An American in Moscow

The Big Russian, the Big American, and the Big Icon

First off, my apologies.  It's been quite a while since my last post.  I have been traveling for work and that, combined with the lack of phone or Internet access in rural Russia, prevented me from updating the blog.  On Sunday (October 14th), I returned to Moscow after a week in Pskov.  Pskov is an ancient Russian city of about 200,000 in Northwest Russia, about 20 km from the border of Estonia (Pskov's location can be viewed here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Pskov_In_Europe.svg).  My colleague here at the ABA, Anton Alferov, and I went to Pskov to conduct an anti-corruption conference for various members of local government, including elected officials, prosecutors, and law enforcement.  We left Moscow via train on Monday night, and arrived in Pskov the next morning -- about a 12 hour trip. We actually didn't stay in Pskov.  After arriving on the train, we drove about 100 km into rural Russia and stayed at a small "resort" (I use that term VERY loosely) near the estate of the Russian poet Alexander Pushkin (more on him in another post).  I'll post pictures later, but suffice it to say that the place was a dump.  At breakfast one morning, which was served in a communal dining hall by old Russian babushkas, I watched as a 5 month old kitten caught, killed, and ate a mouse about 10 feet away from me.  We also didn't have heat in our rooms and the weather was pretty cold (it's been snowing here the last week or so) so it definitely was quite an experience.

Like most Russian cities, Pskov was built on a river, the Velikaya.  The city itself is almost 1,100 years old.  For Russia, the Pskov region was a bridge towards Europe.  For Europe, it was a western outpost of Russia and subject of numerous attacks throughout history.  In the city center, on the river, stands the Pskov Kremlin.  Amazingly, the kremlin (called by Pskovians the Krom) withstood 26 sieges in the 15th century alone. At one point, five stone walls ringed it, making the city practically impregnable. A local school of icon-painting flourished (this will become important to this post in a bit), and local masons were considered the best in Russia.  In the center of the Pskov Kremlin sits a beautiful Russian Orthodox cathedral.  During Soviet times, the cathedral was dedicated as a museum of atheism, like most other Russian Orthodox cathedrals in Russia.

In 1510,  Muscovite forces took the city. However, as the second largest city of Muscovy, Pskov still attracted enemy armies. Most famously, it withstood prolonged siege by 50,000-strong Polish army during the final stage of the Livonian War (1581–1582). The king of Poland, Stefan Batory, undertook some 31 attacks to storm the city, which was defended mainly by civilians. Even after one of the city walls was broken, the Pskovians managed to fill the gap and repel the attack.  This siege was commemorated in a beautiful Russian Orthodox church icon -- I became very closely acquainted with this icon, as you will see below.

As you can imagine, Pskov's medieval citadel provided little protection against modern artillery, and during World War II Pskov suffered substantial damage during the German occupation from July 9, 1941 until July 23, 1944.  Many ancient buildings, particularly churches, suffered destruction before the Wehrmacht could occupy the city.  When the Russians drove the Germans out of the city on their march to Berlin, the city was essentially leveled.  A huge portion of Pskov's population died during the war, and Pskov has since struggled to regain its traditional position as a major industrial and cultural centre of Western Russia.  Simply put, the city economy is struggling, people are leaving, and the city is dying.

All of this serves as useful background to the most amazing experience I've had in Russia so far.  On Saturday night, we returned from the "resort" to Pskov and the train station at about 4:00 p.m.  Our train left for Moscow at 7:00 p.m., so Anton suggested that we visit the Pskov Kremlin as it was likely that I might not return to Pskov again.  We grabbed a taxi and drove to the Kremlin.  Pictures of the Kremlin and its cathedral are at the right in a new album.  The place was amazing.  We walked the Kremlin grounds and then went into the cathedral.  The interior of the cathedral was stunning.  We stood behind a roped off area of the cathedral and admired all the icons and paintings.  Here is a photo of a small portion of the cathedral. 

