3/4/2008 - Tuesday
- 3/4/2008 10:00:00 PMMoscow Trip - Day 23Today is "D" day. The day we depart Russia. In short, we are ready to go home. I set the alarm for 7:00 AM. When it went off, I just wanted to spend a few moments laying there quietly - trying to take a final conscious note of my surroundings to that I would remember everything as clear as possible in the days to come.
I showered up and then went to the table for breakfast. Dima was supposed to pick us up at 9:00 and we didn't have too much time to sit and chat. I was thankful for that. It would be better than waiting all day to leave. We asked Marina to help us give Michael some final instructions in Russian before we left
- When we get to the airport we must hurry hurry hurry or we'll miss our flight
- Do not talk to anyone.
Michael is a jabber-box and loves to talk. He also likes to tell stories (that aren't necessarily true). We just don't know what he is saying. He indicated that he understood and would comply.
Dima arrived and we were not entirely ready. He had told us some days ago about "the best honey in the world". It comes from the Ural mountains and he said he would bring us some. Today, he brought us a small plastic container filled with it. That was a nice gift and I looked forward to tasting the best of the best. Peggy had some last minute things to do and then we headed out at 9:30. Michael was already beginning to show signs of being a pokey-butt and I suspected it was going to be a long day.
As we drove out of Moscow, you could see the thickness of the city begin to dissipate. The road got wider, the traffic got thinner. You could see more of the area around you. In about a half hour or so, we arrived at Sherimetyevo International Airport. Dima parked in a handicap parking spot. We told him about it and he said, "it's ok". I responded, "ok whatever. You're the one that will get a ticket".
We got out of the van and Mr. Pokey-pants (Michael) was in full slow mode. Dima and Peggy carried or pulled most of the luggage. I had one of the bags and pulled Michael to the airport. He started to cry lightly. His eyes were watering and he was whimpering. He walks stiff legged as if he has no joints in his legs. All of his bending is done at his hips. When I pull him, he bends forward at his waste and keeps his legs stiff and straight. The weight of his torso is all forward of his body and he pulls down on my hand. He just will not move. He makes no attempt to bend his knees. The more I pulled, the more his face twisted. This was the first time I began to think of having to care for him when I am an elderly man. Will this get better or worse? I decided not to think about it and just do what needs to be done - get home.
I paid Dima, and said good bye. He has lots of other driving to do today. Another family is headed out for Cheboksary on the train and he will have to tend to their needs. We got in line, huffing and puffing from the work of getting there. I was hoping there would be no problems and we would have to call Dima back or contact Marina. I think Peggy was concerned that the baggage checkers would unpack all of our things and we'd have to repack them. We are bringing a lot of stuff home and it has to be packed correctly otherwise it won't fit. I was also worried about the quart sized container of honey in the suit case. Would they seize that? Would it open up in the suit case? Yuck!
I had spoken with Bill some days ago about his wife's visit at the passport check in. It seems they gave her a hard time. Bill had brought up an interesting question that he did not get a good answer to. Here it is:
If we applied for a "tourist" visa to get in here and we are leaving with an extra person that we adopted and the passport control people ask us, "what's with that?" - what should we tell them? I was a little worried.
When it was our turn at the front of the line, we were never asked any such question. The inspector asked Michael a few questions and warned us not to pick up any liquids from the duty free shops. Then he directed us to the baggage checker. He was an elderly man with a red sport jacket. He very carefully and slowly opened our suit cases and peered inside. He didn't move much around but pushed his hands into and out of the clothing. He looked at the plastic bags of liquids we had and verified the ounces of each container. Zip Zip - he closed up the luggage and put an inspection sticker on them and we were on our way to the Delta check in.
