the summing up begins

Of course the trouble with leaving anywhere is the urgent need to sum up experiences, to finish all things still undone, and to run around attempting to see many places as yet unvisited. This is going to have (a not necessarily wonderful) impact on the remaining pages of this blog.*

Throughout my stay, I have been refusing the lazy stereotypes of Russians in general and Muscovites in particular - that is, that they are gloomy, beaten down by a history of Suffering and yet also an Enigma ('a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside a ... etc., etc'): and that, given time, underneath they are completely wonderful ('when you get to know them'). Russians themselves, of course, also partake in these bland definitions of national identity, both seriously and with a considerable amount of rich, melancholic humour: just as the English resort to images of polite eccentricity, and the French to superiority and chicness.

But, because of recent history, people from outside this country seem to persist in caricaturing Russians, blurring the normal diversity of most ordinary people with either their government or with only tiny sub-cultures - the oligarchs, siloviki ('heavies') and mafia. Meanwhile, plenty of other sub-cultures, like the hipsters or gopniki, don't even get noticed elsewhere.

That doesn't mean there aren't real differences, but these, to me, are most interesting in how they play out in the everyday - in our various body languages and habits, and in attitudes and assumptions about how to survive and make sense of the world(s) we live in. That is what I have been trying - and failing - to unravel.

 But if I had to make one lazy stereotype about Russians, it would not be about glumness or stoicness, but rather what I can only call a kind of unconstrained mischievousness... encompassing melodramatic yet self-deprecating humour,  story-telling, unselfconscious silliness and  a certain contrariousness.** Unlike the rest of western Europe and America, though, which does not differentiate between public and private identities, this is mainly kept for family and friends (except perhaps by contemporary artists). Think Norwegian or Icelander, mixed with some Irish. Or am I talking nonsense?***


* I am also aiming to add more to as many of my 'mini-series' as possible, including 10-of-the-best, the art of parking and city bingo.  So, busy busy busy....
** There is also something mischievous embedded deep into politics, which there becomes both surreal and manipulative. See 'Putin Pranking himself'
*** Although the blog Mission to Moscow no longer functions, atethepaint's 50 facts about Russians is still there (as are the many comments). One 'fact' is about the Russian proverb Наглость - второе счастье; one translation is 'impudence - the second happiness' - which is something like what I am suggesting.  There is also a fab YouTube video from the We love Russia series, - you can see the complete set here  - for  some great brilliant, hilarious examples of exactly this crazy mischievousness. 

more on books

Reading Snowdrops - with its emphasis on the rotten side of Russia - made me think of the other books I have read about the country since I got here. Nothing has been worse than Rob Lilwall's Cycling Home from Siberia which stayed so much inside his self-centred head, that we never really heard from anyone else (sample - chapter 2 is entitled 'how shall I die?', followed by a quote from Fight Club.) In comparison Dervla Murphy's Silverland - also involving Siberia and a bicycle - may be be traditional in including some history and useful facts (rather than just what the traveler is feeling at the time), but shows both insightfulness and modesty in her engagements with people and place.

Then there were two authors who write about Russia through the prism of its literature; Elif Batuman's The Possessed and Rachel Polonsky's Molotov's Magic Lantern - the first of which I read very fast and without much concentration; and the second of which I have not yet got around to finishing. And enjoyed, in a fairly abstract way. But I can't help feeling that - except for bits of Murphy - A. D. Miller is quite correct when he admits that we write about Russia mainly to write about ourselves:

"Just as travel writing chronicles the traveller's preconceptions as well as his journey, so for some novelists, Russia is not, or not only, a sort of moral zoo, which writer and reader can visit with a safe sense of superiority. It is also a place to test their moral pride and presumptions." quoted from here.

Which means that Russians themselves, as themselves, (and in all their variations) don't turn up very often. Or that I am reading the wrong books.


And the eagle-eyed will note that the photograph here is from earlier in the summer. In fact the leaves in Moscow have almost all gone. Must get my camera back from London (where I left it) somehow.

and back again

Actually it wont be Moscow or my Russian colleagues that finally chase me away from here. It will be a few of the English people I work with. Maybe it is an expat thing more widely, but it's as if being in Moscow makes some - particularly young men - regress to juvenile behaviour in ways that I cannot believe they would do at home, or would be allowed to do.  Somehow their sense of entitlement (the slouch of confidence) takes on a smothering excess of smugness and self-importance; producing a depressing mixture of often-vocalised assumed superiority over everything Russian, and a kind of swaggering copy of the worse of Russian macho manhood.

