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
Showing posts with label expats. Show all posts
Showing posts with label expats. Show all posts
Monday, October 25, 2010
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
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
Monday, August 30, 2010
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?
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!
Friday, August 6, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Moscow Burning
It's a surreal scene in Moscow today. This unprecedented heatwave, the hottest Russia has endured since they began keeping records 130 years ago, has caused numerous forest and peat bog fires in the surrounding area to break out, and the smoke from these fires hangs over the city like a death shroud.
For the past week I've awoken every morning to something that smells like burning grass. A haze of grey smoke drifts throughout the city, through everyone's windows (kept wide open because of the heat) and reduces visibility to a few hundred yards. Everything in my apartment is covered in a light blanket of silky sediment and it is a constant battle to keep electronic equipment, and my fan in particular, clean. The city itself appears as if though it is slowly smoldering, and it reminds me of a scene from Dante's Inferno.
The local fire departments are combating the forest fires with some success, but the peat bog fires are nearly impossible to extinguish. The fires themselves are under the surface, and simply dousing water on the ground does nothing to put them out. In order to effectively fight them hundreds of miles of ditches filled with water need to be dug and Moscow simply doesn't have the resources for such an undertaking. I doubt any city in the world could pull it off.
In July I had Beeline hook up the internet in my new flat and as a promotion they offered me two months of free digital cable. I now have 200 channels, including all the Discovery network channels (which I can watch in English thanks to the modern technology of the digital cable box). Last week Katya and I were watching the news on Russia 1 and a scientist was showing the public why these peat bog fires are breaking out.
She had a one-metre long thermometre stuck into the ground in a grassy clearing and a bunch of monitoring equipment surrounding it. The temperature on the surface, under the relentlessly blazing sun, was an astounding 44 degrees centigrade! She pulled the thermometer out of the ground and the temperature one metre down read 33 degrees! Under the effects of a vicious sun and a long waterless drought, the peat and other plants below the surface are bursting into flames.
In my life I have endured some strange weather. My earliest memories include a tornado taking my bicycle away in Ontario. I have sweltered in the heat of south-east Asia and endured the biting cold of a Russian (and Canadian, for that matter) winter. I remember vicious windstorms cropping up in the Pacific and knocking down trees and houses on the coast. Like everyone everywhere, I stand in awe of the power of mother nature. This summer in Moscow, however, is the most insufferable weather I have ever encountered.
The classrooms at central school are veritable furnaces. There is no air conditioning in the building (like almost everywhere else in Moscow) and the big windows are sealed to keep heat in during the winter. The sun blazes down through the windows into the classroom and I have had one student pass out from the heat. I myself have had my vision go black and seen stars dancing around in front of my eyes. Night time is just as bad, as the sweltering heat causes everyone to sweat profusely in bed. Even with my fan on high I sweat like a pig because the fan simply blows hot, moist air on me like a convection oven. I manage a few hours of sleep at night, taken in snatches of exhaustion, and I know that almost all 15 million Muscovites are suffering through the same torments. Even Katya, who weighs in at a mere 100 lbs and gets cold simply thinking about ice cubes, is sweltering.
The heatwave continues unabated and there is no end in sight. Soon Russians will have been enduring this record-breaking heat for two months and with air conditioning absent from almost everywhere there is little anyone can do to cool down. I have 4 1/2 weeks left here and will soon find myself standing in a cool ocean breeze on Canada's Pacific coast, but for everyone else in Moscow, the only hope is that winter will come early this year.
For the past week I've awoken every morning to something that smells like burning grass. A haze of grey smoke drifts throughout the city, through everyone's windows (kept wide open because of the heat) and reduces visibility to a few hundred yards. Everything in my apartment is covered in a light blanket of silky sediment and it is a constant battle to keep electronic equipment, and my fan in particular, clean. The city itself appears as if though it is slowly smoldering, and it reminds me of a scene from Dante's Inferno.
The local fire departments are combating the forest fires with some success, but the peat bog fires are nearly impossible to extinguish. The fires themselves are under the surface, and simply dousing water on the ground does nothing to put them out. In order to effectively fight them hundreds of miles of ditches filled with water need to be dug and Moscow simply doesn't have the resources for such an undertaking. I doubt any city in the world could pull it off.
In July I had Beeline hook up the internet in my new flat and as a promotion they offered me two months of free digital cable. I now have 200 channels, including all the Discovery network channels (which I can watch in English thanks to the modern technology of the digital cable box). Last week Katya and I were watching the news on Russia 1 and a scientist was showing the public why these peat bog fires are breaking out.
She had a one-metre long thermometre stuck into the ground in a grassy clearing and a bunch of monitoring equipment surrounding it. The temperature on the surface, under the relentlessly blazing sun, was an astounding 44 degrees centigrade! She pulled the thermometer out of the ground and the temperature one metre down read 33 degrees! Under the effects of a vicious sun and a long waterless drought, the peat and other plants below the surface are bursting into flames.
In my life I have endured some strange weather. My earliest memories include a tornado taking my bicycle away in Ontario. I have sweltered in the heat of south-east Asia and endured the biting cold of a Russian (and Canadian, for that matter) winter. I remember vicious windstorms cropping up in the Pacific and knocking down trees and houses on the coast. Like everyone everywhere, I stand in awe of the power of mother nature. This summer in Moscow, however, is the most insufferable weather I have ever encountered.
The classrooms at central school are veritable furnaces. There is no air conditioning in the building (like almost everywhere else in Moscow) and the big windows are sealed to keep heat in during the winter. The sun blazes down through the windows into the classroom and I have had one student pass out from the heat. I myself have had my vision go black and seen stars dancing around in front of my eyes. Night time is just as bad, as the sweltering heat causes everyone to sweat profusely in bed. Even with my fan on high I sweat like a pig because the fan simply blows hot, moist air on me like a convection oven. I manage a few hours of sleep at night, taken in snatches of exhaustion, and I know that almost all 15 million Muscovites are suffering through the same torments. Even Katya, who weighs in at a mere 100 lbs and gets cold simply thinking about ice cubes, is sweltering.
The heatwave continues unabated and there is no end in sight. Soon Russians will have been enduring this record-breaking heat for two months and with air conditioning absent from almost everywhere there is little anyone can do to cool down. I have 4 1/2 weeks left here and will soon find myself standing in a cool ocean breeze on Canada's Pacific coast, but for everyone else in Moscow, the only hope is that winter will come early this year.
Monday, July 19, 2010
The Lights Are On But Nobody's Home
A month ago the company I work for moved me from my cool and comfortable apartment in Mytischi to a stinking hot and uncomfortable apartment near Fili in Moscow. The weather has been abnormally hot and this new apartment has no airflow. The oven doesn't work and the landlord refuses to fix it, there is noisy traffic 24-hours a day outside my bedroom window and my bed has a hard wooden beam running down the center of the mattress.
In short, it sucks. In addition to that, my schedule at the Moscow central school is retarded. Everyday I work split shifts, with 9 am classes running to the early afternoon and then 7 pm classes running until 9:30 at night. By the time I get home I have to return to the school 10 hours later for my morning classes. I also do not have 2 consecutive days off, meaning that I cannot plan to go anywhere or do anything. While the students in my classes are wonderful (I love my students), the administrators who run the show are quite the opposite.
When I was living in Mytischi a month ago, I was planning on returning to Russia after my 12-month visa expired and staying on as a student for another 6-12 months, but my outook has since changed. A combination of the intense heat, a crappy work schedule, an uncomfortable apartment and the noise and bustle of Moscow has made me incredibly unhappy. It is nearly impossible for me to appreciate anything in this city now, so I am planning on returning to my home in British Columbia, Canada.
This doesn't sadden me. In fact, I'm quite happy with the decision. The past 2 years (and the past year in particular) have been an intense ride for me and I'm glad that I did it, but like I wrote in this blog a year ago, the night before I flew out of Ottawa for Moscow, I just want a place I can call my own and not worry about having to leave again.
There is nothing of excitement happening in Moscow right now. My work schedule is a hindrance to going out and doing anything and as I save money for my future plans I am simply plodding though my day. With less than 7 weeks remaining in Moscow, my thoughts have already left for cleaner waters while my body simply goes through the routine. Every day I dream of life back in British Columbia, what my home will look like (once I find one), what job I'll have (once I find one) and what the weather will be like. My sleeping dreams are filled with images of life on the west coast and far away from Moscow.
While I stagnate in boredom and heat, I wait with no little amount of impatience for my return home. In the meantime, I can only offer this advice: don't work for LL central school in Moscow!
In short, it sucks. In addition to that, my schedule at the Moscow central school is retarded. Everyday I work split shifts, with 9 am classes running to the early afternoon and then 7 pm classes running until 9:30 at night. By the time I get home I have to return to the school 10 hours later for my morning classes. I also do not have 2 consecutive days off, meaning that I cannot plan to go anywhere or do anything. While the students in my classes are wonderful (I love my students), the administrators who run the show are quite the opposite.