As Anton and I were checking out the cathedral, a small, old Russian man with a name tag on walked up to us.  At the conference, several Russians had commented on Anton's and my size, referring to us as "the big Russian" and the "the big American."  Apparently, the old man in the cathedral thought the same thing.  He started chattering with Anton in Russian for about a minute or so.  After their discussion, Anton turned to me and said that the man wanted our help in moving one of the icons in the cathedral.  Anton and I agreed, and were escorted under the rope and into the cathedral.  We both thought we'd be moving a small statue or something. We followed this guy into the recesses of the cathedral and into a small work room where several women were working on the icon -- and it definitely wasn't a small statue or something.  The icon was what can best be described as a humongous shadow box.  Built of sturdy oak, it was about five feet high and four feet wide.  Under the glass, thousands of tiny jewels (pearls, diamonds, rubies, etc., you name the gem and it was there) were arranged in a mosaic showing a battle scene from the Polish siege I described above.  The icon itself was about just under 500 years old -- older than my country, as I later mentioned to Anton.   The Russian women had adorned the icon with a frame of fresh red roses and white carnations.  As Anton and I moved into position to pick up the icon off the work table it was laying on, my first thought was "Wow, this thing is really beautiful."  As I picked up with Anton (we were the only two who moved it -- the man looked like he was 90 years old and the women were too busy barking at us in Russian to help with the manual labor), my second thought was, "Shit, this thing is REALLY heavy."  I'd guess that it weighed about 350 pounds -- seriously awkward and heavy and made even more so by the fresh flowers that had been placed on the frame.  Anton and I started to shuffle out of the work room and through the back halls of the cathedral.  Anton and I both had our laptop bags slung over our shoulders, further complicating matters.  Two of the women quickly relieved us of that problem.  At one point, we had to move from the sides to the ends of the icon to make it through a door, not an easy task given the weight, roses, and Russian women flitting about.  At that point, I seriously thought that we were about to drop a 500 year old, completely priceless icon. We finally made it out into the cathedral and managed to place the icon upright on a stand near the tombs of two Russian Orthodox saints that were 2,000 years old.

Turns out the icon was only recently returned to Russia.  The Germans took it with them as they fled the advancing Red Army, and German Chancellor Schroeder recently presented it back to Putin in a big ceremony a few years ago.  Talk about some serious history -- all entrusted to a Russian and an American who had only walked into the cathedral 10 minutes earlier.  I asked Anton if 30 years ago (during Soviet times) anyone in Russia would have believed that a Russian and an American would be working together to move a priceless church icon in the Pskov cathedral.  He laughed and thought not.  But he did say that it was a definite sign of progress -- and that the world was a whole lot smaller today than it was during the Cold War.

Learning Russian

This afternoon, I begin my Russian language classes.  I actually had one session a couple of weeks ago, but didn't really click with the instructor -- she spent more time complaining about her life than teaching me any Russian.  I've been trying to find a new Russian teacher, and Ludmilla, my interpreter, suggested one of her friends named Nina.  Apparently, Nina previously worked at the KGB teaching Russian to Soviet allies who came to Moscow to learn the language -- Cubans, etc.  She is now retired, but teaches Russian on the side to supplement her pension.  Things should be interesting, as Nina uses the "direct" or natural method of instruction.  Simply put, she speaks no English.  Not a lick.  So I'll be learning Russian in Russian -- the same way I learned English. This should be an interesting experience, to say the least. 

My Russian is fairly limited -- I can engage in standard greetings, ask basic questions (like "can I have an English menu" and "how much is that" etc.), and make basic requests at the store, restaurant, etc.  I also find myself speaking a mongrelized version of Russian/English -- saying a few words in Russia, a few words in English, then a few more words in Russian.  Even when I am speaking with a fluent English speaker, I find myself anwering in Russian, which is weird. I'm dying to learn more in depth Russian, however, and am looking forward to beginning serious study. I expressed my concerns about this process to Ludmilla, but she assured me that Nina swears by the direct method of language learning.  She said that in the 70's and 80's, non-Russian speakers came to Moscow and left a year or two later speaking fluent Russian after taking classes at the KGB with Nina.  We'll see, I guess.  I'll post again with a follow up to let you know how the first course goes today.

