I'm sure, but I really enjoyed it. This was followed by a Frosty and french fries.

Q: A Frosty? I thought you only liked Russian morozhenoe!

A: I'm on some kind of campaign to eat everything in sight for the first 24 hours.

So what do I have to show for my time in Russia?

- some research

- Russian that's good enough to carry on a general conversation

- insatiable hunger for ice cream and Milka bars

- a dead computer

- a serious grudge against the established media

- new appreciation for hot showers and public parks

And what do you have to show for my time in Russia? Let's test your skills.

Go ahead.

poll by twiigs.com

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.

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.

Fourth of July!

Poor Daniel and Danielle. They had no idea what they were in for when they agreed to go to the American Chamber of Commerce's "Extravaganza" to celebrate the Fourth of July. To be fair, I didn't really know either. I thought we'd eat some barbecue (fail), hear some American music (fail), and see some fireworks (ehhh). None of us was prepared for the Russian perception of Americana, which included counterfeit Carebears, a mechanical bull, and tepees. But they did get some things right, including corn on the cob (well, not exactly right, but it was a start) and old cars. So let's begin:


1. The event was held in Kuskova Estate, which we had a hell of a time getting to (leading me to think that the proficiency exam for our master's should maybe be replaced with a practical -- locating places in Moscow). But it was well worth it. When we walked in, the first thing we saw was the lake on one side, with a forest beyond that. Beautiful, tranquil, green, etc:










On the other side was mayhem: small-sided football games, in Russian; troops of people on pogo sticks; inflatable playgrounds; women dressed clownishly who were throwing random things at passers-by; and so on. I didn't know where to start.












2. But just ahead, pulling us on like a beacon of Americanness, was the rodeo. Only "rodeo" is to be understood as "single mechanical bull, with cowboy hat." But because this is the U.S.-Russia festival, held at an estate which is "a grand symbol of Russia's rich history," the mechanical bull is set up across from an 18th century palace.







The estate is so large that most of it was actually empty and quiet. Look how pretty it is:




The main thoroughfare had all of the food tents, a large stage, a mock Statue of Liberty (Daniel's favorite), and retro cars. Here we are:










3. The vintage cars were actually kind of disappointing.


Except for this:


Look at that gorgeous car. The women inside are the car's owners, looking pretty slick with their 60s-ish fashion and skinny cigarettes.






I took maybe 20 pictures of this, so just indulge me:









I don't know what that guy is looking at. Also we won those scarves by (how to explain this?) decorating a dish of candy. It was exactly as weird as it sounds.




Finally, away it went, into the night.






A car like this deserves to have American music blaring in the background. Instead we got a lot of Russian rock, bad covers of the Rolling Stones and Red Hot Chili Peppers, and a speech by the American ambassador to Russia.



4. Although the whole evening was strange because of the hybrid of real Americans and Russian perceptions of how Americans celebrate the Fourth, this was perhaps the strangest moment: at a festival purporting to be for Independence Day, the ambassador wasn't talking to us.

The gist of his speech was that although July Fourth is a day to celebrate America's independence, it can be celebrated by Russians too. He said that the holiday recognizes the independence of all people in the world, especially people who love freedom. This was all delivered in Russian. Draw your own conclusions.




5. I've really been craving one food -- corn on the cob. And bless their hearts, the food vendors (who didn't have any pizza without meat, real barbeque, or beer under 100 r.) came through. Tell me this isn't all-American:


Ok, so the corn was lukewarm and came in a plastic bag. But I was delighted nonetheless.





6. The band B-2 (that's B-dva) was the musical highlight of the evening. I thought they were great. Here's Daniel and me with an enthusiastic fan.



I don't know what to say about the face I'm making. I'm not smirking, really. Danielle just caught me in a transition from "isn't this awesome/Russian/who is this crazy girl PINK??" to "playing it cool." Obviously I'm just not as good at the latter as Daniel is.





7. This one game (make five baskets and win) featured giant carebears as prizes.


a. I sank five and didn't win one, which was tremendously disappointing, although the Russians running the booth were impressed. Sexists.
b. The carebears are actually...fauxbears. Since when did their ranks include a pig and an elephant?





Another failure: we arrived too late for the mechanical bull. Here's us, really sad about it.

















8. The night concluded with the shortest fireworks display ever -- about 15 minutes. They were set off from across the pond, and we watched from the palace steps with disco music in the background.

Ready?








All things considered, Moscow: not bad.

Dyevushka: (unmarried) girl (and a form of address)

I met Sophia last weekend, and although her English is better than my Russian, she was good enough to always speak Russian with me, showing extraordinary patience in the face of my accent. She introduced me to: her friends, blinis, the notion that both Luke Skywalker and Ramzan Kadyrov (who is he? -- no, really, this is an important link) could be considered hot, and a whole host of characteristics that fall under the general category of Russian womanhood (as far as I can tell, valuing female friendship, matchy-matchiness, generosity, importance of lipstick, audacity, posing correctly for photos, ability to wear fantastic -- verging on the Conradic indescribable/inscrutable -- footwear, and Pantene commercial-quality hair all belong there).

Our tour of Alexandrovsky Sad and Red Square was somewhat shorter than the usual tourists'; we hit 1. the gardens for pictures and 2. red square for pictures, 3. rolled in and out of a souvenir shop, 4. turned around well before Lenin's tomb, 5. attracted the attention of numerous babyshki in the shadow of the Kremlin with our conversations, 6. tried to go to MacDonald's (as usual, huge line) but settled for sushi, and then left.

Let's take a look, shall we?

