Hot Russian Women

Sometimes I get a lot of emails about this blog; most times I don't. Here's a sampling of the emails I have received:

"I'm going to Moscow next month on a business trip. Can you recommend any ways to meet Russian girls?"

"...you're a pussy. Why don't you have more pictures of Russian chics [sic] on your blog?"

"...if I were you, I would'nt have got married and would have been spending the last year banging Russian babes...."

"I take great offence at the portrayal of womyn on your blog. As a womyn myself, I believe that you represent the majority of men who are dull-witted, pig-headed chauvinists and the propoganda on your blog is nothing more than blablablabla...."

(I wonder how entries like "A Brief History of Mytischi" makes me chauvinist...the fact of the matter is that most of the emails I receive are concerning one specific entry, about a time I drank vodka with two Russian strippers. The fact that this femi-nazi is concentrating on this particular entry shows a certain amount of interest on her part, as it is this sexualized entry that she focuses on and not the more mundane life I've lived in Moscow, which makes up 99% of this blog.)

"At first I thought you were just another uninformed American, but after reading your blog I realized that you are an uninformed Canadian. You spew out garbage and misinformation as fact and you obviously know nothing about Russia. Your display of women is particularly disgusting."

(This was from a Mr. J. Malandjer, obviously a fanatical academic, and I would invite Mr. Malandjer to not only come to Russia and see for himself what I've been writing about, but to also act like a better-than-thou douchebag to my face.)

It is true: Russian women are generally stunning. Most of the fashion magazine models in the world are Russian, and most of the girls in Moscow could be fashion magazine models. They are filled with a mysteriously powerful femininity, charming flirtatiousness and have great fashion sense (at least in Moscow).

With so much interest, both positive and negative, concerning my blog and Russian women, I've decided to finally post what I've been seeing for the past couple of years, mainly, seriously hot, sexy, beautiful women (take that feminists and academics! Welcome to a man's blog!).

No Time For Fun

Life in Moscow these past 4 months has been incredibly boring. My time-consuming, energy-draining schedule persists. Wake up early in the morning, get on the bus to Moscow (1 hour), take the metro (30 minutes), walk to my first class (30 minutes), after that walk back to the metro (30 minutes), take the metro to my next class (30 minutes), get on a marshroutka bus (20 minutes), after that class get back on the bus and back on the metro, walk again (20 minutes), and after that take the metro to the train station and take a train home (1 hour), then another marshroutka (30 minutes).

By the time I walk in the door it's around 11:30 at night. My wife, who has to wake up around 6 am to get to her job in Moscow, is usually asleep by the time I get home. I have just enough time to slam back a cup of tea and then crawl into bed to do the same thing the next day. Day after day after day. The worst part is that I'm making as much as I made with Language Link last year, but working 40 hours per week and travelling almost as much, instead of the 28 hours I worked before. Add to that the fact that Language Link provided an apartment, and all my classes were in one central location, and I'm actually getting burned with my current schedule.

Because of this schedule, I have not had time to meet up with any friends or make any new ones, or visit any museums or interesting places, or party, or go clubbing, or anything like that. So I have no new stories about life in Moscow to share.

A year ago I was in love with Russia and with Moscow. I was captivated by the overall sexiness of this great country, and the deep and rich history and the incredibly funny people and the laissez-faire attitude of living here. Now I've turned completely against Moscow and Russia. As Katya told me: "Now you see what life is REALLY like here." I miss the rose glasses I was wearing a year ago.

So with no time to enjoy myself, and no interesting stories to write about, and a growing annoyance for everything Russian, I will be heading back to my home soon. It's too bad, because it used to be so great here. Oh Russia 2009/2010, I miss you!

Plug In, Fill Up, Turn Off

Although Christmas was kind of crappy this year (actually non-existent), and New Year was just another day with the added exception that I was sick with a head cold, I immensely enjoyed the 10 days off, doing nothing. Katya and I watched a lot of Amazing Race and Hell's Kitchen (I have turned her into a reality-TV junky. Best of all, she watches them in English). I visited a Russian banya for the first time, and resolved to never do that again.

Going back to work in Monday was exceptionally painful, and it immediately put me into a foul mood. As I resumed my normal schedule, I thought about the end of the day and the 2 hours of travel just to get home. It is a routine I call "Plug in, fill up, switch off". Basically it involves finding a seat and plugging in to my ipod, then, once that is accomplished, filling my stomach with a schwarma or whatever food I found, and when I have completed that task I go to sleep until I reach my stop.

The problem with finding food to eat is that there is so much crap in Moscow and, even worse, shitty customer service. I can even put up with bad food if the service was exceptionally good, but I can't tolerate bad food AND bad service. It seems to me that Russians just don't understand how a free market works. I do, and I continue to crusade against bad businesses by not giving them a kopeck of my money, and by remaining a loyal, paying customer to those businesses who make the grade.

To keep organized, I've compiled a little list of businesses that pass or fail. This is by no means comprehensive (duh).