When I was living in Mytischi a month ago, I was planning on returning to Russia after my 12-month visa expired and staying on as a student for another 6-12 months, but my outook has since changed. A combination of the intense heat, a crappy work schedule, an uncomfortable apartment and the noise and bustle of Moscow has made me incredibly unhappy. It is nearly impossible for me to appreciate anything in this city now, so I am planning on returning to my home in British Columbia, Canada.
This doesn't sadden me. In fact, I'm quite happy with the decision. The past 2 years (and the past year in particular) have been an intense ride for me and I'm glad that I did it, but like I wrote in this blog a year ago, the night before I flew out of Ottawa for Moscow, I just want a place I can call my own and not worry about having to leave again.
There is nothing of excitement happening in Moscow right now. My work schedule is a hindrance to going out and doing anything and as I save money for my future plans I am simply plodding though my day. With less than 7 weeks remaining in Moscow, my thoughts have already left for cleaner waters while my body simply goes through the routine. Every day I dream of life back in British Columbia, what my home will look like (once I find one), what job I'll have (once I find one) and what the weather will be like. My sleeping dreams are filled with images of life on the west coast and far away from Moscow.
While I stagnate in boredom and heat, I wait with no little amount of impatience for my return home. In the meantime, I can only offer this advice: don't work for LL central school in Moscow!
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
There's A Tear In My Beer
One week ago Ms. Australia left Russia. She returned to her home in Perth and left a big void in the communal life of our apartment in Mytischi. Today, at 6 am, Wonderpants also returned home to Virginia, and after a hectic day teaching in Moscow, I came back to our once lively abode to find it completely empty.
Yesterday Wonderpants and I spent his last day in Russia visiting Izhmailovsky Market, a huge outdoor tourist market filled with Russian hats, nesting dolls, replica war medals, etc, so he could buy gifts for his family and friends. Then we drank a few beers together and I made dinner (meatballs!) and then we said goodbye and went to our seperate bedrooms for the night.
It's actually a very sad day and I'm more than a little depressed. Ms. Australia and Wonderpants became two of my best friends and living together had become a comfortable and pleasant experience. Ms. Australia, by virtue of finishing classes earlier than Wonderpants and I, would usually cook dinner (chilli, peppered chicken and/or spaghetti bolognese). Sometimes Wonderpants or I would cook, but Ms. Australia made the majority of our meals.
Once Wonderpants and I finished work, all three of us would sit around our kitchen table and eat dinner together, Ms. Australia and I drinking beer and Wonderpants drinking wine, with the small TV above our heads playing Russian crime dramas or the news. It was like a small family.
On Tuesdays Ms. Australia and I would ritually drink beers in the small tree-lined foyer outside our building. On Fridays we would all go to the local pizza restaurant to close our week. On Saturdays Wonderpants and I would drink whiskey and listen to sea shanties. Week after week our little group of 3 would repeat the same ritual. Now they have left, and it is eerily, sadly, quiet and dark in this flat.
Katya is visiting her grandmother near Volgograd, so there is nobody here but me. When I first came home from Moscow I closed both their doors because it was depressing. Ms. Australia wasn't hovering over her laptop watching a vampire show (or was it One Tree Hill?) and there weren't mountains of books and dirty laundry on Wonderpants' floor.
Closing the doors felt like a betrayal, somehow, so I quickly re-opened them again. It's Tuesday and I feel weird drinking in the foyer alone, so I'm drinking a beer in my room. I only have one week left before I, too, need to leave this apartment (although to move into a Moscow flat and not someplace in Canada), and that adds a sense of finality to the whole situation.
I've made good friends before, teaching in Korea, and seen them leave but I have to say that this is different. Wonderpants, Ms. Australia and I had developed a real bond, caused by forced-proximity, and I will miss them dearly. While I am confident I will see Wonderpants again in the future (he lives a 12-hour drive from me), I would be surprised if I saw Ms. Australia again.
So as I drink this beer, I do so in honour of two of the best people I have ever had the opportunity to meet: Ms. Australia and Wonderpants!
Thursday, June 10, 2010
The Problem With ESL Contracts
The company I work for, LL, is generally a good place to work. Many of the teachers employed with this large company have been so for years, and students return each September. They haven't messed around with my pay and I've seen my colleagues receive their end-of-contract payouts without hassle.
The problem I have with LL is that I am treated like an army recruit sometimes. I have no choice in anything, and what I think doesn't matter. Sometimes I believe that they don't think I'm human: instead I'm just an English-speaking machine.
For example, the school in Mytischi is closing down for the summer at the end of this week (a fact which nobody told me until two months ago...I was under the assumption that work would simply continue over the summer months). I was then told that I would be working a summer camp in Turkey for the summer, as my contract ends in September.
That was fine with me. Then, a few weeks ago, I was told that I won't be going to Turkey, but to Bulgaria.
What?
Yes, Bulgaria.
Okay, so Bulgaria could be interesting and I like seeing different places, but what about Katya, my fiance?
Oh, she can't go and you will be there until September.
Damn.
Then a few weeks after that, I received another email that told me that I won't be going to Bulgaria but maybe Turkey. I was getting frustrated but the very next day I received another email from the bureaucrats at our Moscow central office informing me that I'm not going anywhere for the summer. I'll be teaching at central school in Moscow.
That was horrible for me. When I did my telephone interviews last summer and they asked me where I wanted to work, I said "Not Moscow" because I don't like big cities (and Moscow is 7th largest in the world). Well, here I was, assigned to work in Moscow.
Then, a ray of light. They offered me a summer camp position in the country outside of Moscow! I could come home on weekends! Ms Australia and Gem taught at a similar camp last summer and they loved it. Okay! Sign me up!
So, ready to hit the summer camp and a good compromise between Turkey and Moscow established, I was happy and looking forward to the summer.
Then, last week, an email that read "We need you to teach in central school beginning June 15"
That was two weeks away and they were still fucking around with this. I asked if I was still going to the summer camp and they replied that I wasn't. Then they told me that I had to MOVE to Moscow! They were ditching this apartment in Mytischi!
I was getting incredibly pissed off by that point and started looking up flight information back to Canada to get the hell away from these incompetent idiots. I realized I only have 3 months of this contract left so I decided to stick it out.
They told me I had to vacate the apartment on Friday June 11th at 6 pm, so I began packing my things up and cleaning and kept two days of clothes out. Then, today, with 24 hours to go before I move, they told me that I can't move tomorrow but in two weeks time!
The moral of this story is that when you sign a contract with a language school in another country, you are effectively signing away your freedom of choice for a year. If you refuse to do something they tell you, they can fire you, thus revoking your visa and forcing you to leave the country. That is always hanging above your head. I have a fiance here and I love Russia with its history, culture, geography, people and architecture and I don't want to leave yet, so I have no choice but to do as they tell me.
Still, it would have been nice to go to Turkey.
The problem I have with LL is that I am treated like an army recruit sometimes. I have no choice in anything, and what I think doesn't matter. Sometimes I believe that they don't think I'm human: instead I'm just an English-speaking machine.
For example, the school in Mytischi is closing down for the summer at the end of this week (a fact which nobody told me until two months ago...I was under the assumption that work would simply continue over the summer months). I was then told that I would be working a summer camp in Turkey for the summer, as my contract ends in September.
That was fine with me. Then, a few weeks ago, I was told that I won't be going to Turkey, but to Bulgaria.
What?
Yes, Bulgaria.
Okay, so Bulgaria could be interesting and I like seeing different places, but what about Katya, my fiance?
Oh, she can't go and you will be there until September.
Damn.
Then a few weeks after that, I received another email that told me that I won't be going to Bulgaria but maybe Turkey. I was getting frustrated but the very next day I received another email from the bureaucrats at our Moscow central office informing me that I'm not going anywhere for the summer. I'll be teaching at central school in Moscow.
That was horrible for me. When I did my telephone interviews last summer and they asked me where I wanted to work, I said "Not Moscow" because I don't like big cities (and Moscow is 7th largest in the world). Well, here I was, assigned to work in Moscow.
Then, a ray of light. They offered me a summer camp position in the country outside of Moscow! I could come home on weekends! Ms Australia and Gem taught at a similar camp last summer and they loved it. Okay! Sign me up!
So, ready to hit the summer camp and a good compromise between Turkey and Moscow established, I was happy and looking forward to the summer.
Then, last week, an email that read "We need you to teach in central school beginning June 15"
That was two weeks away and they were still fucking around with this. I asked if I was still going to the summer camp and they replied that I wasn't. Then they told me that I had to MOVE to Moscow! They were ditching this apartment in Mytischi!
I was getting incredibly pissed off by that point and started looking up flight information back to Canada to get the hell away from these incompetent idiots. I realized I only have 3 months of this contract left so I decided to stick it out.
