Leaving Moscow and Entering the Unknown

I pulled myself out of bed this morning, 5 hours after getting home from the club. I hurriedly packed my stuff because today I was going to Kiev. I said goodbye to Alisa’s mom and thanked her, the only other time I saw her was the first day. We walked out to the street and caught one of the taxi-vans and took it to the metro station. We took the metro to our stop and Alisa and I waited in the station for a half hour for Liliya to get there.
I always like sitting around in the metro stations because you can look around and see the faces of normalcy. It’s interesting though because it is not normal to me, it is normalcy in this alternate Russian reality. In general, that is what is so fun about travelling: seeing what normal is to different people. That is, unless you’re going on some adventure or recreational vacation like climbing Mt. Everest of skiing.
Liliya finally shows up and we pile into another taxi-van to the airport. I said goodbye to the girls at passport control and walked off feeling that same bitter-sweetness that I felt last time I left. Geez, it was good to be back.
Liliya handed me a little present and told me to open it on the plane. I opened it on the tarmac and it was a picture of me in my blue-tinted cocaine dealer sunglasses with my arms around her and Alisa. She wrote a nice note too. I love that girl.
Taking off from Moscow the pilot made about six sharp turns in the air. I wonder if that’s to avoid no fly zones over the Kremlin or something. Somewhere over Ukraine I started to notice the cloud cover diminishing and I was amazed when I looked down and couldn’t see any snow! Landing in Kiev, there was no white in sight! Moscow was covered, of course, but what a difference a one hour flight makes!
After passport control and customs I walked out into the main lobby of airport expecting to see some expectant Ukrainian holding a “NovaMova” sign. But, there was no one there and I couldn’t find any indication on anyone’s face that they might be looking for a young foreigner.
There was a taxi booth right next to the waiting area so I went over to it for lack of anything better to do. A pretty girl in her mid-thirties was working the booth and looked pretty bored, so I decided to give her something to do and asked if she knew where I could make a phone call. She thought for a second and then asked “какой номер,” (what number) and whipped out her private phone for me to use. It was very kind of her, but I realized that I didn’t know who to call.
I pulled out my little information packet and found the name and number of the coordinator and read it to the girl. She handed me the phone and pretty soon a little boy answered and started going off in Russian. I bumbled around trying to explain to him that I didn’t understand much of what he was saying and that I needed to talk to his Mom. He eventually trailed off and sat the phone down ostensibly to go get her. About 3 minutes later she gets on the phone and I explain my situation. She tells me the driver is parking and is on the way.
Thanking the taxi-lady I took a seat and waited. After about 15 minutes a hurried looking young guy comes into the waiting area holding a sign with “NovaMova” on it. I presented myself, he apologized for being late, and we were off in his Lada.
The driver’s name was Sergey and he was really friendly, but only spoke Russian. He gave me an enthusiastic mini tour of the city, explaining how the EuroCup (big soccer event) was coming to Kiev and that all kinds of new things were being build for it. Driving through Kiev felt like being in Moscow, which is great because I love Moscow.
We arrived at the place I’m staying: a 16 story Soviet apartment block in the middle of a grove of other 15-20 story Soviet apartment blocks. These huge outcroppings of apartment buildings make up a rayon, or neighborhood, and each neighborhood is serviced by its own set of cafes and grocery stores and even a disco club called Splash. These neighborhoods were the subject of many jokes in Soviet times because they all look the exact same whether you are Kazakhstan or Ukraine. There’s a certain charm to it though, if that’s what you want to call it.
My host came out to meet us in the front and I followed her into the elevator and up to the 11th floor, apartment 74. I was a bit nervous to see what I’d be walking into, hoping it wouldn’t be some dreary apartment that hadn’t been touched since the state stopped paying for repairs and remodeling. I was relieved to see that the place is really modern with all new kitchen appliances and a nice bathroom.
Something about old kitchens and bathrooms is really depressing to me. Maybe it’s because most of the socializing in my house (both in Clemson and at home) is done in the kitchen, and the kitchen is supposed to feel comfortable and clean. The accumulated grease and scraps and spills in old kitchens remind me of decay and death, so I
Old bathrooms remind me that I’m mortal because as I sit there and look around at the browning fake marble countertops, the weird inset soap holders, and the clouded plastic shower curtain rings I think that just like style of this bathroom, I too will age and wither.
Luckily the place I’m staying isn’t like this!
My room is nice and homey with a Persian rug and a huge oak cabinet. There’s a nice painting of a naked siren chatting it up with some Zeus figure, while another guy is blowing on a conch shell in the foreground next to some cherubic children swimming in the ocean. I am going to be sleeping on a pull out couch (as I predicted), so we’ll see how that goes. I have a nice view of the adjacent apartment block, but it’s kind of interesting to sit here and count the number of lighted windows.
My host is a vivacious lady full of energy, probably around 55 years old. She talks a lot, which means something coming from me, and speaks no English. I can already feel my Russian improving.
She was very concerned about me learning how to open and close the front door without setting off the security system. We probably practiced the whole routine 6 times. She had me step out, shut the doors and lock them, and then re-enter using the key. Then we practiced arming the alarm system and how to not set it off. Over and over and over.
I had borsch for dinner but she didn’t have any sour cream, only mayonnaise. There is way too much mayonnaise here. She made me these other things that I forget the name of, but it’s basically rice pilaf wrapped in a leaf of cabbage. As you might imagine it is one of the blandest dishes ever. She insisted I eat everything on the plate! That’s normal here though, and I’m not complaining.
My Russian is really coming out today, it’s inexplicable. I feel like I understand almost everything she says. It’s fantastic.
I took a short hop over to the shopping area to get some necessities. They have these mall type setups here where lots of individual vendors get together in a big complex and sell their wares. I passed one vendor who was selling pistols (.38’s, .22’s, etc. from the looks of them) and knives. The cheapest pistol cost about $70. I went into a music store and found a guitar for $50, so I may go back and buy it.
The good news is Ukraine is really cheap and there were also a lot of pretty girls walking around. Looks like I’m set!