I have just finished reading Snowdrops, a thriller-ish novel by A. D. Miller, who was the Moscow correspondent of the Economist for some years. His hero has some of these qualities (although the author lets him off lightly), using the excuse of joining in with wealthy Muscovite hedonism as a means of easily slipping into other, more unpleasant, thoughtless and unethical activities. The book was recommended by two people separately who have both come to visit here, because it evokes many of the experiences of being in Moscow. Although a little thin as to story, and with a tendency to treat all Russians homogeneously as a collective 'them', my friends are right about this book. The asides about everyday life here made me snort happily in recognition.

blighty (more)

I also said, absented-mindly, that Russians have terrible posture. This was after we had been on the tube, observing other passengers and thinking about differences . V noted that everyone looked a lot more relaxed, had what I suggested we call the 'slouch of confidence.' This is partly a matter of fashion; English styles are a lot baggier, hanging off the waist and the shoulder, loose fitting, more casual. But it is also that Russians (in Moscow at least) do seem to hold themselves more hunched.

This is not because of any discomfort with their own bodies; as I have said I find the Russians I have met much less self-conscious than English people, easier with being up much closer to each other and happy to consider themselves in any mirror, any time. So I don't know why there is such a big difference in shoulder/back rigidity. Comments welcome.


Photograph courtesy of Leeza Semionova

thoughts from blighty

Been in London for a few days with my Russian colleagues V and L, and stupidly blurted out at some point that I found London much more civilised than Moscow. Then spent a lot of time back-tracking (and trying to clarify what I was getting at). That I didn't mean that the people are uncivilised, or even the mindless rules combined with chaos - muscovites notice lots of random rules in London and cannot believe that we follow them - only that the public urban space of the city is so much more comfortable, much more for the 'public'.

Although we also nicknamed London ToyTown, both because of the tiny houses all lined up, and because compared to Moscow, public transport is designed for midgets.

doing up the dvor

The courtyards/dvors/двопа of Russian housing blocks come into their own at this time of year; as people sit out with a book, or their dogs, or their children, or their friends, and/or their cans of lager and snacks, and/or just staring into space - and bask in the last moments of autumn warmth.

There is something uniquely Russian about these spaces; both because of the block layouts (which seem weirdly random), and the endless ubiquity of green-painted low metal fencing, yellow-green striped kerb-stones, primary coloured play equipment, tarmac paths and tightly packed trees. And their slightly hidden quality - offering brilliant (but difficult to negotiate) green and pleasant short-cuts across the city.

Came across a fascinating investigation of this micro-rayon living by partizan publik, which explored two such dvors, one in Tblisi, Georgia and one on the outskirts of Moscow. On the surface these are almost identical - given that blocks like this were built right across the Soviet Union. But the group provide what they call "an inventory of user strategies' to show differences as well as similarities in how people occupy these spaces, and their various responses to a post-soviet world where such public spaces are really beginning to show neglect.

feeling english (sort of)

Damp with both drizzling and torrential rain most of the weekend which, together with the Last Night of the Proms and the first autumn Radio 4 episode of the News Quiz (series 75), seemed to bring out my englishness; evidenced by an unexpectedly strong urge for boiled eggs, soldiers with marmite and a proper cup of tea.

At the same time, I made compote and took a first stab at pickling my own cucumbers. So clearly developing a hybrid personal culture based, in embarrassing fashion, on simplistic and stereotypical food habits. And all the while feeling a bit hemmed in by ex-pat life (what do you do when your connection other other people is only because you speak the same language?)

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).

september sunday

And then Sunday. I remember early September weekends from last year - very quiet, surprisingly little traffic on the Sadovaya (Garden) Ring, which is usually jammed packed. Everyone who can is out of the city and at their dacha or abroad, escaping before the school holidays are over. 

strawberries and bullets

V took me to visit his dacha nearby, and again I was honoured to be embraced into the huge welcome, warmth and sociality of his family and friends, as we did what is clearly the usual dacha thing of sitting around the kitchen table for hours, talking, eating and drinking. Lovely.

