Í've been pondering how I should write this first post since my arrival. Should I just list the specifics? Perhaps a detailed chronology? Maybe impressions. How do you impress the feeling of being back in the city built on bullets and poems? Problems abound.
Lets start with logistics. I arrived in NYC after a long flight. I shlepped to the international terminal and sat in line; Aeroflot only opens its countes at 5 pm. While sitting I ran into Polly, a student in the program that had emailed me that we were on the same flight. We checked in, left the luggage and began searching for Michael, my other charge. We never found Michael, at least not at JFK. Time flew an we found ourselves on the plane. It was delayd on the runway for 1 1/2 hours. Oh how I hate that, but this is typical for Aeroflot, my experience last year was unusual and its smooth and streamlined opeation, the airline that is. The flight was long and miserable. The chairs are inredibly uncomfortable and narrow. 8 1/2 hours to Moscow. We deplained and got ourselves into the passpot control line where I looked at someone standing next to me and casually read his immigration card that was sticking out of his pocket, low and behold Michael Cohen of NYC. It was good we found him, what followed really sucked.
Immigration was a zoo as you can imagine. We waited for over an hour, closer to 1 1/2. They only had half the windows open. We were finally at the red line, waiting, waiting. All of a sudden peopl are brought my airport officials in military uniform into our line infront of us. The people behind grumble. We let one group through, not like we had a choice. Then another group, they kep sticking them in our bloody line! Then another, at which point we all exploded. A family with a small boy, the mother went a little ape shit, then cut into our line. I was livid and starting to loose my cool. Somoene "senior" was called. I was worried about our luggage, where was it? Who was going though it? A boy of twenty some odd years came walking out of the office with epauletes on his shoulders. In my best, sternest and most concerned voice I said "Look, we're trying to catch a plane to St. Petersburg, can you please let us through, we've been waiting and are concerned we might miss our flight. Can't you put some of these people in other lines." The woman behind me screamed "Can't you put them in the diplomatic line? Its empty!!!" His response was terse and matched the disgruntled expression on his youthful face: "No, I can't" Well that was that. A woman in military dress came charging up "Tovarish Capitan!" Our boy captain was power tripping and probably enjoyed my broken russian plea, fruitless, or perhaps just what he needed after a serious night of drinking who knows.
We made it through the line and got our bags which seemed untouched and dusty from the trip. Out into the throng of waiting relatives and friends, peppered with cab drivers trying to con you into a $35 (US Baby) trip to Sheremetyvo domestic terminal when there's a free bus. We fought some off, changed some dollars into rubles and then proceeded to the bar for a beer. We had a while to wait for the bus and our flight wasn't for a couple hous. The domestic terminal is small and paked, so the international one is a better place to kill time. We caught the free shuttle, my charges were extatic that I was there to navigate them through the wilds of the Russian transit.
Changed: last year you would wait in the airport lobby and someone would lead you into the parking lot where the bus stopped. This year they finished the constrution on the road and it pulls up to the front entrance, glad I asked the woman at the window.
Our flight from Moscow to Petersbug was delayed by an hour. I later learned from Katia, who met us in Petersburg that this was happeneing to everyone, everyone seems to have been late.
The flight was utterly miserable. I couldn't lower the tray without it hitting me in the chest. This was the most cramped plane I've ever been on. It was like some Tupalov jet, not one of the propellor props that sat on the run way. Thank god the flight is less than an hour.
We arrived around 8pm... and the sun was up, as if it was 3 in the afternoon. Michael couldn't believe it. He'll fit in niely. We got our luggage and Katia took us to a waiting car and off we went down Moskovsky Prospect heading for the heart of Petersburg.
Things learned from the cab drive:
Ah... the Gherzen. Everyone is here. Tanya, Sveta, Misha, Parker, Mariya. It was wondeful to see old faces, shake hands and exchange hugs. I left my stuff at the office, gave my charges over to Sveta who took them to their rooms and Masha gave them a tour.
Parker, Michael and I walked around the corner to KILIKIA (yes... heaven, what I've been dreaming about for months now... ) and I ordered SHASHLIK KURDUK!!!! Oh I've arrived, I'm a happy happy happy traveller now. We ate, drank 300 grams of vodka and a half liter of beer. I made a true believer out of Michael who confessed to not being a mutton fan but "this is excellent!" A call later informed us that a paty was headed to the beer gardon infront of the church (Kazanskay Cabor - See the russia galleies for a piture). Enroute it was determined that bathroom trip was necessary so we made haste for Chaika, a trendy restaraun where Igor Chesnokov works, one of Parker's friends. He wasn't there, we ordered a round and took turns leaving the previous one. The place is packed with hookers who get the boot from The Grand Hotel Europa ($400 / night). They were giving us the eye, it was comic. We later saw one of them walking with an olde gent down the canal... ah commerce, it takes all kinds.
We left Chayka and headed to the beer garden, sat for a beer, then got a call from Misha that he was Lima. We left the garden crossed back over Nevskya and headed in for a beer. Tom Burke was there, waiting for Tom Hill's arrival, who was sent last minute on businss to Kiev. I got a text message from him... something about gorgeous women in the ukraine. Caroline from Kenya was there, it was hugs and shock at my clean shaven face. Last year I sported a beard. She cut off her long braids and had a funky 70s due... we chatted about her older brother, a bit of a supestar in Nairobi, a journalist, that has a drinking problem... but we still love him. He's MIA right now, probably gave us the wrong flight info, a bit absentminded. He should be in today or tomorrow.
Misha fended off a drunk that wanted to have one of those heart to hearts you're prone to want to have with a stranger at some random table discussing the most intimate details of your life. I gave a grandmother with was selling lavendar 20 rubles, she was breaking my heart. We wished each other well and a girl from inside Lima, hostess, came out with a small package of food. She broke my heart. This is what kills me about this town, most of the people doing the begging, that aren't stinking drunk, are old women. There are no social programs. I'm sure she'll get more money from me... its just inhumane not to give. I can't help it.
Oh, we walked by the 24 hour store in the hotel and what do you know, the same drunk teenager from last year was still outside the shop begging for money, still drunk. I can't bloody believe it... he still has a liver and still drinknig and still going at it. Wow!!! He didn't ask me if he was my girlfriend this year.
After a beer we walked back to the hotel and I passed out in the office, finally... woke up to the sun, which never quite set last night, just dippd down where you cuoldn't see it. Saw a gorgeous moon, might be my last for a while. Woke up to the sound of the shower running, had one myself... cold water only... yeah... that'll wake you up after only about 5 1/2 hours of sleep.
The storm begins around 1pm. We have 70 people coming in today. I'll be giving tours with Masha till 1am when the last boat load arrives every hour, alternating. Dinner tonight is at the golden brik, a new Georgian place under the hotel. I hear the food is quite good.
I'm back... did I say that? The novelty is gone, but I suppose the romance is still alive. Maybe I just feel more romantic when I'm here, in love with a heritage I don't know, a place that I can't call home and a people that aren't my own. Yet the ability to understand the langauge, some of the manerisms remind me that I've spent my life not quite one, mostly this, but not quite, a cultural fence sitter of sorts, and here I'm the same, still foreign but something familiar.
Udatchey Vsem
-L
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3 comments:
you're such a sappy big cuddly teddy bear. awwww even in Russia.
You do realize that comments like these are like a check too big for you to cash???
There will be reparations!
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