This past week was what I guess passed as midterms for us, though no one made an official declaration, and I had three compositions due. It was a rough week for everyone. Homesickness set in in some cases; actual sickness in others. People pulled all-nighters and got arrested at football matches (okay, just person--not me--and one football match). I think we all sort of forgot that we're also in classes--but it is much, much more interesting to spend time out on the streets of Moscow than at home doing genitive case exercises. My attention span has shortened significantly since I've been here, and you may know that it was already rather short. Oops.
Last weekend, Darcy, Andrea, Katie, and I decided to go out on Friday night and stay out until the Metro re-opened at 5:30/6:00 (some stations open earlier than others). At midnight we headed to good ol' Kruzhka and stayed there until it closed at two, talking to our waiter, Fedya. He is from Uzbekistan, and Fedya is his "Russian name." I'm ashamed to admit that I have had trouble remembering his real name. Conversation was sort of difficult because we don't speak great Russian and his is hardly better, but it was fun and he seemed very interested in cultural differences between his country and Russia and the US.
From Kruzhka we headed to Masterskaya, the club at which we saw that quartet perform tango music back in early April. The DJ was excellent and the music was a lot of fun--everything from Red Hot Chili Peppers to "Umbrella" to "99 Luftballons" to some weird sped-up hyper version of a Nirvana song that has no business being upbeat. As much as we liked the music, there weren't enough people there, and guys who weren't there with gals were bordering on incredibly creepy (we would later learn that this is just true of a lot of single dudes in clubs). We decided to move on.
Anya had taken Darcy and I to a place called Club Duma (Duma is the Russian parliamentary body) for dinner after we went to the Pushkin museum last week and we liked it a lot. We headed over to the Okhotny Ryad area to find it again. It's quite hidden, but fortunately Darcy has an excellent sense of direction--unfortunately, however, we were about 200 feet away when an obviously-exasperated girl walked past and said, "If you're going to Duma, it's closed." Bummer. At this point our feet were dying--all of us were in high high heels as is almost-dress-code for young women here. We decided to head over to Propaganda, which is in Kitai-Gorod. It was quite a hike but we pulled out the map and set out.
We went through Red Square on our way to Propaganda--and it was completely empty save for some workers doing something at GUM. We took our shoes off because we couldn't stand them any longer. I wish I could do that moment justice in words, but I won't even try.
Propaganda is a popular club for foreigners. The scene: European techno, a bunch of Euro hipsters with their Euro hipster mullets, hazy because you can smoke anywhere here, flashing lights which make it so you can't get a decent look at anyone, really. Katie got picked up pretty quickly by a guy and they danced the rest of the time. The rest of us got creeped on but avoided the advances--one guy who came up to me was so drugged up (must've been) that he just sort of stood there and stared at me rather than actually asking to dance, which was really pretty hilarious. Other times guys would just sort of hover and wait for me to acknowledge them. Sorry, guys, I prefer to be asked (or do the asking, of course).
I wasn't tired until my butt hit the seat on the Metro around 6:15 in the morning. That same day, I went to Anya's parents' apartment for Anya's birthday dinner--she's 23 now. Their apartment is really incredibly lovely, and the food, Georgian cuisine, was excellent. Anya and Grisha sang some songs they had prepared for the occasion (Grisha played guitar) including, as a joke of course, "My Heart Will Go On." Then Anya's father played guitar and sang for quite a while. He performs Russian bard music very well. Her parents had constructed a tower of vanilla, strawberry, and creme brulee ice cream and covered it in strawberries from their dacha garden. They poured liqueur all over it and lit it on fire. It didn't work at first so her mom pulled out a bottle of absinthe and tried to get it to light a bit better. They babbled in Russian and chastised Anya and Grisha when they spoke English to me, although everyone, even Anya's elderly grandparents, revealed throughout the night that they spoke English. I enjoyed myself very much.
Now for last night.
Katie and I headed to Kruzhka first again because the drinks at the clubs run about 200-300 rubles, or 8-10 bucks. Now, we're classy ladies, naturally, so we weren't looking to get drunk, but I'll take this opportunity to tell you about an interesting feature of Russian clubs. Before Katie and I went out, we were checking out the reviews of clubs on Afisha (popular arts and entertainment magazine for young people) to help us decide where to go. I think I've mentioned before that some clubs have Face Kontrol, which means that the doorman can turn you away if he feels like it. Looks and clothes are a big factor--to a varying degree depending on the club--but it seems that the biggest is behavior. This applies especially to the women. Many of the reviews I read commented on the behavior of the women at the clubs. If a reviewer had seen a sloppy drunk young woman on the dance floor, they felt this reflected poorly on the club. With this in mind, Katie and I had a couple of drinks, talked to Fedya, and headed to FAQ Cafe, which Anya told me is her favorite club.
