Heatwave

It managed to go from kinda chilly to wicked hot here pretty quick. The past few days the temperatures have gotten as high as 32.2 Celsius (about 95 F). The Moscow Times reports this is the first May since 1879 that Moscow has had over 30 degree temperatures for five straight days. And with summer's slightly earlier than usual arrival, we also welcome the first of this year's crop of stories about drowning Russians. For many here, the best response to extreme heat is to drink a lot of beer, then jump in the nearest river, lake, or fountain. Disaster often follows. From AFP:

Seeking to escape the heat, city dwellers headed for beer and cold drinks kiosks and plunged into all available water holes, ranging from fountains near the Kremlin to the Moscow River. Which often made it worse: The emergency situations ministry in Moscow said Tuesday that 12 people drowned last week.... During the same period last year there was just one fatality. Last week 48 people were rescued while swimming, compared to seven last year.The country's top health official, Gennady Onishchenko, warned citizens to avoid bathing in extreme heat. "You can only go to the beach and water when the heat drops," he was quoted as saying by Interfax.

And just in time... our hot water came back yesterday!

Memorial Day column

Here's a Memorial Day OpEd piece I wrote for The Boston Globe. UPDATE (5/30): The piece was picked up by the International Herald Tribune on Tuesday. And we were even able to find a few copies, after unsuccessfully scrounging around various newsstands and bookstores in the center. We found a few leftover copies in a waiting area at the swanky Hotel Metropole by the Kremlin. The piece seems to be getting around the Internets too. Here it is in Russian. And in Czech.

Our neighborhood is movin' on up

Nothing says that a neighborhood has arrived like when it gets gleaming new, upscale shopping mall. And our neighborhood is humming with excitement, sort of, because on Saturday the Shchuka “entertainment-shopping complex” will officially open. The multi-story center is right at our Metro station, and will include a McDonalds, a Nike store, an upscale supermarket, and a cineplex. It also includes three levels of underground parking. The thing has been marketed to death. Friday there was an ad insert in the business newspaper Kommersant about it (attached photos).

I do not know what had been on the spot before. But I swear that I remember it being a closed off construction site when I first came to visit in 2003. So I want to say that this project has been a long-time coming. And when we drove in from the Airport along Novoshchukinskaya Shosse at the beginning of the month, this space station of a building towering over the area came as quite a surprise.

Over the past few weeks, I have enjoyed observing the antics of Russian construction workers hard at work. There are the extraordinary number of idle security personnel loafing about, which is mandatory for any public project or civic gathering in Russia. And I’ve admired the steely calm of the guys out on the sidewalk using power saws to trim masonry tiles. Usually one will operate the saw while a friend will hold them in place with his feet while smoking a cigarette. Aside from the bright blue overalls, you’d never know they weren’t guys just playing around with power tools, as of course simple safety precautions like gloves, eye-protectors, or helmets are for sissies (I can imagine the Russian reasoning: “If some guy you work with at a construction site is going to saw your foot off, gloves won’t help you.”). But the real prize is behind the complex, across the tram tracks, in a vacant lot had been turned basically into a tent city for itinerant workers of various ethnic minorities. They live in stacked metal trailers.

But the big picture is even more interesting. Gentrification is an interesting subject here, as Soviet planning did a surprisingly good job of making sure that there wasn’t that much difference between good and bad neighborhoods. There were some distinctions – the center was always desirable, and places with lots of factories tended to be identifiably working class. But for the most part they were mixed up, and everything was a shade of grey. When the Soviet Union fell everyone got the apartment they were living in, and the evolution of the real estate market has been slow and agonizing and will probably take generations to sort out. It has also created a massively screwed up real estate market, with purchase and rental prices that bear no relation whatsoever to the reality of living in Moscow. It allows natives, with typical sadomasochist pride, to crow about how Moscow is the “most expensive city on the planet.”

But gentrification is slowly happening, and in many ways just like how the polarization of wealth here leads people to have very different lives in the same space. Usually, a public space like a park or a lot is used to build a tall condo towers. These buildings have plenty of parking, fences around the perimeter, and around-the-clock guards. But outside, it can be hard to tell where you are. New condos can have glorious views of the neighboring Brezhnez-era monster with its crumbling tiles. The schools are hit and miss and their quality changes from year to year. All this is extremely confusing for a westerner, who is used to spaces that evolve in obvious ways.

Here in Shchukinskaya we are a prime location for gentrification. The area has always been known for its connections with the military and the scientific elites. It has an unusually pleasant physical layout, along the river and separated from Leningradsky Shosse by a few parks. It is quiet, with many sturdy and reasonably sized Stalin-era apartment blocks, and few of the sweeping landscape-killing Khrushchev-era monstrosities that liter other areas.

Incidentally, a ‘shchuka’ is a pike. We are along the Moscow River, and there was a village named Shchukino here that got swallowed up as the city expanded. Our district seal features one of the river fish on top, and the bottom is a stylized cartoon atom, in honor of the Kurchatov Institute, where the Soviet atom bomb was born.

Endless summer everywhere

Our nephew keeps going on about the latest adventures of "Chelovek-Pauk," which is what the preposterous $300 million production and marketing budget for "Spiderman 3" will get you.

