Blogging has become impossible for me lately so I'm going to just share with you Bremen's stories...he's a fabulous writer.
maggie
Moscow, Seven Years Later
"I follow the Moskva / Down to Gorky Park / Listening to the winds of change." --the Scorpions
Moscow's Red Square
Days One and Two in Moscow were both revelatory and nostalgic. For every new discovery, a sense of recollection set in, inducing at once confusion and delight. I'm having fun.
Moscow is alive with accordions and synthesizers. Audis with black tinted windows race through the streets. Cops drive Mercedes. Mullets are all the rage.
I'm staying in an apartment in central Moscow. A bunk costs about $20 a night, and I'm sharing the place with fellow backpackers from France, Belgium, China, eastern Russia, and England. The name is Yellow Blue Bus, a cutesy but bad transliteration of "I love you" in Russian.
A few things have improved since I was last here. The Church has a brand new building just across the river from the Kremlin. Pornography is no longer sold in the subways. And there is less trash in general--probably due to the fact that middle-aged men rather than elderly women now seem to be doing most of the garbage collection.
A few things haven't changed. The ruble to dollar conversion rate is about the same--though things generally cost more. Foreigners must still carry their passports, visas, and local registration with them wherever they go, or face a $2000 fine if caught.
My sleep is, for lack of a better word, all jacked up. Last night I went to bed at 11, woke up at 3, ate a sandwich and then fell asleep again until 1. I'm repeating the experience tonight, only this time without the sandwich. If I can actually get myself out of bed in the morning, I'll be meeting with the former Moscow correspondent for BusinessWeek, who now works for Thomson Reuters. I'm thinking seriously of dropping by the American Bar and Grill next door, which starts serving bacon and eggs at 4 a.m.
For dinner tonight I raided a nearby grocery store and bought all my Russian favorites--a hearty loaf of bread (28 cents), some spreadable cheese from Finland (a dollar), and vanilla-flavored milk (pasteurized = priceless). I added a raw yellow pepper for good measure--mostly because I don't remember seeing too many of those when I was here last.
Moscow's subway system still enchants me. It is an underground art museum with trains speeding through it--and it only costs 60 cents to spend an entire day there. Tonight on the ring line I noticed a new breed of advertisement, its cheerful images beaming: Happy Birthday, Moscow! Give Women Flowers! and "Love for the Motherland Begins with the Family." For a place as deep in the earth as hell itself, it sure feels happy down there.
Even the airport seemed relatively pleasant, despite long lines in passport control and again in customs. Comparing my experience to that of nine years ago, I didn't see a single machine gun as I stepped off the plane yesterday. As a bonus, nobody lost my luggage this time either.
From the airport I took an electric train 40 minutes into the city. The summer foilage had started to turn. A few villagers gathered mushrooms in the distant forest beyond the tracks. Nonsensical graffiti--in English--whizzed past on fences and buildings: After-party. Not Dead. Toy!
From the station, I took the subway into downtown and met my friend Irina, who works for the Church and served as my fantastic guide for the day. She showed me the Russian Orthodox Temple of Christ the Savior, Red Square, and Bolshoy Theater before finally reaching my apartment and dropping off my oversized pack. I knew Irina from the four short months that I actually lived in Moscow. If I had to compare her to a Broadway musical, she would be Hello, Dolly!, because she can do anything or get anything for anybody anywhere. If she were a TV show, she would be MacGuyver in a turtleneck and skirt.
At the new church building Irina introduced me to the mission president's wife. I already knew her name because, by coincidence or fate, her son had come into my store in Maryland the day before, looking for a job application. Funny, I had just been thinking about contacting the mission office for a possible drop-in when suddenly a complete stranger is telling me that his dad lives in Moscow as an LDS mission president. The family hails from Provo and has a son serving on the eastern fringe of Russia--in Vladivostok, some 9 or 10 time zones farther afield.
According to Irina and the mission president's wife, the old mission I served in is now called Moscow West. It does not include Moscow, but encompasses the outer cities of Tula, Lipetsk, and Kaluga, and the countries of Belarus and Kazakhstan. American missionaries must leave the country every three months to renew their visas (instead of once a year). A new temple will open in Kiev next September.