The doorman at FAQ smiled and greeted us cheerfully. Good sign. The people inside looked interesting, but most everyone was sitting at tables or at the bar, and the room that had been cleared for dancing was pretty empty. There were maybe six other people in there when we got there. Unfortunately, that number hardly grew in the hour we were there. The music was fun but we decided to move on.
There were three other clubs around the same Metro station as FAQ according to Afisha, so we decided to see about one down the street. I didn't like the building much--sort of 70s architecture--but I didn't get the chance to evaluate the club because we were turned away, the doorman saying something about the dress code. I am just going to assume he really had some problem with our clothes, because I'd like to think we're pretty cute (and it seems that Russian men generally agree). No sweat, it was just some karaoke bar that charged you six bucks to sing a song.
We then decided to head to what sounded like the most fashionable club on our list, Fabrique. It was a Metro station or two away, but of course the Metro was closed at this point and we had to walk. It's still difficult for us to estimate how long it'll take to get anywhere in the city. I think that Fabrique was fairly far, but it's hard to say because we got lost for three hours! So maybe it was practically next door and we just walked around it for a while. Still not sure how far or how out of the way we traveled. Anyway, I enjoyed walking, with the exception of getting barked at by a stray dog. By the time we reached the club it was 5, we were tired and our legs hurt, and Katie was worried about getting turned away by the doormen because of her clothes--the girls outside of the club were pretty dressed up. I was fine with skipping it. We'll try it some other time, and now at least we know where it is.
We got on the bridge next to Fabrique to walk across the river and saw Red Square maybe ten minutes in the distance. Oh! We knew vaguely where we were. At the end of the bridge, we were approached by a man who wanted a cigarette, exasperated that the girls behind us weren't smokers. We explained that we didn't smoke. The man picked up on the accent and asked us, in English, if we were from England. No, America, we said. He was excited and began chattering at us in incredibly broken English. His friend caught up with him and asked him why he wasn't speaking Russian. "They are from America!" he exclaimed excitedly. He tried to tell us about some fire show somewhere, then said we should find somewhere to watch the sunrise, and probably a lot of other things I didn't quite catch. Katie and I just sort of stood by as these two 30-something men babbled at us and one another in mixed English and Russian. (It's very funny--almost everyone we encounter speaks at least a little English.)
They eventually decided we should go to a club nearby and swept us, sort of baffled and amused, down the street. The club, Club Kult, looked cool but the doorman turned them away (he said the club was closed, but it obviously wasn't), I expect because they were really drunk, not particularly stylish men in their 30s. They decided we would go to a supermarket so they could get something to drink and then we'd watch the sun come up. They bought us bottles of water and a bar of chocolate and got themselves a bottle of whiskey, slightly dismayed that we wouldn't drink with them. It was like 6 in the morning at this point--they explained that it was May Day (I guess it's sort of Labor Day, though apparently there's another Labor Day), so drinking was entirely reasonable.
We retraced our steps back to a bridge, but once it became apparent that there wouldn't be much of a sunrise because of the cloud cover, the guys continued on down the street, talking our ears off. The second guy, who sort of looked like Leo DeCaprio but, as Katie said, maybe more like Leo DeCaprio's uncle, told me about his trip to America in 1991. He was apparently there when the Soviet Union fell--it was an interesting story. He told me that he thought that Katie and I were brave for staying out all night in a foreign country. His English was better than his friend's. I think his name started with an S--it wasn't Sergei, I'm pretty sure, but that's what I'll call him here. Poor Katie--the first guy, Alexei, just talked her ear off about how much he loves U2 for about fifteen minutes.
The strange men we'd somehow gotten dragged along with couldn't agree on what to do about breakfast. Katie and I stood by as they argued about whether we should find somewhere to sit down (because Katie and I were tired and wanted desperately to get off of our feet) or go to a place where we'd have to stand, but where we could try what Sergei kept calling a "real domestic Russian" food--something that started with a "ch" sound, but I don't remember the name. We settled for the latter, probably because that's what Sergei wanted and he seemed hard-headed. The food was really good--greasy dough with filling, that's all. Mine had potato filling, everyone else had lamb. The guys paid, so it was hard to complain too much. They wanted to talk about music, so we did a bit. We left when they were having some sort of heated interaction with some crazy old man in the restaurant regarding the sharing of alcohol. I think. Sergei kissed my hand--ew?--and Alexei walked us to the metro station (like 200 feet away) because we couldn't seem to shake him off. But he finally left us and we headed home around 7:15.
Hahaha. What a ridiculous night. I slept until 1 this afternoon.
Now my host family has gone away for the weekend and I'm here in the apartment on my own. I guess today I'm going to eat a bunch of sirki* and pears and eggs.
Tomorrow our group is taking a trip to Yasnaya Polyana. I will probably post about it, because I love Tolstoy.
*Sirki are, hands down, my favorite part of food in Russia (which isn't saying much, although their pears are the bomb). Here's a picture that gives you an idea of what they look like--that's a different brand than my family eats. They are made from sweet tvorog covered in chocolate, and are refrigerated.
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