.....ways I will never be Russian

1. Bundling up before going out - whilst still inside -  in the whole kit, boots, coat, scarf, gloves, hat, even just to go outside for two minutes. Not stripping off any of these layers, even on the metro which is like an oven, in order to keep as much of your own body heat in as possible.

2. Remembering to take off one's shoes when visiting someone's flat, and working out when to wear slippers or not.

3. Having a fatalistic response to even the most outrageous behaviour (whether everyday or political) 

4. Having the most amazing sense of humour based on a mixture of self-deprecation, poetry, anarchy and - sometimes - just outright weirdness

5. Being able to live somewhere where there is not even the slightest idea of the importance of health and safety (or sustainability or any of those other generally shared public values )

6. Understanding that the role of the state is not to be there to make people's lives better, but to  defend the security of the state, by whatever means. 

.....ways I have become a little more Russian

1. I am (a little) more direct in my speech, and much more aware of how confusingly vague English people are in their talk

2. I have an increased preference for silence over swarmy and mainly meaningless conversation-filling chatter

3. I say Oy when I bump myself, and cannot remember what noise English people use.

4. I walk more like a Russian in the winter, that is to say, incredibly fast, although I cannot yet manage that stiff legged, no knee bending gait. (I am also a bit confused that Muscovites seem to have a much slower summer strolling speed, would like clarification on this).

5. I have become addicted to compote making, brewing up my own tepid berry juice rather than buying it from the shop in a box.  

6. I like the cold. Especially crisp snow and brilliant blue skies. (Actually this is probably quite un-Russian as all the Muscovites I know complain bitterly about the winter).

7. I want a (old fashioned) dacha, which is truly a proper way to live, especially when you spend the week in a city which is endlessly difficult.
8. I am fed up by how much English people fail to realise just how privileged we are to live under the rule of law, and instead complain endlessly about being hard done by.
9. I have always like vodka, but now I like it a lot.
10. I don't trust the banks anymore.

oww!

Managed to bash into something sharp sticking out of the wall, swerving to avoid a drunken woman asleep on my flat stairs, minor injury but oww! As my friends know I am pretty clumsy anyway so have bumped and grazed myself across many of the world's greatest cities.  But Moscow is definitely hazardous - I have also torn my skirt twice, on a broken metal gutter and a  badly finished window sill.

Which has got me back to a subject we have talked about a lot  recently;  that nobody here thinks it is the job of governments or other organisations - public or private - to make life easier for people.  Unlike that linking of welfare and state (at least historically) in England, the state here is only about keeping order, not often a particularly caring business. So whether in the design of processes, objects, or places, little or no thought is applied to enabling the comfort or ease of ordinary people.

And I have been wondering if this explains something about the (to me)  passive attitude towards those who act without consideration in public - for example, pushing in front of an elderly person on the metro, or driving their cars dangerously fast. Nobody seems to get angry. It is as if, just as with the state, there is no expectation that people should behave considerately to others ( although of course lots of people behave very well, with generosity and kindness of spirit).

from walking to talking

I find another aspect of Russian everyday life much harder to fathom. In England, it feels as if most conversations between people are 'contractual', based on individual negotiation, exchange and the making of agreements. Everything is flexible and has the possibility of change, of future improvement (for one, the other, or both). We talk by making offers, suggestions and arguments, by competing and/or collaborating.

In England I don't really notice I am doing this. But in Moscow such an underlying conversational logic only infrequently gets off the ground. This may be because people are just being very polite. But it feels like talk itself is often structured differently. So, for example, if I ask a question it is often treated as an unclear instruction, rather than the beginning of a discussion. If I frame a sentence around 'maybe we could do this/maybe we could do that' type arguments, all I do is confuse.

So, on the one hand, people seem to expect very direct, and straightforward statements, and prefer  explicit structures and rules. But, on the other, being direct (well, as direct as I can, which is not very) offers the opportunity for the other participant(s) to ignore what I say, make a non-committal and/or sideways reply, or just go off and do something different. Having rules or being given instructions does not mean you need to obey them.