Exhibit A:


Dark, somber dress
Genuine photo smile
Diffident, somewhat awkward pose
GIANT horse fountain in background








Exhibit B:


Bright, vibrant dress
More of a smirk, really
Badass pose (strictly standard, I promise)
Beautiful flowers in background







Dear readers, I can only propose that, in the interest of bridging this cultural divide, further research be done on the questions of blinis and relative hotness of world/galactic leaders (the Obama-Medvedev-Putin meetings should prove instructive); I will do everything in my power to retrieve the secret to the Pantene hair and footwear, although the latter may be sadly inexplicable.

In the meantime, happy Fourth to everyone (even you, Kanadka)!

Ice cream + (at least possibly) successful negotiations in Russia = a good day

For one reason or another (end of radio festival, possible resignation from internship), today was my first free day in a while and also a beautiful one. So I put on my summer dress po-russki (which is to say with fuchsia lipstick), the lovin' spoonful, and my frowny face (just like stockings, de rigueur in public Moscow) and headed out to "run errands." This is what I tell myself/my records I'm doing when I want to do neither research nor sight-seeing but just enjoy the day.

First up:
GUM: The huge mall in Moscow (see here for details) Some people like to shop here: you know, look at clothes, go in the fine gourmet stores. I like to buy ice cream from the ice cream carts. Here's my little cone in front of GUM...

[It's klubinka/strawberry, and it tastes pretty much like American strawberry, but – you guessed it – sweeter. Also, a little airier in a not unpleasant way.]


...and here it is in front of red square:






Look, I'm not trying to visually equate Russia's ice cream with any of Moscow's architectural wonders. But if that's the conclusion you choose to draw, I won't take issue with it.



Pochta: The post office located nearby must get its share of tourists. But when I ask how much it costs to send a letter within Moscow, and I've addressed it to a place within Moscow, I mean, how much does it cost to send a letter within Moscow. The other customers in the post office were very nice and helped me argue with the attendant, so we'll see what happens.
Also, those of you who have not given me your address should do so if you want to be, like everyone else, disappointed when the postcards don’t arrive because she was wrong about how much postage to use.


And I finished up my outing back in our neighborhood









with cherries and Argumenty i Fakty.




Now Argumenty i Fakty is not an especially reputable source, as you may have gathered from its cover. But I desperately wanted to read, "Can V. Putin knock down prices at stores?" because I had heard on good authority about his trip to the supermarket. And in fact, here it is, reproduced in full as a dialogue on the pages about prices of meat. [Poor translation all mine but punctuation faithfully adhered to.]

Putin: And why do the sausages here cost 240 rubles?!
Manager: These, obviously, are sausages of higher quality. But there are also ones for 49 rubles! Sometimes we even sell them at a loss.
[Some joke I don't get. Moving on...]
Putin: I can show you your markups: here, bologna.* 52% mark up. And let’s go on to the pork… (to the vendor): And what is your wholesale price on meat?
Vendor: 150-160 rubles
Putin: So (he exhales**) that means you buy it at 160 and sell at 335. A 120% markup! Is this normal?
Manager: What, a large markup?*** Tomorrow we will lower it. (He smiles).

* As you know I’m not a big meat-eater and I don’t eat pork products at all. So I’ve never come across the term used here: “doktorskaya kolbasa,” or doctor sausage. Can someone please confirm this is the word for bologna?
** This could be my favorite part, not that Putin exhales during the intensive part of this exercise but that A&F chose to record it.
*** This is the THIRD different Russian word for "markup" used in this dialogue.


The dialogue ends there, and it's not clear if we're supposed to assume that the store owner is full of it or if Putin's intervention has made life for the common man a little bit easier.

Kstati features other presidents making trips to supermarkets, and I know you want to know what Medvedev did:
"President D. Medvedev in March of this year unexpectedly stopped his motorcade at a store in order to buy the local gingerbread (?). He took interest in whether prices had strongly increased recently. The sales clerks assured him that prices had gone up a little. Incidentally, Medvedev refused the suggestion that he take the gingerbread as a gift -- he handed his aid a thousand-ruble note and asked him to break the bill at the register."

Morozhenoe, parts ii and iii

On each of the little ice cream vending carts there is the following model:



No way is that representative of what's inside the cart, right? Wrong. That is EXACTLY what's in the freezer. I knew from the moment I saw this, I had to have green. (What I actually said to myself was: Man, I have to try that zelyonoe. Some progress is better than none.)



The other day I did in fact try the green, which is far lighter in color than the model (disappointing) and pistachka (imagine my delight). I would say this rivaled the initial vanilla for robustness of flavor and creaminess. Although the pistachio was just as sweet, it tasted more like pistachio and less like plastic.


Today it was 63 degrees, which is not too cold for ice cream, and I was long overdue to try the red cone above. But the ice cream lady (who joked with me about global warming -- joked! nothing warms my heart like a Russian who thinks I understand enough of her language to do this) steered me away from the red cone to the "most tasty" treat, a white block on a stick. Gamely, foolishly, I went for it.



As you can see, I'm thinking, I don't know about this. That uncertainty persisted for approximately the first third of the ice cream bar because at first, it tasted sort of like the vanilla, sweet and fake. But underneath that was a flavor I couldn't place but which is probably akin to wet cement. Maybe I was prejudiced by how it looked. At any rate, that flavor eclipsed everything else. It was a cruel trick; this was not samoe vkusnoe at all -- it was samoe gross.




Thankfully, when I was two thirds of the way through the bar, it fell off the stick. I threw it away, left only with the knowledge that I had made the wrong choice.





A sad day for morozhenoe.