Moscowwwww

I'm going to preface this by saying I typed this up two weeks ago so a lot more has happened since then (Russian jail anyone???), but I'll update that later. I haven't got much access to the internet since I'm now in Siberia. Enjoy....

Well my droogs, I don’t even know where to begin. Remember in the first post when I said I was going to keep the whining to a minimum because it’s annoying? What I forgot was that I was going to Russia, the land of suffering. If I am able to find a lot to whine about in the United States, I certainly have a lot to whine about here. In the back of my mind I jokingly thought I would come here a bit to suffer and better myself, and suffer I have. Thanks Dostoevsky. Better myself? Well, probably not. In other news, my blog has garnered one more follower! (Thanks Kitten) The following post is pretty disjointed, and probably will omit quite a bit of stuff that I’ve done or that’s happened, because frankly it was a blur and I’m struggling to remember it. I’m not sure why, I wasn’t even drinking!



When we last left off, I had just moved into a million dollar apartment, and things were looking up. Well, at least for a bit. Now that I had a home base, a computer, and the proper converter, I could begin to explore the city a bit. This post starts on Friday by the way. My first order of business was to get to the mother fucking zoo while there was good weather because a) I love zoos, and b) I didn’t get to go last time. The Moscow zoo is certainly much better than the other zoos I’d been to in Russia. This one had real habitats for the animals, whereas in Siberia the animals are stuffed into what look like KGB prison cells. The zoo had the standard “don’t feed the animals” policy, but this was Russia, so no one paid attention to that. Because the animals were much more accessible, they would come over to you when you had food. I got to pet a giraffe because some lady was feeding it. They also had a dolphin show complete with a seal and some sort of white whale. Coool.

Later, Jim invited me out to a bar to meet a few of his friends. In my mind I envisioned a nice quiet night getting to know a few of Jim’s friends over a beer or two. I was wrong. The bar turned out to be more of a night club, and his few friends were a group of old, loud, rich, obnoxious American businessmen. For someone who likes to keep his foreign-ness as low key as possible, a group of loud Americans wasn’t helpful. I’m not sure how many of them spoke Russian, but they invited along one or two English speaking women who, as I was told, were specifically looking to meet foreign men. At first everything seemed fine, but then the group moved into another room and began trying to pick up girls who were too young to be their daughters. I was disgusted by that, but I was probably even more disgusted by the amount of 20 year olds who were willing to whore themselves out to these fat old men. Money is everything I guess.



I sat by myself as much as I could, and I felt pretty stupid. It was like an 8th grade dance all over again, where the awkward kids stand against the wall and watch everyone else have fun. I noticed one girl keep looking at me and smiling, so I thought that was a good sign. I decided I should try to make a friend since I knew no one in the town. I don’t even smoke really, but I figured asking her for a cigarette might be a good way to get to talk to her more. When there was a break in the music, I walked over and asked her. She rolled her eyes at me, pulled out her pack and showed me she only had two left. I declined and asked her name. She told me it wasn’t important and to go away. Ouch….



So there I sat, while Jim had his arm around some floosy. I forget the precise reason, but I couldn’t leave by myself because of some sort of key issue, so I had to wait until whenever Jim wanted to leave. He was getting progressively more drunk, and kept disappearing. At 2:30am I decided I’d had enough, and we’d been there for 5 hours. I went to find Jim, who told me he was thinking of leaving. This was good to hear. He told me he was going to go to the bathroom, and to have a seat and help the girl he’d been speaking to practice her English. No thanks, but I sat down anyways. I was really tired, and she was really drunk and honestly I had no respect for someone like her, so trying to find something to talk about was difficult. She ended up telling me how her dream was to go to the Sochi Olympics, but it was such a corrupt system that she decided to learn to speak English so she could make connections with rich businessmen. Jim returned to the table and I got up to give him his seat back, and he forcibly pushed me back down and told me to keep talking to the girl. Ok….