Of course, there is potentially a very obvious point here; about the difference between the political and cultural histories of democracy and consumer society, versus Soviet communism and Russian capitalism. I have met this thing about rules everywhere; lots of them but nobody really takes much notice unless they have to. So drivers don't have licences; banks want an address for your account but don't care if it is the real one; authorities want some kind of stamped form but are never quite sure which; lots of guards watch over metro stations, but don't bother much when people jump over barriers without paying, just blow their whistles absentmindedly.

I wish I could pin down these 'talking' differences better; not because I think the contractual mode of conversation is preferable, but only to understand a little more about what is going on.

Handy hints for travellers 18: walking the walk

The most common complaint about Moscow from my English and American visitors is that people here are incredibly rude in public, that they ignore you, and would walk into you if you didn't get out of the way. It's true that most people walk about fast and take no notice of others - they seem to set a direction and then just take it with no variation. This can include determined pushing in; particularly when crowds and queues are dense, for example, getting on the train or jostling to move onto an escalator.

I have been trying to make some sense of this - and its general juxtaposition in the tourist/travel literature with that 'other side' to the supposed enigma of the Russian soul; that indoors, in private, Russians are completely different, very nice people indeed, warm and welcoming (especially when they have got to know you).

Which leads me to suggest another way of looking at public walking, which might make English visitors feel a little less outraged. I am talking about body language - or more importantly - body space. It is without a doubt that most English-speaking people are much more friendly in public, taking notice, talking and generally acknowledging each other.  But, I suggest that these are the ways we are always subconsciously negotiating something else - a certain distance between each other. So, we move out of the way, or allow the other person to move. The truth is, we don't like too close to or touched, however accidently, by strangers.

My colleague L and I seemed to reach a similar conclusion about public behaviour here at about the same time, and for the same reason. I was walking with some Russian friends in the snow and someone I didn't know at all calmly took my arm in case I slipped. She was attempting to traverse an impossibly busy road and another man planning the same thing took her hand so they could cross together.  We were both shocked by being  touched by strangers, even though they were just helping. Yet such small gestures of public solidarity actually abound here. They just don't come with chat or acknowledgement. I have seen metro seats given up for older people on countless occasions - it is just that no one says anything or looks at each other during the process (which from an English point of view feels pretty weird).

Our conclusion then, was this. Moscow people are not being rude in public - certainly not consciously - they are just not policing the space around themselves with the same zeal we do. Both the need to maintain a protected personal body space seems less important, and the size of the zone itself definitely smaller. (My students tend to sit not just together but much closer, what to my eye seems like literally on top of each other). So they just walk a lot closer when they pass.

My handy hint for Moscow visitors is as follows. Attempt to feel less defensive about your own personal body space being invaded. And just set a direction and take a determined - unconcerned - walk with the rest of us.

Of course, I want to hear from any Russians who might well say the above just shows my complete misunderstanding of the unwritten Moscow rules of public behaviour .....

.... and more

This woman begging was on the same corner as me. The smart looking women beyond her are not in the photograph to signify the huge divide between rich and poor in post-Soviet Russia. Well, they might be, but mainly they are searching in their bags to find some change to give this woman; walking past her and then, when they have found their money, returning.

feeling foreign

Since coming back from London I have felt quite dislocated, like part of me is still in the UK. This is not homesickness  - although of course I miss my friends and family a lot - but more a kind of exhaustion. I am suddenly noticing again the difficulties of being a foreigner and no longer just enjoying its novelty. I don't even mean the problems of not being able to speak the language (which still embarrasses me). This is much more about always being aware of even the most ordinary everyday routines, of nothing ever being possible to take for granted because you never quite know exactly what is going on. And that is tiring.