Burger King: FAIL

I have only visited the Burger King location at Metropolis shopping center at Voykovskaya, and on both occasions I went there I left not only disappointed but filled with anger (a the wrong emotion to instill in one's customers). The people at the serving counter were so completely rude, even demanding exact change like some babushka at a produkty. I watched as the staff clawed over each other to be the first to grab fries or burgers that had come up as if they were on the metro at rush hour, instead of working together as a team. My fries were soggy and my whopper had been sitting under a heat lamp for hours, and both times I went the cashiers treated me with such contempt that I resolved to never eat at any Burger King in the world again.

Every Produkty in the Moscow Oblast: FAIL

These stores make absolutely no sense to me. Go to one counter for your bread, pay. Go to the counter next to that for your milk and cheese. pay. Go the counter across from that one for your meat and pay. Go to another counter for a beer and pay. Why? Why not one counter?!? This isn't rocket science!!!

It has been explained to me that this is because several owners operate the different counters, and being Russian they don't trust each other with division of the profits if there was only one cash. As a consumer that isn't my problem. It's theirs. Adding to the difficulty in picking up a few items for the house is the incredibly bitchy and rude customer service that is encountered at every produkty in this country. Exact change is always demanded, and I've even been refused service for not having 20 kopecks. I resolved to never spend a rouble at any produkty again.

Hesburger: PASS

This fast-food burger chain from Finland has become my favourite fast-food joint in Moscow. They are dotted all over the city but I find the quality and service is fairly consistent. The customer service is outstanding, especially for Moscow, showing that Hesburger is committed to training their managers and supervisors correctly (unlike Burger King). The food is also fantastic, and I love their menu. The Mega Burger and the Hess Burger are two of the best fast-food burgers I've ever tried. The restaurants are kept in good, clean order and, best of all, the prices are cheap and fantastic! I continue to be a loyal Hesburger customer!

Moscow Oblast DPS (Traffic Police): PASS

Despite rampant corruption, racism, incompetence and thuggery, the DPS earns a pass mark from me for several reasons. First, they have been cracking down on unlicensed drivers throughout the oblast over the past month, resulting in nearly 6,000 arrests and 12,000 fines and making Moscow drivers a little bit more afraid of the law (which is a good thing in this lawless land). The DPS has always fought very hard against drinking and driving, and most drivers in the region don't dare get wasted first and then go cruising around Moscow. Finally, and I saw this one with my own eyes, two little girls wearing backpacks and obviously coming home from school exited a bus and tried to cross the street at a crosswalk, where who I assumed was their mother was waiting. Traffic, however, wouldn't allow either the girls or the mother to cross, as the drivers were ignoring the lights and simply driving through (including my bus driver).

One of the girls was crying, but just then a DPS car turned on his lights and pulled up to the two girls. One cop got out of his car and walked into the middle of traffic and brought everything to a halt, while the other cop took the girls by their hands and calmly walked them across to their mother. Then both cops got back into their car and drove off into the sunset, a display of humanity and generosity I have never seen in a police force, not even in Canada. Kudos to the DPS (for now).

That's my list of compliments and complaints for today. I'm sure I'll think of more on the elektrishka tonight when I plug in, fill up and turn off.

Adventures In Speaking

Taking Russian classes in Moscow has been both interesting and exciting. For me, learning to speak Russian is a source of great interest, and adds a third language to my linguistic abilities.

As I've mentioned before in this blog, Russian is a difficult language to learn. Navigating the grammar is a constant source of headache yet is vital to the language. Russian is a grammar-heavy language filled with feminine/masculine/neuter nouns, pronouns that must agree with the subject and case endings for the verbs that vary depending on the context.

Living with Katya's mother has helped, as she is only just learning to read the Latin alphabet and thus can't speak any English (except for the words "good" and "happy"), so I am forced to speak to her in badly butchered Russian. Yesterday she told me to smoke in the kitchen and not the balcony, as temperatures have dropped to -18 centigrade. I declined and told her the balcony was fine, and then explained to her, in Russian, that in Canada I can't smoke anywhere BUT outside, so smoking on the balcony in Russia is a treat. I was quite relieved when I actually got the sentence out without mistakes, complete with proper case endings!

Russian is a very emotive and poetic language, and I personally find it sexy, but it wasn't always so.

When I first arrived in Russia I was completely unable to communicate with anyone. I had learned to read Cyrillic before I came, which helped, but even the stock-phrases I had practised were pronounced wrong and came in very little use. After a few harrowing run-ins with bitchy clerks at the stores, I was terrified to open my mouth in public. Thankfully I had Quagmire and Ms. Australia.

Quagmire had a commendable ability to bully his way through any situation in English. He went to the hair salon and in English demanded a haircut. When the hairdresser said "Shto?" (What?) he pointed repeatedly at his head and told them "What the hell do you think I want? A taco?" or something like that. He got his hair cut. He could aggressively cow any Russian service worker into giving him what he wanted.

