NEWLOVE

The Italians only had one thing to say to us when we told them we were going to Moscow. We were secretly hoping John Malkovich would take us out for a wild night of drinking, but no such luck. He told us to go to this restaurant…

(ГУМ, pronounced ‘goom,’ in full Государственный Универсальный Магазин, Gosudarstvennyi Universalnyi Magazin)We were at the GUM in Red Square drinking beers, what else?! GUM (the name stands for ’state department store’ in Russian) has long been Russia’s best-known and most popular shopping destination. It is more a mall than a department store these days. Its recently renovated arcades are topped by vaulted skylights and hold some 150 stores and kiosks — far fewer than the 1,200 tenants of the czar’s day, but a good offering of luxury and everyday apparel and goods nonetheless. There were weird accessory stores and bars and Burberry and Max Mara - a little bit of everything.

So, we were at the GUM when we decided it was time to start making our way toward “Bon” for our 7pm reservation. Keep in mind, that when Josh called them this morning to make the reservation, he asked if it would be okay that we wouldn’t be that dressed up as we were going to spend the day doing touristy stuff. The lady on the phone actually laughed at him before telling him it was fine. Ixel and I were looking at the map outside the GUM and all of a sudden someone approached us. I followed my usual routine of completely ignoring whoever’s existance that was standing 3 inches from me. Ixel, unfortunately, also did her usual “I’m the welcoming committee of the world!” routine.

The person who had approached us was an employee of the GUM. It was his job to open and close the door for shoppers and occasionally to get them cabs. He was trying to explain to us the most practical way to get to the restaurant when one of his coworkers spotted us and came over to put in his 2 cents. Then one of the security guards came over. Then another guy. So now it’s me, Ixel, Josh and four Russkies. They’re all gesticulating and arguing over who knows the best way to get to Bon. Finally, we take the word of the oldest of them because he said to “walk down that bridge and will maybe take 5 to 20 minutes.” Not 5 or 6 minutes, not 5 to 10 minutes - 5 to 20. Ha!

By the way, it took almost a half an hour to get there.

We sat down at a table in the middle of the dining room and there was maybe only one other table of people. We were otherwise alone, totahwee awone. There were lamps made out of guns, stools made out of heads, grafitti on the walls… it was so cool. All the chairs and place settings were mismatched, the subversive stained-glass windows went from floor to ceiling and there were huge candles dripping wax to the floor. Our waiter was funny although Ixel was giving him her best 5th Avenue “I don’t care about you lowly waiters” attitude (I think she was just jealous that he didn’t light her cigarette for her out of the blue.) He took me to the upstairs dining room which was covered in ornate faux 17th Century mirrors. It was quite a site. He proudly told me that Marilyn Manson’s girlfriend (Deeta Von Tease) had a big party there with famous djs and the whole nine yards.

Fifteen minutes after having been seated, Ixel noticed a man had been seated at a table not too far away. He was by himself. Another Tina, she said. I had my back to him so I couldn’t really pay attention but Ixel tracked his actions, his eye movements, his heartrate, like a well-trained spy. She also updated us in real time of his actions, “Okay, now Tina’s doing a shot of tequila by himself. He’s still not smiling. I feel really bad for him. Let’s invite him over here!”

NO!

Last night the phone rang at almost 2am. It was Sasha from the Russki Klub. Hellooooo?! I know we’re not Russian and are possibly unfamiliar with the culture but there is no way in hell it’s socially acceptable to call people you barely know at that hour!

The 19 year old models met up with us at the Moskofski Vagsal (train station in STP) and took us out to the suburbs, the Beverly Hills of STP. We went to Tsarina Catherine’s palace among other sites (see photo above.) I can’t explain to you how HUGE everything is here. It’s unreal.

Our driver, we like to call him Mr. Pink, is so sweet and shy. We got the feeling that he understands pretty well but he hardly spoke a word. Russians get their drivers licenses at 18 and I have to say he was a pretty good driver for as crazy as the traffic is there and for as little experience he has.

Sasha, friend of Mr. Pink that we met at the Russki Klub, liked to continually embarrass poor Mr. Pink by telling us humiliating stories about him - like the time they pigged out at KFC and Mr. Pink spent hours on the toilet shortly thereafter. I won’t gross you out with the details but let me just say, he gave us details, lots of details.

The mosquito bites have gotten out of control. I am miserable.

The pollution is overwhelming. Ixel sounds like she’s smoked 3 packs of unfiltered Marlboro’s every day of her life.

The two of us used to arrive about 15 minutes before the start of class everyday. Now we arrive right when class is to begin. Interestingly enough, we are still the first or second people to arrive. Because Natasha is usually ready and waiting to pounce on you with endless annoying life stories, we hang out outside with our teacher and watch the students arrive until we’re all present.