Things you don't see in D.C.

Today, as I was walking back to the office from lunch, a Russian kid (I'd guess he was 10 or 11) stood taking a whiz just off the sidewalk, completely oblivious to the food traffic that streamed (excuse the pun) by him.  Now, I work in a fairly busy area of Moscow.  Not Times Square busy, mind you, but pretty busy.  For the D.C. readers, I'd equate the area of my office to be something like the 13th and New York area where I previously worked at the DOJ.  By his appearance and demeanor, this kid wasn't homeless -- he had his school uniform on and he was making a fairly lame attempt to hide behind a tree on the sidewalk.  In all my years of living in D.C. and Chicago, and in visiting New York City, I've never seen such a brazen pisser in my entire life.  I'm not sure what surprised me more -- the pisser, the people on the sidewalk who walked by without a second glance, or the fact that I found myself vaguely unsurprised about the whole thing.  I've been in Moscow for a month -- have I already become that jaded?

I've been writing about the contradictions in Moscow at length in this blog.  I'm by no means an expert on Moscow, Russia, or Russians,  But I can tell you that my one month here has so far shown me that Russians are caught between two worlds -- the Western one with it's gaudiness and wealth, and another one where kids freely piss on public sidewalks and street cleaners still clean up leaves with rakes made out of tree branches and sticks.  That's right, Moscow city workers still doesn't use brooms.  I'm willing to bet that if a delegation from the UN or Washington came to town, all of the street cleaners would be given new, commercially made rakes.  I guess that's the best part of working and living in Moscow on my own -- I get to see the real Moscow.  The kind of place where women wearing a $50,000 fur coat and a $10,000 pair of shoes walk by a roaming pack of street dogs without batting an eye. 

The one lasting impression I've taken with me so far is the disparity in wealth and status in this country.  Surprisingly, at least to me, even more so than the United States.  The wealthy are extremely wealthy, and like to show it off.  The poor are extremely poor, but it's hard to find the middle class in Russia.  Most if not all of the so-called Russian middle class, from what my colleagues tell me, live far outside the city center.  I'd say it's like Manhattan, but that doesn't quite capture it.  To a large degree, especially after the crash of the ruble in 1998, people seem to live for the day, not worrying about tomorrow.  As I've written about before, capitalism -- making a buck -- is what really rules the everyday lives of Muscovites.  People seem to care less about what is happening politically (internationally or domestically).  All they really care about is getting paid and spending the money.  Saving seems to be an afterthought for many Russians, at least in Moscow.  For example, at the training that the ABA put on regarding the European Court of Human Rights one attorney spent the entire four days asking questions about how he could be paid and reimbursed for representing a client before the Court.  It got to be a running joke anytime this guy raised his hand to ask a question -- we all knew a question about money was coming.  He could care less that his client had been tortured by the police or that the conviction of his client was based on planted evidence.  This guy just wanted to know when the meal ticket was coming.  I've never experienced anything like that, especially in a human rights seminar, for god's sake.  In any event, there is a huge disparity of wealth.  On the way home from work the other night, while waiting to cross at an intersection, an old, Soviet-style gypsy cab rear ended a shiny new black Lexus SUV near my apartment.  The taxi was hardly worse for wear.  The Lexus' tail end was seriously caved in.  I was worried that someone might be hurt.  The two old guys standing next to me on the sidewalk just started laughing their asses off, clearly amused that the old taxi had crushed the luxury car of one of the "New Rich" Russians.  Score one for the regular Russians, I guess.  The social and economic dynamics of this place are very strange, and I'm still adjusting.