Both Quagmire and I, however, always had problems at the deli counter in grocery stores. We would both point to what we wanted and say "Moizhna kilogram" (Give me a kilogram). The clerk would do as requested and then ask us something in Russian. For some reason, we both always thought they were asking if that's what we wanted, to which we would reply "Da". Then the clerk would yell at us.

This happened for many months on many occasions, but then after talking to Katya about it, we realized the clerk was asking us "Do you want anything else?" To which we were replying "Yes" and then standing there like idiots.

Ms. Australia was also entertaining to watch with the Russian language. Unlike Quagmire, she made attempts to speak in Russian, and had studied some Russian with a tutor in Perth before coming to Moscow. Her problem, however, was that somehow she managed to import her Australian accent into her Russian speech, a phenomenon even I could hear. It confused the hell out of Russians.

One time Ms. Australia and I walked to the local produkty to buy some chips and drinks. Ms. Australia asked the clerk "Moizhna Red Bull banki bolshoi" (Give me a big can of Red Bull), but the clerk looked at her in puzzlement. "Shto?" came the inevitable reply. "Red Bull...banki" Ms. Australia asked. "Ya tebya nye panamayou" (I don't understand you) the clerk said. Ms. Australia, getting frustrated now, tried the same phrase but in a louder voice. "Red Bull! Banki!" The clerk just stared at her in amazement.

I interjected and repeated the exact same phrase as Ms. Australia. "Moizhna Red Bull banki bolshoi". The woman's face lit up. "Oh! Red Bull banki bolshoi!" and she gave Ms. Australia her can of Red Bull. Ms. Australia glared long and hard at me while I laughed. It wasn't my fault that while she has a strong western Australian accent, I was born with a plain North American one.

Since I've met Katya her English has gone from a pre-intermediate level to an upper-intermediate level, with no formal lessons. She has even begun talking in her sleep in English, and her mother has remarked how we speak to each other a lot faster in English now than we did a year ago. It is my hope that my Russian classes combined with some gentle conversations in Russian with Katya and her family will eventually have the same effect on me.

Until then, however, I will continue to stumble and bully and, ultimately, laugh my way through in Enlish.

Back To The Rodina Matre

Visa: Check.
Train ticket to Toronto: Check.
Flight to Moscow: Check.
Suitcase full of gifts: Check.
Last $10 To My Name: Check

It appears I am ready to head back to the motherland (well, not my motherland but it's catchy) for who-knows-how-long this time.

It's a little bitter-sweet leaving family and home behind, again, but at least this time I know what I'm getting myself into. The rather intense reverse-culture shock that I experienced when I returned to Canada has long since worn off and I have enjoyed the past month or so, particularly hanging out with my siblings.

Last night one of my sisters and I joined my brother and 8 of his guy friends for a night of drinking at a trashy dive of a bar in Ottawa's Little Italy district. Following several shots of Moscovskaya Vodka (even here I can't escape it!!!) we proceeded to down pitcher after pitcher of beer. There were three hockey games on and the Phillies-Giants baseball game, and after 4 or 5 hours of steady drinking we were all sufficiently inebriated to not notice the $350 bar tab we had run up. Oh well. Good times never came cheap.

I'm off to Russia again where, despite my strong love of Moscow and the Russian people, I will miss being surrounded by English and, surprisingly, I'll miss TV here. I don't watch a lot of TV, but when I do I love some of the programming, particularly the culture that revolves around CBC's Hockey Night in Canada. It reminds me of evenings cuddled warmly in my house sipping on drinks while the snow falls past street lights outside. Workplace conversations revolve around "the game". Complete strangers at Tim Horton's will begin discussing it when waiting in line. Won't see any of that in Russia.

So, once again, adieux, Canada. One day I will return to your snug, comfortable, hockey-crazed beer-loving free-health-care embrace. For the time being I'm off to drink vodka, stammer away in a language I can barely pronounce, lose hair to the polluted rainfall and dodge insane drivers and furious old ladies.

Masochistic Love of Russia: Check

Home, Home, Where Art Thou?

What is this place I call home? Who are these well-meaning people who I don't understand anymore? I recognize these symbols and flags, yet they touch no chord with me. The language is free-flowing and easy; it surrounds me on the street and in the restaurant, and I comprehend but I don't understand. Why has home ceased to be home?

Better yet, why the hell have I fallen in love with Moscow?

What is it about Moscow that has seeped into my heart and attached itself like the root of a weed? Is it the stunning array of architecture from 1200 years of history, lit up in soft spotlights in the evening, that leaves an indelible impression? Certainly there are few buildings in Canada to rival the purity of history that can be seen in Moscow. Old and new are intertwined in Moscow in beautiful Slavic glory.

