Accepting moscow

I had a wart on one buttock cheek. It was small, round and brown. It was there when I woke up, there when I washed and there when I went to bed for about six years. Then one day, I decided to get it removed. I felt it was time to say goodbye to my small round brown friend, so I had it removed by a doctor. It took less than a minute and it was gone for ever. I had got used to it. Moscow has become that wart on my bottom. Although I can’t see this wart, I am used to it now. I cannot say Moscow is my friend or attractive to me but I have become attached to it like my old bottom wart. After a year and half of living here, I have finally accepted that I’m here for the duration.

I am used to the spitting in the street and to looking at the ground when I walk, I am used to seeing men with moon shaped faces sweeping the streets in all weathers and to seeing them shovel snow at 7 am in the mornings, seven days a week, I am used to the smell of the metro and feeling the warm

rush of warm stale air hit me as I enter the metro’s main doors. I am used to hearing adverts for products or services I don’t understand as I strand on the steep escalator going down to the pit of hell. I am used to hearing car alarms that sound like amazon jungle animals high on cocaine, making mating noises at 3 am in the morning, I am used to being asked for change in shops by unsmiling grumpy women when they should have the change. I am used to seeing BMW’s, Mercedes, Porsche’s, Aston Martin’s and Hummer’s with blacked out windows, I am used to seeing old women bent down on pavements begging for small change, I am used to seeing drunks with dirty faces sleeping in the parks. I am used to seeing wild dogs sleeping in the sun and in the snow. I am used seeing people drive like pricks without signalling or thanking you for letting them in.

I have got used to being alone in Moscow, to walking and playing with my kid in the park, to being surrounded by Russian women and by cold expat women who mirror my country in attitude and in behavior. I have got used to driving in Moscow but I will never get used to seeing how people park. Cars are parked across zebra crossings, cars are parked half on the pavement and parked half on the road at sharp angles.

Before the snow melted, cars were dirty with brown snow and each time I had to go onto the busy road with my pushchair (child stroller) to get round the blocking car. I must confess, I took up a new and dangerous hobby, car graffiti.

Being very careful that no one was in the car, I would draw a penis on the drivers door, each time I saw a car parked blocking a zebra crossing or blocking a road crossing. Drawing penis on car door gave me a tiny satisfaction in knowing that the driver would understand my message but knowing in reality that the driver may not know why a penis had been drawn on his car door. Bad and selfish parking is so normal in Moscow and is a cultural thing, for many Russian drivers, it’s normal and the way its done here. Drawing a penis on car doors was my frustration at their selfishness, communicated through a washable art. I know it was wrong to do but anger made me do it. I cannot accept Moscow parking, it makes my blood boil.

I have got used to freezing winters and hot summers, I have got used to not living in the United Kingdom where it is anything but united. For all the negatives of Moscow, there are many positives if you look for them under the carpet. Moscow has grown on me like my wart and I like Russian people.



Accepting moscow