Laura Gozzi
Staff Writer
I moved to Moscow in September for my year abroad and (in the words of pretty much every X Factor contestant ever) “it’s been a rollercoaster” of places and people and cold and amazement at the general amazing weirdness of this place. See, when I came here, two things happened: I found that many of the stereotypes about Russia I’d heard about and seen in The Simpsons were true (unfriendliness, vodka, cold, cheap cigarettes) but I also discovered a world of wonderful museums, old cinemas, underground gigs, disturbing exhibitions, strange shops and hidden street that feel like they belong to another era. So, in time, I’ve got to know it better and better, which has meant hating it a little bit, but also loving it lots. It hasn’t always been easy, but it’s always been absolutely mind-blowing. So, after four months in Russia, something in me is bound to have changed, right?
I don’t mean this in any particularly deep or philosophical way – though I’m sure I’ve become more, I don’t know, brave and, erm, strong in the face of adversities like terrible food and angry babushkas (really old women) – but on a purely practical level, I’m sure I have developed a really good survival instinct. For example, I no longer expect people to hold the doors of the metro station for me, which I did at first (haha!) and which was very naïve of me, and painful too. But the most obvious change has been the one concerning judging standards, or the way in which I now consider certain behaviours, food and many other everyday things perfectly acceptable, even though they would horrify most normal people (i.e. Europeans). In order to explain this better, here’s a list (note: I love list.) of How My Standards Have Changed or How I Have Adapted To This Strange, Strange Place In Order To Survive:
Weather
The proper cold only started in late November, but it quickly affected my judgement to the point that I now consider any temperature above 0°C as “warm”. When temperatures soared to+1°C, therefore felt entitled to leave the house wearing only sixteen layers of clothes rather than the usual twenty-three, and obviously nearly froze to death while doing the whole hitch-hiking/sticking-your-thumb-out-and-looking-hopeful on the side of the road.
Don’t say: “It’s barely above freezing temperature, of course it’s really cold.”
But say: “It’s +1°C. That’s really WARM, so why is it so COLD?
Cost of Living
I now refuse to pay more than the equivalent of a couple of euros for, well, anything. If it costs more than 400 roubles, or 10 euros, I won’t buy it. See, Moscow is really expensive, but it can also be incredibly cheap if you lead a moderately student-y life. for example, if you can have lunch for less than two euros every day in the stolovaya, the canteen at uni, it becomes really hard to fish out 800 roubles for dinner and drinks at the weekend, despite the quality of the food in pretty much any alright-looking restaurant being about three thousand million times better than what we get here. In the same way, if you know that there is somewhere in town where you can have a pint for just over a euro – usually the local seedy onion-smelling cafe full of red-nosed men – you kind of lose interest in any place that will charge you four euros for the same beer.
Even though it’d probably come in a clean glass, and you’d be sitting in a fancy environment with lots of really classy pieces of furniture, like leopard-print cushions and glittery tablecloths or whatever. This is also applicable to cabs, which aren’t usually official cabs – there aren’t many of those around, so everyone gets частник, or “gipsy cabs” (hence the above mentioned hitch-hiking) which are quite dodgy but also generally reliable unless the driver is very drunk or a convicted rapist but that doesn’t happen right? Well, who cares since they make it possible to cross town at 5am on a Friday night for a fiver. Prices in supermarkets are similarly low though, as usual, the quality of the product is debatable – the Russian equivalent of Tesco value is really quite depressing and probably poisonous too. This was one of the things which made going back to Europe particularly painful, as it took me a good couple of days to accept the fact that a packet of cigarettes would cost me more than 1,07 euro.
Bottom line is, you get what you pay for. In Europe, that means often paying quite a lot because the quality of things tends to be alright-ish; here, there are several worlds of difference between “cheap” and “very expensive” things. If you go for ‘cheap’, you’ll get horrible food-poisoning-inducing watered-down soup served in a depressing café, or a really uncomfortable taxi which speeds through the night ignoring lanes and traffic lights, plus the fear that getting on that cab will be the last thing you’ll have ever done – but at least it will have been incredibly cheap. If you go for “alright” or “really quite nice”, you’ll get your food served on a clean plate and maybe even a smile from the waitress, but you’ll definitely have to pay for that. A lot.
Don’t say: “Oh, only five euros for a twenty-minute journey in the traffic on a rainy Sunday afternoon! great, climb in!”
But say: “Five euros for a twenty-minute journey in the traffic on a rainy Sunday afternoon? You have to be kidding me – I’ll give you fifty cents.”
 Early soviet canteens. Much has changed since then, but believe me, I recognise most of the food these two happy guys are eating. The plates are definitely the same, and so is the tablecloth and leftovers of that very same bread are probably being served right now in the stolovaya downstairs. Also, my winter hat that is practically identical to theirs. Seriously, a hundred years mean nothing. |
Friendliness
Smiling has become a luxury, and so has good customer service, to the extent that I always assume I got it wrong when a shop assistant or cashier is polite, says something vaguely nice or simply looks like they have a soul. Sadly, I think this is also affecting me, in the sense that I don’t really bother smiling and being cheerful in shops and restaurants anymore. To be fair, this has made me blend in loads (or I like to think so anyway) and I think it suits my already not-so-upbeat (read: prone to depression) personality more than all those cheesy grins we all like so much in Europe.