I assume that some sociologist or anthropologist has studied the phenomenon of being a foreigner, there are probably stages just like growing up or bereavement, in which case I think I am currently moving to stage 2: 'Just wants an easy life'. Except, of course, I don't or I wouldn't be here. And it does mean I have started to take loads of photographs again; have got obsessed with trying to capture faces and interactions, both of individuals and in crowds, with all the added complications that brings of not being seen to obviously take pictures in the packed and jostling Moscow metro. 

I love Sundays

Had a proper English Expat Sunday (EES). Got up late, listened to BBC Radio 3 and had fried eggs and bacon with toast and a cup of tea for breakfast.  Played Words with Friends  - aka Scrabble - via my iPod. I only do this with people I know - my daughter and a few others. (Although it turns out that 'Ken Taylor' is not the one I expected, but someone who lives on the US West Coast.)

Then skyped a few mates and listened to both the News Quiz and I am Sorry I Haven't a Clue (this says far too much about me, is probably a very embarrassing fact, and will only make sense to a small cross-section of readers.) Did some desultory work, and stared out the window a lot; snowing on and off all day, with everything clean white for a moment and the sky that completely washed out grey-blue pale. Lovely.

What is strange is that the longer I am here the more I enjoy deeply stereotypical English middle-class behaviours, at least in the privacy of my own flat. Does this happen to every expat, or is it just me?

Anyway, it shows up the ridiculousness  of some British politicians' tendencies to insist that foreigners 'immerse' themselves completely into  'our' culture. I don't think eating English breakfast makes me a threat to Russia, so I can't understand why some British people are so frightened of the reverse.

the horrors, the horrors

I know that I was extraordinarily lucky to sneak into London, and then out again (to Sydney, Australia) a few days later, without being buried in snow for days at Heathrow.  All my sympathies go to the many people I met who had horribly delayed holidays, and I won't even be smug about how much better Moscow airports deals with bad weather. But - I was reminded of that specifically English characteristic of complaining; of always being ready to be offended at the the slightest alteration to the assumed smoothness of things; of an excess of sensitivity that someone else might be jumping the queue, getting a better deal. What is this English habit of for ever being ready to be cross about something?

Unlike the Russians I know who always expect the worst to happen.

double doors

I must stop  extrapolating from my neighbours' behaviours to Russian habits and tendencies in general. This is not only because of the poor logic involved in making such assumptions, but also because things here continue to be a little eccentric and singular.

For example, I now have a new, new front door.  I thought this was because the initial one was a rather tinny Chinese-made version which was going to be replaced because it was not secure enough. But, no, what I now have is another door immediately inside the old new one - so immediately inside that the door handles easily become entangled.

To this must be added the fact that the the handle on the new (inside) door does not work very well, so tends to get jammed. The new door, it transpires, is not for extra security - because the key has not been fitted properly - but for extra warmth and acoustic separation. So getting in and out has got a lot more exciting.

And in more neighbour news, I got invited next door last night to see Es collections. Tropical fish, plates from around the world, fridge magnets, coins and paper money both old and current. And a request to help obtain more of the latter. His flat is absolutely stuffed, not just with collections and ornaments but also with furniture; moving around is almost everywhere done sideways.

not blat

I have been usefully corrected by both by V and a previous post comment about blat. As they both explain, it is about having useful connections, not the exchange of favours per se. You probably all knew that and were just too polite to tell me.

So V and I talked about what it is that is going on here. His suggestion is that I am probably witnessing old-style Soviet community support, which he says doesn't happen much any more. Which I find really funny as I happen to live in just such a 'community' in London (also not common); and because yesterday I was properly inculcated into the exchange of favours for the first time. Neighbour E was again called on, this time to help in the removal of two cupboards.  Then it turned out that he collects foreign coins, so I offered him my English small change and he picked out his favourites. And in exchange I got 3 new light-bulbs. Which considering he hoovered up almost all my pound coins, worked well for him.