да́ча

Dacha (pronounced "die-cha").  The Russian summer home or cottage.  Many urban Russians own a second home in the outlying country areas.  For example, residents of Moscow might own an apartment in the city and a dacha 40 to 50 kilometers outside the city.  In Soviet times, many of these summer homes were relatively spartan affairs, some with no heating, etc.  Some however, are on an acre or two of land and can be used as year-a-round homes.  With the new economic boom in Moscow, the "New Russians" (i.e., those lucky or corrupt enough to be rich) are building huge, sprawling compounds (often many acres in size) that costs millions of U.S. dollars to construct.  Many of the New Russians live in these home year around, commuting into the city.  This includes many of the country's politicians, as well as members of the Russian mafia.  Their homes are guarded by heavily armed guards, and caravans of black SUVs and BMW's form motorcades that take these people into the city center during the week, causing the already nightmarish Moscow traffic to grind to a halt.  These motorcades have a single flashing blue light on the vehicles.  There supposedly has been a crackdown on individuals who obtain such lights improperly. I'm not sure if I believe that.  There seems to be an awful lot of cars with flashing blue lights around.

Regular Russians (middle class to upper middle class) have smaller summer homes outside the city.  I've become quite close with my interpreter, a Russian woman named Ludmilla.  I'd guess that Ludmilla is in her early 50's. She and her husband, Sasha (short for Alexander -- don't even get me started, this is the subject of another blog post) have a dacha about 40 miles to the South of Moscow.  During the ABA seminar on the European Court of Human Rights, we'd been discussing our gardens, and I had told her about my parent's properties in Northern Michigan (a smaller full-time home on a lake and a larger acreage on the Manistee River).  Ludmilla was very intrigued about this, as well as my home in Washington, D.C. (she was surprised I did not have a summer cottage outside of the city -- I wish!).  Yesterday (Saturday), on the final day of an ABA seminar in Moscow) Ludmilla invited me to visit her and Sasha that evening at their dacha. I readily agreed.

At about 3:30 p.m., after the seminar had ended, we took a taxi to Ludmilla's summer cottage.  I have to tell you, it was absolutely beautiful.  The property sits on about two acres, and the gardens were glorious.  The flowers will still blooming, and the property was full of birches, maples, chestnuts, and apple trees.  They also had wonderful raspberries bushes.  It totally reminded me of Michigan!  Ludmilla's father was an engineer in the Soviet military, and the government granted him "use" of the property after WWII.  Originally, he had four acres, but he gave half of the property use to his brother (a point of discontent with Ludmilla, who clearly wishes she had the full four acres today).  Ludmilla's father built a two story home on the property.  Inside is knotty pine and gorgeous wide-plank hardwood floors.  Their dacha is fully functional year round, and they live there most of the year (they still have an apartment in the city, as well as a vacation home in Spain).  The property has has a separate guest house with a banya (Russian sauna or steam bath).  The place was very, very nice.

It was interesting, though, to hear about the state of private property ownership in Russia.  Ludmilla's father was not the "owner" of the property -- the state was.  After the fall of the Soviet Union, Russia has gradually instituted the right of private property ownership.  However, users of former state-owned property, like Ludmilla, have to go through a complex bureaucratic system to shift property into their private names.  Ludmilla is still in the process of getting this completed.  As you  can imagine, the Russian government is in no hurry to complete this process.  Land outside of Moscow is VERY valuable, and the government has been known to stall the process to keep such property in government hands (and perhaps shifted to corrupt government officials).  I asked Ludmilla if she was worried about the whole process.  She sighed and said, "Why should I worry -- it is not in my control.  I must only worry about what I control.  Do I control this process?  No.  I'll worry if a problem arises."  Good advice, I guess, and probably healthy, but I'm not sure I would be able to follow it.  In any case, Ludmilla said she was confident that the process would work out fine.  Apparently, several other property owners have already gotten their certificates of title, and Ludmilla's should be coming soon.

Ludmilla's and Sasha's hospitality was great.  We drank wine, ate fresh raspberries, apples, and peaches from the garden, along with cheese. I had a great time -- hopefully, one day I can repay their hospitality in the States.  Ludmilla has never been to the United States.  I had a great time.

