Moscow: Beautiful, Big, and Contradictory

(Pictures to come later. They are available unsorted at Facebook.) Where oh where do I even begin? I've only been in Moscow two days, but it feels like a week already. It's been busy, brushing up on my Russian thanks to random encounters along with listening in on every day life. My head is spinning, between trying to figure out Moscow's metro system (when your first subway ride is in a foreign country, it complicates things) to wondering about how the program will proceed, to the disappointment in learning I will be going to Odessa instead of Kyiv, indefinitely, to trying to find WiFi and treking through a snowstorm to do it.

First thing's first. The flight itself. Getting from Orlando to New York wasn't so bad except for almost missing my flight – it was fairly average. However, my flight to Russia was delayed thanks to a new Russian rule on absolutely no carryon liquids whatsoever, and at times even confiscating check in liquids. I was fairly excited, however, as it gave me the opportunity to pick up on Russian vulgarities. What was interesting to me at JFK is that flights to Russia appear to be set up near gates for flights to China, Korea, and Japan. I don't know if this rotates or not, but the contrast between Russians and, say, Japanese, was enormous. The (younger) Japanese dressed in bright flashy colors, were very extroverted, and looked very happy. The Russians, in contrast, were reserved, dressed in tints, and only smiled at their friends. Russians don't smile just to smile.

After finally bording, Aeroflot gave me a sort of “taste of Moscow” in how cramped I felt. And my very first instance of confusion. Greeting the flight attendant with a hearty “Zdrasvuyte!” and being met in response with a likewise greeting led into a quick flurry of Russian that went in one ear and out the other. After a moment she figured out I was American and spoke fairly decent English, albeit in a stereotypical accent. Finding my seat wasn't hard, but part of me wishes I hadn't found it. I'm a bigger guy, who sat behind another bigger American, and had to sit bow legged for nine hours. I didn't sleep a wink.

However, what was really neat about the trip is that they had a very interactive computer embedded in the seat. It seemed to be coded in Flash, and you could listen to a variety of music, watch television, movies, or even see in flight information. During takeoff and landing, you even saw a downwards video from a camera on the airplane. As I didn't have a microUSB to USB cord, I was thankful for this, since I couldn't use my phone. I took the opportunity to watch Daniel Day Lewis in “Lincoln”, listened to a few techno albums, and then watched a bizarre Russian movie called “My Stepbrother Frankenstein” which gave me some much needed practice in understanding basic Russian conversation.

The other taste of Moscow it gave me was at how beautiful the people tend to be. This isn't only in physical appearance but how well dressed and “made up” they are, at least with those born either shortly before or after the Soviet Union collapsed. I'm fairly certain to work as a flight attendant with Aeroflot you have to be a multilingual supermodel. Just because Aeroflot hires beautiful people does not mean those people are interested in obnoxious American flirtation, however. After figuring out that someone who thought they were the next Kanye was only asking questions on Russian so that he could flirt with her, one flight attendant leaned in – not a seductive leaning, but a warning, and informed him with a half-smirk that she was neither a prostitute nor a dictionary, and he could find those in Moscow if he wanted. Good for her.


Hot dinner and breakfast was provided on the flight, but it was fairly “American” in palette – salad, chicken parmigiana, bread. When asked what I wanted, I joked that I wanted pelmeni, and the flight attendant smirked and said “At least you did not say borsch. I would keep walking.” That sort of thing. I knew, thanks to previous experience with Stetson Russian Studies, that a very different palette awaited me in Moscow.

Landing in Moscow was very fast paced. When in Russia, even with a visa, you have to have a “migration card” filled out at the airport – and you keep half of it so that you can actually leave Russia. There are a few different lines, mostly separating Russian citizens (who don't have to do such) from foreigners. The people working the station that day were all fairly young, younger than me probably, and didn't speak a word of English. While I thankfully didn't need it (and had to politely decline the girl asking me to come to a Children of Bodom concert in April), other people struggled through. I was already running late, so I didn't feel much like standing behind and helping.

