On Tuesday. Moscow did NOT treat me well. I mean, we’re not breaking up or anything, but we did have our first big argument , and I’m sure we both said and did some things that we wish we could take back. Yeah, it may have made me turn to a Baltika 7 for dinner. And sure, I may have called it a it a “Kafka-esque cesspool.” But it was all in the heat of the moment. It was just one of those days…
8:30 am
A student has rescheduled, moving her time from Friday morning to right now. I haven’t realised it and will probably not make the class, given that I won’t be awake for another hour.
Good head start to the day.
4:00 pm
Where is that McDonalds? I don’t see any golden arches…I’ve been looking around for almost twenty minutes…I need caffeine…Dude, is that a car driving on the sidewalk? He’d better watch out or he’ll run into that car that’s parked on the sidewalk…why can’t I find this McDonalds Kira told me about? She said it was right outside the station…
4:05 pm
Aha. The pink cottagestyle building wedged between two skyscrapers. Of course that’s McDonalds. Yeah.
5:15 pm
After tea and free WiFi I have a 6:30 class at the end of the Filevskaya metro line. I set now out to be sure I have plenty of time to make it. I even skip dinner in lieu of a blackberry pastry from a cart, because I am an excellent employee like that. Hungry, but on time. Little do I know that that blackberry pastry will be the highlight of my evening.
6:15pm
I’ll spare you the details, but I find myself at the end of the Filevskaya line, at an above ground train station in a totally sketch part of town, still two stops from my necessary destination. Yeah, that’s right, the line ends two stops before its final stop. I approach a metro worker:
8:30 am
A student has rescheduled, moving her time from Friday morning to right now. I haven’t realised it and will probably not make the class, given that I won’t be awake for another hour.
Good head start to the day.
4:00 pm
Where is that McDonalds? I don’t see any golden arches…I’ve been looking around for almost twenty minutes…I need caffeine…Dude, is that a car driving on the sidewalk? He’d better watch out or he’ll run into that car that’s parked on the sidewalk…why can’t I find this McDonalds Kira told me about? She said it was right outside the station…
4:05 pm
Aha. The pink cottagestyle building wedged between two skyscrapers. Of course that’s McDonalds. Yeah.
5:15 pm
After tea and free WiFi I have a 6:30 class at the end of the Filevskaya metro line. I set now out to be sure I have plenty of time to make it. I even skip dinner in lieu of a blackberry pastry from a cart, because I am an excellent employee like that. Hungry, but on time. Little do I know that that blackberry pastry will be the highlight of my evening.
6:15pm
I’ll spare you the details, but I find myself at the end of the Filevskaya line, at an above ground train station in a totally sketch part of town, still two stops from my necessary destination. Yeah, that’s right, the line ends two stops before its final stop. I approach a metro worker:
Me: (holding out my map, pointing at the correct destination, and using my weird English-Russian- Ukrainian one-woman dialect): “Zdees--mozhna zdees? Ya ne znayoo? Ummmm…yeah.”
Metro Worker: “Hm.” (turns away)
Me: (openmouthed stare)
Then in a fit of complete stubbornness, I approach Metro-Lady from the front, and shove my book in front of her.
Me: (pointing) “Zdees! Zdees! You know where it is, ma’am! C’mon, tee znayeesh!”
Suddenly two teenagers take my distraction as an opportunity to jump the turnstile, infuriating Metro-Lady and making her blow a whistle for militsiya that all four of us know will never bother responding. Not wanting to be accused of deliberately misdirecting her attention I take the opportunity to back slowly away and head back underground. Yeah…I can figure this one out on my own.
6:25pm
I’m standing outside, smoking, trying not to get rained on and searching for my student’s number. I locate it and call him to cancel the class, since I am seriously lost in a land of gloomy hostility and subway-ride-theft, a mere two stops before a destination that apparently does not exist. As I wait for Mr. P to pick up the phone, I notice the class schedule. And God bless my inability to read 24 hour time properly, because the class does not start until 7:30 after all. I talk to him briefly and get some truly terrible instructions from him--after all, he is: a) not a great English speaker; and b) too rich to need the metro. Whatever--I just bought myself an hour.