The Delta counter person checked in our luggage and printed out all of our tickets for all of the flights. When they were done, they sent us on to passport control. We approached the counter and got into an available line. I went first and tossed my passport onto the counter. The female passport agent took my little passport book and mumbled something back to me. I said, "what?". In her best English she shouted back to me, "BOARDING PASS". By this time, Peggy and Michael had gotten into another line. Peggy had all of our tickets. I called her back to my line and she gave me my boarding pass. I handed it to the agent and she stamped it. Ka-Chunk! Ka-Chunk! The gate opened and I was done. Peggy and Michael went to the counter and the agent shouted at Peggy. While Peggy and I are American, Michael is not. Our passports are blue and his is red. The agent wanted the court, immigration and consular paperwork to go along with Michael's passport. Ka-Chunk! Ka-Chunk!. Everything was good to go and we were on our way.
The first thing we saw after the final passport control was all the alcoholic liquids you could buy at the duty-free shops - the very places they warned us not to buy anything from. You cannot help but walk past them to get to your gate. All along the way, people are smoking and blowing their blue smoky air into the corridor. We slowly made our way to our gate. Not only were we walking slow because Michael refused to walk any faster, he was looking at every item in the window of each store. "Come on. Come on", I called to him. Tug, tug, pull, pull.
We arrived at our gate and found there was another metal detector to get in. It looked like once you got in, you were going to be there for a while so we decided to make a bathroom stop before going in. We walked slowly back to the edge of smoky town, went potty, and then came back to our gate. When we entered, they opened and inspected our carry-on luggage. They were very careful and repacked everything very gently.
Initially we thought we were going to have to wait a while. Our flight was scheduled to leave at 1:00 PM and by now it was around 11-something. The time passed quickly. Michael's ticket said that he would be boarding in "Zone 6" and Peggy and my ticket said "Zone 7". From our previous experience we knew that being the last people to board the plane is a bad thing. All of the good overhead compartments are taken and you may have to stow your luggage in a location that is far from you. We decided to board when they called for Michael's zone. As it turns out, that was a very good thing. We boarded way ahead of many people and got on the plane easily.
I began to speak to Michael and look out the window.
I said, "bye bye Moscow".
He said, "bye bye Moscow".
I said, "bye bye Russia".
He said, "bye bye Russia".
I said, "bye bye Marina".
He said, "bye bye Marina".
I said, "bye bye Deskie Dom". (which is the Russian word for orphanage)
He said, "NO! bye bye Deskie Dom".
I didn't understand that. Perhaps he didn't want to say "good bye" to his friends and memories. Peggy asked me to stop doing this. We sat quietly until the plane took off. Many of the flight attendants had southern accents. This is the first time I began to feel like we were really going home.
I studied the people around us. There was an elderly couple in front of us. The man had all gold teeth and the woman had a few on her lower jaw. In front of them was a bigger, middle age Russian man who liked to drink a lot, read the paper by holding it up high and blocking the movie from everyone that sat behind him. He also liked to talk to the person right behind Peggy's chair while leaning on the head-rest of Peggy's chair. There were also some American people on the plane who congratulated us on our adoption. It seems there were a few crying babies too. This is one good time for you to be slightly deaf due to air pressure.
Both Peggy and I noted that the rest rooms on the plane were clean when we boarded. As the flight progressed, they became disgusting. Much like the public rest rooms we had seen in Moscow, there was urine all over the toilet seat and a deep puddle on the floor. Other people had left their garbage in the restroom. It was on the counter and soaking on the floor.
The flight was 12 hours long. We had a nice lunch of chicken breast with rice and carrots. Michael began to complain that the chicken made his stomach hurt. He didn't want to eat his carrots and wanted juice every time the stewardess came around. The last thing I wanted was to have a food battle on the plane. I cut his chicken in half and ate it thinking he would appreciate it. Wrong. We took his desert away and he acted like it was ok since the chicken had brought him near the brink of death anyway.
Later in the flight, they served ice cream in a cup. When he visited our home for 10 days last March, that was one thing he refused to eat and it surprised us. Here he was, one year later, eating ice cream as if he always loved it. If there is one thing I have noticed about Michael, is that there is a direct correlation between his likes and dislikes and how he feels at the moment.
