Day 1 Recap

I was not planning on sharing this at all, but then I thought: why am I keeping a blog if I don't document what I do and how I feel while I'm abroad? And who would give Tim Bacon any good reading materials if I didn't post everything I do second to second, minute to minute, hour to hour, so on and so forth? So, here it is. I'm about to copy and paste a very long (and I mean VERY long) 'diary' type entry that I wrote on my computer last night about my first 10 hours in Moscow. I have finally managed to get internet on my laptop, albeit extremely slow and unreliable and prone to freezing my computer, but this means I can share with you my thoughts and emotions from yesterday. Please note, however, that my mood has improved CONSIDERABLY on this, day two, of my stay in Russia's capital. When you read the following entry you may think I went borderline suicidal after just 1o hours. While it was possibly the biggest 'oh shit' moment of my life, I did not harbor any such thoughts. And, as I said, today was much better, but I haven't written a story of today yet, so that will have to wait--possibly for a few days since I have my first official meeting with the university tomorrow and I may find myself busy soon. But, without further ado, enjoy my recap of Day 1 in Moscow (for those of you who can get through it all...)

Day 1 -- 26.09.2009

Well, I certainly didn’t expect this. To feel this way, I mean--uncomfortable, lonely, lost, sick. How could I possibly feel like this in a city of over 10 million people and when I was so excited to leave I could not even put it into words? Well, I’ll tell you how. So far, the mythic standoffishness of Russians has drastically outweighed the professed hospitality of these people. Granted, I just met them and it has been less than a day, but here’s a recap of how the day went so far.

I was met at the airport by Ilya, a student/employee at the university. I could not make out whether he was still doing some studying or if he was all done with classes and only working with the department of international relations, which is technically in charge of my stay. After a quick introduction in Russian, he asked me in English how I was---it would be the last English I would hear all day. It would also be the last time I would hear him talk for almost an hour and a half. After exchanging some money at the airport, we went to the parking lot and climbed into a REALLY nice Lexus sedan driven by another young man (unsure if he is also a student, an employee at the university, or simply a friend of Ilya’s). I said hello as I climbed into the back of the car, and all I got in return was a grunt. Then, the music was blasted. Then, my nerves were blasted as he pulled out of the parking and proceeded to drive (although calling it ‘driving’ is generous) over an hour to the university dorm where I am staying. I’ve heard about Russian traffic, and I’ve heard that people often disregard traffic rules in Russia, but I got the distinct impression that our driver was the ONLY one on the road that actually disregarded the laws. He drove at an average speed of 150 km/hr while swerving between cars and trucks that were (surprisingly) following all the rules of the road. Either this guy thought we were privileged, or he does not value his own (nor our) lives. Ilya sat quietly in the shotgun position with my cramped behind him, trying to take in some of the sights along Moscow’s Third Ring Road while also struggling to keep my airline breakfast down. I’ve been in life-threatening, off-the-wall, no-holds-barred traffic before in India, but this honestly felt worse since our driver was the only one living on the edge, thus forcing everyone else to get out of his way or else perish in a great ball of fire. Maybe he was testing the American kid in his backseat? I don’t think so. More likely, he was going to meet up with a few friends after dropping me off and wanted to get there as soon as daredevil-ly possible seeing as he made and answered a total of seven phone calls from friends while pulling his little traffic stunts. When we finally arrived at the dormitory, he actually got my bags out of his trunk for me and shook my hand (‘ok, not so bad,’ I thought). I thanked him for the ride and politely asked his name, expecting that I may be seeing him around more often if he is Ilya’s friend. As soon as I posed the question, though, he turned away, lowered his head, and grunted ‘Alexander’ before jumping into his car and putting the pedal to the metal. So…I don’t think I’ll see him anytime soon. And if I do, he’ll be sure not to acknowledge me. I will say this, though: THANK GOD HE WAS DRIVING A REALLY NICE LEXUS, because without the impressive acceleration that plasters you back against your seat, we never would have been able to fit in all those tiny spaces in between cars that Alexander so nonchalantly swerved in and out of.