Russian contradictions

Moscow is a city of contradictions.  As I noted in a previous  post, Russia wants capitalism.  The democratic ideals and policy that normally come with it -- well the government doesn't want so much of that.  I got my "papers" (passport, visa, registration) checked for the first time this week.  I was just walking down the street and a couple of policeman decided it was time to screw with a foreigner.  My papers were all in order and they let me go on my way, but its commonplace for the police to demand a bribe to let you go, otherwise threatening to make you spend a few hours in jail to sort things out.  I'm working on an anti-corruption project in Russia, so its not like I feel like I'm in a position to pay anyone bribes.  Corruption is an epidemic in this country.  Some say it's a carry over from Soviet times, others say its a product of unchecked capitalism.  Either way, Moscow makes Tammany Hall look like a kindergarten.  Bribes. Bribes. Bribes.  I tell my Russian friends that the United States went through the "growing pains" of corruption and that it will probably take generations to truly change the problem.  But I also think it was much easier for a country in the 1700's, 1800's, and early 1900's to forge a real democracy isolated by two oceans and isolationist economic policy.  Russia is a totalitarian government with a rogue capitalist economy in the modern age.  That makes a strange and sometimes lethal (see my friend Woody's comment below) combination.

On a more pleasant note, I found a great diner in my neighborhood.  It's called the Starlight Diner and it serves great American style breakfasts, burgers, ets.  I'm sure I'll be frequenting this place often.  A picture is included in the new photo album.  The album includes some more shots of St. Pete and some new ones of Moscow.  I've been at a seminar that the ABA is putting on for Russian defense attorneys on the European Court of Human Rights.  Were putting it on here in Moscow for 25 attorneys, training them on applying and presenting cases. I haven't got a lot of experience in this area, so it's been a learning process for me, too.  On the plus side, my interpreter, Ludmilla, invited me to use her family's vacation home in Spain this winter.  Hopefully, Rachel and I can take her up on that offer!

It's not that I'm lazy.....

It's that I just don't care. 

That line, immortalized in one of my favorite movies, Office Space, captures the Russian attitude toward customer service.  They just could not care less.  Most people are paid a set salary in the customer service industry and do not rely on tips like their American counterparts.  Accordingly, service in cafes, restaurants, even airports, makes the equivalents in the United States look like five star quality.  On the way home from St. Petersburg, we waited in a line at the ticket counter to register for our flight for almost 45 minutes while the three women behind the counter discussed the newspaper, the sad state of the public transportation system, and whatever else they could think of to avoid serving the 100 people waiting to check in for the flight.  I told Anton about the line from Office Space.  He loved it.

Capitalism, however, has certainly taken hold in Russia.  Everyone looks for ways to make money in whatever way possible.  In the three weeks I've been here, it has been strange to discover just how far Russians have taken the concept.  For example, absolutely nothing in this country is free.  Small things, like ketchup at McDonald's or cream for your coffee, comes at a price.  In the U.S., we're all accustomed to getting the condiment for free with our fries.  In Russia, you have to pay an extra 15 to 30 rubles (.40 to $1) to get a ketchup.  Milk for your coffee -- that will be 30 rubles please.  Even more disturbing is the separate system of prices for Russians and "foreigners."  For example, while in St. Petersburg I visited several museums with my Russian colleague, Anton.  The price for Anton might be 100 rubles (about $4), while the price for me was 250 rubles ($10).  Anton and I had a long discussion on this discriminatory system of pricing.  I explained that if museums in the United States implemented such a practice, the hue and cry from the world would be deafening.  Anton agreed, said the practice was completely unfair, but then added this gem of wisdom -- "You're living in a totalitarian state, what do you expect?"  We both shared a good laugh over his analysis.  The photo above gives one of the best examples of the extent of Russian capitalism -- in order to use a disgustedly foul porta-potty in Moscow, you have to pay 15 rubles.  There is a woman sitting in the open doorway who collects the toilet fees. Thank you, but I'd rather crap my pants.

Russian capitalism -- pay more for less!

St. Petersburg, Part II

 From Wednesday to Saturday, I was in St. Petersburg.  The trip was officially for business, but I had the chance to do a bit of exploring on my visit. On the business side, I met with representatives of the city prosecutor's office (including the Chief Prosecutor) to discuss how the criminal system works in Russia, as well as the extent of cybercrime prosecutions that occur in St. Petersburg.  I'm hoping to begin a cybercrime project in Russia, and am hoping to start it in St. Petersburg.  I also met with several professors (and former prosecutors) from a prosecutor training institute in St. Petersburg.  The meetings went really well, and the Russian officials seemed receptive about working on a cybercrime training program for Russian police, prosecutors and judges with me.