We talked a bit longer, and then finally it was time to go. Jim was really drunk and every five seconds would interrupt me to tell me how much he hated traffic. Finally we got a cab, which he insisted I should pay for. I’m not sure why. He’s a millionaire and this was all his idea, but whatever.



The next day (Saturday) I had planned to go see the Novidevichy Cemetery again to visit various graves, since now I knew who some of them were. I also decided to go see Bulgakov’s apartment, and to visit Patriarch’s Ponds, which is the opening setting for “The Master and Margarita,” one of my new favourite books. Jim woke up with a hangover and kept repeating how he wasn’t used to going out and drinking like that. I believed him. We had planned to at some point on Sunday to pick up his car and go for a drive around the city, but Jim insisted we do it that day instead. I told him about my plans in an attempt to not go for a drive that day, but he said he’d take me to the cemetery and the ponds. I guess it was better than the metro. He told me to let him eat some breakfast and then we’d go. He instead did a lot of other things (like yoga), then decided to eat breakfast, then take a shower, then take a nap. At every interval in between these activities, he kept telling me that we’d leave in about 15 minutes. I knew I wasn’t going to see the ponds or the cemetery, and that the day was pretty much wasted. Finally, at 4pm we got the car, and Jim didn’t feel too well, so rather than drive around, Jim decided we were going to a movie. I don’t really like going to movies because they’re expensive and I don’t have the attention span for them, but I didn’t have a choice in the matter.



We arrived at some posh movie theater and went to purchase our tickets (Jim had decided on the movie Ghost Writer). I pulled out my money to buy my ticket, but Jim kind of shoved me aside and asked for two tickets for the movie. I think he either forgot or ignored the fact that I spoke Russian. I tried to hand him my money but he didn’t seem to take it, so I thought that was at least nice of him to buy me a ticket to the movie he had kidnapped me to see. The movie wasn’t too bad, and after that we went home. I don’t remember if I did anything that night, probably not. I might have walked around town.



The next day Jim invited me to go to church and then to lunch to meet with a girl who was there on a Fulbright and wanted to talk to him about going into journalism. I decided to skip the church part but I went along with him because I was interested in meeting someone my own age who may or may not want to hang out with me. I wandered around town while Jim was in church, but got dragged into the church afterwards to meet the congregation and hang around while Jim shopped around at the church bookstore. The Fulbright girl, Joy, met us outside, and we headed to lunch with her and another church goer, who actually turned out to be quite helpful. While Jim regaled Joy with tales of journalism, our other lunch buddy set me up with a connection in Surgut, Siberia, who might be interested in talking to me about teaching English. That was nice at least. Jim also took this opportunity to remind me that apparently I owed him money from the movie. That was kind of bullshit I thought.



I decided to skip the Reuter’s press dinner that they were going to because I wanted to be alone, and journalists are boring. I also wanted to take a shower because Jim was having a guest over for dinner and I didn’t want to look like a hobo (hadn’t shaved in a while). As soon as I got to the apartment, Jim called to ask me to go get some lettuce and a tomato so he could make a salad for the dinner. That sounded like a shitty salad to me, but I set off across the street on my errand. The dinner guest turned out to be a fairly important journalist who now was the PR manager for two of Russia’s wealthiest men. It was interesting to hear her talk because as a journalist and PR manager, she had got to meet some pretty interesting and important figures. For instance, she had interview Vladimir Putin on two occasions, and on one of them was the first person he did a television interview with in over a year. Or so she said. I don’t feel like fact checking. While I was trying to ask her about what it was like interviewing figures such as Putin, Jim would continuously interrupt with something stupid. Our dinner guest left when Jim started to try to get her opinion on where he should hang some paintings he had bought.