7:15pm
I find the mystery stop. And it wasn’t such a big problem. See, the Arbatsko-Pokrovskaya line turns into the Filevskaya line, but then back into the Arbatsko-Pokrovskaya, while the Filevskaya line becomes an all new line unto itself with two different end points. But if I get on the Arbatsko-Pokrovkaya line early enough then I can ride it through to the point that my map (which may or may not be incorrect) claims ends on the Filevskaya line, but is really Arbatsko-Pokrovskaya.
Can’t believe I didn’t get that the first time.
7:25 pm
After a longish walk in the rain, (made longer by the fact that I am both starving and the only soul in Moscow trying not to step on worms), I make my way into the building and present my passport and the building address.
6:25pm
I’m standing outside, smoking, trying not to get rained on and searching for my student’s number. I locate it and call him to cancel the class, since I am seriously lost in a land of gloomy hostility and subway-ride-theft, a mere two stops before a destination that apparently does not exist. As I wait for Mr. P to pick up the phone, I notice the class schedule. And God bless my inability to read 24 hour time properly, because the class does not start until 7:30 after all. I talk to him briefly and get some truly terrible instructions from him--after all, he is: a) not a great English speaker; and b) too rich to need the metro. Whatever--I just bought myself an hour.
7:15pm
I find the mystery stop. And it wasn’t such a big problem. See, the Arbatsko-Pokrovskaya line turns into the Filevskaya line, but then back into the Arbatsko-Pokrovskaya, while the Filevskaya line becomes an all new line unto itself with two different end points. But if I get on the Arbatsko-Pokrovkaya line early enough then I can ride it through to the point that my map (which may or may not be incorrect) claims ends on the Filevskaya line, but is really Arbatsko-Pokrovskaya.
Can’t believe I didn’t get that the first time.
7:25 pm
After a longish walk in the rain, (made longer by the fact that I am both starving and the only soul in Moscow trying not to step on worms), I make my way into the building and present my passport and the building address.
Receptionist : (Russian words that mean, I can only presume, “You are totally wrong. Stupid.“)
Son of a &!$*#.
I head to the steps outside, nearly soaking wet (my umbrella was one of the things I had to unpack from my luggage at the airport, thankyouverymuch Northwest Airlines) and contemplate smoking my fifth stress-related cigarette of the day. I decide to try one more random person. I pick a Napolean-Dynamitish-looking guy, show him the address, and use my limited Russian to pronounce it as best I can.
Me: “Ulitsa Ossenaya--Gdye? Znayeesh?”
The guy looks at it and shrugs. I prepare to give up. He seems to be in a rush and says something in Russian along the lines of the fact that I should ask the receptionist.
Me: “Oh. Ya nye gavaru po russky.”
Guy: “You want that I can speak English to you?”
Yes!
Me: “Yes!”
Most Awesome Guy In Moscow: “I will ask her. Then I tell you.”
This is the closest I have ever come to (soberly) hugging a stranger. I can’t even imagine how happy my face must have looked to him, and he seems proud to help. Just when Russia pisses you off, it sends something good your way.
7:40 pm
I march into the (correct) office, and present my passport. No problems. I get my swipe key and head up. Everyone in this building has been so sweet to this drenched little Anglophone in their lobby. I make it into the mirrored elevator and try to fix myself up. But Mr P won’t mind that I’m dishevelled-- it’s raining, I’ve been lost for two hours, I’m new here, and he knows all of the above. I’ll smooth it all over with a smile. So I look a little drowned ratt-ish? Whatever. I made it and I’m damn proud.
7:40 pm
I march into the (correct) office, and present my passport. No problems. I get my swipe key and head up. Everyone in this building has been so sweet to this drenched little Anglophone in their lobby. I make it into the mirrored elevator and try to fix myself up. But Mr P won’t mind that I’m dishevelled-- it’s raining, I’ve been lost for two hours, I’m new here, and he knows all of the above. I’ll smooth it all over with a smile. So I look a little drowned ratt-ish? Whatever. I made it and I’m damn proud.
I knock and open Mr P’s door.
He opens it.
He’s really cute.
And I look like Hell.
Dammit Moscow….
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