This particular dacha plot is quite overgrown, in amongst beautiful tall conifers. V's childhood memories are of having strawberry rows to cultivate, and finding - only a small level below the surface - endless bullet casings and even a hand grenade and other fragments of that terrifying and central world war two battle. Ideal treasure for a small boy.

memorials and weddings

I feel like I am letting V down, because of course I spent most of my time photographing not the serious monuments and churches he was showing me, but the people all around. The memorial park was just stuffed with wedding parties parking huge white limousines next to battered tanks, tottering around in high heels and shiny suits with bottles of champagne and lining up on turn to have their pictures taken.

This of course, relates to a strong and important tradition of remembering - and honouring - past sacrifices. But to me, now, it just looked like a simple excuse for a party in a weird location.

that time again

At the end of each of my 'years' in Moscow, I have this (impossible) idea of trying to sum up what I have learnt in one single picture. This is last year's - and for this year, I wanted to capture something of that endlessly interesting but confusing juxtaposition that seems central to life here; the combination of lots of (often mindless) rules and regulations with little bother as to whether these are actually obeyed. It is illegal to cross the railway tracks. And everyone does it.

Greetings from Miami

So it is 7.30 in the morning and I am standing in line waiting for the Apple Store Miami to open, hoping to get one of their - very few - new iPads (my only excuse being jet-lag, meaning I have been up since 5.00 am anyway, so I might as well be here). And of course, there are two Russians behind me and we get to talk about national queuing characteristics.

 This is a conversation I had recently with an Italian colleague in Moscow; he summed up Italian queuing as basically an intensive funneling effect. The British and the Americans queue - I think - in a similar way; relatively orderly lines but a lot of tutting and discussions based on what the queue is doing/who is pushing in/ why are we queuing anyway, Apple do this on purpose just to command product loyalty, etc.

Russian queues, from my experience, are more complicated, a kind of amalgam of both the above methods. People bunch up rather than form a line; yet there is a clear idea of order. People often ask who is the last in line, so they know who to follow. Which makes it particularly incomprehensible if you don't speak the language. 

cheesy celebrations time

Left everyone at work watching the Royal Wedding and have come home to pack, as I am going to the US tomorrow. Which means I will miss both May Day and Victory Day. I really enjoyed the latter last year - endless novelty - but now realise that all the posters and street decorations are basically wheeled out the same each year (something that may be obvious to everyone else since it is what we all do at Christmas, Easter etc.)

Anyway, if you want to know more about Victory Day before 9th May, you can see all 1 hour and 30 minutes of lat year's parade, filmed by Russia Today. And check out Little Bone's post about getting caught up in the rehearsals for this year's extravaganza.

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.

say it with flowers?

International Women's Day. A bit weird to witness it here, considering Russian history. After all, demonstrations marking International Women's Day were one of the key moments which led to the 1917 Russian Revolution. Alexandra Kollontai persuaded Lenin to continue it, and in the Soviet period the day used to honour women mainly as workers, joining together people across the Eastern and socialist bloc.

These days, though, March 8th is, to quote Irina Lovanova "associated with men's adoration of women's magnetic charm, tenderness, caring loyalty and blooming beauty. In Russia all living men (including foreigners) are duty bound to express their warm feelings to all living women, with no exceptions. Failure could result in a sudden reduction of life expectancy." Which means it is a day for giving flowers. The streets are full of men buying flowers and women receiving them; I saw mainly tulips, but also mimosa. And yes, it makes me a bit depressed.

feeding the defenders

It is a public holiday tomorrow - Defenders of the Fatherland Day - and today the women at work made lunch for the men in celebration.

In the Soviet period this was first called Red Army Day and then Soviet Army and Navy Day. Now the connection has been shifted from military valour to men in general, so it has become known generally as Men's Day. In some weird version of equality this is offered as a counterpoint to International Women's Day coming up on 8th March. Whilst women elsewhere in the world will campaign for equal rights on this day, in Russia the men give women flowers.  

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.

Ha!

This is one aimed at everyone in Britain who has been reduced to a standstill by the weather. Just to mention that Moscow has only about an inch of snow and yet this afternoon I saw 5 snow ploughs, 2 dumper trucks and my favourite device (above) - the snow-gobbler.

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.