Is it the Moscow Metro that I miss? That monument of human achievement which no other city can rival? The crowds at rush-hour are certainly easy to miss, but the peace of the metro in the evening, as it carries the last few stragglers of the day along chandelier-and-frieze-and-marble guilded platforms, is wonderful. At each stop another citizen, whom I will never see again, leaves the train while one or two more get on. Some read books (and how Russians love to read!), some listen to their ipod and stare at their feet, while in the corner two teenage girls yap away at each other. At the far end of the car a man is passed out drunk. I love the Moscow Metro.

Perhaps it's the constant parade of beautiful people I miss? The city is filled with gorgeous women and handsome men, and almost everybody is dressed in European fashions (save for the odd Adidas track-suit and mullet). The women glide by gracefully in stilletos or, if enough of them are running for a train or bus, clatter along sounding like a cavalry charge. Now that I'm in Canada, I notice that there are so few beautiful people in this so-called home of mine. Fashions are non-existent and people walk around with a smug air of superiority, rather than the calm confidence of Moscow, yet they are overweight and wearing jogging suits. I even saw one woman at the supermarket wearing her pyjamas, her hair a tangled mess, and she sported an extremely better-than-thou look on her face and in her demeanour. That would be unheard-of in Moscow!

Is it the feeling of freedom and hedonistic abandonment and, strangely enough for such a large city, collective experience that I miss about Moscow? In Moscow, nobody scowls at or nags strangers for smoking. In Moscow, nobody pesters people about the sins of eating meat. In Moscow, one can drink a beer in a park. In Canada the police would treat a public beer-drinker like a hardened criminal. Nightclubs and bars in Moscow are a haven of flesh and touching and flirting and grinding. When I'm on the Moscow Metro at rush hour, and babushki are pushing me with their big purses and everybody is sqeezing onto the escalators, there is a feeling that EVERYONE is going through the same thing. I can make a joke to a Muscovite about Moscow, and they will instantly understand. In Canada everybody lives in their own individualistic bubble. In Canada women think you want to rape them if you try to talk to them. In Canada making a joke could result in a lawsuit, depending on what side of the political spectrum the recipient sits. How I miss Muscovites.

What is it about the underlying current of spirituality that persists in Moscow? Surely its not only the thousands of Orthodox churches that fill Moscow, their beautiful round spires and onion domes and bright colours giving proof to the thousands of years of influence the church has had on Russian culture. Compare those to the dreary gothic architecture or tacky new-age slabs of our churches. No, there's more to it than just the churches. There is an energy to Moscow, that can be felt in every park and pounding nightclub and grouchy produkty, and seen in every random firework and bad parking job and random beautiful face. Moscow is strangely powerful on the soul.

Why does Moscow feel more like home to me? Is this just a strange transition, a normal effect of reverse-culture shock, that I am suffering through? I feel like a foreigner, uncomfortable and uncertain in my own country. Do I love Moscow simply because it was my home for so long? Would having my own place again in Canada cure me of this melancholy? I'm living out of a suitcase in a spare bedroom, at the mercy of my family's generosity while my wife trudges through her workday alone 5000 miles away. Perhaps I just need a home again.

It is all these things combined. My home (wherever that is), the energy, the freedom and warped community, the beauty and the history of Moscow all have caused me to fall in love with the city. But ultimately there is one thing I miss. I didn't realize it until I went for a walk around the Rideau Canal in Ottawa today, and that's when it hit me. The one thing that is missing from Canada, but which can be found outside any metro stop or on any corner or in any park in Moscow, is this:

Trash cans on fire.

End of Act I

Returning to Canada after a year in Russia and a week in England was, to say the least, anti-climatic. The past year that I spent in Russia was one of the most eventful and interesting years I've ever had and Canada just feels, well, boring. It's like I never left.

This fact could be attributed to being in Ottawa, the city that fun forgot. If I had returned to the west coast things would have been much different but, as it stands, my family lives in Ottawa thus I am in Ottawa.

My week touring around England may have helped to buffer some of the reverse-culture shock, as everyone there speaks English, has the same culture as my home and living standards are high, although driving on the left remains confusing. Also, customer service in England is only a few shades brighter than customer service in Russia, and I have yet to experience exceptional Canadian customer service (to be fair, the best customer service in the world is south of the Mason-Dixie Line in states such as South Carolina and Georgia).

One interesting thing about my visit to London stands out in my mind: meeting up with Quagmire!

A few days before I set out for the UK Quagmire emailed me and said he was passing through London on his way to a new destination. I told I was also passing through London at the same time! We arranged to meet at the stone lions at Trafalgar Square at 1 pm and on the specified day we met up.

The last I had seen of Quagmire was after he was canned in Mytischi for missing classes. Wonderpants, Mr. Irish and I had chipped in some cash to give Quagmire as he didn't have enough for a flight home and Language Link was cancelling his visa. He took a train to Kiev, Ukraine, and for a week or so stayed in touch but then vanished. That was in March. Now, in September, in London, England, Quagmire and I were sitting at a British pub eating steak and ale pies and drinking British Imperial pints of bitter.