Don’t say: “Thank you, have a nice weekend, I’ll come back, goodbye!”
But say: “Oh my god, I think she acknowledged my presence in her shop!”
Transport
I love the metro, and when I use the word “love”, I mean that if the metro was a person, I’d probably ask them to marry me, so strong is my admiration for it. In fact, the Moscow metro should be the eighth wonder of the world; I know this for a fact because I seem to spend half of my life on it. Apart from being gorgeous, full of wonderful statues and mosaics and originally built as an underground bomb shelter, it is also a) quick and b) ridiculously frequent. It comes every fifty seconds or so during rush hour, and I don’t think I’ve ever had to wait more than four minutes for it (HEAR HEAR, European metros, you and your endless waits and announcements of ‘technical problems’). This was another thing that annoyed me immensely when I got back to Europe. I found myself waiting five minutes, getting bored, going out, standing in the street for ages until I found a cab, being told it was going to cost me twenty euros to get somewhere, to which I sat down in the street and cried.
Don’t say: “Oh, it’s so crowded and loud in here, and why do all the carriages smell of onion?”
But say: “I literally just missed the metro..oh, doesn’t matter, there’s another one”
 My metro is prettier and faster and cheaper than yours (but smells much worse) |
Food
A while ago, my friend and I decided to be wild and brave and buy some bread. It cost us 26 roubles, or sixty cents, came in a plastic bag, looked like it’d been baked around the same time that Lenin was born and was really, really stale.Yet, we rejoiced when we noticed that (quote) “it’s not mouldy”! We then looked at each other in horror, realising that we actually and seriously felt lucky to have found bread that wasn’t covered in that white/yellowish mould I’ve seen a lot of lately. It was a strange and, to be honest, rather depressing moment. (A similar dialogue can be applied to pretty much any purchase of any kind of food, except for when we actually do find mould and/or other indescribable substances on said food, in which case we usually simply let out a sigh and move on. But we’ve had nastier surprises too, like that time we bought a can of tuna and found half a fish squeezed in it, skin still on and all. It was a very low point and one of the few things that made me miss home loads.).
Don’t say: “So what exactly is in my plate?”
But say: “Ooh, this is actually edible!”
Cleanliness
The concept of luxury and “nice” things has, too, changed quite a bit. On one hand, i am now accustomed to being greeted by several huge dark-sunglasses-wearing bouncers and smiling girls covered in diamonds at the entrance of nice restaurants and clubs, where you and your coat are inevitably treated like an imperial-era tsarina and her mink fur. On the other hand, my standards with regards to comfort and cleanliness in public places have changed considerably. See, the official smoking area in our student halls is on the staircase, or rather is the staircase. People sit on the stairs, have a fag and listen to everyone’s trash tumbling down in the rubbish dump six floors below. It’s dirty, it smells terrible and those fat security men constantly turn up to nick a cigarette as soon as they notice you’re there. So you can imagine our joy when we found a second, luxury staircase: bigger, far away from the rubbish dump and with not one but two bigger ashtrays! Again, we walked in and gasped in awe – “this place is SO nice!” – only to realise a second later that we’d actually almost been brought to tears by a slightly bigger and only marginally cleaner..staircase. It would’ve been a sad moment, had we not been too excited about our discovery to care.
Don’t say: “Oh, I wish someone would clean up this place”
But say: “Look, there are no cockroaches here!”
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Teona in the horrid smoking area. It may look like she's laughing, but she's actually scrutinising the flies & other insects who like to chill on the staircase too. This is also the place where most of our DMCs occur, which generally revolve around the question "do you reckon anyone's ever cleaned this floor?". (Two months and a half later and no cleaner in sight, we think we finally know the answer to that). Teona also likes to think that this is what hell would look like: a dirty staircase with broken neon lights and an overflowing ashtray. |
Moscow is a ridiculously big city.I mean, I’d probably be able to walk all the way from Paris to Brussels and back in the time it takes me to get to our usual bar in central Moscow – and I don’t live that far from the centre. It’s just so immense, and the maps are so misleading and by the time I get to my destination I’m usually exhausted and need several diet cokes to get back on my feet. (Drama.) On the bright side, if I ever lose my mind completely and decide I’m one of those people who like exercising and trekking (God forbid), I will be so well-trained.
Don’t say: “What, three different metros and then a thirty minute walk?!”
But say: “Three different metros and a thirty minute walk..yeah, I’m just heading out for a stroll”
Conclusion
So, in conclusion, by the time I got back to Europe in December I was a speedwalking freak who refused to take the metro because “it’s too slow”, wouldn’t get a cab because “it’s too expensive”; I cried at the sight of food I recognised and frowned at anyone who smiled unnecessarily. Oh, and I spent most of my Christmas break in a horrible mood all the time because cigarettes were too expensive.
I’ve been away for four months now –
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…