They told me I had to vacate the apartment on Friday June 11th at 6 pm, so I began packing my things up and cleaning and kept two days of clothes out. Then, today, with 24 hours to go before I move, they told me that I can't move tomorrow but in two weeks time!
The moral of this story is that when you sign a contract with a language school in another country, you are effectively signing away your freedom of choice for a year. If you refuse to do something they tell you, they can fire you, thus revoking your visa and forcing you to leave the country. That is always hanging above your head. I have a fiance here and I love Russia with its history, culture, geography, people and architecture and I don't want to leave yet, so I have no choice but to do as they tell me.
Still, it would have been nice to go to Turkey.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Georgy
As I progress through my 12-month contract with a "McSchool" in Mytischi, Russia (a moniquer that I protest against as the particular company I work for, LL, has been nothing but wonderful during the past 7 1/2 months), I often take time to stop and reflect upon what brought me here in the first place.
It has been an overwhelmingly pleasant experience in Moscow, and even the few inevitable speed bumps I've encountered haven't been unnavigable. I have been blessed with amazing friends here. The hilariously sarcastic realism of the patriotic Virginian, Wonderpants, constrasts brightly with the rambunctious and perky Ms. Australia, who tends to speak before the thought enters her head resulting in statements like "Don't put it in my mouth, just stick it in" (while eating dinner).
Mr. Irish has his own unique brand of ultra-cultured intellectual humour, and Ms. Australia's friend from England, Gem, brings an inquisitive and open mind tempered with good old fashioned British wit.
Our little ESL crew in Mytischi is a blessing, and although we lost one of our own when Quagmire was fired, the rest of us rallied and filled the vacuum by spending more time together. Of course, for the women of Moscow, both Russians and expats alike, there was a very audible collective sigh of relief when Quagmire went to Kiev.
Soon, however, all my new friends will be leaving. In one month Wonderpants heads back to the States, Ms. Australia returns to Perth, Mr Irish heads off to a camp in Finland, and Gem is going to the UK. I won't be alone, however, as I have Katya, who is now my new fiancee.
We had a very casual engagement, when we went to the store to get pizza toppings, swung by a jewellry shop, picked out a very cheap ring together, I put it on her finger on the walk home and by the time we entered my apartment we were engaged. Our future wedding, whenever that will be, won't be anything big and tacky. It will consist of registering our civil union at the local government office and then getting our papers officially translated and certified, and then beginning the sponsorship process so that Katya can become a permanent resident and eventual citizen of Canada.
So, how did I end up in a place like Moscow, Russia, teaching English alongside Australians and Americans and Brits and Irish and getting engaged to a beautiful Russian girl?
It all happened because of a cat.
In what seems a different life, in Port Hardy, British Columbia, I had a great neighbour named Debbie. Debbie was a recent divorcee and she was incredibly kind and friendly (although that describes most British Columbians). Debbie had a pet cat, named Georgy.
While I was still with my ex, Georgy would come around and hang out with our cat, Mr. Lee. The front of our house had a view of the ocean and the Rocky Mountains on the other side of the channel, but the back had a shrub-covered hill angling up from the driveway. This hill was nearly 20 feet high, and the bushes that covered it grew raspberries, blackberries and salmonberries during the summer. At the top of this hill was an old road that had been put out of use by the construction of a newer and wider road, so it was converted into a walking path through the forest.
One day my ex and I were walking along this old road when we came across our cat, Mr. Lee, Debbie's cat Georgy and another cat all laying down facing each other in the sun. If they had had beers with them I would have been convinced that cats do indeed party.
Debby would often ask me to watch over Georgy when she had to go to the mainland or "down-island" for the night, and during sunny days when the doors were open Georgy would wander into our house, eat the cat food and chill out with Mr. Lee. For some reason Georgy (who was a girl) hated my ex and clawed her hand up once, but that cat loved me.
After my ex left me Georgy would still come around to play with Mr. Lee, but one day while I was at work Mr. Lee explored a neighbours' backyard and ran into their vicious bull mastiff, who attacked my wonderful black cat. When I got home Debbie brought Mr. Lee to me, who was just barely alive and crying. I wrapped him in a blanket, threw him into the passenger seat of my Chevy and raced to the veterinarian hospital. I sped along at over 100 km/h on the narrow twisty road, but it didn't help. In the ten minutes it took me to reach the hospital, Mr. Lee had died in the seat beside me.
This came as a huge blow to me, following as it did on the heels of my breakup, and for the next several weeks the only company I had was Georgy, who came around to find Mr. Lee but couldn't figure out where he had gone. Georgy would wait at the front door all day for me to come home and let her in, and she would wander around the house, sniffing things, and then trot over to me and look up at me with big green quizzical eyes. "Sorry, Georgy, I don't know what to tell you." I would say. Then she would nuzzle my ankle and, choking back tears, I would pet her and she would hang out, waiting for Mr. Lee who would never return.
I took to talking to Georgy after work, as I sat on my deck sipping a beer in the autumn sun, a single hamburger for dinner cooking on my barbecue. "It's just you and me now, Georgy." I would say. "I know you're Debbie's cat and not mine." I would add.
My conversations with a cat eventually developed into deep discussions about the meaning of life and philosophy. As I chatted, Georgy would sit on my lap and purr, then jump down to swat at a passing butterfly, and then spend a few minutes licking her own ass with one leg stuck up in the air like a thanksgiving turkey.
It was during my discussions with Georgy that I pieced together my plan to come to Russia. "What am I going to do, Georgy?" I asked one day. "Am I going to stay here, counting fish, single in a town with no prospect of ever meeting somebody, growing old and then dying alone?" Georgy sniffed a pebble. "That's what I was thinking." She then stared intently at something in the distance that no human could ever see, and after a few moments she turned to me, winked both eyes, and wandered into the house to eat some of the cat food I continued to put out. "You're absolutely right, Georgy! And why shouldn't I?" I called out after her. "Why, Georgy? You are brilliant!"
After that particular discussion with a cat I decided to come to Russia.
It has been an overwhelmingly pleasant experience in Moscow, and even the few inevitable speed bumps I've encountered haven't been unnavigable. I have been blessed with amazing friends here. The hilariously sarcastic realism of the patriotic Virginian, Wonderpants, constrasts brightly with the rambunctious and perky Ms. Australia, who tends to speak before the thought enters her head resulting in statements like "Don't put it in my mouth, just stick it in" (while eating dinner).
Mr. Irish has his own unique brand of ultra-cultured intellectual humour, and Ms. Australia's friend from England, Gem, brings an inquisitive and open mind tempered with good old fashioned British wit.
Our little ESL crew in Mytischi is a blessing, and although we lost one of our own when Quagmire was fired, the rest of us rallied and filled the vacuum by spending more time together. Of course, for the women of Moscow, both Russians and expats alike, there was a very audible collective sigh of relief when Quagmire went to Kiev.
Soon, however, all my new friends will be leaving. In one month Wonderpants heads back to the States, Ms. Australia returns to Perth, Mr Irish heads off to a camp in Finland, and Gem is going to the UK. I won't be alone, however, as I have Katya, who is now my new fiancee.
We had a very casual engagement, when we went to the store to get pizza toppings, swung by a jewellry shop, picked out a very cheap ring together, I put it on her finger on the walk home and by the time we entered my apartment we were engaged. Our future wedding, whenever that will be, won't be anything big and tacky. It will consist of registering our civil union at the local government office and then getting our papers officially translated and certified, and then beginning the sponsorship process so that Katya can become a permanent resident and eventual citizen of Canada.
So, how did I end up in a place like Moscow, Russia, teaching English alongside Australians and Americans and Brits and Irish and getting engaged to a beautiful Russian girl?
It all happened because of a cat.
In what seems a different life, in Port Hardy, British Columbia, I had a great neighbour named Debbie. Debbie was a recent divorcee and she was incredibly kind and friendly (although that describes most British Columbians). Debbie had a pet cat, named Georgy.
While I was still with my ex, Georgy would come around and hang out with our cat, Mr. Lee. The front of our house had a view of the ocean and the Rocky Mountains on the other side of the channel, but the back had a shrub-covered hill angling up from the driveway. This hill was nearly 20 feet high, and the bushes that covered it grew raspberries, blackberries and salmonberries during the summer. At the top of this hill was an old road that had been put out of use by the construction of a newer and wider road, so it was converted into a walking path through the forest.
One day my ex and I were walking along this old road when we came across our cat, Mr. Lee, Debbie's cat Georgy and another cat all laying down facing each other in the sun. If they had had beers with them I would have been convinced that cats do indeed party.
Debby would often ask me to watch over Georgy when she had to go to the mainland or "down-island" for the night, and during sunny days when the doors were open Georgy would wander into our house, eat the cat food and chill out with Mr. Lee. For some reason Georgy (who was a girl) hated my ex and clawed her hand up once, but that cat loved me.
