Russia in the news
It has been quite some time since I last sat down to write another blog entry – I guess this is what happens to many people who dream of having their own blog and making the world their oyster; it’s definitely not that easy, and I am surprised that I have managed to get as far as I have. It is nearly two years ago that I started with this blog, and I can say that at least I have averaged one entry per week, even though the initial plan was to do at least two per week, with a photo essay added in for good measure – the best laid plans of mice and men and all that….
I have, over the last hundred or so entries, however, taken you on a tour of several countries around the world, had my say about certain other topics, and in general blathered on much about nothing so I suppose there is nothing to stop me from further verbosity except my own time and inspiration. Where to take you this entry, what to tell you about, how to possibly entertain you with an anecdote or triviality…
Moscow in February
Russia has been in the news an awful lot over the past two years or so, what with hints at connections between it and the occupant of the White House. I visited Russia once; a quarter of a century ago, in the coldest and darkest month of the year, February 1993. It was a research and production trip that took me to the capital, Moscow, and it was for me a dream come true; you see, since the age of 16 I had been trying to find some way of traveling to the bastion of communism to see for myself just how equal or bad the entire system worked. 1993 is not 2019, and I have not been back since, and I am certain that there have been many changes – I have seen pictures of the Moscow skyline of recent years, and much has changed as far as architecture is concerned. Sheremetyevo airport was huge (compared to the rather small airport I had departed from in Bangkok, and the temperature was certainly other-worldly, plunging from somewhere around 35 degrees centigrade above 0 in Bangkok to the equivalent opposite number, -35. The airport is huge, and it was cold, and solid, with a lot of steel décor; the entire place exuded strength and solidity, an atmosphere further heightened by the presence of huge hulks of men wearing overlarge coats with Kalashnikovs slung over their shoulders parading through the arrivals area, faces set in morose stone. The immigration officials were equally as bearish in their demeanor, with gravely voices that seemed to come from the lowest register of the human voice possible. I wonder how I would have reacted to all this had I traveled here as planned more than a decade earlier when the country was still the center of the USSR and I was a mere teen.
Impressions from behind a car window
I cannot remember much of the ride into the city, although it was long enough, but what did catch my attention were the monolithic structures that seemed to have been thrown up to serve the various functions of government and military and education; what’s more, the endless blocks of similar-looking flats, some of which I later had a chance to visit and see from the inside. The other noticeable thing were several steam clouds hanging in the air, these, I learned, were from some of the dozen or more heating plants that provide heat to buildings throughout the city, including the apartment buildings; central heating, in all senses of the word. As we entered the city center, Ladas, Volgas and Zils buzzed and spluttered around us, the latter not so much buzzing as just simply sailing past in a special traffic lane set aside for ‘officials’. We neared the very first McDonald’s opened in Moscow (1990), and at the time it was the largest McD’s in the world. A que of people snaked along the sidewalk; even three years after opening, it was still the most popular restaurant in the city, and a sub-economy had grown up around it – free wheeling capitalism in Communism’s very heart. It was too cold to stand in line, and the line was much too long, so enterprising youth ran up to cars as they approached, and for a few pennies, they would stand in line and place the order and deliver it to the customer, who could, throughout the duration of this process, remain comfortably seated in the warm interior of their car. We hadn’t come to Moscow to taste the burgers, or at least not at this establishment, so as we let another Zil pass us by, we made our way to our hotel.
The Spy – not me
Much as many buildings constructed in the city after 1950, this hotel was of huge dimensions, solid, efficient, and cold. I have no idea what the name of it was, and for all I know it was the Chicago Hostel of today or the Hotel Moscow or the Metropol; regardless, it was large and functional. We checked in, were shown to our rooms by one of the many floor matrons, and got settled in. Breakfast or lunch or some meal or another was on the list, and we were to meet in the lobby a short 20 minutes later. I got cleaned up and dressed, and maybe because I had watched too many James Bond movies or read too many LeCarre books, as I was leaving the room I pulled a hair from my head – the amount of pain and resultant gasp probably warned everybody on the entire floor – but I proceeded to carefully place it high up between the door and the door frame as I slowly shut the door. Anybody watching would have laughed, and I am sure the matron had probably seen it all and had a good chuckle; just as I pulled the door closed and was about to step away, I noticed that the hair had not stayed in place, the space between door and frame too large, and I could see it slowly wafting on the air as it made its way to the floor in a downward spiral. What’s worse, as I turned around, there stood the floor matron, stolid, solid, quiet as a rock, at the end of the hall, watching it all.