We continued the flight taking a more northerly route home. From the flight path they displayed on the movie screen, we passed over the earth north of Iceland and right through the middle of Greenland. Then straight down over Detroit and on to Atlanta. Near the end of the flight, they served us toasted cheese sandwiches. Michael said to me, "Yuri please no". I took that to mean he just could not put up with any pressure from me to eat this disgusting sandwich. I - on the other hand found the sandwich to be particularly fulfilling both physically and emotionally. It was a taste of how things are done in America. Big sandwich with lots of cheese. Yummy! I didn't make him eat any of his food and secretly coveted his sandwich. "I'll eat that later", I thought to myself.
For the last few hours of the flight, Michael became sleepy but didn't want to put his head down. We kept telling him to sleep but I think he wanted to stay awake for the whole thing. In the end, it was too much and he fell asleep. As we approached the runway in Atlanta, we woke him up. He looked out the window and at the moment the wheels hit the ground, we patted him on the back and said, "Michael - American Boy". "Yes. Yes", he said with a sleepy smile on his face.
When it was time to de-board the plane, he went back to his whiny, pokey-butt, slow mode and began to cry. "Just a minute", he would say and then sit back down and not move. The passengers behind us were trying to get off the plane and we were holding them all up. I picked him up under his arms and he lifted his legs just like an infant does. Here he was, 70 pounds with his legs curled up under him refusing to put them down and support his own weight. My lower back began to hurt. We had to go very far and very fast to make our next flight.
I set him down and said, "go, come on, move" and all the combinations I could think of to get him to react. Once we got off the plane, I resumed pulling him by his hand. "Dad... please...", he would cry out to me. I would call back to him, "LETS GO!". It was more of the same. Him not bending his knees and leaning forward at the waste and putting a lot of downward pressure on my arm. I pulled him hard to the point where he was off balance. We had no choice other than to miss our flight.
Fortunately for us, as we entered the airport we discovered they had moving sidewalks. That was a blessing. They would go for a hundred yards or so and then you would have to get off and walk some more. I pulled and pulled. Off to the side, I saw some wheel chairs. I told Peggy, "the next time we pass some of them, I'm going to grab one and put him in. We can't waste any more time". We walked over to the chairs and Michael refused to get in. That made me very angry! We went back to pulling.
We finally made it to the US Passport services and got in line. Finally it was a chance to stand and not have to walk quickly. The line moved forward at a good pace and it was not long before we were hustling again to pick up our luggage from customs. More pulling. We got a cart for our stuff and I put Michael in the basket. We went to the line we were directed to go to carrying our passports and the court and immigration decrees in the sealed envelope given to us by the US Embassy in Moscow. Then we were directed to go to "Desk #3" and hand our paperwork to one of the four men standing there. We gave them our paperwork and were told to sit down and wait. Then everyone from Desk #3 left and went on break.
There we were, in a large waiting area with 20 or so other people, watching the clock and watching our unattended envelope sit on the counter. About 45 minutes went by and an immigration officer from Desk #2 came by and picked up our paperwork. He came up to us and said, "If I had known it was this kind, I would have done yours first". All we had to do was give him the envelope from the Embassy and let him look at my passport and we were on our way. I put Michael back into the cart and off we went - angry - but moving at a decent pace.
We rechecked our luggage and then headed for our gate. The tickets said gate "C7" which meant we would have to take the underground rail to get there. Peggy said, "I want to check the monitor before we do anything". That was a good thing. As it turns out, they changed the gate and we were already in the correct wing, we just had to get to gate #35. Up the escalators and pulling Michael along, we hustled as fast as we could.
Moving back down the ramp we boarded the plane for the second leg of the journey home. By this time, I was hot, sweaty and tired. It was late and we already had a very long day. The flight from Atlanta to Detroit was only 90 minutes. Detroit was having a snow storm and they were expecting 4 inches of snow. Michael was very drowsy now and he quickly fell asleep on the plane. I fell asleep shortly after.
When we landed, it was again - more of the same. Michael didn't want to move and would only say, "just a minute" and then refuse to move. I picked him up and put him into the aisle. "Go. Move. Come on."
