Alla dancing

And then on my final, final night in Moscow had the honour of being invited to the most lovely dinner with my neighbours. Well in fact, at this very last moment, they were trying to match-make me with A who was widowed some years ago, whom I have often met in the lift with his dog, and who speaks no English. Turns out he is an artist, trained in the Soviet fashion on repetitive (and suitably heroic) drawings of Lenin, and then copying from Great Works - one of his Fragonards has pride of place on the wall. Also neo-classical frescos on his ceiling, and a mural in the kitchen, topped off with some wonderful pre-revolutionary furniture and an artfully arranged branch and curtain combination which was probably the height of interior fashion for the cultural elite in the 1970s (or 50s).

The meal was the usual leisurely and pleasurable consumption of caviar, salami, cheese, black bread, fruit, compote and (of course, lots of) alcohol. Much toasting, mainly to the future of A and me together, and to good times had in Moscow. And to me coming back and staying with A. Etc. Which was followed by him getting out his guitar and serenading me with gypsy and hooligan* songs. And some dancing. Fabulous.

For a sample, on balalaikas, with a quartet in full evening dress go here.

spring signs

After being - very briefly - in an extraordinarily sunny and blooming London, I have eagerly been looking for signs that Moscow is getting its own Spring. I remember this lady from when I moved into the block last September (although this is my first sighting this year). She always puts her foldaway chair in exactly the same place, and sits in it for most of the day at weekends - interspersed, as here, with short walks to the path. 

a big thank you

Can't mention the concert without also thanking my landlady and neighbours for inviting me, such a generous thing to do. They were friends of Pavel Messner (he owned the next door dacha ) and obviously miss him.

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.

minor improvements

I think I got rather smug (and rather snug) in my previous flats, both of which were modern enough to have proper double glazing. And I think I talked a lot about how indoors in a Moscow winter you only need tee-shirts and underwear.

Well, now I am in a proper Soviet flat, with warped timber windows and a gap wide enough between the double panes for the air in there to get nicely chilled. So, I have finally started to need jumpers indoors. My very sweet landlord turned up this evening (with the helpful neighbour) to implement one of the standard Russian solutions to this problem - a thin, but slightly padded sticky tape around all the joints of the inner window frames.

Whilst he was here we also talked cleaning. I am just no good with those short sweeping brushes made out of dried straw or sticks;  can't seem to get the knack, nor to lose my desire for a more sophisticated broom-like or electrical device. So I have been lent a small vacuum-cleaner for now - with the promise that we will 'refresh' the rugs by beating them (with aforesaid brushes) at a later date. This, it turns out, happens outside and so just waits for a thicker layer of snow as a proper base.

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.)

spring- cleaning

One of Mayor Luzhkov's proposed subbotniki (volunteer public working days) for spring cleaning the city - the 17th April - seems to have come and gone without much activity, at least not in my neck of the woods. But then, around here everything is already looking very spruced up. The many, many maintenance people who endlessly shovelled snow from roofs and grounds and blocked the pavement where icicles might fall, then broke up the remaining ice and swept away flooded drains and gutters, are now in gangs painting fences and kerb-stones around the local estates, picking up litter and blocking the path again, where it is now bits of (dampish) buildings that threaten to drop off.

The earth is still mainly blank, but grass is just beginning to show through and some neighbours are planting flowers. And the ubiquitous paint - which I remember from being here in 1970s - is still that really unpleasant green.

A little tiff

Woke up today to an explosion of notes stuck to various surfaces in the communal hallway. Luckily I have a friend staying who could translate the problem(s); all to do with what is clearly considered a public affront, namely grimy footprints dragged in from the snow outside and not wiped up promptly enough. Some blame seemed to be aimed at a mysterious 'man in red coat with dog', although I have a feeling some of it was also to do with me. This is because my winter boots do seem to leak a lot of black wet slush. Of course it may be that I am a bit paranoid. It is just me that has cleaners wiping away behind with a mop and bucket as I walk cross any public tiled surface?

Haven't even dared to re-visit the nailbar where I was the only customer and was made to walk from one end of a white shiny pristine floor to the other, with just such a cleaning operation following at my heels; followed by a long, long wait with a mop and bucket just nearby as my nails slowly dried and an increasingly large pool of dirty water formed around my feet.

Well, social embarrassment works as well on me as the next person, so we cleaned the floor and the notices have been taken down. Except this one, just to remind us all of the importance of taking off our outer footwear, before entry.