On Monday, I had a nice day to myself. Jim was at work, and I finally got to go see the ponds and the Bulgakov apartment museum. It was cool to get to see some of the settings in which the novel took place, although the adjacent museum at apartment number 50 was closed on Mondays. For those of you who haven’t read the book, apartment 50 was where much of the action in the book took place. I sat at the ponds, drank some juice, and hung out. Later that night Jim put me in touch with an acquaintance of his who taught English at a fairly nice school in town. She told me the administrators would be interested in meeting me on Tuesday. This was welcome news because I hadn’t gotten a chance to contact any language schools and look for a job, which was the entire reason I came to this country in the first place. I was to meet her at 3:00 at a metro stop, and she’d take me to the school. Later that night Jim asked me if I could be at the apartment at 6pm on Tuesday to let in the woman who was bringing over the food for his Yale dinner party the next night. I said no problem, all I had going on the next day was that meeting at 3, which I didn’t think would take a long time.



Tuesday is where everything started to go really, really wrong. I got up and put on my finest clothes, because I was going to need them to impress this school, since I had no teaching certificate and planned on lying my ass off about my teaching experience (I have zero). A co-worker of mine used to always tell an anecdote about how when Benjamin Franklin started his first business, he had no idea what he was doing, but because he dressed well and charged the most of anyone in town, people assumed he was the best. I decided to go this route. Before leaving for work, Jim informed me that the woman I’d be helping into the apartment was the daughter of an Oligarch, and that her father was one of the top ten richest men in Russia. Oh. Fuck. He reassured me that she was really down to earth. I looked her up online after he left and saw that she was worth *gulp* five billion dollars. Not rubles, USD’s.



Anyways, I trodded off to the metro, and waited to meet my contact at Pushkinskaya station. Jim had told me to look for a fat blonde lady who looked “typically British.” Luckily, I had told her exactly what I would be wearing, because she was neither fat, nor blonde, and I don’t know what a typically British person looks like. She found me at 3, and we were off to the school. What no one had told me was that this school was located way far outside of the actual city. The metro ride was 45 minutes, and we had to take a bus from the station to the school. We didn’t arrive until slightly before 4, and I started to get nervous because I needed to back absolutely no later than 6 to let this very important visitor into the apartment.



The interview went pretty well in my opinion. Jim is certainly very well connected, and I was grateful for this sort of opportunity. They seemed somewhat impressed by my lies and told me I should come back on Thursday and teach part of a class, and if they thought I did well, they would hire me and give me some training before shoving me into a class by myself. I looked at my watch and was still a bit nervous, but I was making decent enough time. They made me some copies of the lesson I was supposed to teach, and then took some scans of my passport. I was now trying to leave, but they kept talking to me, and I didn’t want to be rude to someone about to give me a job, but at the same time, I needed to be out of there and to the apartment by 6. Perhaps you can see where this is going.



I finally got out of the school, and was greeted by freezing rain. I boarded the bus to the metro, but I soon discovered that they had put me on a different bus that we had used to arrive. Instead, this bus went all over the town before arriving at the metro station, and this was peak traffic hour. I was fucked. My sole duty was to get to the apartment and let in this woman, and if I didn’t do this, she would be left out in the freezing rain (I wasn’t thinking of the fact she had a driver at this point). I don’t know if any of you have ever had the misfortune to think that you were going to be leaving someone worth 5 billion dollars out in the rain, but it’s not a good feeling. When we at last got to the metro station I tried to call Jim to ask him if he could call Irina and tell her I’d be slightly late. My phone of course wasn’t working correctly, but through the static I could hear Jim yelling and swearing at me on the other end. I realized then that I didn’t have any more rides left on my card, and I couldn’t jump the turnstile because this station had a policeman. I looked at the line to the card counter, and because it was rush hour, the line was out the door. I tried to bribe the guard to let me through, but she turned it down. What is this, Russia? I was toast. While contemplating jumping the turnstile and making a mad dash for it, a kid must have seen the amount of anguish I was in, and swiped me through. I was ever so grateful for this, because now I actually had a slight chance of making it.