Quagmire had been arrested in Ukraine for teaching illegally at a language school in L'viv and had spent some time in a Ukrainian prison, and then an immigration detention centre and then was finally booted out of the country. Naturally the police kept his laptop, cell phone and cash for themselves. He's now found a new job in Sri Lanka and while he was stopping in London on his way east I was stopping in London on my way west.

London is filled with tour companies; it is the fourth most-touristed city in the world, so Quagmire and I bought tickets for a hop-on/hop-off bus tour called "The Big Bus Company". They have open-top double-decker buses and follow a bus route which snakes through Westminster and London, stopping at every interesting site. The ticket is good for 24 hours so anybody can hop and off and catch another bus. They come by every 10 minutes.


In January Quagmire and I had conducted a beer tour of Moscow. It started when we got stinking drunk at a cafe in GUM (possibly the only idiots on the planet to get drunk in GUM) and in 12 hours saw us visit over 10 different bars and cafes and clubs. For old-times' sake, armed with our Big Bus tickets, we did it again in London. Piccadilly Circus! Drink! Soho! Drink! Whitehall! Drink! Big Ben! Drink! The Tower of London! Drink! Buckingham Palace! Drink!




At 9:30 the following morning I made my way to Heathrow and caught a flight back to Toronto and then a connecting flight to Ottawa, where it has been nice to see my family but completely lacking in anything resembling excitement, and thus the anti-climax of an epic year.

The good news, for me at least, is that I decided to return to Moscow but this time as a student of Russian. Katya and I paid for the first semester of courses and my Letter of Invitation is being processed in Moscow right now. In four weeks I'll fly back and Katya and I will rent a flat on the (cheaper) outskirts of the city, so the wonderful year I just experienced has, after all, a sequel!

Quagmire enjoys a pint of British ale

The Really Big Shawn Burger

I love burgers. The more cheese and bacon and other tasty garnishes that are added to a burger, the better it is in my opinion. Rarely can a burger claim to defend itself against my predatory need to consume beef patties smothered in cheese, but in my life I have found one that can kick my ass: The Really Big Shawn Burger.

The Really Big Shawn Burger is the showcase piece of the Moscow "Starlight Diner" chain of restaurants. These classic American-style diners are dotted around Moscow with my favourite one at Mayakovskaya Metro station. They have an extensive menu of delicious American food, including the best milkshakes in the world, red-leather bench seats and 1950s silver tables and the walls are covered in classical advertising for petroleum, 1960s Chevy cars and Route 66 signs. Plus most of the staff speaks English (and they have English menus!).


Despite the delicious fare offered at Starlight Diner, it is The Really Big Shawn Burger that catches my eye the most. The first time I went to Starlight I was with Wonderpants, Ms. Australia and Quagmire. We ordered a tall "giraffe" of beer, 3.5 litres, and perused the menu. Both Quagmire, another burger lover, and I immediately settled on The Really Big Shawn Burger.

"400 grams of beef with bacon, cheese and our house chili sauce layered between and served on a platter of our famous chili cheese fries. Think you can eat it all?"

The menu was teasing, ney, CHALLENGING us, so Quagmire and I both ordered The Really Big Shawn Burger. Dripping with grease and steaming with deliciousness, the two of us looked at the massive mound of food that was set out in front of us. A giant toothpick held the entire creation together. Do we eat it with a fork or with our hands and, in either case, how?

Quagmire and I both come from the same school of North American thought that a burger, like a pizza, is to be tackled with one's hands, the way a tiger tackles a gazelle. Oh wait, that's a lion. You get the picture.

With piping-hot grease burning our hands as it ran freely out of the burger and down our arms, we attacked. I can say that that first time I attempted The Really Big Shawn Burger I got my ass kicked. I ate 3/4 of it and some of the fries and felt proud of that fact, but there was literally no room left for another bite. Nevertheless the issue nagged at me for several months, as did Ms. Australia who continued to call Quagmire and I "pussies".

To rub salt into the wound a few months after that we returned to Starlight Diner on Mayakovskaya, this time with Gem who, goaded on by Ms. Australia, ordered The Really Big Shawn Burger. Ms. Australia commented at least a dozen times on how Quagmire and I couldn't finish it. To her credit, Gem did finish the monster burger but it took her nearly two hours! Needless to say that she didn't feel too good about it afterwards!



A month after the "Gem Incident" I returned to Starlight determined to consume the mammoth burger which, I've been told, includes the generous serving of chili-cheese fries. Once again, however, the burger prevailed and I felt like more of a loser, especially after watching Gem, a girl, finish it. This was a MAN'S burger, damnit! Why can't I eat a whole one?!? That second attempt at The Really Big Shawn Burger nearly did me in although, to be fair, I had been drinking beer for four hours straight when I attempted to tackle it.

After that I was depressed and convinced that life was not worth living. If a man can't eat a stupidly large cheeseburger, then what kind of man was he? I, obviously, was not a man.