After my ex left me Georgy would still come around to play with Mr. Lee, but one day while I was at work Mr. Lee explored a neighbours' backyard and ran into their vicious bull mastiff, who attacked my wonderful black cat. When I got home Debbie brought Mr. Lee to me, who was just barely alive and crying. I wrapped him in a blanket, threw him into the passenger seat of my Chevy and raced to the veterinarian hospital. I sped along at over 100 km/h on the narrow twisty road, but it didn't help. In the ten minutes it took me to reach the hospital, Mr. Lee had died in the seat beside me.
This came as a huge blow to me, following as it did on the heels of my breakup, and for the next several weeks the only company I had was Georgy, who came around to find Mr. Lee but couldn't figure out where he had gone. Georgy would wait at the front door all day for me to come home and let her in, and she would wander around the house, sniffing things, and then trot over to me and look up at me with big green quizzical eyes. "Sorry, Georgy, I don't know what to tell you." I would say. Then she would nuzzle my ankle and, choking back tears, I would pet her and she would hang out, waiting for Mr. Lee who would never return.
I took to talking to Georgy after work, as I sat on my deck sipping a beer in the autumn sun, a single hamburger for dinner cooking on my barbecue. "It's just you and me now, Georgy." I would say. "I know you're Debbie's cat and not mine." I would add.
My conversations with a cat eventually developed into deep discussions about the meaning of life and philosophy. As I chatted, Georgy would sit on my lap and purr, then jump down to swat at a passing butterfly, and then spend a few minutes licking her own ass with one leg stuck up in the air like a thanksgiving turkey.
It was during my discussions with Georgy that I pieced together my plan to come to Russia. "What am I going to do, Georgy?" I asked one day. "Am I going to stay here, counting fish, single in a town with no prospect of ever meeting somebody, growing old and then dying alone?" Georgy sniffed a pebble. "That's what I was thinking." She then stared intently at something in the distance that no human could ever see, and after a few moments she turned to me, winked both eyes, and wandered into the house to eat some of the cat food I continued to put out. "You're absolutely right, Georgy! And why shouldn't I?" I called out after her. "Why, Georgy? You are brilliant!"
After that particular discussion with a cat I decided to come to Russia.
In memory of my little buddy Mr. Lee.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Burning Meat, Burning Rubber & Burnout
I've come down with a textbook case of Teacher Burnout. It's stressful teaching within the parametres of contract obligations. Lesson planning, satisfying students, grammar presentations, rowdy teenagers, emergency coverage, makeup lessons, split shifts, inter-company politics, etc etc.
As contracted teachers for a large language company we have absolutely no say in our classes and students. When our administrators add new students to an already established class, and those students are at the wrong level, nothing is done about it when we tell them. I have a few classes where some students can carry on a conversation but others are still learning the alphabet. Because the parents are paying money, our administrators do nothing about the situation.
Split shifts are among the worst. Working from 10 until noon and then from 3 until 9 is grinding after a while. Add the need for lesson planning and preparation, test marking, makeup lessons for students who were ill and sometimes the need to cover an ill teacher's classes and our week seems like a chaotic grind.
Thankfully we are on the home stretch now. The school closes in June and although I will probably end up teaching at our central school in Moscow (which will involve an even greater soul-destroying grind), I am holding out for that wonderful trip to Turkey and then that big airplane home. We take it day by day here, because to think of doing this still in 4 months time is depressing.
The worst part of the job is that we receive very little time off. 5 days in December and 5 days in May is about all we get, so we are basically bitches. English bitches. Teaching privately, off-contract, is the way to go but Russia's visa laws make that nearly impossible.
One thing I personally look forward to is the weekend, such as the past two weekends which involved cooking shashleek (Georgian kabobs) outdoors and drinking at a theme park.
Katya, Ms. Australia and I spent an afternoon last Sunday drinking beer and then went on bumper cars drunk and a tilt-a-whirl ride. The Russians aren't sure how to use bumper cars; they just drove around in circles while Ms. Australia and I smashed into each other at full speed, time and again. The ride attendant kept glaring at us but didn't know how to yell at us in English. Big Russian flags fluttered from the back of each car and after one particularly spectacular head-on crash delivered by rowdy Ms. Australia, the flag wrapped around my face and, blinded, I drove into a father and his little kid. Katya got stuck in a corner and couldn't figure out how to reverse, so Ms. Australia and I smashed into her a few times. Katya's excuse afterwards was "I'm too drunk to drive a normal car. Why would I drive these things?"
In hindsight, perhaps we were taking out some of our pent-up aggression from our jobs on the bumper cars. Perhaps we were simply using them as they are meant to be used. Whatever the reasons for enjoying high-speed head-on collisions, it was fun!
Ms. Australia and I then hopped on the Tilt-A-Whirl (Katya refused) and had more fun than everyone else. While the Russians on the ride sat respectfully quiet as the cars spun around and g-forces pushed our stomachs up into our throats, Ms. Australia and I were screaming and laughing and making a scene. Ms. Australia accidentally kicked the front of the car and a bolt came out, but we survived.
Later we went for sushi and sobered up, and then returned to our energy-draining jobs on Monday. I can't wait for next weekend.
Katya & Wonderpants build a shashleek grill
Wonderpants prepares some shashleek
Drunk on the tilt-a-whirl with Ms. Australia
As contracted teachers for a large language company we have absolutely no say in our classes and students. When our administrators add new students to an already established class, and those students are at the wrong level, nothing is done about it when we tell them. I have a few classes where some students can carry on a conversation but others are still learning the alphabet. Because the parents are paying money, our administrators do nothing about the situation.
Split shifts are among the worst. Working from 10 until noon and then from 3 until 9 is grinding after a while. Add the need for lesson planning and preparation, test marking, makeup lessons for students who were ill and sometimes the need to cover an ill teacher's classes and our week seems like a chaotic grind.
Thankfully we are on the home stretch now. The school closes in June and although I will probably end up teaching at our central school in Moscow (which will involve an even greater soul-destroying grind), I am holding out for that wonderful trip to Turkey and then that big airplane home. We take it day by day here, because to think of doing this still in 4 months time is depressing.
The worst part of the job is that we receive very little time off. 5 days in December and 5 days in May is about all we get, so we are basically bitches. English bitches. Teaching privately, off-contract, is the way to go but Russia's visa laws make that nearly impossible.
One thing I personally look forward to is the weekend, such as the past two weekends which involved cooking shashleek (Georgian kabobs) outdoors and drinking at a theme park.
Katya, Ms. Australia and I spent an afternoon last Sunday drinking beer and then went on bumper cars drunk and a tilt-a-whirl ride. The Russians aren't sure how to use bumper cars; they just drove around in circles while Ms. Australia and I smashed into each other at full speed, time and again. The ride attendant kept glaring at us but didn't know how to yell at us in English. Big Russian flags fluttered from the back of each car and after one particularly spectacular head-on crash delivered by rowdy Ms. Australia, the flag wrapped around my face and, blinded, I drove into a father and his little kid. Katya got stuck in a corner and couldn't figure out how to reverse, so Ms. Australia and I smashed into her a few times. Katya's excuse afterwards was "I'm too drunk to drive a normal car. Why would I drive these things?"
In hindsight, perhaps we were taking out some of our pent-up aggression from our jobs on the bumper cars. Perhaps we were simply using them as they are meant to be used. Whatever the reasons for enjoying high-speed head-on collisions, it was fun!
Ms. Australia and I then hopped on the Tilt-A-Whirl (Katya refused) and had more fun than everyone else. While the Russians on the ride sat respectfully quiet as the cars spun around and g-forces pushed our stomachs up into our throats, Ms. Australia and I were screaming and laughing and making a scene. Ms. Australia accidentally kicked the front of the car and a bolt came out, but we survived.
Later we went for sushi and sobered up, and then returned to our energy-draining jobs on Monday. I can't wait for next weekend.
Katya & Wonderpants build a shashleek grill
Wonderpants prepares some shashleek
The fire is lit
Drunk on the tilt-a-whirl with Ms. Australia
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Youths
One thing that I think would be good to have with me is a stick. The kind of stick that is thick and heavy-looking and one or two feet long. I would walk around, twirling it lazily and smiling to myself in a snarky way. I'm willing to bet that nobody would mess with a guy swinging a big stick as he walks casually with a look on his face that reads "I know a big secret. It's the kind of secret that involves everyone but me dying. Tomorrow."
That way, shop keepers won't yell at me when I try to order 1 kilo of ground beef and mispronounce a word. Old drunk men won't hassle me for cigarettes and money on the street, and, most importantly, groups of youth won't bother me when I walk through a park. Heck, they might not even stare!
