Well, here we are in Russia August 2003 to be exact.
I don’t somehow think it will ever become one of my favorite countries. It’s the people really. They are just so heavy going. It’s all in the blood and unless there is some mega transfusion, there will never be a change.
They also are the world’s most uninspiring looking gang. I’ve had enough time today to walk some streets in St Petersburg and take a good looksee at the inhabitants and they really are a grim looking lot. And the way they dress does not do them any good either. Mutton dressed up as lamb may well have started here. There are sights that just make you stop dead in yr tracks and go ‘ NO – whatever were you thinking of when you bought That ??” And even most of the lambs are pretty grim too.
They have taken the style of long pointed women’s shoes to a dizzy height (or really length) and coupled with some high heels that are closer to stilts than heels and then deciding that mule shape is best so nothing between about an inch of toes into the shoe and you have the picture…. pretty grim – dunno how they don’t just all fall flat on their overpainted faces. I was somewhat horrified to see that even the mod boys have long points to their shoes too … where will it all end ??? I know that I shall stick with my current footwear and shall proudly carry the ‘Old Fogey’ label. The women here are just grimly dressed; that is all I can say and u gotta come see for yourselves.
Anyway, I arrived here yesterday from Copenhagen. Light flight and cheerful crew and 2 hours later Mother Russia clasped me to her bosom. My Mother Russia is one Nelly, whom I feel like I have known for years. Much clasping of my body to her 65 year old ample frame at the exit from customs and an intro to someone whose name of course I have forgotten, who was from the airport authority (I think) and walked me around to see where we would arrive (which I had already worked out, as it is the domestic bit of the airport where I arrived last time) but I stood there rather like Dubya listening to a warmly welcome speech, while he droned on and on – only the bouquet and massed crowds were missing.
Then I meet my new best friend Victor and his clapped out Volvo Estate. Sweden would be in shock I can tell you. He, me and Nelly get into this very battered bright red car and then he had to get out to hot-wire to start it .. welcome back to Russia !!! We then lurched off (I wud imagine there were clouds of steam and smoke behind but I dared not look back)… so me and Nelly are in the back trying to catch up (and she is better in German than English, which she lapses into that the whole time, which is very frustrating) and I am going to be with her for the next week as she will accompany me to Armenia, so that’s just a tease and trailer for forthcoming attractions….be patient and Vera get the atlas out dear…).
Anyway, we are driving along and I gets this message to the brain from the nose saying ‘something’s burning’ and so does Victor and he pulls over and opens the hood/bonnet and pokes around generally. I make plans for instant evacuation as don’t fancy being a charred corpse on a Russian road but anyway we continue and all appears well. (A later note, the next day, the same huge smoke smell arrived and was located in the cigarette lighter, which for some reason had decided it was a good idea to show it worked and heated up the area of the dashboard to prove it.
But, who can hate a country which produces canned gin and tonics? Honest, Mr. they do. I spotted cans in a line of kiosks which are the best way of describing shops near the hotel and of course, in the interests of science and general global knowledge, I purchased a couple to put to the test. They pile up everything they sell against the glass and helpfully put nice big price labels, so in a country where speaking and reading the language is a definite challenge, you can do the whole transaction by pointing and showing how many on your fingers.
The final transaction is actually done through a hole about 12 inches square located in some cases almost at crotch level.. the same works even for the currency exchange place next door … we don’t want anyone actually coming into our space here. At a cost of USD.75 each, these g and t cans looked like a good deal, esp as they are a half litre too. Mega cans of g and t’s .. Granny Sybil (my mama) would be giving it the thumbs up. Mind you, public drinking especially late in the day, is a very much a normal everyday activity in Russia .. not just the boyz but the gurls too are often walking along the streets, happily swigging from a beer bottle or even a g and t can on the way home. Just think what the 5.55 from Charing Cross to Orpington or the 6.01 from Grand Central to White Plains would be like if half the pax turned up carrying their own alcoholic refreshments ? … well that is what Russia is like. Shocking isn’t it … and I have to tell you that the canned g and t’s turned out to be stronger on the t rather than the g, but as I have my own bottle to beef them up, then all is well….
Enough here for starters … there is a lot more to come from a three week trip across Russia … and it is BIG, with 10 time zones. First off, Samara, a city most sensible people have never heard of or would ever visit. I had little option.
timothyvalentinestravels 