Moscow Diaries: Until Next Time
It's never a happy feeling to leave my favourite city on the planet, but I am quite sure the gap between this and next trip will not be too long.
Monday is actually a nice day to leave the Russian capital. The museums are closed and there is no regret about missing an opportunity to see the work of the great impressionists or some classics of Russian art.
As I packed my suitcase and looked out the window, I saw some spring rain. The streets were going to be slushy and I dreaded the thought of my trousers getting dirty as I walked up Tverskaya Street to do some final shopping.
Stop number one was a bookstore that had a cafe and was open 24 hours a day! Why oh why did I let myself struggle with late breakfasts, when a piece of paradise was just 400 metres away! The contemporary work I spotted did not particularly impress me, so I bought a few classics. One of them was Fyodor Dostoyevskiy’s The Idiot, which in my mind is the greatest Russian novel of all time.
My next stop was the Alenka shop. As much as my Russian friends make fun of my special love for the chocolate with the picture of a little girl named Alenka, I make sure I take a significant supply of these back to India. I even have a membership card that gives me a decent discount at the store and I have made friends with its employees.
Checked out, I sat at a restaurant on the 13th floor of the Peking with S. On this gloomy day, I felt Moscow was as sad as I was about my imminent departure. The view is quite nice from up there. I could see the spires and red stars of the Kremlin but their beauty paled in comparison to S’s ocean blue eyes. My attention was definitely not outside the restaurant.
Sipping on our post-lunch green tea, I reflected on these wonderful 10 days.
Moscow had changed, but it was still the same. I first set sights on this city in March 2003, when it was emerging from the nightmare of the Boris Yeltsin era. I remember seeing the onion domes of the St. Basil’s for the first time. As a child growing up in New York, this was the symbol of Russia for me. The city felt a bit intimidating on that spring day, and every single time my local companion asked for directions, people would tell him without making eye contact. The same was the case in the metro. Moscow had definitely changed from those days, but not so much between the end of 2021 and now.
I walked S back to the Mayakovskaya metro station, standing still as she darted past the door and into the underground. This was a busy working day, but she made time for a nice lunch with me. I turned around and saw my good friend and idol Vladimir Mayakovsky stand tall and strong on that rainy afternoon. Was he going to miss me like my godchildren, brother at heart G, best friend B and S would?
I walked up to the poet and silently remembered his poem Farewell (1925):
In the car,
the change from my last franc.
“When does the train leave for Marseilles”?
Seeing me off,
Paris
runs
in all
her impossible grace
Come
to my eyes,
swill of separation,
heart
bursting
with sentimental slop!
I’d like
to live
and die in Paris
if there were not
such a spot-
as Moscow!
The taxi had arrived and I was on my way to the airport. The driver was from Kyrgyzstan and asked me if I liked Moscow and when I said yes, he replied that he didn’t. He said the city was terrible because of the way its residents treated Kyrgyz people. I had heard my fair share of stories from cab drivers from former Soviet states, who said they felt dehumanised in Moscow. I immediately changed the topic and told him how much I loved the work of the great Kyrgyz writer Chingiz Aitmatov.
He asked me what my favourite Aitmatov book was and I said Jamilla. I told him that when I first got a glimpse of the mountains of Kyrgyzstan from a lake in Kazakhstan, I became emotional and thought of how on the other side of those mountains Jamila and her one true love Daniyar are roaming the countryside and forests, happily ever after!
Shocked at my love for his national icon, Bek, the taxi driver sang a Kyrgyz song about Jamila and Daniyar! The song was beautiful, as was his voice!
Thank you, brother, he said, after we reached the airport. “I don’t know Indians were so nice,” he added. I smiled and shook his hand after he took the suitcase out of the trunk.
Alexander Pushkin Sheremetyevo Airport, here we are again, I said to myself, entering the terminal.
As I entered, I had to clear security and behind me I heard a man telling his companion, “faster, faster.” I could smell the alcohol in his breath and told him he could go ahead of me. Then came the big smile- “Wow, you speak Russian! Olga, this foreigner speaks such good Russian.”
Happy drunks can turn into angry drunks really fast, and I watched him throw three bags on the x-ray belt. A security officer who looked like a tall and muscular version of the Von Trapp boys had the unenviable task of frisking him. Listening to the drunk’s slurred speech and rambling, the young man gave him a look that could kill, but did not restrain him.
I was next and the young officer smiled at me and let me pass. I told him that I really appreciated his patience. He smiled once again and said he’s used to those types and they are almost always Russians, while foreigners behaved with complete courtesy.
If I wanted to buy souvenirs at the last second, this was not the place. Prices were inflated beyond belief.
The immigration line was long but moved quickly. Just ahead of me, a nervous Armenian man handed over his registration slips and was allowed to pass. When it was my turn I said hello to the late-20 something officer, and she asked if I spoke good Russian and I replied that she could judge that for herself.
“Can I ask you a personal question,” she said, to which I agreed. “Why do so many Indians have 3 or 4 passport booklets attached together?” I told her that the booklets had valid visa. “As an immigration officer, I find this irritating,” she said. I giggled and said I’d keep this in mind.
And I was officially out of the Russian Federation- a country that has given me more than I can pay back in this lifetime.
Sitting at the gate, I saw the weather clearing up. Amidst the sadness, Russia put on a smile for me!
I love many countries, but there’s only one Russia! Until we see each other again….