Detroit has a large airport and we had a long way to walk. Over the airport speakers they announced that if you didn't check into your gate at least 20 minutes before your flight, your seat was subject to reassignment to someone else. That is the last thing I needed, more pressure to move faster. I carried him on my back as far and as fast as I could and then I had to set him down and go back to pulling. Thankfully the airport was mostly empty. It would have been very embarrassing to be seen trying to get him to move.
We got to our gate just in time and boarded right away. I sat down and sweat was coming out of every pore on my body. I'm sure it was a real treat for the person sitting next to me. After about 15 minutes, they announced that there would be a 20 minute delay while we waited for some other passengers. It was the Bayport High school Girls Dance Team. They boarded carrying 8 very large trophies. By the time they were all on, we missed our order in the take off sequence. It would be another hour before we would actually take off.
The flight to Green Bay was only 50 minutes and we arrived around 12:45 AM. With the big travel behind us, I decided that my pushing and pulling of him was over for the night. We could continue from the plane to our waiting family at any pace necessary. In the end, I put him on my back again. Michael said in my ear, "Papa good. Yuri no". I knew he appreciated me carrying him. We walked slowly through Austin Strauble airport and came to our waiting family.
Gladys and Earl Gussek
Sharon Long
Aunt Vivian, Courtney, Bethany, Andrew
Grandma Carol, Emily, Megan, James and Ellie
Mrs. Wagner and her two girls Tanya and Anya were there earlier in the evening too. The girls advised our children on the correct spelling of a welcome home sign.
What a relief it was to be home and to have family and friends there to welcome us. We were tired, they were tired. There was so much to tell. It would have to wait until after we got home. After collecting our baggage and chatting a short while, we arrived at our house around 2:00 AM Wednesday March 5th - 29 hours after we left Moscow.
The children had baked a cake and decorated the house. They fitted our bed with new clean sheets. We sat and talked and hugged. Michael was glad the trip was over and seemed to move around the house without much pain or effort. He did not complain. Around 3:00 AM we made some mac-&-cheese with some nice ice-cold milk. He ate and said, "Yuri good!". I showered and we all went to bed around 4:00 am.
I am writing this journal entry a little over 24 hours later. Today, our house is getting back together, we are getting rest and recovering. Michael is outside riding a snowboard down the hill with Ellie. We are reducing his medication and he is moving around the house (including up the stairs) very well. Not at all like he did in Moscow or through the airports on the way home. What a difference home can make.
This was the journey of a lifetime but it was not just our own. It started just a little over one year ago. We've met many new people, established friendships and grew in our faith. We have all come a long, long way and we want to give a big "Thanks" to everyone who joined us, supported us and helped make this possible. Thank you for putting your hand to the plow of the Lord's work and not looking back.
3/3/2008 - Monday
- 3/3/2008 10:00:00 PMMoscow Trip - Day 22Last night I was up late trying to catch up on emails and my journal. This morning we had to get up and go early and be to the Russian Consulate by 10:00. Marina, Peggy and I would meet Bill and at a McDonald's (or Macdonix as Michael says). We got on the trolley and then the subway. During each trip, we were herded like cattle. It reminded me a little of the way the Jewish people were transported in the movie Shindler's List.
Going to the Consulate is not big deal and there is no reason it should take two days. You go in, drop off your paperwork and the child's passport and they tell you to come back at 3:00 PM to pick them up.
We went to a place called, "The Elephant". It is a shopping mall that was designed in something other than the traditional Russian architecture. As I understand it, there are quite a lot of people who don't like the way it looks.
Inside it looks like any typical high-end mall. Lots of shops, lots of lights and very clean. The top floor has an ice skating rink with a bar in the center. You go round and round and then go have a drink. Then go round and round some more. All on ice. I'm thinking it's not a good combination.
We stopped in to a small cafe to get something to eat and drink. Bill and his son got a strawberry sundae. Bill and I shared a black tea (or "chi" as they call it here). Marina, Peggy and I each ordered a cup of soup. In the cafe there were about 15 people - including us. There were about 50 or 60 empty seats. It took about an hour to get our soup. We sat there and talked about capitalism, market pressure and how waiting an hour for a cup of soup would never fly in America.