Ms. Australia and I went to drink in the local Mytischi Municipal Park on Tuesday after work. We bought a couple of beers and decided to take advantage of the beautiful spring weather. As we walked through the park, searching for a bench to sit on, large groups of teenagers and early 20-somethings who had infested the place stared at us. They were all drinking and the young men, in the slightly-latino-macho way with their black leather jackets and their bright white Adidas sneakers, and sporting mullets, were glaring at us with open hostility.
We couldn't figure it out. We weren't even speaking, so there was no way for them to know that we were foreign, yet one group of teenage girls stopped talking and carefully studied us as we walked by. An old man once told me that he can tell a westerner by our eyes. "You people have kind eyes." He had said. "Whereas Russians have hard eyes." I don't necessarily subscribe to this theory because many of the Russian youth who live in Mytischi have had a pretty easy life thus far. This is, after all, a suburban town filled with Russia's equivalent of yuppies.
Last October, as I came home on the Moscow metro, I looked up to see five young men seated across from me. They were all wearing black leather jackets, black jeans and black combat boots. They were all blonde with closely cropped hair. The one directly across from me had the most piercing blue eyes I've ever seen. I know this because, when I looked up, I realized that all five of them were glaring at me with a very chilling cool and cold calculation. One of them said something and they turned to him, laughed menacingly, and then turned those ruthless stares back at me again. I tried to stare down the one with the blue eyes, but thankfully the train came to a stop and the doors opened and, right before they closed again, I jumped out of the train. Ha!
How did they know I was foreign? Those young brutes were obviously some sort of nationalist Slavophile neo-nazi gang. The youth in the Mytischi park were obviously spoiled kids acting tough. If I had a menacing stick to carry around with me, I doubt any of them would have stared at me.
That way, shop keepers won't yell at me when I try to order 1 kilo of ground beef and mispronounce a word. Old drunk men won't hassle me for cigarettes and money on the street, and, most importantly, groups of youth won't bother me when I walk through a park. Heck, they might not even stare!
Ms. Australia and I went to drink in the local Mytischi Municipal Park on Tuesday after work. We bought a couple of beers and decided to take advantage of the beautiful spring weather. As we walked through the park, searching for a bench to sit on, large groups of teenagers and early 20-somethings who had infested the place stared at us. They were all drinking and the young men, in the slightly-latino-macho way with their black leather jackets and their bright white Adidas sneakers, and sporting mullets, were glaring at us with open hostility.
We couldn't figure it out. We weren't even speaking, so there was no way for them to know that we were foreign, yet one group of teenage girls stopped talking and carefully studied us as we walked by. An old man once told me that he can tell a westerner by our eyes. "You people have kind eyes." He had said. "Whereas Russians have hard eyes." I don't necessarily subscribe to this theory because many of the Russian youth who live in Mytischi have had a pretty easy life thus far. This is, after all, a suburban town filled with Russia's equivalent of yuppies.
Last October, as I came home on the Moscow metro, I looked up to see five young men seated across from me. They were all wearing black leather jackets, black jeans and black combat boots. They were all blonde with closely cropped hair. The one directly across from me had the most piercing blue eyes I've ever seen. I know this because, when I looked up, I realized that all five of them were glaring at me with a very chilling cool and cold calculation. One of them said something and they turned to him, laughed menacingly, and then turned those ruthless stares back at me again. I tried to stare down the one with the blue eyes, but thankfully the train came to a stop and the doors opened and, right before they closed again, I jumped out of the train. Ha!
How did they know I was foreign? Those young brutes were obviously some sort of nationalist Slavophile neo-nazi gang. The youth in the Mytischi park were obviously spoiled kids acting tough. If I had a menacing stick to carry around with me, I doubt any of them would have stared at me.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Hello Goodbye
April has arrived with all the glory of a sunny, slightly-warm spring. Flowers are beginning to grow and although the trees haven't started to bud yet, it is only a matter of time. Only small pockets of snow continue to resist the +15 C temperatures and while the ground remains muddy the sidewalks are dry and finally navigable.
It was on April 1st that I moved into Quagmire's old room following his termination from the company and expulsion from Russia. Quagmire, my drinking buddy and comrade-in-arms, failed to show up for a few-too-many classes due to excessive bouts of drinking and the company let him go, thus cancelling his Russian visa. His departure was sad because he and I had great fun together and he was always good for a laugh.
Despite the loss of a friend here in Russia, I did manage to profit from his departure by moving into his old room in the flat he shared with Wonderpants and Ms. Australia. The motivation behind moving was simple: it's a 45-second walk to work, as opposed to the 20 minute walk I had previously had to endure. On Monday's and Wednesdays I have split shifts, which means walking to work and back and then to work and back again, a total walking time of 80 minutes per day.
The first day I spent in my new room was relaxing. I looked at my watch and noted that I would normally have begun preparing to leave on my trek to work, which involves putting on shoes and coat, taking the elevator down, hiking around streets and then running the muddy cesspool of muck gauntlet beside Arena Mytischi before emerging, covered in dirt, at the intersection in front of my school. Another option was always to spend 25 roubles on a marshroutka; small mini-van-sized buses that zig through traffic (and require shouting out "Nasta novkye palzhasta!" in order for them to stop where you want, and then fighting my way through a crowd of grouchy babushki and teenagers wearing too much perfume to get off the bus). Instead of all that stress and exercise, I took a 30-minute nap.
Quagmire appears to be doing well, judging from the few messages I've received. He took the train to Kiev, in the Ukraine, where the only visa required is an entrance stamp in your passport, and he has set up shop there as a private English teacher. I may be happy with our warming weather here in the Moscow Oblast, but Quagmire states that he is quite happy with an additional five or ten degrees of warmth in the Ukraine, which lies much further south.
Of course, I will get to enjoy the warmer weather in one month, when an intense period of travel activity begins for me. My two friends from Canada, Q and Dutchy, are coming to Moscow in May and together with Katya we are taking the train to Volgograd to visit the Stalingrad battlefield. They are in Russia for two weeks and when they head back home I will be heading off to Turkey to teach at a summer camp our company runs there. This camp is on a Mediteranean beach only a few hours from Istanbul, so I plan on visiting the Hagia Sofia and seeing the ruins of Constantinople and getting a tan. Then Katya and I are talking about taking a week in Greece sometime this summer, provided I can get the time off work, and then in September I'm off to Canada for a couple of weeks to get my visa renewed. I am in no rush to return to a mundane life of work and forms and work and bills and work and death. There is still so much to see and do! I figure that I will spend the next couple of years travelling around Europe and the Mediteranean from my nice comfortable base in Russia, and it begins in one month!
Goodbye Quagmire. Hello summer!
It was on April 1st that I moved into Quagmire's old room following his termination from the company and expulsion from Russia. Quagmire, my drinking buddy and comrade-in-arms, failed to show up for a few-too-many classes due to excessive bouts of drinking and the company let him go, thus cancelling his Russian visa. His departure was sad because he and I had great fun together and he was always good for a laugh.
Despite the loss of a friend here in Russia, I did manage to profit from his departure by moving into his old room in the flat he shared with Wonderpants and Ms. Australia. The motivation behind moving was simple: it's a 45-second walk to work, as opposed to the 20 minute walk I had previously had to endure. On Monday's and Wednesdays I have split shifts, which means walking to work and back and then to work and back again, a total walking time of 80 minutes per day.
The first day I spent in my new room was relaxing. I looked at my watch and noted that I would normally have begun preparing to leave on my trek to work, which involves putting on shoes and coat, taking the elevator down, hiking around streets and then running the muddy cesspool of muck gauntlet beside Arena Mytischi before emerging, covered in dirt, at the intersection in front of my school. Another option was always to spend 25 roubles on a marshroutka; small mini-van-sized buses that zig through traffic (and require shouting out "Nasta novkye palzhasta!" in order for them to stop where you want, and then fighting my way through a crowd of grouchy babushki and teenagers wearing too much perfume to get off the bus). Instead of all that stress and exercise, I took a 30-minute nap.
Quagmire appears to be doing well, judging from the few messages I've received. He took the train to Kiev, in the Ukraine, where the only visa required is an entrance stamp in your passport, and he has set up shop there as a private English teacher. I may be happy with our warming weather here in the Moscow Oblast, but Quagmire states that he is quite happy with an additional five or ten degrees of warmth in the Ukraine, which lies much further south.
Of course, I will get to enjoy the warmer weather in one month, when an intense period of travel activity begins for me. My two friends from Canada, Q and Dutchy, are coming to Moscow in May and together with Katya we are taking the train to Volgograd to visit the Stalingrad battlefield. They are in Russia for two weeks and when they head back home I will be heading off to Turkey to teach at a summer camp our company runs there. This camp is on a Mediteranean beach only a few hours from Istanbul, so I plan on visiting the Hagia Sofia and seeing the ruins of Constantinople and getting a tan. Then Katya and I are talking about taking a week in Greece sometime this summer, provided I can get the time off work, and then in September I'm off to Canada for a couple of weeks to get my visa renewed. I am in no rush to return to a mundane life of work and forms and work and bills and work and death. There is still so much to see and do! I figure that I will spend the next couple of years travelling around Europe and the Mediteranean from my nice comfortable base in Russia, and it begins in one month!