I have lots more to learn while I am here, and I hope the experience will be largely positive. I look forward to sharing those brief experiences with those people in my life who have made such a difference. Thanks be to God for bringing me back.
Moscow is alive with accordions and synthesizers. Audis with black tinted windows race through the streets. Cops drive Mercedes. Mullets are all the rage.
I'm staying in an apartment in central Moscow. A bunk costs about $20 a night, and I'm sharing the place with fellow backpackers from France, Belgium, China, eastern Russia, and England. The name is Yellow Blue Bus, a cutesy but bad transliteration of "I love you" in Russian.
A few things have improved since I was last here. The Church has a brand new building just across the river from the Kremlin. Pornography is no longer sold in the subways. And there is less trash in general--probably due to the fact that middle-aged men rather than elderly women now seem to be doing most of the garbage collection.
A few things haven't changed. The ruble to dollar conversion rate is about the same--though things generally cost more. Foreigners must still carry their passports, visas, and local registration with them wherever they go, or face a $2000 fine if caught.
My sleep is, for lack of a better word, all jacked up. Last night I went to bed at 11, woke up at 3, ate a sandwich and then fell asleep again until 1. I'm repeating the experience tonight, only this time without the sandwich. If I can actually get myself out of bed in the morning, I'll be meeting with the former Moscow correspondent for BusinessWeek, who now works for Thomson Reuters. I'm thinking seriously of dropping by the American Bar and Grill next door, which starts serving bacon and eggs at 4 a.m.
For dinner tonight I raided a nearby grocery store and bought all my Russian favorites--a hearty loaf of bread (28 cents), some spreadable cheese from Finland (a dollar), and vanilla-flavored milk (pasteurized = priceless). I added a raw yellow pepper for good measure--mostly because I don't remember seeing too many of those when I was here last.
Moscow's subway system still enchants me. It is an underground art museum with trains speeding through it--and it only costs 60 cents to spend an entire day there. Tonight on the ring line I noticed a new breed of advertisement, its cheerful images beaming: Happy Birthday, Moscow! Give Women Flowers! and "Love for the Motherland Begins with the Family." For a place as deep in the earth as hell itself, it sure feels happy down there.
Even the airport seemed relatively pleasant, despite long lines in passport control and again in customs. Comparing my experience to that of nine years ago, I didn't see a single machine gun as I stepped off the plane yesterday. As a bonus, nobody lost my luggage this time either.
From the airport I took an electric train 40 minutes into the city. The summer foilage had started to turn. A few villagers gathered mushrooms in the distant forest beyond the tracks. Nonsensical graffiti--in English--whizzed past on fences and buildings: After-party. Not Dead. Toy!
From the station, I took the subway into downtown and met my friend Irina, who works for the Church and served as my fantastic guide for the day. She showed me the Russian Orthodox Temple of Christ the Savior, Red Square, and Bolshoy Theater before finally reaching my apartment and dropping off my oversized pack. I knew Irina from the four short months that I actually lived in Moscow. If I had to compare her to a Broadway musical, she would be Hello, Dolly!, because she can do anything or get anything for anybody anywhere. If she were a TV show, she would be MacGuyver in a turtleneck and skirt.
At the new church building Irina introduced me to the mission president's wife. I already knew her name because, by coincidence or fate, her son had come into my store in Maryland the day before, looking for a job application. Funny, I had just been thinking about contacting the mission office for a possible drop-in when suddenly a complete stranger is telling me that his dad lives in Moscow as an LDS mission president. The family hails from Provo and has a son serving on the eastern fringe of Russia--in Vladivostok, some 9 or 10 time zones farther afield.
According to Irina and the mission president's wife, the old mission I served in is now called Moscow West. It does not include Moscow, but encompasses the outer cities of Tula, Lipetsk, and Kaluga, and the countries of Belarus and Kazakhstan. American missionaries must leave the country every three months to renew their visas (instead of once a year). A new temple will open in Kiev next September.
I have lots more to learn while I am here, and I hope the experience will be largely positive. I look forward to sharing those brief experiences with those people in my life who have made such a difference. Thanks be to God for bringing me back.
1 comment:
This is so amazing. I was sad when it ended! Keep posting! Bremen is such a fabulous writer, and your blog misses you!
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