I ordered borscht. It tasted like fruity vegetable soup. I liked it. Before we left, Peggy and Marina headed for the restroom. Peggy said it was a disgusting place. The floor was sticky, the toilet seat was cracked and covered in urine, and it stunk. Peggy said it made her want to vomit. On a related side note, I have seen many public toilets that had urine all over the seat. It would seem that lifting the seat when a man goes potty is very uncommon behavior in Russia. I don't understand that one.
When we left the mall to walk around, we saw more stray dogs. One of them entered the subway and ran past us on the down escalator. From what Marina says, the dogs live there and are smart enough to go up and out when they need to.
We walked back to the Consular and picked up our paperwork and Michael's Passport. From what I understand, the visit to the Consular office has a great deal to do with tracking Michael while he is out of the country. If we ever move, we must notify them. When Michael moves out of our home when he is older, he must notify them. Unless - that is - he renounces his Russian citizenship. The key here is that, should Michael ever return to Russia, he could be forced into Military Service or he could be considered a draft dodger who went to America to avoid serving his mother-land.
We went back to Marina's flat the same way we came: the subway followed by the trolley. The people waiting to get onto the subway train and onto the trolley are some of the most pushy people I've ever met. I don't mean "rude" necessarily. They just physically push you around when you get into or off of any public transportation. If you have ever been to a major league sporting event such as an NFL game, you may know that when you enter the stadium through the gates and turnstiles, the trick is to aim for the middle and push your way forward. If you try to slip in from one of the sides, you will be waiting for a while. The environment in the middle is one of continually increasing pressure. Every one is pushing. Not shoving, but inching, inching, inching closer to the front.
This is the same kind of pressure that kills Europeans every year during soccer games. The closer the tail section of the crowd got to the entry point, the more pushy they got. It is almost like some of the people were thinking that they might not get on and started to panic. Many places around here are like that. The subway, the trolley, the bus, all of the turnstiles everywhere, going into and out of the subway station, driving in traffic... Everywhere. People move like cattle. If you are not ready to push and hold your position, you will get stepped on.
When we got to the flat, I called Delta right away to make new flight arrangements. Of our journey back home, we will be taking 3 flights:
Moscow to Atlanta
- then quickly visiting the immigration office
Atlanta to Detroit
Detroit to Green Bay
It is the last part of this flight I had to change.
I called them, they changed it and we're coming home. We should arrive home late late Tuesday night.
3/2/2008 - Sunday
- 3/2/2008 10:00:00 PMMoscow Trip - Day 21This is the Lord's day. It is also election day in Russia.
Marina's brother came to her flat to bring her to the poll to vote. I don't think she was interested in voting. All along she said that the leading candidate Dmitri Medvedev) who was hand picked by Putin and Putin's controlling party would win anyway. There is no viable alternative candidate.
While she and Sasha were out voting, I tried to call Delta to rearrange our flights. Here is an FYI for you, if you need to change your flights - Delta airlines has business hours of Monday through Friday, 8:00 AM to 6:00 PM and 10:00 AM to 12:00 PM on Saturday. So if you need to change, do it during the week.
Today is Moscow circus day. We will be going for the 6:00 PM show. Dima will pick us up around noon and we are going back to the open air market to grab a few things we missed. Michael will stay with Grandma while we're out. He gets a little bit of attitude when he is forced to do things he doesn't like (such as stand around while Mom and Dad look at things he is not interested in).
Dima drove us to the market where we met Bill and his new son. Bill is picking up a few things from a list his wife left before she returned home with their other children. All morning and all afternoon, the skies were gray and their was a steady drizzle. One thing we saw a lot of that we hadn't before is stray dogs. I think I saw about 30 today. And their big dogs too! Perhaps 40 to 50 pounds. I realize that there are bigger dogs than that, but this is their starving weight. If healthy they might be some where between 60 to 80 pounds. Either way, there was a lot of them. They walk in and out of the crowds of people. They wait at the corner trolley stops, they hang out near the food shops.