The annual flotilla of summer crap has arrived right on time, and thanks to the way the movie industry has evolved, Russia gets "Shrek 3" and the next installment of the tired "Pirates of the Caribbean" franchise at right about the same time as everyone else. Last month The Economist wrote about this trend, noting it is an effort to fight piracy and blunt poor word of mouth on the Internet. I understand the first part: I remember in summer 2005 seeing several guys working at a DVD market here watching "War of the Worlds" the very day it came out in the U.S.

The article points out that of course summer movies are dumb and derivative, but the economics are insane. For a long time the movies had decent openings and lingered for a few weeks. Now, they have huge openings and vanish the next week. Such a flash in the pan attitude can't be good for anyone.

Red Square, May 18

Without coffee

“The best Maxim I know in this life is, to drink your Coffee when you can, and when you cannot, to be easy without it.” – Jonathan Swift.

The hardest adjustment to living here has easily been going without coffee. This is a tea-drinking part of the world, and that’s that.

I’ve been trying to make the best of the situation. The machine on the left is the height of Khrushchev era consumer technology. This coffeemaker was actually a wedding gift my in-laws received, and only rarely used since. I imagine the Soviet designer setting down to work out the details of this thing shortly after someone explained to him roughly how a percolator works, and with a distant memory of a cappuccino machine he'd seen in a movie.

To operate this thing, you put ground coffee in a metal filter at the bottom and screw it to the bomb-shaped top. You add water to the bomb and plug it in. To get coffee in any reasonable amount of time you have to boil the water first before you add it, and before the process completes you must unplug the thing and carefully screw off the top to let out the steam. I don’t know what will happen if you don’t, but my father-in-law is quite insistent it must be done, and since he’s a physicist I trust his judgment. The final product that dribbles into the carafe is pretty awful. It doesn’t help that Russian coffee is dry and overroasted, and would be thrown away as ruined in the West.

Allegedly, coffee is becoming popular here as a western affectation, but I don’t see it. From what I can tell, Russians still see it as an evening beverage, something that must go with sweets. And if you are at a restaurant or someone’s home, if you ask for coffee you are likely to get a cup of Sanka instant -- without even an apology. Of course, I remember all those times in the States when Olga would ask for tea and get a Lipton teabag and a cup of tepid water. I guess we are even.

Living in America, I had come to believe that instant coffee was an idea dead and all but buried. So the sheer market penetration of instant coffee is nothing short of astounding. The most alienating moments I’ve had in Russia have been looking over the shelves and shelves of instant coffees (I haven’t had the guts to try the ‘MacCoffee’ pack I bought the other day. I just appreciate the mash-up of Americana on the packaging).

Good coffee and watching baseball are what I miss most after only two and a half weeks here. Back home I buy single-origin blends and meditate on the differences between Ethiopian Yirgacheffe and Costa Rican Tarrazu. My coffee grinder is perhaps my favorite kitchen possession. That said, I’m hesitantly coming around to the charms of tea. Fortunately, Russians make their tea very strong, and they take it seriously enough as a culture that the stuff you can buy cheap at the store is pretty decent.

Cold water flat

To celebrate our arrival, the district has shut off our hot water. Most services in the city are still centralized, so the steam for your heating and your hot water are utilities like water and sewage. And every year for about three weeks they shut off the hot water to “clean the pipes.” This is just a fact of city life, and people deal with it by traveling to friends’ apartments in other districts of the city, or unfortunately by simply not bathing. This is never a good idea in a place where synthetic clothing fabrics are very common.

In our apartment, it’s not as bad as it sounds. It is amazing how quickly you can get used to things. Our salvation is an unreliable stream of tepid water that comes from our ‘Atmor’ electric water heater. This infuriating device is a life-saver.

We do have a legitimate beef with the timing of this year’s shut-off. Usually they wait until summer is well underway and it is reliably warm before they do it. But it always happens when we arrive. In summer 2003, when we were here the water was gone for much of our stay. And I’ll never forget the day they cut the hot water in 2005: it was the morning of July 12, our wedding day. So as we rushed to get to the ZAGS on time, I shaved with cold water.

Hello Europe! Cheeseville calling!

I stayed up far too late last night watching the Eurovision song contest final. It is amazing that the same noble impulse that led to the European Union and decades of peace and prosperity also inspired this pan-continent cheesefest. It is very compelling viewing, sort of a cross between a shameless American Idol contest and international football tournaments, and raises many compelling questions about Europe today. Like, how come all the states of the former Yugoslavia voted for one another? Is this the unifying power of pop culture spreading peace and reconciliation over a troubled land, or is it because the whole thing is massively rigged? And like the clumsy bully that no one on the playground is scared of anymore, Russia could not play with the other kids without getting its feelings hurt. Traditionally, this involves conspiracy theories about how Russia is being shafted. And considering how majestically, awesomely, awful Russian pop music is, they may have a point. This year the big insult came from the Ukraine's representative, a transvestite with an entourage of tin-foil wearing dancers. I was rooting for them because they seemed to have the right spirit for something like this, unlike the over earnest entries from places like Armenia and Bulgaria. Last week, it actually made the news here that some folks thought they heard her sing the line "Russia, goodbye," which is a bit of an insult to Russia's perennially wounded pride. The singer claims it was a random Mongolian phrase. Either way... Did I mention it issued from a bunch of adults capering about in tin-foil? And since Estonia gave most of its votes to the rubbishy Russian entry -- a handful of oligarch mistresses that sang about being prostitutes, I think -- maybe we can finally get past the Bronze Soldier nonsense.