When we walk into the classroom and sit down, Natasha throws disgusting Taiwanese candies at us. Yes, I said she “throws” the candy at us. Since Ixel’s motto is “if you can’t beat ‘em - join ‘em” (actually, it’s “freak ‘em out before they freak you out” - but she has lots of mottos;) she has begun to bring candy every day just so she can have the pleasure of beaning mini bags of M&M’s at people each morning. She’s a sick, sick girl.

Speaking of sick, we are quite the sight in class. Ixel practically coughs up a lung each day before our mid-morning break while I sit next to her scratching myself like a flea-bitten whore. I think we must really have some sort of effect on Natasha (although not enough of an effect to shut her the hell up) because she routinely attacks me during the break with salves, balms, oils and tinctures.

Today was the last straw. She rubbed what she called “special ancient Chinese remedy” all over me. It looked like iodine and stained my clothes like iodine. And even though I told her to stop, I almost had to physically restrain her from taking off all my clothes to inspect what bites might be hiding from her.

When class was over today, I really wanted to jump into bed and sleep away the itchy misery that is my life. Ixel suggested going to lunch at …

But we somehow detoured and ended up with sushi. It was okay.

Russian men are crazy about wearing pointy Italian elf shoes. It’s weird.
We went to the Church on Spilled Blood today which we only saw from a distance yesterday. They have a bazaar across the street and Ixel wanted to check out the icons and Matrioshkas. We’d been drinking in the park all day, which by the way is perfectly normal here, so I had to pee. Next to the church there is a restaurant-bar called Russki Klub. We were told we could pee there.

I walked in and they wanted 30 rubles to use the ladies room so I asked if we could sit down and have beer. Of course we could and thereby we peed for free and it made for some quality beer drinking time as well as candid photographs of passing Russkies.

Ixel befriended the waiter, although she will try to claim it was the other way around. Don’t listen to her! Lies, all lies I tell you. He was also wearing pointy shoes. Oh brother.

His English was pretty good so we chatted for awhile and he told us his friend had a car and knew a lot about history so that we should ditch our tour guide and have them take us around which Ixel agreed to.

P.S. They’re 19. Oy.

My favorite thing on the menu…

Ixel and I walked all the way up the Nevsky Prospekt today to the water. We saw the Hermitage, the Church on Spilled Blood, various apartments which Pushkin used to inhabit, St. Isaac’s Cathedral and the Admiralty. We had a snack on a floating café down on the Neva River and paid 20 rubles to pee in their bathroom.

We also went to a Fidel Castro children-of-the-revolution type bar with propaganda on the walls and La Traviata on the speakers. This Canadian student recommended it to us the other day. She’s a cute, funky little Asian girl with a crazy tattoo but sadly her name is Sally, I think. Her tattoo is in Russian Cyrillic letters and it spells out a line from a Mayakofsky poem.

I told Ixel that I need to get “Help me” and “I’m a disaster” tattooed on each arm in Russian. Then, anytime we’re in a store, I can just hold up one arm or the other - or both, and it’ll all make sense.

We walked all the way home and I think I may never walk again.

One thing we noticed is that Russians travel to all the famous monuments and buildings on their wedding day between the ceremony and reception to drink a glass of champagne and get their picture taken at each one. So no matter where you go, you will inevitably see a slew of different wedding parties in their wedding appropriate garb. If you think wedding & bridesmaid dresses are hideous in the States, wait till you get an eyeful of the Russian version. Yowzers.

Last night Brian, Ixel and I went to an Irish pub called “Molly’s” where there was an older Russian lady in leopard print spandex sitting alone at the table next to us. Ixel, being the sweet but shy sucker that she is, asks me to invite the lady next to us to join our conversation.

In Russian I ask, “Do you speak English?” She says that she does not. So I say, “Okay, nice to meet you,” and I turn back to my beer. Then I see Ixel gesturing to her, “That’s okay. Come sit with us!!”

Typical.

So we spent the night taking 10 minute turns speaking pigeon Russian to this poor lady who I can’t believe didn’t get up and disappear out of sheer boredom. No, she stayed with us all night and then Ixel invited her home with us even though she apparently only lives 2 blocks away!

When we first got home, I went to the bedroom and realized how tired I was. I got dressed for bed and just as the thought occurred to me that I could just refrain from brushing my teeth for one night and go to bed unnoticed, I hear Ixel calling me from the kitchen slash living room.

Damn.

So I went in there and talked with them for a second or two and then decided to film an ‘interview’ with Tina, our new Russian “girl”friend (old lady friend?) before making a break for it. As soon as I figure out how to post video on this site, I’ll include the footage - hysterical. She sat there frozen as if she’d never seen a camera before. We asked her questions and she sat silently without so much as a blink.

