For the past weeks, there has not been a single day when I have not used my umbrella at any time, and I cannot remember a time when it got unfurled on so many occasions within such a stretched period. According to a publication in an English language daily in Moscow, the weather in September 2013 has been recorded as the wettest in the last 130 years. It has certainly been relentless, to say the least.
Working indoors, I only endured the downpour on my way to and from work. The weekends, although miserable as well, were manageable, as we would decide on a place to spend time indoors, share a meal or a drink and then hurry back to the metro to retire to our respective abodes. We all complained about the dampness, the puddles, the rivers forming on the roads, cars speeding by splashing water on pedestrians, the wind blowing umbrellas out, the general lack of courtesy of pedestrians unwilling to move their umbrellas out of the way for others, getting soaked despite the umbrella, and the long list of inconveniences just went on.
That none of us had come to Moscow to savor the weather was a well-known fact - there was another draw, mostly the experience of living in a country that had been guarded behind the mythical iron curtain for a couple of decades short of a century, now opening its doors to almost anyone who wanted to visit. The Russians I know tend to complain more about the weather than I do, as such, I feel entitled to do so as well, and today I feel that I'm not complaining only about the endless precipitation which has shrouded Moscow in gloom, but also the little things which make life easier in other parts of the world, but which Moscow lacks, rendering it one of the most difficult cities in the developed world to exist in.
I say this from experience as I can compare it to living in places like New York, London, Paris, Madrid, Geneva, and a long list of other European and North American cities where this amount of rain, albeit noticeable, would not pose the challenges it does here. I admired the staunchness of the would-be visitors to the Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts, which was not my destination, outside in the long line, in the rain that kept pounding their umbrellas, dripping around them, inevitably soaking them, pounding the pavement and doubtlessly wetting their feet. The Titian exhibition was worth seeing, but I didn't think I would have enjoyed it after enduring those conditions. My destination, however was to "Sheslivo" cafe to meet friends for a snack and coffee.
Sheltered indoors, savoring warm tea of exotic blends in nice company, I had no desire to leave until it was time for me to go back home. One of my friends though, decided to try another place. My protests and pleas about not sporting the right footwear, the distance to the next place, the adventure finding the place we were not sure about, and most of all, the unpleasant weather, fell on deaf ears. And so it was that we headed to Gorky Park to "Teplitsa" for dinner. Anywhere else in the developed world, we would step out, hail a cab, provide the address of our destination, and be driven there. Considering the short distance, it would not have been much. We would be dry, warm and cheerful. This, however is Moscow - a city which operates differently.
A past experience had scarred us profoundly, teaching us one of the many lessons we needed to learn in Moscow. Any parked car with the semblance of a taxi, we learned the hard way, was just a means to fleece the unsuspecting passenger. Not knowing how to get to a place and being in the city center, an available cab would seem to be the best option. The twelve-minute taxi ride in a "legitimate" taxi with a meter cost us 3500 rubles (over US $100.00) - an unforgettable experience.
We had approached the white Toyota Camry on Arbat Street, parked outside the metro station with a taxi sign on it and had had a simple conversation.
"Is this taxi free?"
"Where would you like to go?"
I provided the address and asked how long the ride would be. The man behind the wheel answered that it depended on traffic, which I thought was a reasonable answer.
"Is it far, though?" I insisted.
"No, it isn't very far."
We knew that, but decided to be sure. I then asked how much it would cost. He said it would be what the meter read, which made sense to me. I was not in the habit of hitching rides and negotiating the fare as is the custom here. I felt safer in booked taxis. On occasions when I have had to go to the airport, I have used the driver of a taxi company I know and trust, and always paid 1900 rubles - for a ride longer than an hour in either direction. For a short ride, and with a meter, I didn't expect to pay more than 500.
Where in the developed world would I think that the meter was just a ruse, and the taxi driver, if that is what he was, just a well-dressed thief? It never crossed my mind that the fare could be 3500 rubles - a sum I would pay to any of the airports outside Moscow and back. How could I ever have thought that? My protests and name-calling did not deter him from demanding his fare. He even offered to give me a receipt which I accepted to show to people who did not believe the story. The indignation I felt was next to no other I had previously experienced, because I knew I was being robbed and there was nothing I could do about it. Reporting it to the police would not help, and all I could do was promise myself that I would never allow it to happen ever again.
