Russian Apartments

Most Russians live in apartments that they own. My mother-in-law lives in a block of eight apartment buildings in a row that have adjoining walls, actually making one big complex. Each building has its own entryway, with five stories, and four apartments per floor.  So that makes 160 apartments in her block. The rule is that if there are more than 5 stories there must be an elevator, so there is no elevator. 

Her neighborhood has many such apartment blocks. Sometimes the first floor is used as a store. So a short walk away there is a furniture store/convenience store, an alteca (think a tiny drug store without the drugs), a few more convenience stores here and there. There is one grocery store with another (the better one) farther away at the edge of the community (or maybe in the edge of another). The farmer's market is in the middle of the community. It also has some flea market type items, although the items are all new. 

When an apartment is privatized all inhabitants of that apartment, regardless of age, have a share. This means that most Russians have a place to live, although it can get rather crowded. But children born after the privatization do NOT have a share. This is bound to present more and more problems as time goes on. 

It is not clear who is allowed to do what to the outside of the apartments. Yesterday I noticed ropes outside my window. There was a bucket going up and down. It contained concrete. The workers were applying the concrete to the outside of the top apartment. So the outside has bricks that suddenly change to a concrete section covering the bricks and back to a brick section. It looks rather odd. 

The apartments were designed in an era when no one had cars except the apparatchik—so cars are parked here and there. This will become more and more of a problem as the density of cars increase. There are various storage buildings scattered through the community. I am not sure how they open their car doors with the car inside but obviously they do. The buildings are made from heavy sheet metal. The padlocks are huge. There is a small steel fenced section for outside car storage with a guard. 

Theft is a bigger risk in Russia than in America, although I would guess that it happens less often. There are two reasons for this. Entry to Russian apartments is more difficult and the doors are massive. And most retail items in stores are not displayed for the customer. You have to ask for them. This is why there are so many employees in a small retail store—there is very little self-service. 

Tomorrow I will talk about the inside of Russian Apartments.

I have an important decision to make right now. I am indecisive so it is hard for me. Should I have onion/egg stuffed pierogi, or jam stuffed pierogi with my coffee. Ah, the solution is obvious. 

The Man Purse

Should one let practically or fashion or culture determine what accessories us manly men use? I am referring to the "man purse." Of course the name itself tells us manly men that we should not use it. The sneer of Jerry Seinfeld, whenever it was mentioned was enough of a code that tells us all we should not use it. "Not that there is anything wrong with that" is the phrase that occurs to me when I think of the Seinfeld Show, the one or two times I saw it. What he really said on the man purse was: "It's not a purse, it's a European Wallet"  

A lot of truth in this as it is common here in Russia. Of course you cannot tell a man's sexual orientation by looking at him, most of the time anyway. The men who carry the man purse here in Russia seem normal enough. Well there was this one guy, but other than him they looked normal. He had "long" hair, very unRussian. The height of Russian men's hair style is a crew cut.  Should I buy a "European wallet" while I am here in Russia? I have not decided yet, but it helps that the name here is Russia is "mini-valise." If I can find a thin one that is still big enough for an iPad, I just might. I am not one to let cultural standards to get in the way of practicality.  

The mall here is a series of independent shops on multiple levels. Some of them are interesting like the Beauty and Toy store. Or the mechanical tool store. There is even a “religious Icon” store, but I have plenty already. (Note that I do not use them in a religious sense, I just like them. George and the Dragon is my Favorite.) 

I am not enjoying shopping any more in Russia than America, but the $1 CDs are tempting. (A store is going out of business, the normal price is $5). My tastes in music are rather eclectic. I bought the Chemical Bros, Benny Benassi, and the KraftWerk. Some of the DVDs were tempting, but I had no way to play them because of region coding and the differing video standard. 

My wife has complained that she needs to go without me next time, but how will I get my man purse without her help? This may only remain a dream. 

Bush’s Legs

Earlier in the week Elena and I walked to the store to buy "Bush's legs." This blog post is my thoughts as we walked. 

The "tragedy of the commons," as it is often called, is what happens when no one owns something—it is misused. This was evident everywhere as we began our walk. Since no one owns the outside of the buildings at my mother-in-law's apartment, they are in disrepair. The inside of these apartments can be quite nice, such as the one where my wife's childhood friend Natalie lives. My mother-in-law's apartment is better than most, as we help her financially. But it wouldn’t be, if she had to do it herself, on her pension of $200 a month. You can thus imagine that the average apartment needs work on the inside too. 

There is almost no landscaping. If there was an apartment association, no one would pay the dues. But what seems troubling is the moss that grows on the building at the entrance. Sunlight does not always reach the bottom level between the buildings. We are thinking the dampness is causing our daughter Stacy to cough. 

There is some public art work—plastic bottles cut to resemble flowers, and an old tire cut up to represent a bird. Whole tires are laid on the ground as planters, but nothing was planted in them. This sounds worse than it looks. 

We walked by the place I mentioned in my first blog post about my trip, a trash dump. What the authorities did was brilliant. Rather than fight the people, they put in dumpsters. This is a great improvement, although they do not empty them often enough. 

The grocery store itself was not as clean as an American would like. They were cleaning it while we were there. Often this would be done before opening, but not here in Russia. The mix of products is different than I am used to. A lot more alcohol and candy—and a lot less fruits and vegetables. 