Somewhere during the video-interview, Ixel disappeared and passed out in bed and I was stuck “talking” to Tina until the wee hours. When I realized she wasn’t leaving, I didn’t know what to do but offer for her to sleep here. So she said yes and walked into our bathroom, shut the door and TOOK A SHOWER. No shit.

The next morning I had a really bad hangover. Compounded with the lack of sleep, I really did not want to go to school. I couldn’t wake Ixel which was strange as normally she can’t sleep if it’s too hot or too bright and it was both those things. When I woke up, Tina must’ve heard me and she appeared in the hall. I’d sort of forgotten about her. I knew I couldn’t ditch school because how was I going to get rid of her? I’d be damned if I was going to spend the entire day with her.

She said good morning and who knows what else before she monopolized the bathroom and TOOK ANOTHER SHOWER!! I am not kidding.

We walked out together and left Ixel asleep. I figured she probably needed it if she didn’t even wake with my poking and prodding. Tina kept talking to me about us visiting her at work at the Vladimirsky Passage and I kept saying, “Tomorrow, tomorrow,” oh anything but today. My head was throbbing and I think I was still drunk!

She finally turned down her street and I walked the rest of the way to school alone.

I suppose we’re going to HAVE TO go to see her at her work, once Ixel hears about this.

This is the land of the mosquitoes. We are covered in bites that are extremely painful and swell sometimes to about an inch in diameter. Then, they turn into blisters and ooze yummy puss everywhere. It’s incredibly attractive.

We made our teacher go with us to the pharmacy today to seek proper treatment as the pharmacists just laugh at us when we walk in there and play charades. “Mosquito! Eat!” Then we furiously scratch ourselves and mimic putting lotion on. “Need medicine!”

We also made her take us to the store that sells mosquito killing devices. They look like the communist version of Glade air freshener plug-ins. It’s something that has a vile of liquid (or a solid tablet) of poison that you plug into the wall that ‘puts the mosquitoes to sleep.’ You’re supposed to have one in each 10′x10′ room. We sleep in a 6′x10′ room and we now have 3 of these devices and we’re still getting mauled. It’s awful.

We have a new student in our class from Taiwan who couldn’t be more annoying. Her name is supposedly Marianne. She claims to have studied at the Sorbonne for 10 years but barely speaks a lick of French. Sometimes she introduces herself as Natasha. She’s a fat, 50 year old lady who lives with her parents and some of her 11 brothers and sisters.

These are honest to God poses she makes for the camera.

She claims to be a professor in her country but I can’t fathom that a professor could be this poor of a student. She constantly interrupts teacher and fellow students mid-sentence. She doesn’t understand a word of what is going on and she doesn’t study. Not only doesn’t she study, she doesn’t even do her homework!!! I’ve never known a lazier Asian student.

She’s got to go. She slows the whole class down. We take turns answering questions which Ixel, Brian and I can complete in 10-15 seconds and which takes Natasha 5-7 minutes. First she can’t understand what you’re saying, then she can’t understand the meaning of the words, then she can’t figure out how to answer. Then, she finally comes up with the right nouns and verbs as you spoon feed them to her but instead of answering the question, you get her struggling in English-French-Chinese-Russian to tell you her life story.

Brian: “Ixel, where are you going today?”

Ixel: “I am going to school. And you?”

Brian: “I am going to work. Are you going by foot?”

Ixel: “No, I am going by bus.”

Now, Brian is not going to work and Ixel HATES to take the bus. But that’s not the point. We’re studying verbs of motion, accusative, dative, etc. and certain vocabulary in this particular lesson.

Kathleen: “Marianne/Natasha/Whatever-Your-Name-Is, to where do you like to travel?

An eternity passes with lots of mumbling, page flipping, Chinese scribbles, questions to the teacher in Lord knows what language…

Marianne: “I have traveled all over the world. My father says traveling is what makes me so interesting. I have been to 50 different countries,” and she lists them one by one, “and I love to go there to give them Taiwanese candies and my father, you know, he has many big cars. I like to read. Books are my lovers.” And so on…

When I strangle her in my bare hands, promise me you’ll all say, “But she seemed like such a nice, normal girl,” when they interview you for the 11 o’clock news.

We went to the bank today to change some money. As Ixel got to the front of the line she handed over a few one hundred dollar bills to the teller. Two of them were rejected as they were either ink stained or had a tiny rip in them. Apparently, to Russians, dollars are not money, they’re goods. They don’t like damaged goods anymore than we’d be cool with buying a stained or ripped t-shirt at full price. So you have to remember to always bring pretty, new money into that country but not completely new - then they think it’s counterfeit.