As a result of that experience, my suggestion, in jest, to catch a cab we saw parked outside, stepping out of "Sheslivo Cafe" did not go down well with my friends, knowing very well what the outcome would be. It was a short walk to the metro, which we would have ridden for a few stops and then a long walk through Gorky Park to "Teplitsa Restaurant" but we chose to do it all on foot. It would have been a nice, pleasant walk had it not been for the rain. Despite the rain, walking seemed to be the easiest way to get there - the ubiquitous Catch-22.
We made it to Gorky Park with soaked feet and arms, asking various people for directions, once we'd gone through the gates, to this restaurant that no one seemed to know about. A phone call to a friend provided us with further information.
"It's by the Olive Beach" where we were standing, but could not see it. There was no reason for me to moan about getting wet and feeling cold - we were all in the same boat. Oh, how I longed for a taxi, or a bus, but this is Moscow! We eventually found the place which turned out to be under renovation. We had asked the guard at the gate, who had directed us to go straight ahead, past the bridge and it would be around there. I would certainly have appreciated it if he had told us that it was closed for renovation. On the hand, all that tea at "Sheslivo" was making demands on my bladder, which I didn't think could endure the long walk back to any metro and to our next destination of choice, so we went into "Pelman," a dumpling place close by for my friends to have an appetizer, and for me to rest my feet clad in heels I had not planned to walk in. It was the right decision.
Rested and fed, we re-donned our wet coats, unfurled our umbrellas once again, and headed to the nearest metro from Gorky Park, striding over puddles and rivers to a place we knew would be open - "Aldebaran" where we'd been a few times. It was a short ride, just one stop, during which I was grateful to be sheltered.
Once again on the surface, the umbrella regained its significant position till we reached our destination. My friends ordered tomato soup and ravioli, but I felt I needed to reward myself for enduring the hardship of daily life in Moscow, especially today, and dined on dessert for all three courses - carrot cake, a sizeable, delicious blackcurrant macaroon, and melon and blackcurrant sorbet washed down with a glass of Kir Royal and French ginger coffee. I felt I had deserved every bite of it and the warm company of friends always makes the hardships easier to forget as we discussed various topics and laughed.
It had been a wet, cold, difficult trip which finally ended at Aldebaran, and it was time to face the same conditions back home. It was still raining when we got out. It is still raining as I look out, and the forecast for next week is rain everyday. By the end of September, the meteorologists may have to change their record statement to the wettest September in the history of Russia. It certainly seems to be the wettest, longest period I have endured anywhere.
Working indoors, I only endured the downpour on my way to and from work. The weekends, although miserable as well, were manageable, as we would decide on a place to spend time indoors, share a meal or a drink and then hurry back to the metro to retire to our respective abodes. We all complained about the dampness, the puddles, the rivers forming on the roads, cars speeding by splashing water on pedestrians, the wind blowing umbrellas out, the general lack of courtesy of pedestrians unwilling to move their umbrellas out of the way for others, getting soaked despite the umbrella, and the long list of inconveniences just went on.
That none of us had come to Moscow to savor the weather was a well-known fact - there was another draw, mostly the experience of living in a country that had been guarded behind the mythical iron curtain for a couple of decades short of a century, now opening its doors to almost anyone who wanted to visit. The Russians I know tend to complain more about the weather than I do, as such, I feel entitled to do so as well, and today I feel that I'm not complaining only about the endless precipitation which has shrouded Moscow in gloom, but also the little things which make life easier in other parts of the world, but which Moscow lacks, rendering it one of the most difficult cities in the developed world to exist in.
I say this from experience as I can compare it to living in places like New York, London, Paris, Madrid, Geneva, and a long list of other European and North American cities where this amount of rain, albeit noticeable, would not pose the challenges it does here. I admired the staunchness of the would-be visitors to the Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts, which was not my destination, outside in the long line, in the rain that kept pounding their umbrellas, dripping around them, inevitably soaking them, pounding the pavement and doubtlessly wetting their feet. The Titian exhibition was worth seeing, but I didn't think I would have enjoyed it after enduring those conditions. My destination, however was to "Sheslivo" cafe to meet friends for a snack and coffee.
Sheltered indoors, savoring warm tea of exotic blends in nice company, I had no desire to leave until it was time for me to go back home. One of my friends though, decided to try another place. My protests and pleas about not sporting the right footwear, the distance to the next place, the adventure finding the place we were not sure about, and most of all, the unpleasant weather, fell on deaf ears. And so it was that we headed to Gorky Park to "Teplitsa" for dinner. Anywhere else in the developed world, we would step out, hail a cab, provide the address of our destination, and be driven there. Considering the short distance, it would not have been much. We would be dry, warm and cheerful. This, however is Moscow - a city which operates differently.