But enough griping about the ride. I turned away from the speeding car and was met with another traditional Russian gesture. I was offered a cigarette by Ilya, which I politely declined, which received a smirk and raised eyebrows instead. Ilya proceeded to smoke about 6 cigarettes in the 2.5 hours that we were together. This first one he puffed through fast enough to finish before we walked 30 yards to the entrance of the dormitory. The dorm guard gave us a weird look as we lugged suitcases into the lobby and to the elevator, but who wouldn’t have given us the eye? We were quite the odd couple. Ilya is about my height and build, but with a shaved head and dressed head-to-toe in black, including black leather boots (with neon-yellow shoelaces) and a killer leather biker jacket. He has the image of the stereotypical Russian thug, minus the bulging muscles and about 150 pounds lighter. I, on the other hand, probably looked like a mess. I couldn’t sleep the whole plane ride, leaving me near exhaustion by the time we made it to the dormitory (especially after the white-knuckle car-ride). My eyes were probably still bulging and my face blanched from the fear of said ride. Anyways, we got through the lobby and went up the elevator to the fourth floor. The dormitory, by the way, is an old Soviet-style concrete tower with somewhere around 15 floors. So not only is it charming, but the elevators only work one-way: UP. There are five elevator banks but not one of them is able to go down, so there is one flight of stairs for that task. Once on the fourth floor we met with Nina Mikhailovna--my only contact with the university pre-departure (even that was only 1one email apiece). I guess I expected her to be exuberant, or at least moderately excited about my arrival, seeing as I am coming in here to supposedly do a lot of work on the university’s English department---although even that is not confirmed since I still have no idea of my exact duties. Instead, she walked out of one room, took one look at me and said hello, and then led me into an office where I sat down and she asked my to fill out a form to register my visa. In my exhaustive stupor, I began filling out the form in English until she piped up from across the desk and told me that it had to be in Russian. She said this in Russian, of course, as she said everything else to me, even though I’m pretty much positive she speaks English (and probably very good English to be the coordinator of the International Relations office). So, I apologized and filled out another form in Russian, after which I was given a room key, and a mention was made to a meeting on Monday that I should attend. And then Nina Mikhailovna disappeared. I’m gonna have to get some details on that meeting soon, like, oh I don’t know, WHERE and WHEN and WHAT ARE WE TALKING ABOUT??? But she disappeared before I could even register that we were talking about a meeting. Everything hits me here just a little too late.

Anyways, Ilya and I went up one more floor on the elevator to my room: 529. It’s nothing special, but I wasn’t expecting anything great. Two very very very slender beds (you practically have to sleep on your side--but be very careful not to roll over or you’ll get a face full of floor). One table and chair that serves as a desk, but with no drawers. One closet. A television--not expecting that, although the antenna has been snapped off and is lying on the windowsill, so reception is pretty scratchy. A small refrigerator. An electric tea kettle(!!!!). A teapot. Two bowls, two teacups (but only one saucer), two soup spoons, two forks, and two tiny teaspoons. No knives. A nice big window but with blinds that are practically stuck in the ‘cover-up-the-window’ mode. The bathroom is surprisingly spacious with a sink, bathtub to be used as shower, a cool tropical-aquatic-themed shower curtain, a trashcan, towel hooks, and a toilet. The toilet flushing mechanism, however, does not function properly, and I have to flush it by taking off the water tank cover and lifting up a tube inside the tank. At least it fills itself back up and doesn’t overflow! It’s definitely not worth trying to get a repair done, because I have no idea what that entails and how long it would take, or whether it would cost me anything. So, at least for now, my hand is going in the tank.