Which is why on Friday, with only one week left in Russia, I joined a group of English teachers including Gem and we made our way to Starlight Diner. I had not forgotten about The Really Big Shawn Burger (bastard!) and I was sufficiently soused to believe that THIS TIME was the time. With prideful relish I told the waitress "One Really Big Shawn Burger!" Gem was in shock. "Again?" she asked.

Of course! I was not leaving Russia until I had managed to gain a victory over this motherf**ker of a burger, and this was it.

About 20 minutes later the beast arrived, looking like it had nearly a year ago when I first attempted it, steaming with arrogant deliciousness, the little pieces of bacon covered in cheese sticking out from the sides of the burger laughing at me. "Ha! You're back for some more, are you?"
"Oh yes. And this time, I shall prevail!"

I almost cried out "By the power of Greyskull!" when I seized the bastard with both hands and, ignoring the familiar pain of the burning grease I took a giant bite out of it (and nearly dislocated my jaw in the process). The burger merely shrugged off this mosquito bite, however, and hit me back with a solid weight in my stomach.

Ignoring the pain I washed some lingering fat-smeared lettuce out of my teeth with a swig of beer and chomped down again. This time the burger noticed and cried out. "Hey! So you wanna play hardball, do ya?"

It began to fight back harder and I admit that after my third bite I was sweating profusely, my stomach was doing somersaults and my hands were trembling, but I could not back down! I refused to return home hanging my head in shame. I swore to myself that if I didn't defeat The Really Big Shawn Burger this time around I would swear off meat forever and eat only carrots and lettuce. THAT was a life I refused to live! So with a burst of determination I took another giant bite out of the burger.

I could feel the fat and grease and beef and bacon and bread and cheese all clambering around in my stomach and trying to climb up my esophagus, which generous glasses of beer helped to keep under control, but I looked at the fearsome monster on my plate and realized that I had eaten 3/4 of it! With a burst of new confidence I seized the burger, looking a lot smaller and not so cocky now, and with three bites in rapid succession I finished it off!

I did it! I ate The Really Big Shawn Burger! There were still a bunch of chili-cheese fries on the plate but with their leader gone they offered no resistance, and quickly piled them into my mouth and then, exhausted but triumphant, I slouched back into the red leather bench and let out a long, well-earned belch.

From that day on I will no fear burger and always walk with my head held high. I defeated Starlight Diner's Really Big Shawn Burger!

Park Pabyedi (Victory Park)

Victory Park in Moscow is one of the more fascinating places in the city. Construction on the park started in 1961. It was meant to serve as a memorial to the great Soviet victory over the Nazis and as place where Victory Day celebrations could be held. Bureaucratic bungling and corruption, however, meant that the park took over 30 years to complete.It was finally completed in 1996 with the addition of a massive obelisk and a tank park.

The land that Victory Park was built on is the exact same spot where, in 1812, Napolean stood and watched Moscow burning. Today it has an extensive fountain garden, forest, a massive second world war museum, a tank park where both German and Soviet machines can be seen and many monuments ringing the hill.

To get to Victory Park take the dark blue metro line to Park Pabyedi (Парк Победы) and turn right when you exit the station. Walk down an understreet tunnel and when you emerge you will see the massive square lined with fountains and a gigantic obelisk at the far end. You are in Victory Park!

Парк Победы metro station



The Victory Obelisk dominates the skyline around the area. The names of nearly every battle the Red Army took part in during the 1941-1945 war is engraved on the obelisk.

Inside the Victory Museum is the "Hall of Tears", a solemn place where the 30 million + dead of the war can be honoured.

The 1st floor of the Victory Museum consists of stunning dioramas of major battles, such as this one depicting the seige of Leningrad.

The stairs to the second floor and the Hall of Heroes are interesting.

The Hall of Heroes: the names of every Soviet citizen who won the Order of Lenin are engraved on the walls.

Sadly, the museum glorifies the Kalishnikov AK-47, the world's most produced assault rifle and responsible for hundreds of conflicts and millions of lives since 1947.

Outside the Victory Museum, at the bottom of the hill, is the tank park. Nearly a hundred vehicles from both German and Soviet arsenals are parked here. All of them were recovered from actual battlefields and many bear the scars of war.

Soviet T-34. I noticed a giant shell hole in the rear of this tank.

Soviet ISU-152 tank-destroyer, recovered from the Kursk battlefield.

The tank park also houses a big collection of aircraft, from early Yak and Mig designs up to the modern-day Mig-29 fighter jet.

At the far end of the tank park is a recreated partisan village. Visitors can roam around and climb on the buildings (as I did!)

A massive Soviet railway gun used during the seige of Budapest.

There's a small waterpark with Soviet gunships and a recreated battlecruiser.

At the end of the tank park is a monument to the founding of the United Nations in 1945. Here a French soldier stands alongside a Russian, American and British soldier. What I never understood was "Why the French? They LOST the war!"

Heading away from Victory Park you are greeted with a fantastic view of the Moscow skyline.

Pigeon Katy

I'm married!