A past experience had scarred us profoundly, teaching us one of the many lessons we needed to learn in Moscow. Any parked car with the semblance of a taxi, we learned the hard way, was just a means to fleece the unsuspecting passenger. Not knowing how to get to a place and being in the city center, an available cab would seem to be the best option. The twelve-minute taxi ride in a "legitimate" taxi with a meter cost us 3500 rubles (over US $100.00) - an unforgettable experience.
We had approached the white Toyota Camry on Arbat Street, parked outside the metro station with a taxi sign on it and had had a simple conversation.
"Is this taxi free?"
"Where would you like to go?"
I provided the address and asked how long the ride would be. The man behind the wheel answered that it depended on traffic, which I thought was a reasonable answer.
"Is it far, though?" I insisted.
"No, it isn't very far."
We knew that, but decided to be sure. I then asked how much it would cost. He said it would be what the meter read, which made sense to me. I was not in the habit of hitching rides and negotiating the fare as is the custom here. I felt safer in booked taxis. On occasions when I have had to go to the airport, I have used the driver of a taxi company I know and trust, and always paid 1900 rubles - for a ride longer than an hour in either direction. For a short ride, and with a meter, I didn't expect to pay more than 500.
Where in the developed world would I think that the meter was just a ruse, and the taxi driver, if that is what he was, just a well-dressed thief? It never crossed my mind that the fare could be 3500 rubles - a sum I would pay to any of the airports outside Moscow and back. How could I ever have thought that? My protests and name-calling did not deter him from demanding his fare. He even offered to give me a receipt which I accepted to show to people who did not believe the story. The indignation I felt was next to no other I had previously experienced, because I knew I was being robbed and there was nothing I could do about it. Reporting it to the police would not help, and all I could do was promise myself that I would never allow it to happen ever again.
As a result of that experience, my suggestion, in jest, to catch a cab we saw parked outside, stepping out of "Sheslivo Cafe" did not go down well with my friends, knowing very well what the outcome would be. It was a short walk to the metro, which we would have ridden for a few stops and then a long walk through Gorky Park to "Teplitsa Restaurant" but we chose to do it all on foot. It would have been a nice, pleasant walk had it not been for the rain. Despite the rain, walking seemed to be the easiest way to get there - the ubiquitous Catch-22.
We made it to Gorky Park with soaked feet and arms, asking various people for directions, once we'd gone through the gates, to this restaurant that no one seemed to know about. A phone call to a friend provided us with further information.
"It's by the Olive Beach" where we were standing, but could not see it. There was no reason for me to moan about getting wet and feeling cold - we were all in the same boat. Oh, how I longed for a taxi, or a bus, but this is Moscow! We eventually found the place which turned out to be under renovation. We had asked the guard at the gate, who had directed us to go straight ahead, past the bridge and it would be around there. I would certainly have appreciated it if he had told us that it was closed for renovation. On the hand, all that tea at "Sheslivo" was making demands on my bladder, which I didn't think could endure the long walk back to any metro and to our next destination of choice, so we went into "Pelman," a dumpling place close by for my friends to have an appetizer, and for me to rest my feet clad in heels I had not planned to walk in. It was the right decision.
Rested and fed, we re-donned our wet coats, unfurled our umbrellas once again, and headed to the nearest metro from Gorky Park, striding over puddles and rivers to a place we knew would be open - "Aldebaran" where we'd been a few times. It was a short ride, just one stop, during which I was grateful to be sheltered.
Once again on the surface, the umbrella regained its significant position till we reached our destination. My friends ordered tomato soup and ravioli, but I felt I needed to reward myself for enduring the hardship of daily life in Moscow, especially today, and dined on dessert for all three courses - carrot cake, a sizeable, delicious blackcurrant macaroon, and melon and blackcurrant sorbet washed down with a glass of Kir Royal and French ginger coffee. I felt I had deserved every bite of it and the warm company of friends always makes the hardships easier to forget as we discussed various topics and laughed.
It had been a wet, cold, difficult trip which finally ended at Aldebaran, and it was time to face the same conditions back home. It was still raining when we got out. It is still raining as I look out, and the forecast for next week is rain everyday. By the end of September, the meteorologists may have to change their record statement to the wettest September in the history of Russia. It certainly seems to be the wettest, longest period I have endured anywhere.
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