After I dropped my bags in my room and took a cursory look around, Ilya and I headed down the street to a cafeteria for lunch. The cafeteria, apparently, belongs to a different university he said--one that specializes in auto-mechanics and economics, I think, but we are allowed to eat there. I had a typically Russian meal: borscht with сметана (the uber-thick sour cream that Russians love), a pea and ham salad with сметана, and buckwheat with a turkey cutlet. I should not have gotten that much, since I wasn’t very hungry and ended up leaving my tray half-full. The quality of the food didn’t help much, though. Along the way to the cafeteria, about a six-minute walk from my dormitory, Ilya passed out a few other campus buildings to me and explained what they were, although I’m not sure I understood all of it: a few more dorms, at least two academic buildings, and a gym with outdoor tennis courts. When I asked him what goes on at the gym, whether people play football (soccer) there, and whether or not it would be possible for me to show up and join in on a game one day, his look back at me was the only response I needed. It was somewhat in the vicinity of disbelieve and incredulity, but I’m still not sure whether that was because he couldn’t believe I would want to exercise (because he made a not-so subliminal point that he certainly did not partake in physical activities), or that he had never heard of someone just walking up to a group of people and asking to join in on a pick-up game. He told me that some guys often play on a field nearby, but it’s just a lousy pick-up game between a bunch of friends. I didn’t tell him that that actually sounded pretty perfect to me…I just let that slide. Instead, I asked him what he did during the weekends, and he replied with a question: “What do I do on the weekends?” as if I was trying to pry into his personal life. I pretended to look bashful and changed the question to: “What do students in general do on the weekends?” He then looked more comfortable but answered with what I am sure would have been the same reply had he answered my first version of the question: “Nothing, really. Sit around and drink beer.” Great... Then he admitted that some students go away for the weekends to the surrounding countryside where some have dachas and can spend time with friends/family away from the city amongst nature--an escape the Russians are famous for making. Anyways, Ilya certainly made it seem that he could not be counted among those who ventured far from his dormitory room on the weekends, which I find really depressing. I guess I won’t plan on spending too many weekends in his company…including this one.

After lunch, we walked very briskly further down the street so he could show me the market area. I could tell by his pace that he wanted to finish his duty of showing me around as soon as possible. We breezed past a slew of рынок stands (outdoor market) all selling cheap clothing, shoes, bags, and jewelry, plus a few food and news stands, before Ilya walked me into the metro stop to show me where to buy a metro ticket. The lobby was bursting with people packed like sardines, so we didn’t even get through the door, but Ilya assured me it was only because it was a weekend, and that besides the rush-hour work times of morning and early evening, it was never this bad. The metro is maybe a 15-minute walk from the dorm, which I thought was great, but Ilya gave me some phrase about how I would probably never want to make this walk and would rarely take the metro. Don’t count on that, buddy. I’m trying to get out and see some of this city!

I followed my queries about the metro with questions about getting a cell phone, sim card, and internet card. I really didn’t understand anything Ilya was explaining to me, which is probably the part of the day that made me feel most uncomfortable. My only way to get in touch with my family and my life back home seemed completely out of my reach unless I could get on the same brainwave as Ilya, which was getting less and less likely as the day progressed. So, I told him I understood and we proceeded to walk home, but not without Ilya first showing me a local grocery store.

This was a highlight. It’s about 12 minutes from the dorm, small but has just about everything I would need at this moment, and I also got a good read on Ilya when we were inside. He showed me around the store and then said it was a good store because they sold not just beer (which is sold almost everywhere in stores here), but cold beer. He proceeded to grab two large cans of beer, a large bag of sugar, and a bag of cookies, and checked out. While in the line, he asked me if people in America were allowed to buy alcohol and then drink in the streets. I said no. He said it was forbidden in Russia, too. We then walked out of the store, around the corner and away from the three imposing охрана (security) guards on the sidewalk, and then Ilya cracked open a can of beer and gulped it down on the walk home, making sure to constantly look over his shoulder to make sure no police were within sight.

During this walk, Ilya asked me what kind of music I listen to in America--always such a difficult question to answer. I enjoy songs from a number of genres, and how can I explain to him that my favorite band, the Counting Crows, is a mix of rock and country and even pop without getting a look of uncomfortable disdain from someone who has surely never heard them and is sure not to enjoy them if he ever does hear them? Anyways, I answered with the generic: “rock music”, and tried to explain that plenty of people in America listen to country music and rap. He nodded and then inquired whether or not I listen to heavy metal. Oh god. I knew it was coming. I said no. Not the answer he wanted to hear. He then asked about hard rock. I tried to make conversation and say that I listened to some of it, particularly what we refer to as “classic rock” in the US. He asked about Led Zeppelin, and I said: “Yeah! Like Led Zeppelin! Or Van Halen?” (no response) “Ummmm, AC/DC?” [PS. Thank you Dad for listening to this music because it may have salvaged the one acquaintance I have so far]. Ilya said he had heard of AC/DC but didn’t really like them. He then named some Finnish metal band that he likes and told me about the time last year they came to Moscow but he couldn’t go to the concert. It sounded like he was still bitter about it. Then he lightened up a bit and said that some British metal band was coming in October and he plans on going. Then he commented on the audience that ‘pop’ music enjoyed, although I wasn’t sure if he was referring directly to American pop music or Russian, or both. He finished his thought with the following (in English!): “It sucks.” That was where that conversation ended.