I ran down the escalator, got on my train, and waited. I had one line transfer, and I ran through that station as fast as I could. When I got to my final station, I ran up the escalator and out the doors. It was pouring. I called Jim to tell him not to worry and that I’d be there in time, which was a lie. He said he was already at the apartment with Irina and her bodyguard, but he needed me to hurry up because her body guard was leaving and she wasn’t supposed to be left alone, but he needed to go back to the office. I set off running through the pouring rain. On my run I discovered that I was in worse shape than I had thought, and that it’s hard to run in Russia because the air is basically like smoking a cigarette, at least by this particular station.



I arrived at the apartment soaking wet, and the body guard looked at me and asked if I had the key, to which I responded I did. He took another look at me and then left. I was now the sole protector of the daughter of an Oligarch. A five billion dollar daughter. I asked her what I could to do help her set up, and she took one look at me and told me I should change so I didn’t get sick. I took her advice. Irina turned out to be super nice, and one of the only people at the Yale dinner party who wasn’t arrogant and snobby, despite the fact that she was by far the wealthiest. The party at first sucked, but later turned out to be pretty cool once some Russians arrived. The Russians were all down to earth and were a welcome change from the snobby Americans. I had a pretty good time talking to a few out on the 11th floor fire escape. One was in a band and we had a good conversation about music production and he played me some stuff his band was recording for their 3rd album. Musically we shared a lot in common, which I thought was strange considering I really dislike Russian music. His stuff was actually really cool. I’m supposed to contact him and he’s going to send it to me, so I’ll let you guys know when he does so you can take a listen. Throughout the evening I did of course make a fool of myself in front of Irina, in case you were all wondering. Apparently my bad luck and awkwardness transcend international boundaries.



Wednesday was pretty uneventful, other than the fact that I had to transfer back to a hostel since Jim’s other guest had come back. His guest was a journalist and general wiener. I gave him the keys and gate pass, and then he informed me he was leaving in five minutes. That would be fine, except I wasn’t leaving in five minutes, and I needed a key to lock the front door, and he wouldn’t be back until 10, and neither would Jim. The key fiasco isn’t worth going into, but we got it resolved, and after doing some laundry, I left for the hostel. This time I just took a cab because it wasn’t worth it to me to have another experience like last time.

Luckily, I had found a slightly better and cheaper hostel to stay at, so that was at least an improvement. I carried my stuff up the stairs, and the receptionist showed me to my room. She explained to me that there was a big group of girls here for a cosmetics conference, and that I would be in a room with all girls. I thought this was a good deal, the girls…did not. They threw an absolute fit actually. I expected typical Russian service, but the receptionist actually turned out to be really nice and basically told the girls that they had signed up for the dorm rooms and if they wanted their own private room, they could pay more. The girls were at least nice enough to, in mid argument, turn and tell me that they had nothing against me specifically, they just didn’t want to have a male in a room with 5 other girls. I completely understood, but still felt kinda bad. No matter what room they put me in, I’d be the only male, so I didn’t know how the girls in my new room would react once they returned….



My new roommates were three women from the Irkutsk region of Russia. For those unfamiliar, the inhabitants are largely of Asian descent, and Russian is their second language. The first question they asked me was if I had a wife, and seemed quite pleased when I said no. They were a bit disappointed to find out that I was quite a bit younger than them though. They were also here for the beauty conference, and informed me that they needed to wake up at 6am. I was hoping they’d be quiet and polite when they woke up, but as with everything, I was wrong. At 6am their radio alarm clocks went off, they bounded out of bed, threw on all the lights and began doing their hair and makeup. The room was sweltering hot, and there was no way I could fall back asleep. Besides, the rest of the floor was doing the exact same thing. I thought at least I wouldn’t sleep past my teaching audition.