Around the neighborhood; May 10

A few photos Mila and I took around the neighborhood this afternoon...

Our apartment building.

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The playground in our block.

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Our apartment building from the back.

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A placard about Marshal Vasilyevsky, the Second World War hero who our street is named after.

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Another view.

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A local cinema that's seen better days.

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The "lyes-park" across the street from our house, where Mila goes for her walk every afternoon.

Victory Day

Naïve American I am, I was all set to go watch my first Victory Day parade today. In America a parade is a public celebration when you line Main Street and wave flags and watch bands, and cheerleaders and city councilors march past. But in Russia there’s nothing public about it. They close off Red Square and you watch on television from home as lots of soldiers marching about, with government officials standing up straight in open Zil limousines as they tour the assembled masses. But there was a military band playing the grocery store this afternoon, and at the checkout line the cashier gave me one of the orange and black striped ribbons everyone around the city has been wearing for the past week.

Victory Day is when Russians take justifiable pride in the accomplishment of defeating fascism in the Second World War, and a time of remembrance for those lost in a human catastrophe whose totality is so vast it may never be conclusively determined. But unfortunately, it is also an opportunity for Russia’s intense persecution complex and chauvinism to run amok. On Monday Interfax reported on a somewhat flawed recent poll that found two-thirds of Russians believe the Soviets would have won without the Allies.

The public memory of the war is depressingly selective. You hear nothing about Hitler and Stalin’s non-aggression pact, or the opportunistic war against Japan, joined in the final days just long enough to seize a few Pacific islands that Russia won’t give back. No mention is made of on how tragically and callously the war was mismanaged at first by Stalin and his henchmen.

It underscores how maddening a nation Russia can be. RIA Novosti put together a pretty decent website about the victory, but you don’t have to look long to find something horrible. Consider one writer’s remembrance of his grandfather, and this colorful take on Stalin’s mismanaged and disastrous attack on Finland:

He began fighting in 1940 against the Finns and took part in the famous landing at Hango. The Finns had machine guns and the Russians only had rifles. But Russian marines are different from anyone else because they do not fear anyone anywhere. They took Hango and soaked the Finns in blood. My grandfather used to say that Finns were a more cunning and skilled enemy than Germans. Finnish soldiers are courageous and stubborn, not afraid of difficulties, just like Russians. Besides, they fought for their own land. Every time I visit Karelia I remember my grandfather: had he and his comrades been less courageous and brave, we would not have seen this beauty. Russians forever discouraged Finns from venturing into what was originally Russian land.

There is a spit-take in nearly every sentence.

This year, the ugly prologue to Victory Day has been the manufactured outrage over the “Bronze Soldier” in Estonia. Earlier this year the Estonian government moved a Soviet war memorial away from downtown Tallinn, which stirred up a hornet’s nest of bad feelings between Russia and the Baltics. Emotions run very high, but the heart of the situation is really nothing. It is not as if the Bronze Solider was taken to the dump: it was moved to a cemetery on the outskirts of town and rededicated with full honors. Newspaper Novaya Gazeta last week dared to note that it is not unheard of in Russia for war memorials to be moved when elite real estate developments are planned. But most news coverage has been designed specifically to work over Russia’s worst impulses.

As Woody Guthrie sang in one of his best war songs, “The world is digging Hitler’s grave and when the job is done, that’ll be the biggest thing that man has ever done.” Leave it at that.

The voyage out

We got to JFK in plenty of time for our flight, so I could have a last hot dog from a stand and play with Mila for awhile as Olya shopped for gifts from duty-free. In all hectic preparation to move, I didn't think about the magnitude of what we're doing, until I stopped by the newsstand and realized that I wanted to buy almost everything because it would be a long time before I'd have that kind of choice again.

Aeroflot was in rare form our flight. We were delayed on the runway for nearly two hours (making us extremely glad that at the last moment we found someone to take care of Gryeka for us!). We took off without a word of warning, causing the lady behind us who was looking for something in the overhead compartment to tumble down and injure herself. They kept all the cabin lights on for a very long time at takeoff and landing, helping to keep Mila wide awake. The food was hilarious -- for breakfast they served a sort of pizza flavored Hot Pocket.

But we made it one piece, we all got to sleep a little bit, and to my incredible amazement, there were almost no lines at passport control once we got to Sheremetyevo! This is perhaps because it took us a long time to round up our incredible amount of carry-on baggage before we got off the plane.

B Moskve

After a hectic few weeks of packing and preparing, the three of us finally arrived here in Moscow on Tuesday. We're still getting settled, and among our top priorities is securing acceptable Internet service. So posting will be light for a few more days.