But maybe it means I am now becoming part of the collective, and can borrow cups of sugar and make small talk, which will be fun.  (I also found out that the flat only became vacant this summer when the father of the landlady died - aged 89, but unexpected and clearly because of the heat and summer smog. In London, I had thought about the effects on old people of the extreme weather conditions in Moscow, but had not expected to find myself an unintended beneficiary.)

knowing nothing

Seem to be some great new Moscow blogs - see sidebar - or maybe I just missed these before. Got an increasing awareness of how naïve I am to think I can write about my experiences here with any confidence when I speak no Russian (and do not seem to be improving in that area in the slightest).


For example, had another very minor, but confusing, experience with my landlords N + A. The new custom-made, and very thin, double mattress has arrived. I happily laid it across the two existing single mattresses/beds, stuffed some blankets down the gap and held everything together with the elastic corners provided.


But then the owners came down and appeared shocked: it seemed that such a chore had to be done by another neighbour (E) who is very good at these things - he had already been summoned on a previous occasion to attach a plastic lid to a plastic bucket. My landlord literally seemed to droop with dejection when he saw I had already done the job. So neighbour E was nonetheless called, and having poked idly at the mattress edges and declared the task completed, was thanked profusely.


I assume this is a tiny example of blat  (блат), a term, defined by Wikipedia, as describing the use of informal agreements, exchanges of services and connections in the old Soviet Union. But I could be completely wrong.

home and away

I have been reading Colm Toibin’s book Brooklyn during my summer in London. He describes a young woman’s almost accidental moves backwards and forwards between Ireland to America. Throughout the story much is left unsaid; and a central motif is how each location fades away into a kind of silence when this woman is living in the other. Although I have really appreciated having over two months in England, I am experiencing exactly that sensation; that I can’t quite remember what it is I did in Moscow.

And now, arriving back a few days ago I carry this dislocation as an unsettling combination of pleasurable recognition and peculiar, eerie distance. So, as an example, the car journey from the airport. A typically turbulent river of vehicles - gaily and surprisingly good-naturedly – fighting for space. Swerving around the stray dog killed as it hit a car in front of us. Sitting immobile for some time in major jams caused both by the requirement that cars in minor accidents stay where they are (I have seen two already) and just by the fact that there are far too many cars in Moscow. And, of course, that parking everywhere including all-over-the-pavement business. So pleased to be back, but feel like I am looking at all of this through glass.

Handy hints 13: a tipping matter

One of the complaints that often does the rounds amongst expats in Moscow is that in up-market restaurants the waiter/waitress often fails to return with change after the bill has been paid, even if the amount remaining is much larger than a regular tip. This is the cause of much grumbling.

Funny that it should be in London that I finally 'get' what is happening in this situation - and again with much appreciation to V + K (saying hello above). The thing is, if you say thank you as you hand the bill over, this means that the transaction is completed, so the money is theirs. And since English people say thank you on every possible occasion - well you get the picture.

So to be completely clear; when you pay the bill in a Moscow restaurant, say nothing and preferably do not even look the waiter in the eye. This is not impolite as it would be in England, just normal.

Some asides about the English

Being in London, and with some Russian visitors to stay, means thinking a bit about what constitutes Englishness ("the houses are all joined together!' as I heard an newly arrived Australian backpacker say on the train from the airport, with true surprise). Once V and K had got over the issue of everyone speaking English ( V - "its like Lingaphone") and the fact that we really do say please and thank you an awful lot; and despite me quizzing them about any particular national characteristics that stood out, my guests have been quite coy about saying what makes us particularly 'English'.

So planning to read some of those recent books struggling with this phenomenon, beginning with Dara O Briain's Tickling The English. From his account, there are many things we might be thought to share with Russians - talking about the weather (well as least my Moscow friends do this with me, but they may just think it is what I want), expecting things to go wrong (although in England this leads to complaining, in Russia to fatalism), some kinds of eccentricity and some aspects of a shared sense of humour, particularly around playing with language (although the English one is is certainly less 'signposted').