Once they had left, I rolled out of bed and took a shower, and shaved. I went to look for the laundry facilities because I wanted to wash my nice clothes so I could look presentable teaching. Laundry facilities didn’t exist, so I had to throw together some sort of other acceptable outfit. My other acceptable outfit still smelled like cigars from the Yale party, but it’d have to do. I decided to leave myself plenty of time to get to the school because I have a pension for being late, and the night before I’d had a bad dream that I never got to the school…..foreshadowing I guess. I needed to be there at 4:30, and I knew it was a 45 minute metro ride and a 10-15 minute bus ride, so I left at 2:00 to leave myself an hour and a half worth of padding.



I got on the metro, and rode it to the proper station, and got off in search of my bus. The buses were parked in a line with number placards, and I looked for the one I took home the other day, but didn’t see it. I figured it would come. A man was saying something about if you’re looking for number 268 (my bus), to just get on his instead. I didn’t completely understand, so I decided to wait to see if 268 would arrive. While waiting, I thought I saw a teacher from the school get on a bus, but I wasn’t completely sure if it was her, so I didn’t board it. I had no idea where the hell these buses went, as I was completely unfamiliar with Moscow’s outskirts. After waiting a few more minutes, 268 arrived and everything was on track. All I had to do was get there, have the kid’s read a few paragraphs, ask them some comprehension questions, and I’d be on my way to having a job.



It might be worth taking a second to interrupt and mention that in a strange way, I didn’t want this job. My stay in Moscow had not been that great so far, and I didn’t know anyone. I had arrived with the intention of finding a good paying job in in Moscow, and I had found what I was looking for, but now I didn’t anything to do with it. Honestly, I would have rather taken a lower paying job in Siberia where I had friends, or in Petrazovodsk with my friend Dustin. But this was certainly a good way to stay in the country, and maybe in the future I could go to Siberia or I would make friends in Moscow and have a good time. The location didn’t matter to me as much as the people did. Though to be fair, the Muscovites are a somewhat unfriendly lot.



Anyways, there I was on bus 268, headed towards my destination. I saw the stop I thought I should get off at, and exited. I looked for the path I had taken to the school, and realized I didn’t see it. I walked around for a bit, and didn’t find the school. I had gotten off at the wrong stop. In my stupidity, I hadn’t asked my contact at the school for the name of the bus stop. I still had an hour to get there, so I boarded the bus again, and got off at a stop that I was sure was correct. It wasn’t. I began to panic, but I had time. Another bus stop, another failure. I began getting off anywhere that even slightly looked like it might have a school. What I hadn’t realized was that perhaps the bus we had ridden to arrive at the school wasn’t the same bus we had taken home. I had no phone, and no one knew where the school was located.Russian buses often change numbers on return routes, so it might have approached from a different direction and I just hadn’t recognized it. It didn’t help that cookie cutter Soviet apartment buildings all looked the same. I was doomed. I never ended up finding the school, and after hours of searching, I was discouraged and ashamed. I had blown my best shot for employment by poor planning. I’m not sure what I did in a past life to deserve all the bad luck I’ve had throughout this one, but I’m guessing it was something pretty bad. Like I said, suffer I shall.



On the metro ride back there were two (homeless?) men who had been beaten to within an inch of their lives past out in my car. Their faces were barely recognizable. I felt sick to my stomach. Not because of the sight of two bloody and bruised men, but because I had witnessed so much cruelty already in this city. Moscow really takes its toll on people, and you can see it in their scowling faces. Jim’s house keeper had explained that to me the day before, and now I saw it. People get ground down day in and day out here. I’d seen fights in the metro stations, homeless people missing almost every limb begging for coins on the ground, and going to work here often involves being crammed into a sardine can with people who smell like garlic. I like Moscow, but if you don’t have a lot of money, living here is tough, and was frankly something I don’t want to do right now. Perhaps it’s for the best that I didn’t find that school, but thinking like that isn’t a good idea. I emailed my contact there to let her know how sorry and ashamed I was, and she seemed to think they might give me another chance, although I’m not sure I believe that. I blew it.