Last week, on August 17th, Katya and I took part in a little ceremony at ZAGS in Moscow, signed the paper, exchanged rings and received a marriage certificate.

When I came to Russia I never had any intentions of finding a girlfriend, let alone getting married. I came because I wanted to see Russia, travel around and find out where the wind would take me. Well, it took me into the arms of a lovely wife who treats me like gold and also makes fantastic Russian food.

In less than two weeks the wind will be carrying me home but not before dropping me off in London, England to visit some long-lost relatives. After London it will take me to Ottawa, Canada to visit my immediate family, and then it will take me to British Columbia where, I'm hoping, it will plop me down in Victoria, right on top of a big juicy job.

Katya is excited to emigrate to Canada. Although she is a Moscow girl who has lived here most of her life (not including the first few years she grew up in Volgograd before her parents moved), she claims that she hates it here. It's not Moscow that she hates; it's living in a big city. The hustle and bustle, the noise, the pollution, the crowds...they all wear on her and she believes that a smaller town in clean, quiet, friendly and peaceful Canada is just what she needs.

She also loves animals more than anyone I've ever met. Last month, when temperatures were topping 40 degrees centigrade, Katya and I stumbled across a pigeon who had walked through some melting tar. The tar had hardened a little and the birds wings and legs were stuck in awkward positions and the animal was unable to move. With it's little head bobbing and it's beady eyes flicking back and forth it was trying to slide itself along on it's belly.

Katya picked the pigeon up and, nearly in tears, took it to the nearest veterinary hospital. The vet, a woman who looked at us as if we were crazy when Katya handed her the pigeon, checked the bird over and then pulled out a needle and promptly euthanized it. Then she asked me for 500 roubles.

Katya was thoroughly traumatized by this event for two days and kept saying how sorry she felt for the pigeon, although eventually I convinced her that at least we helped it die peacefully instead of baking to death in the sun or being mauled by dogs and cats.

Canada has very progressive animal protection laws and Canadians generally love animals and respect them, so Katya is very keen to be a part of such a society. Nevertheless, I fear that it will be the small differences in culture that will make her unhappy, such as friendly customer service and orderly traffic and professional police officers and exhorbitantly-priced mobile phone service.

What I really worry about is getting her the permanent residence visa. This stage of the game is an incredibly difficult bureaucratic nightmare. There are 88 pages of forms to fill out, each question is worded in such a way that it accuses the applicant (including me, the sponsor) of lying about their marriage, and forcing us to prove it (I thought it said somewhere in the Charter of Rights and Freedoms that we were to be presumed innocent until proven guilty?). In addition to the forms we require print-outs of all our text messages and phone calls to each other, many of our photos as well as all our wedding photos, translations and notarizations of all of Katya's documents including her degree and work history, and I have to send in my tax assessments for the past bunch of years (difficult to do because I spent 3 of those years overseas).

Then there is the worst part: we have to pay nearly $1500 for the application and then, if Katya is approved, another $985 for a "Right of Permanent Residency" fee.

That will all be in later blog posts. I don't intend to finish Mission to Moscow until Katya and I were happily reunited in Canada, and even then I think it could be interesting. Like Crocodile Dundee, but about a Russian. And a woman. And there's no crocodiles in the beginning (although I wish there were). Maybe "Pigeon Katy"?

Moscow: Cauldron of Hell

These reports from CNN and Russia Today sums it up. Need I say anything more?

Russian Culture As I See It

As the city of Moscow continues to endure a sweltering heat wave and the surrounding forests and peat bogs continue to burn and pour choking, toxic smoke into the city, I and everyone around me has become not a little on edge as of late. Sleep is nearly impossible and working at Central School, with all its politics and screwy scheduling, is a grinding ordeal. Taking the metro four times a day (which is also filled with putrid eye-burning smoke from the fires) and being jostled by millions of equally irritable people has stretched my nerves to the breaking point.

Yet there are a few things that keep me going. These things stop me from throwing my arms up in the air, boarding an airplane and getting out of this near-hell. The things that allow me to retain my sanity are Katya, Russian history and culture and my hope for the future.

As a girlfriend Katya is far and above anyone I have ever had the fortune (or misfortune) of dating in Canada. The qualities that make a Russian woman the best lover and companion in the world are too numerous to recount here, and there are millions of websites and books devoted to this topic, so I won't touch on them. All I can say is that, for the most part, Russian women are very intelligent, stunningly beautiful, entrancingly feminine and extremely charming. With their quick wits, laisser-faire outlooks on life and well-timed sense of humour, I have been blessed to have captured the heart of a Russian girl and it is in large part due to her that I can endure this summer in Moscow.

Indeed, what gives Russian woman these world-class qualities is Russian culture itself, and this is another reason I can put up with the heat and smoke and crappy situation at work. Russian culture is at the same time subtle and loud, beautiful and terrible, awe-inspiring and completely stupid.