We then stood outside the entrance to the dormitory so that Ilya could finish his beer before heading in. He asked me if universities in the US sold beer. I said that mine did not because there are so many under-age students and cops rolling around, but that if you were of-age you could buy alcohol off-campus and bring it back to the dorms. He said that no alcohol was allowed in the dorms here, period. Unless, of course, you’re Ilya and just throw it in your backpack on the way home from the store so you can spend your weekends drinking in your room. He also seemed to think that drinking-age laws were meaningless, which I was almost going to agree with him on except I realized I didn’t want to start talking about alcoholism in Russia, which is all I had on my mind as I watched him suck the last drips of that sweet nectar out of its gold can.

We then went inside and took the elevator to the fifth floor where I’m living. I knew that Ilya did not live on this floor, but he didn’t press any other buttons on the keypad, so I figured he was getting out with me and we would continue spending some time together just chatting. Instead, he said goodbye as I got off on the fifth floor, and I abruptly turned around and asked rather meekly what he was doing tomorrow. Once again, he took this as a very personal question, like I was asking him out on a date or something. I clarified and said (trying to hold back the puppy-face look), that I didn’t know what I was doing tomorrow. He just stared at me, so I said that I would probably go buy my cell phone, sim card, and internet card, once again trying to elicit some information as to how this would be possible. He just said something about how he bought all of his at one all-purpose computer/tech store in another part of town where he spends a lot of time. He was NOT interested in offering to take me there or give me directions, so I let the matter drop and told him that if I needed anything I would knock on his door, which is 723...or was it 923? Either way, I think he regretted giving me the room number. I just hope he wasn’t lying to me, since he’s the only person I know and who I can conceivably reach to give me information about this meeting I’m supposed to have on Monday. I also hinted that I might take the metro and check out some of downtown Moscow, to which he replied something like this: “Moscow is not a very pretty city. St. Petersburg is much nicer.” Good to know.

I walked back to my room very downtrodden. I mean, judging from other Fulbrighters’ blogs, their guides and contacts have done quite a job showing them around, befriending them, and introducing them to friends. They have even invited them to their dachas and to weddings, for Pete’s sake! I, on the other hand, get posted to the largest city in the country but get the most disinterested guide I could have imagined. I have heard that the provincial towns are considerably more hospitable in terms of people-to-people relations. Right about now, I’m wishing I was still going to P-K, where I at least know that my contact, Tatyana, was one of the most kind-hearted people I’d ever interacted with, albeit only through email. But I know, I just know that she would have been thrilled upon my arrival!