We purchased the things we needed and then quickly headed back to Marina's for a fast early dinner. Michael got ready and we headed out. As it turns out, the circus is in one of the buildings where we took some photos earlier. There were lots of children there and thankfully all of the adults were dressed appropriately. I asked Dima what the difference was between our American circus and "The Famous Russian Circus". He said, "It's more professional!". On thing about Dima and some other people we've spoke with is that there is always this sense that everything in Russia is the best and everything else comes in a distant second or worse.
Once again, when we entered the circus building - I was impressed with the building itself. They operate a one ring circus and the seats are in a steep bowl around it. All of the pre-announcements are in both Russian and English. This tells me they get a fair amount of foreign traffic.
We stood in line to check our coats. When it was our turn, the elderly coat check lady mumbled something to us and Peggy replied, "English?". This simple word set the coat lady over the deep end. She looked at Peggy with a crabby face and then down at the ground. Under her breath she began to utter something again in crabby sounding Russian followed by "grumble grumble grumble... english...grumble grumble grumble" and then exclaimed, "TICKETS!". I'm not sure what the translation on that is but it think it is something like, "I hate stupid Americans and their stupid English... and I wish they would beat me over the head..." Ok, maybe not the last part. But definitely the first part.
To sum up the Russian Circus - it was very cool. And very professional too. They had the hula-hoop girl, the juggling act, the lion tamer... It was more of an "acting/acrobatic" kind of show. No high-wire, no man getting shot out of a cannon, no elephant. Their clowns were not the same as our clowns. It was two women and a man. They just did silly things like try to crack eggs over each other's heads, sang silly songs and tease the crowd a little. Michael got bored watching them.
They also had this one lady who is waaaay to flexible. I foresee a woman with severe spine related problems when she gets older. She did some things that should not be done. The worst of which was bending backwards so far that - not only was her head between her legs but the back of her knees were resting on her shoulders. She was literally folded in half - backwards. Wrong, wrong, wrong. that's all I have to say about that.
Marina gave Michael 100 Rubles. That's about $4.00. As with most events such as this, all of the good junk costs way more than that. Michael - perhaps not used to having money, held his Rubles out for everyone to see. He waived them back and forth as if to say, "This baby is too hot for my pocket and I must get rid of it now. Please take it from me." I kept trying to tell him to keep it in his pocket and just look until he finds something good to waste his Rubles on. Counter after counter, they told him, "sorry, you don't have enough". He moved slowly everywhere. He was not able to get everything that caught his eye and the attitude began.
Before the circus began, Dima said he would be waiting out front for us. When it ended, we waited for the crowds to die down a little so we would not have to stand among pushy people waiting for our coats. Afterwards, we went up to old miss crabby coat lady, grabbed our things and headed for the door. As we stood on the steps outside, we could see Dima's battle wagon approaching in heavy traffic. We told Michael, "come on, come on". The more we said it, the slower and pokier he got. Finally we each took one of his hands and carried him down the stairs and onto the street. "Come on! Come on!", I called to him. Dima slowed down in moving traffic.
poke... poke... poke... poke... If he moved any slower, he would be stopped.
I picked Michael up and put him on his feet into the side door of Dima's van. He didn't like that at all and came to a dead stop blocking the way into the van and leaving me on the street. This is one of many issues we will tackle when we get home.
Other than some bad attitude, it was a very nice circus. A little different than an American circus and definitely more "professional".
3/1/2008 - Saturday
- 3/1/2008 10:00:00 PMMoscow Trip - Day 20Today we met Lisa Smith - head of the Lighthouse Project. At first I was not sure it was her as she does not appear entirely like her photo on the web site. Not better, not worse, but different. She had her hair pulled back perhaps that was what threw me.
She immediately began to tell us about her visit to Russia and how it was the worst, and most unproductive ever. It seems that the rise in the Russian foster care system is a big concern for the Lighthouse Project. Both systems are after the same human resources. There is a fear that the strong nationalist feeling will take away the opportunity for children to be placed in good homes. Since the foster care system is just getting off the ground, there are not enough checks and balances in place to ensure that the children are placed into a good home. We heard stories of some people adopting as many as 6 children at a time. The governments monthly payment for fostering a single child is $350. In some regions, this is like a monthly salary. Considering the living conditions and the size of the average flat, you begin to wonder how they can make it. At this time, it is not a concern of the government. Better foster care screening will come in the future.