The fruit would not pass muster in an American store. It was bug marred. But this got me to thinking. Which is better: the American approach to fruits and vegetables—picking the fruit before it is ripe, hauling it 1,000s of miles, and spraying the heck out of it to achieve that pristine look? Or is the Russian approach better—the food is grown locally in season and not sprayed with large amounts of pesticides? Intellectually I would say the Russia approach is better. But my eyes, corrupted by Babylonian marketing, prefers the pristine, fake, and artificial. 

Things are more expensive here than one would expect with the low wage rates. One reason is that there are twice as many employees as one would expect. (I have seen ice cream stands with two employees.) Another reason is that we add the sales tax at the point of sale, taking into consideration the prices. In Russia, with the Value Added Tax (VAT) system the taxes are baked into the sale price. 

Russian stores also tend to buy things in smaller quantities. Capital for inventory is at a premium. This must raise their costs considerably. You see a lot of vegetable stands as you drive through Murom. One lady I saw was selling her potatoes herself. (At least it looked that way.) They were great looking potatoes that would have fetched a premium in America for baking. 

Bush's legs looked good so we bought some. This is a Russian slang expression for the fact that much of the dark meat chicken in Russia is imported from America. We American's have a mania for white meat. So it makes sense to ship dark meat to other countries who do not care about this like we do. This started during the first Bush presidency, thus the nick name Bush's Legs. 

Walking home carrying a load was not something I was used to. This got me to thinking about transportation in Russia which I will talk about soon. 

Moves With Eggplant

Every blog needs a restaurant review on occasion, so the next time you are in Murom, Russia, be sure to go to the "Nobles' Club." 

To understand any Russian restaurant you need to understand the phenomenon of the "Businessman's Lunch." Russians are not linguistically chauvinistic as the French are. The French actually have an official council that approves official French words. They want only "proper" French words. They do not want to repeat the horror of "le computer." The Russians could care less. Drop the proper ending if the noun needs to be declined and they are fine with it. So the English phrase, "Businessman's Lunch," is a proper Russian phrase now. It refers to a discounted lunch that they can bring to you quickly. 

The first place we went to only had a "Businessman's Lunch" available. We did not want a simple salad and soup for $3. Certainly the price was right, but it was not what we wanted. Most of the restaurant bursting into a dirge made the decision even easier, we would go elsewhere. (The main room of the restaurant was hosting a wake.)

We had passed by the "Noble's Club" earlier, but as it was only a door with a sign we did not consider it. We went down the very steep stairs (as is typical in Russia my wife had high heels.) The club was a cellar made from bricks. The decor was very nice, and the bricks had an irregular pattern with arches that was esthetically pleasing. We did not want the Club's version of the "Businessman's Lunch" so we ordered from the dinner menu. 

The English version of the menu they gave me was translated with Google Translate and had a number of amusing entries. One salad had sliced languages. Since I did not want a tongue salad I passed on this—much to my wife's disappointment as she wanted to share. We ordered zakuska (Hors d'oeuvres)- Champignon Mushrooms in a cheese sauce and a salad with fruits. The salad with fruits ended up as a type of Waldorf Salad without the walnuts. I ordered the lamb that “moves with eggplant.” This was, I thought, a mistranslation and should have been “comes with.” I was not happy with the $17 price, but it turned out to be a full rack of lamb so the price was all right. I was correct, the lamb came with grilled eggplant. Elena ordered the fish. We were happy with the food, but the sauce for the lamb was a little strong.

One negative was the wide screen TV hanging above the musician area. It was on MTV Russia, and it actually had music. The reason this was a negative was that I did not want to watch Snoop Dog sing, "I Want To Make You Sweat." Nor did I like the song that followed which had the chorus "What the ****."

It was an enjoyable experience and I would give "Noble's Club" 4 forks. 

This Is Russia

Most of us would not consider throwing trash out of our car. It is culturally imprinted on us. This imprinting by the old on the young is not all bad. It is how we learn. But each culture is different. 

I remember walking with my fiancé in Russia. She dropped something on the ground. I was horrified. She did not understand my concern. This was normal. There were, in fact, no trash cans to throw things away in as we are used to here. When she understood my concern she said that in America she would not litter.  

When in Russia you do as the Russians do was her idea. She has now adopted the American cultural imperatives with regard to litter. Seeing how clean (relatively) America was in its public spaces showed her how it should be. Of course her home in Russia was always spotless, but the public areas were, and are, a mess.

On our last trip to Russia we passed an informal dump. It was just a place near my mother-in-law's apartment. In America the landowner would have been forced to clean it up. As a landowner I have been forced to do this on two occasions. People just want to avoid the fees for the dump, and a neighbor is so convenient! My nephew did not even notice it. When we pointed it out to him he said, "This is Russia." 

Each country has good and bad aspects to its culture. But as the Hebrew proverb says: 

If everyone cleaned his own doorstep, all the streets would be clean.

How clean is your doorstep? Or is this Russia? 

I am posting this on the day we will leave for Russia, so no doubt if I am able I will blog from there. I have a number of posts ready to go and in a queue. If I am able I will post regularly from Russia, if the internet is better than it was last time! Hopefully there will not be an interruption in my vital blog posts! 

Oh, and any burglars that might be reading this, I have a house sitter!