St. Petersburg is a phenomenal city.  I was only there for three days and I can already tell you I like it much more than Moscow.  It is very European and, as the locals like to say, is the "cultural capitol" of Russia.  We didn't have much time, but we managed to visit the Peterhof, one of Peter the Great's summer palaces that lies across the Gulf of Finland from St. Petersburg, as well as the Winter Palace (shown above), winter home of the Russian tzar's and now home of the Hermitage Museum, the largest collection of art in the world behind the Louvre.  We only had about 2 hours to view the collection, however, so I'm sure I'll be making another trip back to St. Petersburg on a purely touristy level.  I've posted a few shots of my trip in the photo album section of the blog.  More information on the Peterhof can be found here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peterhoff

St. Petersburg has a distinctly different vibe than Moscow.  Anton Alferov, one of the attorneys working with me at the ABA, said that St. Petersburg doesn't have the "dark energy" that permeates Moscow.  That description is very apt.  A slightly slower pace, more beautiful architecture, and friendly people were the three big things I noticed in St. Petersburg.  I loved the city and hope to go back soon.

St. Petersburg

After many promises, I finally figured out how to upload photos to the blog.  At the right, you'll notice a new option in the sidebar entitled "Photo Albums."  I've posted a few shots of my apartment in the first photo album.  Enjoy.  This evening, I am leaving for St. Petersburg with two of my co-workers.  We're headed there to have several meetings with representatives of the bar association and prosecutor's offices in the hopes of starting a pro bono legal aid clinic in St. Petersburg.  We're flying up, which should be an experience as we are using Aeroflot, Russia's primary airline.  My first experience with the Russian airline industry.  Yesterday, I met with the President of the Moscow Bar Association and two of his colleagues.  They were greatly interested in my former work in wiretapping, and asked me to present a lecture for the bar association.  I'm sure everyone will think I'm a spy once they find out that I worked for the U.S. government handling eavesdropping matters.

The weather has again turned quite nice.  It reminds me of late fall in Washington, D.C. or early Fall in Northern Michigan.  The air is cool and crisp, but the sun has been shining the last two days.  I walked home from work yesterday to enjoy the weather (about a 40 minute trip).  I stopped at a department store called Kalinka Stockman and found a western supermarket -- Fruity Pebbles, Lucky Charms, Aunt Jemima pancake mix, and a ton of other staples and luxuries available in the States.  It all comes at a cost, however.  The pancake mix cost 250 rubles (about $10).  There are no real bargains to be found at Stockmans.  I bought a box of Lucky Charms, some milk, and a can of Pringles.  I don't think I'll be shopping much at Stockman's for my food.  Luckily, there is a supermarket right across the street from my apartment that is quite nice and a little more affordable (but still pricey by Russian standards).  It's really convenient and I'm sure I'll be shopping there quite a bit.

Several people have asked me what I miss most in Moscow.  In descending order they are: (1) my wife; (2) my dogs; and (3) my shower.  The shower in my apartment kind of sucks.  Good water pressure, but the shower head is hand held and little awkward to handle.  I'm sure I'll get used to it.  I think I'll be bringing Emma (a/k/a Jones), one of our Jack Russell Terriers, over to Moscow in October.  I may have found a dog walker and someone to dog sit when I am away on travel. If those two things work out, Jonesy will be battling the street dogs in Moscow soon.

I hope to have pictures from St. Petersburg on the blog over the weekend.