In my room, I turned on the TV to some ridiculously propagandized version of the Russian History Channel biography on Lavrenty Beria--one of the most cold-hearted men of Stalin’s reign of terror--and started to unpack my bags. After putting most everything away, I grabbed my empty backpack and decided to head out back to the market area to investigate how to go about getting a phone/internet and also do some grocery shopping, since I had a revelation at about 3:30 that I would probably not eat tonight unless I did something about it quickly. So, I retraced my steps back to the рынок and found a small hole-in-the-wall store that dealt with electronic repairs. I was greeted by a nice man who answered my questions about buying a cell phone. They only had two in the store, one of which was a very nice Samsung going for a few 5,500 rubles (no thanks). The other looked like a used Nokia and cost 800 rubles. They also sold sim cards for 150. I told him I didn’t have the money right now and just wanted to see where I could buy one, and that I would come back tomorrow, to which he said something along these lines: “Please! Please come back tomorrow and if we have any other phones to offer I will show them to you!” I thanked him, but left with the feeling that these were phones that were confiscated, found, or somehow acquired illegally. I probably won’t go back tomorrow, but I learned that I’m decent at lying in Russian! I then went back to the grocery store and bought the following for dinner/breakfast tomorrow: two tomatoes, two oranges, six bananas, a small loaf of bread, fruit juice, two waters, a box of black tea, and one of those ‘just-add-hot-water-for-a-sodium-coated-pasta/soup-instant-dinner-with-mystery-meat’ things. That’s going to go down smooth tonight. I asked a young woman who worked there (and yes, she was fairly attractive if you are wondering) where I could get an internet card, but all she had to say was that I could find them wherever I could find a phone. She then recommended a place and pointed down the road, so I asked if it was close, to which she replied: “No, it’s pretty far.” So, it was back to exploring. Thankfully, I found a store called МИР (World, or Peace) that was a Russian version of Best Buy located just behind the grocery store. I walked in and found a new Samsung phone for about 950 rubles (pretty decent) and asked if I could buy a sim card there too. The attendant gave me a once-over and walked me to a kiosk by the entrance where a young woman and man sat with their heads together over a cell phone chatting. They didn’t notice me when I walked up, but I didn’t want to interrupt since I figured it was simply a characteristic of Russian service to finish the conversation before helping a customer. Finally, the man looked up and then the woman asked me what I wanted. I explained my situation and asked if this is where I could buy a sim card. She pointed to her kiosk (which did not say ‘sim card’ or anything of the sort on it) and gave a look like a sixteen-year old ‘Mean Girl’ would give her parents when they ask her a stupid question. I realized that this conversation got off on a bad start, but I stupidly dug myself deeper when I asked how the sim card worked. What I meant was how do I add money to my phone to keep making calls in a pay-as-you-go format. The man continued to stare at me like I just got off the short bus while the woman scoffed and said: “Well, the sim card goes in the phone.” Touche. She had me there. So I tried unsuccessfully to rephrase the question before it finally made sense to her that I wanted to add minutes, and she said (I think) that there are ‘terminals’ (I think she is referring to kiosks) around the city where you can plug in your phone number and then pay with cash to add minutes. Ilya had pointed one of these out to me earlier, so I pretended like I understood her perfectly, but once again said I didn’t have enough money on me now and that I would return tomorrow. It was all too much to digest on the spot.

I then came home, finished unpacking my belongings, laid out my groceries, and began writing while MTV Russia plays on my television. To quote Ilya: “It sucks.” Well, MTV Russia sucks. I’m feeling better since I decided to write my ENTIRE day down.

First on the list tomorrow: buy a cell phone and sim card, and investigate the internet possibility further. I’ll probably go back to the Russian Best Buy, since it seems like a pretty reputable place, although I’m gonna have to put my smart-hat on so I don’t come across like a dunce again. I think I’ll also give the metro a shot tomorrow if it’s not too crowded and try to see some more of Moscow; really I’m just thinking of Red Square…where I’ll hopefully feel more normal and like the tourist I really am right now. I would love to contact my few Fulbright friends in Moscow to meet up with them, but I’ll need both a cell phone and internet to do that, since they posted their cell phone numbers on-line. We’ll see how it works out.

I’ve been writing this for over 2 hours now, so I’m going to make dinner, read, and then pass out. I really hope tomorrow is better, because right now I’m wishing I was still sitting on my parent’s couch watching a Phillies game---a place I was actually eager to vacate just 20 hours ago.

Afterword (written an hour later): I realize that this entry was a super downer. It makes life sound worse than terrible here. In reality, it could be a lot worse. I think I’m just having a hard time because I know I’m going to be here for a very long time, so a failure to connect with people seems like a HUGE setback. It will get better as time goes on, I’m sure. Once I figure out how to use the metro and contact the outside world. And once I begin my duties and meet some colleagues and have students then hopefully things will go more smoothly. It’s just not all going to come at once. Plus, I would feel A LOT more comfortable if I knew what I was doing here! I mean, sure I’m on a Fulbright (which means nothing to the Russians), but I still have NO IDEA what I’m doing! I don’t know what I’m teaching, or IF I’m even teaching. If I knew something, relating to my duties, I would at least be able to occupy my time with some busy work. Instead, I’ve turned to writing depressing, whining entries.

Plus, I watched ‘The Hurt Locker’ on the plane. A great film. Everyone should see it. But not the movie that you want to see if you’re already stressed about something. It really stresses you out, and I didn’t have time to de-stress before getting thrown into the mix in Moscow. So, watch the movie, but be aware of your next step in life.

I also realized that misery loves company. But not only in the traditional sense. This misery would be much easier to handle if someone were sharing it with me.