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He’s Putin on the ritz
To try to understand a land which birthed a Putin, I went back to my old notes. I have been to Russia several times.
A taxi, empty, cruised past, slowly, repeatedly, then grudgingly stopped. In English, the cabbie said: “We must take foreign language in school. Still, we avoid anyone who looks American. They’re trouble. They carry little conversation dictionaries but Americans we never understand. Talk too fast.
“Impatient. When you can’t understand they bang you on the back — and you hit yourself against the wheel. Always they get mad. One threw hands around, pointed to where he wanted to go and his arm crossed my face. I couldn’t see to drive. Dangerous. Americans are much trouble.”
The Bolshoi Theatre got me into a personal cold war. They make you remove your coat before entering. I was freezing. It was chilly outside and inside. Also, my nose was running. Me walking to my seat, he then trotted out from his booth. This Gardes Des Robes tugged at my lapel. I tried sign language. He did physical language. As I headed for my seat he physically barred my way.
A shivering lady comrade who’d doffed her wrap explained: “People here are used to authority. You obey automatically.”
Another said, “We are on a cultural level. The sold-out Kremlin opera seats 6,000, Tchaikovsky Hall has nightly musical concerts. Also the Central Puppet Theatre, Operetta Theatre, Children’s Theatre and 27 other Moscow theatres, including the Bolshoi, which was founded in 1776. And for three rubles [less than a dollar], I can sit in the seat which once held the czar.”
She comes here how often? Her answer: “This the first time.”
On the outside, pleasant. Inside, something else. Crumple a Kleenex in your luggage. It’s crumpled differently upon your return. Hotel elevators delist two floors. Reportedly, it’s where the hotel held the building’s wire tap equipment.
Showers without curtains. Sinks minus stoppers. Room service that doesn’t answer. I myself brought in a chicken sandwich and cup of hot chocolate. Two days later a chicken sandwich and candy bar were on my bed.
The manageress: “Our new hotel will have 6,000 rooms. Equipped with every modern facility.” Me: “Will it have a swimming pool?” She: “Certainly not. But it will have a concert hall.”
“Hotels have reasonable rates. Wish entertainment — you pay extra.”
I asked if she vacations with her husband. “No. I go separately. To the Crimeas. Sochi in the Black Sea where many of the presidium go.”
I also asked famed Russian circus clown Popov if he gets a percentage of all the Popov dolls sold. Answer? “Nyet.” Does his contract guarantee special dressing room and dresser in attendance? “Nyet.” How then can you tell you’re a star? “I have a car.”
In the words of Commie Slamdamnhe, there are many nice things about that country. Like parking places. Only problem? They got nothing to park.
Only in Putinville, kids, only in Putinville.