As Ixel was waiting for her passport to be logged in and all the money to be examined and for receipt of her Russian rubles (a process that can take up to 10 minutes,) a strange, non-descript Russian man approached us and said something to us in Russian. We played dumb. Actually, Ixel played dumb and I ignored him, completely denied his existence. He wanted us to change our money with him so he could avoid bank fees but he seemed like a counterfeiter to me. I mean, there are no bank fees in Russia. They’re incorporated into the exchange rate, usually.

As Ixel engaged him in conversation, I stood behind her and stared at a map on the wall of St. Petersburg like it was the most interesting thing I’d ever seen in my entire life. She asked him if he wanted the “ugly money” the bank had rejected. The counterfeiter seemed non-plussed by the ugliness of the money and continued to hassle Ixel. She then told me under her breath that she’d ‘kill me later’ due to the lack of assistance on my part. When she was done with her transaction, she walked out of the back and he followed. I stayed inside and called for her to get back over to me and to leave him outside. After five minutes the security guard checked outside and said to us “Let’s go!” Ixel and I were like, “Okay, where are WE going?” It was just funny that he said “Let’s go” in English instead of “Ladies, he’s gone” in Russian, which believe it or not we would have understood!

Ixel and I walked down the street a bit before we noticed we were being followed. We changed directions and eventually lost the counterfeiter. Whew! Close call!

We figured out what self serve super markets are as we have now unfortunately had the pleasure of a non-self serve store. We walked into a store to buy a Coke before school and everything is behind the counter. You have to ask for everything verbally, one by one. For example, I want juice but how do you say Cherry Juice (not that I like cherry juice, but humor me.) Okay, how do I say red juice? Hmm… Maybe I’ll just get Apple Juice instead, I know how to say that.

“Can I have one Apple Juice?” Then she starts in with the questions. ACK! What is she asking me? Hmmm… maybe she wants to know what size - ½ litre, litre or 1½ litre. “One litre please,” since I don’t know how to say a half.

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head and asks the questions again. Hmmm… maybe she didn’t hear me when I said apple. Maybe she’s wondering what kind of juice I want. “The apple juice please.”

More eye rolling and head shaking and she asks again in an irritated tone. Then she starts pointing at different boxes of juice and I think she’s saying, “Green one? White one? Yellow one?” because apparently, as I’m now noticing, there are various different brands of Russian juice and she wants to know which one. I forget the names of the colors she just used and I just started pointing to the green one. “I want that one. That one. That one. Yes that one.” Point point point with vigor.

More eye rolling as she takes the box off the shelf and asks me another question which I’m guessing is, “Anything else for you today?”

“Yes, a Coca Cola please.” More questions. Oh boy. “Small one?” YES! Success - she was in fact asking me what size! Hallefuckingluliah!

Self Serve stores are definitely the way to go.

I woke up at 7:45am and drank what the Russians call coffee. (The Armenians call it Armenian coffee and the Turks call it Turkish coffee.) It’s prepared by putting grounds into a specially shaped pot which you place on the stove and to which you add water. You even add your sugar (if you’re a wimp who doesn’t drink black coffee) directly to the boiling pot! Then you pour it directly into your cup – no filter, no sieve, nada. It’s like drinking gritty tar.

I made it to school okay and got the invoice which they agreed to let me pay tomorrow as I have not yet purchased Russian Rubles. Class was long and exhausting as we were only 2 students – no where to hide!

The school administration informed me at 1:30pm that Ixel would be arriving today so I hurried home to let her into the apartment. She finally showed up around 4:30 and she was quite flustered. It turned out that the driver didn’t get her arrival information in time and was at a different airport picking up someone else. So she had to get a cab – her worst fears realized.

After she unpacked, we went to a tiny “self serve” supermarket. We’re not sure why it’s specifically called self serve. Do “full serve” Russian supermarkets feature shopping buddies that carry around your basket and fill it with things for you so you don’t have to lift a finger? Do they fan you with Palm leaves and feed you grapes?

We were such a sight in this market. Everyone stared at us and Ixel was approached at the door by someone asking her something she didn’t understand. She could tell it was an either this or that type question, so she just repeated one of the words and said thanks and went on her way. We made a beeline straight to the beer fridge. We started reading all the labels trying to pick out the right kind of beer – preferably NOT non-alcoholic. That would suck. An employee approached us there and asked us God only knows what. We smiled and told him in Russian that we don’t speak Russian and he kept asking us questions. Oh boy.

We finally got through the tiny store, paid, noticed the shopping bags cost money, bought some of those and made a run for it. Back in the safe haven of our mosquito infested apartment, we made yummy Russian meat pancakes (blinis) with “meat sauce” and “Butt Burner” hot sauce that Ixel bought in New Orleans. What a day!