I found my luggage and taxi within seconds of finishing the migration card. I surprised myself that I was able to hold a conversation with him throughout the entirety of the trip, although I wished I hadn't been able to, as Russian “multitasking” is terrifying. Traffic lights and signs are more of a “suggestion” in Moscow, and he rapid fire text messaged while talking to me and narrowly avoiding being crushed inbetween busses every thirty seconds. Despite having my camera ready, I was too awestruck by the enormity of Moscow and the fear that I was not going to survive the end of the trip. Although I have not seen an actual wreck happen, I fear the dashcam videos are very accurate.

Still, as you can see, I draw breath. I had zero chance to relax or sleep, however. After pulling into MGU (Moscow State University), even further awestruck by how pictures do not do Moscow justice, we quickly had to dart through the guards, with me showing my passport and propusk (basically a pass to get into the dorm) quite a few times. Within minutes I was in my room, and wanted to do nothing more but sleep – alas, it was time for orientation.

While on a tour of the campus, which is itself a mini city, I quickly realized I had somehow forgotten my propusk and passport back at my room. Despite repeated warnings and (I thought) an accurate self-patdown, I had to slip back into the dorm (with my guide thee, they did not ask me for a propusk) and retrieve them. Rookie mistake.

Leaving the campus, I quickly discovered that although I was dressed in fairly warm enough clothing, the style of clothes I had on was “aged.” Wool peacoats are something worn primarily by foreigners or older Russians – most of the youth are in a sort of stylish ski gear. I realized that most people would quickly realize I was American, which is both a good and bad thing.

I certainly -felt- like an American with how disoriented I was in the subway. There are enormous escalators that lead down into it, and with how the ads and lights are set up, it creates the optical illusion that you are going straight forward rather than down. Despite not having a fear of heights nor escalators, I had to close my eyes. The trains are particularly fast, though I expected it and was able to prevent myself from falling on my face. Although the trains are equipped with some decent technology, some lines having provided WiFi and digital maps, they still made me feel like I was an anchovy in a can launched from a cannon.

Moscow is home to extreme consumerism, but it is also a place of strange bedfellows. Former Communist Party buildings are now home to malls and museums, and even Moscow State University, with hammers and sickles emblazoned everywhere, has ATMs at every building and sells western style food while playing poor remakes of western music, with Pepsi and Coke sold at every store.

This is not to say Russians have somehow abandoned their own culture. A vast amount of the restaurants in Moscow serve Eurasian food – however, fast food joints are alive and well in Moscow, and not frequented only by foreigners. In fact, I feel like you're less likely to meet a foreigner in a Russian McDonald's. We didn't come to Moscow for a Big Mac.

In a strange parallel to America, many of the restaurants are staffed by Central Asians, who are looked on by Russians as many in America view Mexicans. Moscow has a labor shortage, however, and Muscovites are not willing to work many of these sorts of jobs.

After a fairly exhaustive tour of some of the shops and malls, it was finally time to sleep. I hit my prison bed and passed out like a rock, eventually rousing in the middle of the night. I decided I needed to find WiFi somewhere to make sure my money was proper, and to let people know I was fine. I wa. ndered the campus from about 1AM to 3AM, trying to find an open Wi-Fi spot to no avail, and to the bewilderment of the guards who did not seem used to a foreign student being up at the time. I went off on my own to try to find an internet cafe or a hotspot near the campus, further to no avail. Eventually, I retreated back, defeated, and found a hotspot in a cafe that finally opened.

The sun rises very late right now in Moscow. It was pitch black even at 8:30, something I am not used to whatsoever. I found it very disorienting, and so far I have seen two shades of sky in Moscow: black, and a bluish grey.

After trying to fix my bank account along with getting in contact with people on Facebook, it was off to Red Square.