Goodbye Quagmire. Hello summer!
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Dirty Shoes
Some people believe that a quick mind, the ability to be flexible in one's thinking and a sense of adventure are the most important things to have when traveling internationally. They are wrong. All a traveler needs is a good pair of clean shoes.
A good, clean pair of shoes is more important than anything else when going to foreign countries. For example, shoes should be comfortable because you can expect to be doing a lot more walking than you normally would, and they should be clean because you will be an unaccredited ambassador from your country and dirt makes you look like a street bum.
In the event that you are meeting new people, your shoes should be extremely clean and look nice, particularly if you're meeting foreign women. All women around the world look at a man's shoes. In fact, I have the secret to how women check men out. They look first at the face (including hair), then the stomach, and then the shoes. If one of those things are out of sync the man is shot down without even knowing it. Especially if his shoes are dirty.
If you get lost in a chaotic and disorganized Asian city, a good pair of shoes can help you get out. Some Asians, in my experience, are fascinated the first time they see a foreigner and may even give you directions in exchange for a chance to touch your shoes. Yes, foreigners wear the same shoes. Wow! Okay, turn left at the big wall, go past the shops with baked bats hanging in the window, go through the crowd of prostitutes and at the far end of a big empty space you'll see the bus depot.
If your shoes are dirty, then good luck getting directions in Asia.
Even in extreme cases, a good, clean pair of shoes can be a lifesaver. Say, for instance, that you are traveling Saudi Arabia but get lost in the Sahara desert. What will you do? Well, if you have good leather shoes you can suck moisture out of them to stay alive. Do you think you could do that if they were dirty? NO!
It's a war of attrition to keep your shoes clean in Russia during the spring. I have all the products; shines, watery sponges, spit clothes, and even a small furry animal I brush over my shoes to give them a nice polish. Actually I don't have a small furry animal but it's a good idea. We should breed "shoesters" and make them genetically pre-disposed to climb around people's shoes, thus cleaning them in the process. Why aren't I rich yet?
I digress...
The Russian spring is horrendously muddy. During the day it rains and the snow melts and there is no drainage in the streets or sidewalks, resulting in large, muddy puddles that are unavoidable (particularly if you're daydreaming and walking at the same time). Cars smash through lake-sized puddles at top speed, sending giant tsunamis flying across the sidewalks, engulfing pedestrians in the process with brown-grey road water. Sheets of black ice lie in wait beneath tepid rivulets of melting snow for unsuspecting English teachers listening to their ipod and walking really fast to not be late for school because they were too busy cleaning their shoes.
It seems like a real uphill battle to keep my shoes clean during this awful muddy spring. Back in January the winter was so peaceful and beautiful but that has all changed into a squalor of filthy, oozing, sucking, seeping slime that covers everything, particularly shoes. In the event of a giant chasm opening up in the center of Moscow due to a never-before-discovered tectonic plate-shift, millions of people would die because, where normally one could use a good, clean pair of shoelaces to dangle over precarious heights, their shoes would be too dirty to grip and thus they would plummet into the crevice.
Only one thing can save me in Moscow: either some really hot, dry weather comes and clears up the disgusting cesspool of polluted muck that covers everything, or we manage to genetically breed "shoesters". I put my money on the rodents.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
я люблю москва!
я люблю москва (ya lyoublyou Moskva) is Russian for "I love Moscow!"
Moscow is one of my favourite cities in the world. Of course this is only one person's opinion but I have seen a decent number of cities and Moscow ranks high on my list. I'm not sure where it ranks but it might fit comfortably somewhere between Halifax and Seattle. People may argue that I haven't seen other European cities aside from Vienna and St. Petersburg, to which I reply by saying "Shut up." This is my blog.
Last summer I wrote an Ottawa POV (point-of-view) so now I'm going to give you a Moscow POV.
Moscow Positive:
Moscow has attitude in abundance. It is a ballsy and rude and aggressive and incredibly sarcastic city, and this is one reason I love it. It's like the New York of Europe. Traffic in Moscow is non-stop, day and night, and with 15 million people (officially...there may be an additional 3-5 million illegals in Moscow) all jostling to carve out a piece of life for themselves, a collective attitude is formed that makes me smile every time a taxi driver yells at me or a drunk guy passes out on the sidewalk or a grouchy babushka pushes me out the metro doors with her oversized purse.
.jpg)
Moscow Negative:
Babushkas are dangerous creatures. A babushka is a Russian grandmother, and following the Second World War, dangerous industrialization in the Soviet Union and high rates of alcoholism and cancer, most men in the past didn't live beyond 55. This means that there are millions of old widows roaming the streets of Moscow, barking at anyone they don't like the look of.
It is difficult to blame these small, round, squat old ladies with kerchiefs wrapped over their heads. They grew up in incredibly difficult circumstances and lived very hard lives. Since the fall of the USSR in 1991 chaos seems to have run rampant in Russia and these old ladies are simply trying to survive. They will, however, savagely beat with their big purses any unsuspecting passenger who doesn't give up his seat on the bus, or physically shove you out of a line at a ticket counter, or simply start shouting at you for no reason from down the street.
I should mention that babushkas are incredibly sweet grandmothers to their own families, and, with high unemployment, army obligations and rampant alcoholism rendering many fathers useless in family affairs, often form the rock around which family life functions. Every Russian loves his/her babushka, but remains wary of anyone else's.
Moscow Positive:
Red Square and the Kremlin are the most famous landmarks in Moscow and for good reason. Situated in the dead center of the city, the Kremlin is an awe-inspiring fortress city-within-a-city. Surrounded by a massive red wall, the towers of 15th-Century churches peek up alongside 18th-Century government buildings. Large Muscovy spires adorn the Kremlin wall while gardens and statues ring the outside to the north and east and the Moscow River runs along it's southern side.
.jpg)
Red Square takes up one whole side of the Kremlin wall, anchored at one end by the Resurrection Gate and at the other by St. Basil's Cathedral. Opposite the Kremlin wall is GUM and the Church of the Annunciation. Stepping onto Red Square always takes my breath away, regardless of how many times I do it. It never ceases to be one of the most beautiful and aesthetically pleasing man-made areas in the world, and it reeks of Russian history and culture. I highly recommend visiting Red Square in the early evening and then sticking around for sunset, when soft floodlights light up St. Basil's and the red walls of the Kremlin.
Moscow Negative:
The highway that circles Moscow, the M-Kat, is a 108-km long circle of motorized mayhem. The traffic jams that occur on the M-Kat far exceed even those of Seoul or Tokyo. Trying to get anywhere in rush hour can take 4 or more hours! Nobody seems able to drive very well, either, resulting in confusion and chaos and pure, utter hell on the highway. After midnight the going is much smoother, but during the day I would highly suggest avoiding buses and taxis and opting instead for the metro and the elektrishka to points outside of the city center.
Moscow Positive:
Moscow is famous for it's nightlife, earning it the nickname in the early 2000s of "The Wild East". Moscow conjures images of insane nightclubs with spectacular light shows and jaw-dropping women and rave music pounding while alcohol and blatant sexuality pour freely. A lot of that hedonistic nightlife has since vanished but some traces of it remain. In addition, there is still a fantastic night scene in Moscow. Clubs open and go under rather frequently, to replaced by something completely new.
Expect to have a really good time in Moscow at night. I was never much of a club person, missing out on the scene almost entirely as a 20-something due to being a broke student, then a pot-head, then traveling to Asia. I have always had a phobia towards dancing but here in Moscow those personal barriers have been broken down. I love going out in this town. The women are incredibly approachable and even if they aren't interested in chatting they know how to turn a potential suitor down with charm and sensitivity. I don't mention the men in this case for two reasons: I haven't hit on any men at a nightclub, and men in any nightclub are usually approachable. My experience with Moscow women at Moscow nightclubs is that, once they hear me speaking English, they come up and talk to me. For that matter, so do the men...
Moscow Negative:
If the nightclubs are among the best in the world, then the prices reflect that. Going out in Moscow sometimes requires taking out a mortgage to finance one's libations. One Saturday night out on the town usually means waiting two weeks for my next pay in order to go out again. In addition to 290 rouble beers (nearly $9), 500 rouble cover charges and the cost of buying drinks for two or three super-sexy slavic girls you are bound to meet, there is the cost of getting home. My colleagues and I live outside of the center so by 4 am we are looking at 1000 rouble taxi rides home.