And of course in the end, Dara - being a very smart man - doesn't fall for either national stereotypes or even characteristic 'tendencies'. What makes a nation (or parts of a nation), he suggests, is merely the mass of historically accumulated and shared cultural references. Absolutely.

On smoothness

The thing I have been trying to get my head around is about how London (particularly its cultural scene) has a certain smoothness and slickness which Moscow doesn't have. This could be called a type of professionalism which makes coherence and consistency central to its understanding of itself; and/or it could be capitalist society, which exploits every aspect of consumption to generate lots of different goods and services for us to buy.

A typical street cleaners' kit, shown here, is a good example. Brushes are invariably made of twigs; cleaners carts of old prams or trolleys with plastic buckets or boxes tied on with string. Why buy a plastic broom, or a pre-designed dustbin cart? Well why indeed, except of course in London that is what the street cleaners have (whether contracted publicly or privately).

Another example is luncheon vouchers (I have also had post-it notes as cloakroom tickets). We used to get these at work; and each month someone would make photocopies and cut them out individually with scissors. But I can't really explain why I find this odd.

that special something

Very aware that I am leaving Moscow next week and going back to London for most of the summer. Of course really excited to be seeing my daughter, relatives and friends, and to be spending a decent amount of time at home; but also find myself trying to pin down the things I will miss. Sometimes it feels as if Soviet times haven't really gone away, like when a tram goes by full of sleepy army recruits, or amid those stand-up picnics in the park, or walking through my 'typical' high-rise neighbourhood. Then there is the way the lifts tend to be sturdy but not smooth or quiet and all repairs haphazard rather than effective.

But there are also what seem to be truly contemporary moments; such as the glam young women in the highest heels, tightest shortest dresses, brightest colours and the most labelled accessories; or the extraordinary array of buildings under construction which cannot even be contained by the term 'eclectic' and have led me to think hard about what I mean when I say something is ugly. There is the energy of new cultural possibilities, of new things starting all the time, usually without warning, publicity or long lead-in times.

So, even though I don't want to reduce this place to simple stereotypes, I do seem to be trying to select a special something, that sums up my first (almost) year in this country and city. For which, all suggestions welcome....

city bingo

Been talking about the idea of 'City Bingo' where you collect photos of the most resonant - but not ubiquitous, obvious or stereotypical (since that would be too easy) - aspects of a place.

So, what would that be in Moscow? We thought of stray dogs using the underpasses and traveling on the metros; huge banked-up piles of ginger with your sushi; disabled stickers in the most unbelievable (inaccessible) spots; broken drainpipes; terrible, post-modern 'style' architecture; dogs wearing ridiculous winter outfits; the rather beautiful random and abstract paintings-out of graffiti; completely derelict cars still on the road; classical statues leering down; posters for rock concerts by ancient celebs; pictures of Medvedev and Putin on everything (no, that won't work, those really are everywhere)...

And then, we tried to do the same for London and got stuck really quickly.

back and forth

This time I have definitely felt a bit unsettled coming back to Moscow. I have a feeling that as the newness wears off, my enthusiastic awareness of, and reveling in, the differences between cities is also waning. This is becoming just one place where I work, just as London is another.

Is this how most immigrants, emigres and expats experience things, once they have been traveling back and forth for a while? It doesn't mean I want to be in one place, only that I need to find a way of being in both, beyond being a naive tourist here.

In the meantime I went out and bought a tin of baked beans (which I hardly never eat in England!), and a sure sign I am a bit homesick...

Snow going, dogs appearing

As the snow thaws, the stray dogs are beginning to re-appear. I was getting to know the pack near where I live (and the one on the way to work) last year - only by sight I mean; they are neither friendly or unfriendly, but would certainly attack if threatened.

These strays produce a variety of responses. Some people, particularly old ladies, leave them food. Others put collars on them, so that they won't be removed and killed. But others find them unsettling, both as potential dangerous and as yet another symbol of what is wrong with Moscow, its inability to be a 'civilised' city on par with London or New York.