Peggy and I sat together with Lisa, Larissa, and Marina. We listened to stories and learned a great deal about what it is like to grow up and live in Russia. Larissa told us that when she grew up, she described herself as "brain-washed". She said as a teenager, she stood in lines for bread and other necessities with government sponsored coupons to pay for them. She thought this was "normal" and even though things were tough, putting everyone on even ground (aka socialism) was by far the best system in the world. She was offended by talk of capitalism and hated the west for their greed.
I asked her, "what caused you to change your mind?". She said that when she was in her 20's, she wanted to travel. She tried to go to Hungary and some other closer countries and her Visa was always held up because she didn't score high enough in certain courses in school. Courses like "Modern Atheism". She began to understand that she was being flagged as a person who was "not thoroughly brainwashed" and that is why she was not allowed to travel to other socialist/communist countries.
Then one day she got a Visa to America. I don't know what it was for. She said that when she arrived in Washington DC, got off the plane and looked around her, she began to cry. She said that she had felt as though she was betrayed by her own people and told nothing but lies her entire life. She said, "we live in a bubble over here and have no idea what is going on around us. We are told that we are the biggest, the first and the best about everything. We live in a bubble and have no idea what is going on around us".
As I began to think about what she said, it occurred to me that this statement is often times the biggest criticism of the United States. I have been told that the US news reports are bogus and that if we only saw "the real news" as reported in Europe, we would think much differently about ourselves. I asked her how many people did she believe think like she does - both before and after her Washington DC trip. She didn't know any figures on that.
There are some other observations I have made about Moscow that are not necessarily true of Russia as a whole. Over the last 15 years or so, Moscow has undergone incredible mind blowing change and it is still happening. It is my opinion that they are stuck somewhere between the very olden times, and the most modern times. It really depends on what aspect of the culture you are talking about.
In the end, I see a people group that is perhaps in some kind of identity crisis. On thing in particular that appeals to me is music. More specifically - rock and roll music. I see posters and billboards of what appears to be angry young Russian males mimicking all the angry rock and roll music that happened in the United States back in the 1980's. I see a culture that is trying to "like" the west but without "being" the west. That being the case, then who are they? I think they are trying to work that out but there is so much history and baggage here they can't go to where they want (the future) and yet they can't stay where they are (the past).
Wow! That was a lot of rambling...
After we had finished talking, Lisa said she was able to "acquire" tickets to the Bolshoi Ballet Theater for tonight and offered them to us. I have never been to the Ballet. That is something that I thought old, sophisticated wealthy people do in New York or Paris or something. I was tired but also curious and I didn't want to be rude. This was another opportunity of a life time so I said, "sure... we'll go".
There were only two tickets and Larissa was bringing us. She would attempt to get a ticket from scalpers outside the theater once we arrived. Since we are living out of a suit case, I realized that my clothing choices were limited so I just kept my current cloths on. Peggy on the other hand was a little more concerned. When you think of the ballet, you think of well dressed high-society people. We were wearing our "Saturday casual cloths". This bothered her. There was not enough time to do her hair properly, wearing jeans, not enough time to apply makeup... All of those female things.
We walked to the subway at a blistering pace. On the way there, I noted all of the little shops along the way. They are 8 x 10 trailers with walls. Sometimes a little bigger, sometimes not a trailer but a very poorly constructed building. Each of them sells either one item or one type of item. One of them will have toiletries, the next will have soap, the next will have hand bags, the next - cell phones, the next - fruits and vegetables, the next - meats and sausages. I wonder how a Super Wal-Mart would do here. From what Larissa says, the presence of such little shops was born in the 1990's. In the beginning of 15 year era I described above.
On a related side note, I saw an expose on migrant workers on Russian TV the other night. It spoke of how foreigners are coming in and taking Russian jobs. In some cases, there are racially motivated killings. I think in Moscow alone there are like 68 already this year. They have some of them on video - which of course - they showed.