In addition to the cost of enjoying Moscow's night life, there is the threat of being turned away by feis kontrol; large men in leather jackets who control who is good-looking enough and rich-looking enough to enter a club. I have posted an earlier entry about feis kontrol so I won't get into it, but being 'feised' from a nightclub can ruin an evening. Two weekends ago Quagmire, Wonderpants, Ms. Australia, Gem and I, along with A&A (a new male character I'm introducing now) and his Russian girlfriend Blondie and two British girls, Tash and Kat, went to a fancy nightclub on the roof of a massive shopping mall. This club shared the rooftop with two other clubs, one of which had glass windows through which we could see half-naked go-go dancers on tables while laser lights danced across the room. The place was packed, and a guy with a friggin' MP-5 submachine gun was standing at the door! That was the most extreme feis kontrol I have ever seen. Unfortunately we didn't go to that club...
Another downside to Moscow's nightlife is that there isn't a "downtown" core in Moscow. Every nightclub is situated randomly throughout the city, making it difficult to bar hop, and nearly impossible once the metro has stopped running (around midnight).
One Last Moscow Positive:
The simple fact that I am in Moscow, Russia, is a positive enough. I yearned to come here for a year before I finally made it. Like I said at the start of this post, the overall character of the city is fantastic. No other city has a personality like Moscow and it can be shocking at first but it grows on you very fast. This city doesn't suffer fools gladly but it does reward the adventurous with untold ethereal riches.
One Last Moscow Negative:
There isn't one. I love this city. If I had to come up with another negative it would be that Moscow forces a certain lifestyle on the person willing to let themselves get absorbed in it. If you let it, Moscow will suck you in until you are lost, even more than Bangkok. People who come here on one-year contracts stay for years without even realizing it, and have a difficult time tearing themselves away. The city, with it's mix of beauty and crudeness, sensuality and violence, charm and aggression, leaves an enduring mark on the traveller. Even more so if a babushka hits you with her purse.
Moscow is one of my favourite cities in the world. Of course this is only one person's opinion but I have seen a decent number of cities and Moscow ranks high on my list. I'm not sure where it ranks but it might fit comfortably somewhere between Halifax and Seattle. People may argue that I haven't seen other European cities aside from Vienna and St. Petersburg, to which I reply by saying "Shut up." This is my blog.Last summer I wrote an Ottawa POV (point-of-view) so now I'm going to give you a Moscow POV.
Moscow Positive:
Moscow has attitude in abundance. It is a ballsy and rude and aggressive and incredibly sarcastic city, and this is one reason I love it. It's like the New York of Europe. Traffic in Moscow is non-stop, day and night, and with 15 million people (officially...there may be an additional 3-5 million illegals in Moscow) all jostling to carve out a piece of life for themselves, a collective attitude is formed that makes me smile every time a taxi driver yells at me or a drunk guy passes out on the sidewalk or a grouchy babushka pushes me out the metro doors with her oversized purse.
.jpg)
Moscow Negative:
Babushkas are dangerous creatures. A babushka is a Russian grandmother, and following the Second World War, dangerous industrialization in the Soviet Union and high rates of alcoholism and cancer, most men in the past didn't live beyond 55. This means that there are millions of old widows roaming the streets of Moscow, barking at anyone they don't like the look of.
It is difficult to blame these small, round, squat old ladies with kerchiefs wrapped over their heads. They grew up in incredibly difficult circumstances and lived very hard lives. Since the fall of the USSR in 1991 chaos seems to have run rampant in Russia and these old ladies are simply trying to survive. They will, however, savagely beat with their big purses any unsuspecting passenger who doesn't give up his seat on the bus, or physically shove you out of a line at a ticket counter, or simply start shouting at you for no reason from down the street.
I should mention that babushkas are incredibly sweet grandmothers to their own families, and, with high unemployment, army obligations and rampant alcoholism rendering many fathers useless in family affairs, often form the rock around which family life functions. Every Russian loves his/her babushka, but remains wary of anyone else's.
Moscow Positive:
Red Square and the Kremlin are the most famous landmarks in Moscow and for good reason. Situated in the dead center of the city, the Kremlin is an awe-inspiring fortress city-within-a-city. Surrounded by a massive red wall, the towers of 15th-Century churches peek up alongside 18th-Century government buildings. Large Muscovy spires adorn the Kremlin wall while gardens and statues ring the outside to the north and east and the Moscow River runs along it's southern side.
.jpg)
Red Square takes up one whole side of the Kremlin wall, anchored at one end by the Resurrection Gate and at the other by St. Basil's Cathedral. Opposite the Kremlin wall is GUM and the Church of the Annunciation. Stepping onto Red Square always takes my breath away, regardless of how many times I do it. It never ceases to be one of the most beautiful and aesthetically pleasing man-made areas in the world, and it reeks of Russian history and culture. I highly recommend visiting Red Square in the early evening and then sticking around for sunset, when soft floodlights light up St. Basil's and the red walls of the Kremlin.
Moscow Negative:
The highway that circles Moscow, the M-Kat, is a 108-km long circle of motorized mayhem. The traffic jams that occur on the M-Kat far exceed even those of Seoul or Tokyo. Trying to get anywhere in rush hour can take 4 or more hours! Nobody seems able to drive very well, either, resulting in confusion and chaos and pure, utter hell on the highway. After midnight the going is much smoother, but during the day I would highly suggest avoiding buses and taxis and opting instead for the metro and the elektrishka to points outside of the city center.
Moscow Positive:
Moscow is famous for it's nightlife, earning it the nickname in the early 2000s of "The Wild East". Moscow conjures images of insane nightclubs with spectacular light shows and jaw-dropping women and rave music pounding while alcohol and blatant sexuality pour freely. A lot of that hedonistic nightlife has since vanished but some traces of it remain. In addition, there is still a fantastic night scene in Moscow. Clubs open and go under rather frequently, to replaced by something completely new.
Expect to have a really good time in Moscow at night. I was never much of a club person, missing out on the scene almost entirely as a 20-something due to being a broke student, then a pot-head, then traveling to Asia. I have always had a phobia towards dancing but here in Moscow those personal barriers have been broken down. I love going out in this town. The women are incredibly approachable and even if they aren't interested in chatting they know how to turn a potential suitor down with charm and sensitivity. I don't mention the men in this case for two reasons: I haven't hit on any men at a nightclub, and men in any nightclub are usually approachable. My experience with Moscow women at Moscow nightclubs is that, once they hear me speaking English, they come up and talk to me. For that matter, so do the men...
Moscow Negative:
If the nightclubs are among the best in the world, then the prices reflect that. Going out in Moscow sometimes requires taking out a mortgage to finance one's libations. One Saturday night out on the town usually means waiting two weeks for my next pay in order to go out again. In addition to 290 rouble beers (nearly $9), 500 rouble cover charges and the cost of buying drinks for two or three super-sexy slavic girls you are bound to meet, there is the cost of getting home. My colleagues and I live outside of the center so by 4 am we are looking at 1000 rouble taxi rides home.
In addition to the cost of enjoying Moscow's night life, there is the threat of being turned away by feis kontrol; large men in leather jackets who control who is good-looking enough and rich-looking enough to enter a club. I have posted an earlier entry about feis kontrol so I won't get into it, but being 'feised' from a nightclub can ruin an evening. Two weekends ago Quagmire, Wonderpants, Ms. Australia, Gem and I, along with A&A (a new male character I'm introducing now) and his Russian girlfriend Blondie and two British girls, Tash and Kat, went to a fancy nightclub on the roof of a massive shopping mall. This club shared the rooftop with two other clubs, one of which had glass windows through which we could see half-naked go-go dancers on tables while laser lights danced across the room. The place was packed, and a guy with a friggin' MP-5 submachine gun was standing at the door! That was the most extreme feis kontrol I have ever seen. Unfortunately we didn't go to that club...
Another downside to Moscow's nightlife is that there isn't a "downtown" core in Moscow. Every nightclub is situated randomly throughout the city, making it difficult to bar hop, and nearly impossible once the metro has stopped running (around midnight).
One Last Moscow Positive:
The simple fact that I am in Moscow, Russia, is a positive enough. I yearned to come here for a year before I finally made it. Like I said at the start of this post, the overall character of the city is fantastic. No other city has a personality like Moscow and it can be shocking at first but it grows on you very fast. This city doesn't suffer fools gladly but it does reward the adventurous with untold ethereal riches.
One Last Moscow Negative:
There isn't one. I love this city. If I had to come up with another negative it would be that Moscow forces a certain lifestyle on the person willing to let themselves get absorbed in it. If you let it, Moscow will suck you in until you are lost, even more than Bangkok. People who come here on one-year contracts stay for years without even realizing it, and have a difficult time tearing themselves away. The city, with it's mix of beauty and crudeness, sensuality and violence, charm and aggression, leaves an enduring mark on the traveller. Even more so if a babushka hits you with her purse.
Monday, February 15, 2010
The Moscow Metro
The Moscow Metro has to be the most breathtaking example of human subterranean endeavour on the planet. To put it in layman's terms, it friggin' rocks!