Finally, an Apartment

I've officially moved into my apartment.  I live on Bolshoi Bronnaya in the Patriarchie Ponds area of Moscow.  If you like, read more about my new neighborhood here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Patriarchie_Ponds

The lease signing process was a bit of a nightmare.  On Friday night, I met with the landlady and her daughter (who speaks a bit of English), their real estate agent and my agent at the apartment.  We went over the lease, which was written in Russian with a side-by-side English translation.  Russia is a total cash economy, so I handed over first and last months rent to my landlady.  I felt like a mobster or drug dealer -- I've never had that many bills on my person before.  The exchange rate of the dollar to ruble is roughly 25 rubles to the dollar, so you can imagine how many rubles I was carrying.  I'm just glad to be done with the apartment search. I'm still waiting on several items that the landlady is furnishing for the apartment, namely, dishes, pots and pans, etc.  I'm sure that's another story waiting to happen.

Thank goodness I moved out of the hotel.  I stayed almost two weeks at the Mir Hotel.  See pictures of the rooms at the Mir here: http://www.tripadvisor.com/LocationPhotos-g298484-d299985-Mir-Moscow_Central_Russia.html Definitely not the Ritz -- I was ready to move out, that's for sure.  The Mir was definitely not a Western hotel.  Most, if not all, the guests there were Russian.  Whenever anyone found out where I was staying (Russian or American), they gave me a sympathetic look and usually made some comment about how the hotel would be a good incentive to find an apartment quickly.  About the only redeeming feature of the hotel was its proximity to work.

On Sunday, I decided to make the trek to IKEA to get a few things for the apartment.  I took the Metro for about 40 minutes to Rechnoi Vokzal, the last station on the green line. A map of the Moscow Metro: http://www.hotels-moscow.ru/metro.html After exiting the Metro station, I (and about 500 other people) waited in a pack for one of the free buses that takes you to a mega shopping mall that includes IKEA.  All I can say about my first introduction to "queuing" in a line with Russians is "sweet Jesus."  It was a total free for all trying to make it onto the bus.  I missed the first one (and was almost crushed to death trying to get on the bus), but made the second.  After about a 15 minute bus ride, we made it to the mall.  I got off the bus and the first thing that came to mind was "Holy. Crap."  Imagine the worst day of Christmas shopping crowds in the States.  The crowd at the mall was similar.  I bought some kitchen stuff for the apartment and then took a taxi home.  No way was I going to engage in the hand to hand combat needed to get back to the Metro station, especially not with a bag full of kitchen crap.  What a day -- I guess I still have to adjust to a city of 10 million people.

Finally, I finally got my digital camera working and plan on spending tonight downloading some pictures.  Please check the blog to see if the pictures worked out.

Apartment -- Part II

Patience and flexibility, I am quickly learning, are definitely virtues in Moscow.  On Tuesday night, I was expecting to sign a lease for an apartment in the Kudrinskya (Seven Sister) building.  My agent was an hour late in picking me up from the hotel.  When I got in the car, I realized why -- there were a couple pots and pans, a few dishes, a cheap set of sheets, and a thread bare blanket in the backseat.  Turns out the landlady, who had agreed to fully furnish the apartment, had apparently backed out on the deal.  The items in the agent's back seat were her attempt (somewhat pathetic, but I'm surprised she even tried) to "furnish" the apartment for me.  I started to have a bad feeling about the transaction.  Then, I was informed that the landlady would not accept U.S. currency for payment as she had originally agreed.  She wanted rubles.  By this time, it was 8:30 p.m., all the banks (with good exchange rates) were closed.  My agent wanted me to go to an exchange kiosk near a metro station to change the money.  I may be a rube from Manton, Michigan, but there is no way I'm getting screwed on the exchange rate, let alone risking being robbed near the free-for-all at the Barrikudskaya Metro Station.  Needless to say, I bailed.  I hadn't even signed the lease yet and the landlady was being a pain.  The apartment was fantastic, but there are other apartments in a metropolitan area of 10 million people.

So, to make a long story short, I'm apartment hunting again.  I've got my eye on a place in the Patriarchy Ponds area of Central Moscow.  Very nice neighborhood and a great location.  The apartment is not nearly as nice as the one in the Kudrinskaya Building and I won't be able to walk to work, but it's cheaper and only two metro stations away from work.  Plus, it's in a better location in Moscow as far as being centrally located. We'll see about how things work out.  I'm waiting to here from my agent on the negotiations.