I went to a restaurant near the Old Arbat that was located on ground floor of a beautiful 19th Century building. Inside the walls were painted in a calming soft-yellow and lime-green curtains hung from the huge windows. Paintings of serene Russian village life adorned the walls and soft yellow mini-chandeliers gave the place a warm atmosphere. With the decorative samovars dotted here and there and the wood-carved cats on the table and the smell of cooking lamb and chicken and potatoes wafting from the kitchen, it would have been the most cultured Restaurant I've ever been to.

Of course, this is Russia, and something beautiful has to be countered by something ugly.There were three badly-beaten televisions hanging from the ceiling and they were blaring horrendous Russian pop so loud that I couldn't hear my companions speaking. Although the food was delicious the service was horrible, and the mean old woman who served us actually shouted at us to hurry up and finish eating so she could stop working (it was 4 in the afternoon). A group of businessmen in the corner were getting pasted on vodka and started shouting at each other.

Oh, Russia.

Russia is ancient. People were settling these lands when Socrates was speaking at the Parthenon. The Vikings, on their epic trade journeys to the middle east, mixed with the original inhabitants to create the unique Slavic ethnicity. The Orthodox Church added an old-world, slightly-oriental mysticism to Slavic culture. The Mongol onslaught and subsequent four centuries of occupation gave Russian culture its distinct territoriality and ethnic pride. The beginning of the Czars, with Ivan the Great and Ivan the Terrible, created an Empire where politics and culture could be organized within the borders of a once-chaotic land.

Go to Red Square and stand in awe in front of the massive red-brick walls of the Kremlin, the original site of Moscow and the centre of so much of world history, or gaze with spiritual contemplation at the beauty of St. Basil's Cathedral. Check out the 700-year-old defensive walls of old Moscow in the Kitay Gorod. Visit the traditional splendour and beauty of old Russia at Suzdal and Vladimir and Nizhny Novgorod.

Moscow 600 years ago: St. Basil's Cathedral.

This is the land of a culture that has confused and dazzled the world many times. In the mid 1800s a wave of Russomania swept over the world as the works of Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Gogol and Pushkin went international. Tchaikovsky was composing his great symphonies. Czar Alexandre I had liberated Europe from Napolean and Alexandre II was emancipating the serfs and slaves. Enourmous palaces and monuments were going up in St. Petersburg and Moscow.

The 19th Century was Russia's Golden Age, and everywhere I go I can see evidence of this.Walk along the Old Arbat and take in the street painters, cafes, musicians and the beautiful Russo-European architecture. Check out the area around Red Square and admire the buildings and statues and gardens and cobbled streets. Take a visit to St. Petersburg for a real taste of Russia in the mid-19th Century.

Moscow 200 years ago: The Old Arbat.

Then came the October Revolution of 1917 and the brutal civil war that saw the Bolsheviks (Communists) of Lenin seize power, and overnight the classical culture of Russia was forcefully changed. The 20th Century was one of Soviet idealism and repression. The great monuments of Stalinism can be seen today in the glamorous Moscow Metro and the Seven Sisters skyscrapers that ring the city. Bleak and soulless apartment tenements from the era of Kruschev and Brezhnev are everywhere. Statues to Lenin can be found in every park.

Moscow 50 years ago: one of the 7 Sisters near Leningradski Station.

The Soviet era was not all bad for Russian culture. Indeed, it is because of the Communists forced-modernization of Russia that the value of a top-rate education is part of Russian culture today, and most Russians are very-well educated (some of the best Universities in the world, such as Moscow State University, are in Russia yet Russian degrees are not recognized in much of the world, despite a long history of producing some of the most brilliant minds in science, humanities and the arts). It was during the Soviet period that Bulgakov, one of my personal favourite authors, wrote "The Master and Margarita", a thinly-veiled critiscism of Soviet culture in which the Devil and his entourage come to Moscow and wreak hilarious havoc on the bureaucrats and Communist elite.

"The Master and Margarita" serves to show the world that although traditional Russian culture, wit and creativity and deep insight into the human soul, was well-hidden during the Soviet era, it was alive and well.

Russia today is undergoing another violent upheavel in its cultural values, as out-of-control capitalism clashes with traditional mores. The people of Russia, the bearers of the torch of that beautiful Russian culture, are losing their touch as they struggle with every day frustrations, government corruption and decreasing opportunities for the future. Katya, a true Slavophile who has done so much to teach me about the subtleties of these great people, despairs for the future of Russia and has told me that, today, "Russia is for sale at discount prices".

Moscow today: Glass high-rises going up all over the city.

Soon enough I will be returning to Canada, a country with a different and younger cultural heritage than this ancient land, and I no longer know what to expect. Canada is an experiment in multi-culturalism, with a stable democracy and government, well-managed free-market economy and a multi-layered diaspora of cultures all working together for a common cause. Canada represents above-average standards of living blended together with a deep love of nature and freedom, while Russia represents a long and beautiful cultural history mixed with periods of horror and uncertainty about the future. In short, Canada is much more boring than Russia.

And that is mainly why I continue to endure in this terrible Moscow summer.