300 km of tube and track connect 12 seperate lines to over 180 stations, making it the third most expansive metro in the world after Seoul and Tokyo. Those two metro systems, although slightly larger, pale in comparison when it comes to the aesthetic beauty of Moscow's system.
The old rattling trains, made in Mytischi, add to the vibe.
The strange things that one sees on the Moscow Metro also adds to the appeal, like this guy wearing bear-fur everything, and, if you look closely, a bear claw necklace.
Park Pabodi (Victory Park) metro station.
One of my personal favourite stations is Komsomolskaya. Just look at the place!
Me, on the metro
Statues dedicated to soldiers, workers and heroic partisans, like this one here, are everywhere.
.jpg)
The Novoslobodskaya Metro stop, from the outside.
Nearly 1 million people ride the metro everyday, and rush hour (8-10 and 16:00-18:00) can be a hellish crush of people, all jostling to get in the doors and on the escalators while metro workers yell at them to "Walk left, stand right!"
I love the anachronistic Soviet decor found at nearly every station!
Some escalator rides down can take a five minutes or more!
The "blue line" is one of the newest lines, and uses shiny modern trains from Korea with digital signage...not quite as fun as the older carriages on the other lines, but much smoother.
The dog statues at this station are thought to bring luck if you rub their nose. Notice the nice polish on this dog's snout?
.JPG)
Another feature of the Moscow Metro: the Moscow Women!
There it is: the Moscow Metro in all it's beautiful glory!
300 km of tube and track connect 12 seperate lines to over 180 stations, making it the third most expansive metro in the world after Seoul and Tokyo. Those two metro systems, although slightly larger, pale in comparison when it comes to the aesthetic beauty of Moscow's system.
The Moscow Metro map, with the incredibly useful 'circle line' connecting all lines.
In 1931 Joseph Stalin commissioned work on the Metro to begin. He envisioned a metro system so grand; so luxurious, that it would showcase the achievements of the world's first Communist state.
In 1932 the first shaft was sunk deep below Moscow, and three years later, in 1935, the first trains were running from Park Kultury to Smolenskaya stations. Over the decades more lines have been added, and every leader of Russia since Lenin has a station named after them.
The Moscow Metro is the world's deepest, with some stations located well below 100 feet underground. This came in handy during the Second World War, providing shelter to thousands of Muscovites during German bombing raids on the city.
In 2004 Chechen terrorists detonated several explosive devices near Pavaletskaya station, killing 40 and injuring over 100. Since then there has been a heavy militsia presence in the stations (an unnerving fact for the central-asian riders, who are constantly harrassed by the police), and photography has been banned except with permission.
This hasn't stopped me from snapping photos whenever opportunity presents itself, and below I give you a little photo-expose of the best subway system in the world: the Moscow Metro!
The old rattling trains, made in Mytischi, add to the vibe.
The strange things that one sees on the Moscow Metro also adds to the appeal, like this guy wearing bear-fur everything, and, if you look closely, a bear claw necklace.
Park Pabodi (Victory Park) metro station.
One of my personal favourite stations is Komsomolskaya. Just look at the place!
Me, on the metro
Statues dedicated to soldiers, workers and heroic partisans, like this one here, are everywhere.
.jpg)
The Novoslobodskaya Metro stop, from the outside.
Nearly 1 million people ride the metro everyday, and rush hour (8-10 and 16:00-18:00) can be a hellish crush of people, all jostling to get in the doors and on the escalators while metro workers yell at them to "Walk left, stand right!"
I love the anachronistic Soviet decor found at nearly every station!
Some escalator rides down can take a five minutes or more!
The "blue line" is one of the newest lines, and uses shiny modern trains from Korea with digital signage...not quite as fun as the older carriages on the other lines, but much smoother.
The dog statues at this station are thought to bring luck if you rub their nose. Notice the nice polish on this dog's snout?.JPG)
Another feature of the Moscow Metro: the Moscow Women!
There it is: the Moscow Metro in all it's beautiful glory!
Monday, February 8, 2010
Feis Kontrol
Last weekend my ego took a hit when I was turned away from a club by the doormen. I was indiscriminately refused entry because of my hat, or perhaps because of the other eight guys I was with, or perhaps because of Wonderpant's hat. Maybe it was just bad timing. One way or another, I was feis kontrolled.
Moscow's infamous feis kontrol (exactly what it sounds like: face control) bars anyone they deem not good-looking enough from entering any given club. Even Mytischi has feis kontrol at it's three clubs.
Feis kontrol is completely arbitrary and it's impossible to plan on going to just one club in Moscow because half your group may get in and the other half turned away for no apparent reason. To make matters worse, there is no real "downtown" in Moscow and the night life is spread throughout the city. Being the largest city in Europe and the 7th largest city in the world, an alternate venue could be miles away and that means an evening runs the risk of being ruined by some over-muscled feis kontrol guy named "Pasha".
Although feis kontrol is completely arbitrary and is completely up to the mood of the guy at the door, there are some precautions a potential clubber can take to increase the odds of getting in.
The back of the Kremlin
In the car on the way to the club in the Kitay Gorod with the Kremlin in front of us.
Outside the club where Wonderpants and I were feis-kontrolled
Moscow's infamous feis kontrol (exactly what it sounds like: face control) bars anyone they deem not good-looking enough from entering any given club. Even Mytischi has feis kontrol at it's three clubs.
Feis kontrol is completely arbitrary and it's impossible to plan on going to just one club in Moscow because half your group may get in and the other half turned away for no apparent reason. To make matters worse, there is no real "downtown" in Moscow and the night life is spread throughout the city. Being the largest city in Europe and the 7th largest city in the world, an alternate venue could be miles away and that means an evening runs the risk of being ruined by some over-muscled feis kontrol guy named "Pasha".
Although feis kontrol is completely arbitrary and is completely up to the mood of the guy at the door, there are some precautions a potential clubber can take to increase the odds of getting in.
- Dress nice. Sloppy t-shirt and ripped jeans with dirty sneakers won't get you into a club in the U.S. In hyper-fashion-sensitive Moscow, don't even leave home dressed like that let alone attempt to get into a club.
- If you're a guy, make sure you have some chicks with you. It doesn't matter if they're falling down drunk and throwing up in a snowbank, your odds are greatly increased by the ability of the club to cram as many members of the female gender in as possible. If you're a group of guys with no girls, then it's a bottle of vodka and a kitchen table followed by some porn for you.
- If you're a girl, enjoy the evening.
- Don't be born ugly. Sure, in the western world ugly people have rights, but in Moscow ugly people aren't allowed outside after dark. Unfortunately, if you are ugly, there's not much you can do about it. If you're an ugly girl then some great hair and a bit of cleavage may increase your odds. If you're an ugly guy, see point #2.
- Be white. Much like point #4, Moscow isn't an easy place to live for people who are of a different ethnic background. Those with north-east Asian heritage, such as Japanese, Korean and Chinese, won't have too much difficulty (at least the girls won't), but those of a middle-eastern or central Asian persuasion probably won't be seeing too much of Moscow's famed nightlife.
- Finally, look and act like you have money. Even if you had to beg your administrator for a 500 rouble advance on Friday, dress and act at the door as if though your father owns an oil field or an investment bank. Again, this won't guarantee you anything, but it will increase your odds. A few English or German words may help, as many Russians think money grows on trees in those countries.
Until last weekend I had never been turned away by feis kontrol. In fact, Quagmire and I have been ushered into a club in the past. On Saturday, however, we didn't follow any of the above guidelines.
Wonderpants and I started drinking on the elektrishka into Moscow around 2 pm, then we spent the entire afternoon at a pub drinking pints and watching soccer on a big screen TV (Liverpool vs Evereton). We were dressed in jeans and t-shirts. Then Ms. Australia invited us over to Gem's flat, where more people were drinking. Then everyone decided to go out on the town. It took 3 cars to get to the Kitay Gorod section of Moscow, near the Kremlin, and when Wonderpants and I arrived we met 8 other guys from Gem's party at the door. We said "Hey, what's going on?" to them at which point feis kontrol, realizing that were now a group of 10 guys wearing jeans waiting to get in, slammed the door in our face.
There were two women with Wonderpants and I; SDD (Schangledoodledandy) and Ms. Seattle, but they were tucked away behind the guys and I don't know if feis kontrol saw them. Even if they had, the ratio of men to women was too high. When the car with the rest of the girls showed up feis kontrol wouldn't let the guys in (no problem for the women), so Wonderpants and I took a 1000 rouble taxi back to Mytischi and called it a night.
Because nightlife can happen at any time without warning in Moscow, it may be best to always be prepared to get past feis kontrol.
The back of the Kremlin 
In the car on the way to the club in the Kitay Gorod with the Kremlin in front of us.
Outside the club where Wonderpants and I were feis-kontrolled
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)