As long as I'm off the subject of the Ballet, did you guess what was wrong in the photo of the gas station yet? Obviously the price of the fuel was in Rubles. But the price did not end in ".9" or "9/10" of a Ruble. All the prices ended in an even number. Two of the prices had a decimal point with a number after. The decimal number is in kopecks. So 23.50 is 23 Rubles and 50 Kopeks (per Liter). Remember - they are all Metric over here and have been for a long time.
Getting back to the Ballet. We arrived about 30 minutes before the show. The scalpers approached us right away with offers of $300 per ticket. Larissa was prepared to not go into the show and do something else while we went in. This is a good strategy to have when dealing with scalpers. The longer we waited outside, the lower the price dropped. I think in the end she paid $350 Rubles which I think is like $15 Dollars. As we stood there, we watched the people coming in. Some of them looked like ambassadors. None of them were dressed quite as casual as we were - not even close.
We went through the security check and Larissa got stopped. She was carrying a large bottle of Martini mix in a back pack. This was a gift for a friend that she had intended to meet today but was not able to do so. She pleaded with the security guards to not take and drink it. They let her through.
As I mentioned before, I have never been to the Ballet so I will describe it to you from the perspective of a man from Northeast Wisconsin. First of all, even though we had the nose bleed seats in the theater, there is not really a bad seat in the house. The building itself is a work of art although I think it would not pass a safety inspection in the states. There is no lighting on any of the steps in the theater. Two or three times, I missed a step because I could not see that there was a step. When you miss a step going up, you trip and fall on your face. When you miss it going down, you look like a very surprised idiot. I was the latter of the two.
Here is an FYI for you when going to the Ballet - know the story before you go, otherwise you will be completely lost. Ballet is a story told through music and dance. There is no singing or narrating.
This show was in three parts. During the break between parts, you go downstairs and into the foyer and drink champagne and eat snacks. If you are a smoker, you go to the hallway that leads to the bathrooms and smoke like a chimney. It was so cloudy and blue down there I had to hold my breath all the way to the mens room, while I was in the mens room, and as long as I could coming back out. That was gross!
We did not get any champagne but instead walked around in the theater and got some pictures and a program. Peggy read the story and from then on I was able to enjoy the performance as much as a guy from Northeast Wisconsin is capable of.
For the most part, I think the ballet dancers have about 12 moves they do in various sequences. They jump, glide, spin, and leap all with lots of hand motions. Often times they will just stop on the stage in some kind of pose and just alter the position of their head, or arms, or legs. They move very smooth and fluid like and make things look deceptively easy.
I was smart enough to know that much of what they do would shatter the ankles and/or knees of the average person. During the second and third acts, the dancers would do their moves to some song when it was done, the lead dancer (usually a female) would go to the edge of the stage to receive applause. They stood there, in some kind of pose with an arrogant look on their face while the people clapped. Then they would change their pose and wait for more clapping.
When the show finished it was already 10:30 PM. We went downstairs to get our coats and observed the other people there. Without taking a count, I would estimate that approximately 30% of the females there were dressed in attire that would be considered provocative. For that matter, many of them looked like very high priced prostitutes.
One woman stood in front of the mirror for a good 10 minutes fluffing her hair and looking at her own body. No kidding, 10 minutes! For that matter, many of the younger women I've seen around Moscow dressed like she did. Most of them have black leather boots that go up to their knees with stiletto heals. Often times they are wearing short skirts with a lot of high leg showing. I am certain that if it was warmer, you would see even more. Thankfully it was between 5 and 10 degrees most days.
We left the theater and it's "classy" people and walked to the subway and then home. Lisa and Larissa would be going back to the states soon. Larissa said she will be glad to get home to California. She said, "I'm tired. I'm tired of looking over my shoulder, of the suspicious looks, of the dirt and cars everywhere. I'm tired of everything here." We ready to go home too.
When we arrived back at Marina's flat, we found her waiting for us. We ate cheese, fruit and sat quietly - contemplating the evening.
