You know you're in Russia when you wake up on a hardwood floor, still fully clothed, and you're in a bedroom full of sleeping people, and one of them, a guy you vaguely know, sits up in bed with nothing but black socks and tight black underwear on and asks you how you are, and all you can say is, "My head hurts," and you try to find your stuff, which has somehow been scattered all over this apartment on the other side of the city from where you live, and there's one guy still drinking by himself at 10 in the morning in the living room, and then the guy in the underwear shows up in the kitchen and now it's your turn to ask, "Is everything OK?", and he answers, "Well, there's no cigarettes and no alcohol left, so no, not really," and you stumble out into the street to find a bus to take you to the metro, and when you finally sit down, head still splitting, knowing that you look like you just slept on someone's floor with no pillow or blanket and you can't really see straight because your contact lenses are glued to your eyeballs, caked with a Russian apartment party's worth of cigarette smoke, you look at your phone and realize that sometime during the night you added a new contact into your address book: Boris. And you don't remember Boris.
Let's get right to the good stuff, shall we? The neighborhood these photos were taken in houses all the boutique stores; the Louis Vuitton shop was right around the corner from this fucking place. Remember our friend from the energy drink sign in the metro? Well, he's not just a model for Russian malt beverages.
Light fixtures in the Mendeleevskaya metro station, where I have to go every day to get to work. Every metro station is like a museum, honestly. Each one has a different architectural theme; I'm trying to get shots of them all but it's hard, because 1. you're not supposed to take pictures in the metro and 2. if you're taking pictures of light fixtures in the metro, you might as well put a sign on your back that says, "I'm not Russian; fuck with me."
I thought we had forgotten about these guys. Apparently Moscow has not. I love the title of the tour: "ALL HOPE IS GONE." Yes, the hope is gone, but someone's still paying for angst, so shut it.
I thought we had forgotten about this guy too. But again, Moscow longs for the mediocre.
Russian parking. This is the path I take to walk to work from the metro. This car has been here for several days. Also, there are often fresh human turds scattered around the sidewalk in this neighborhood. Almost as if they appear in the night, like the North Carolina legend of the Devil's Tramping Ground. Except that here, the Devil is pooping.
And THAT guy.
And THAT GUY'S FRIEND.
A few landscape shots:
West Moscow at sunset.
South Moscow at sunrise, the day I moved.
The next 3 photos were all taken in a 2-minute span:
This photo of Russian President Dmitry Medvedev is 4000 rubles ($150).
This woman is on a horse in the center of Moscow. She offered me a ride for 100 rubles.
This ad is slightly obscene.
So the streets in Moscow are huge, and the traffic is insane. And the driving is atrocious. A lot of people get hit by cars in the crosswalks because drivers just don't stop for pedestrians. So there are underground tunnels that you can cross streets with, and they often lead to metro stations. This one is at the Kitai-Gorod (Chinatown) station; I had been out with people from work and decided to try and find my way home on foot from the bar we were at. This decision turned out to be like a Super Mario game...the list of dangerous, freaky situations I experienced on my walk home was insane: police, drunks, goblin prostitutes, vomit, invalids in wheelchairs asleep on the street, etc. Two minutes after this photo was taken I had to turn around and exit the tunnel because the metro was closed, and the only people in the tunnel were a bunch of dudes drinking. I could hear them before I could see them, and based on their shouting, my instinct told me that if I didn't get the fuck out of there, I might very well be introduced to some discomfort.
This is a bar close to where I live now. "КАНТРИ" is not a word in Russian; it is a transliteration of the word "country", which means this place is simply called "country bar". As in, Willie Nelson, Merle Haggard, etc. I am ashamed to say that I have not yet checked it out.
This fucking behemoth is always parked here, a block away from where I live.
A few shots of my new home. This is the nicest place I have ever lived in. The irony.
My room. I live with two British guys close to the center of the city. We can walk to the Kremlin in 30 minutes. Our building is pre-revolutionary, which means that it is classy: huge windows, high ceilings, radiators in every room, hardwood floors. Shit is unreal.
I went to Ashan City today, which is the Russian equivalent of Wal-Mart. Imagine Wal-Mart. Now imagine Wal-Mart without any organization. And these dogs chillin' in front of the place.
The beginning of the checkout line at Ashan. I went there to buy a pillow, a trash bin, and a shower mat. I was in line for 40 minutes. I am not joking. The people in front of me had so much shit that it took close to 7 minutes to ring the entire order up. And when the cashier finished, the total was 16,000 rubles ($600). Which was wrong. So the people raised a huge fuss, and the cashier then tried to figure out what had happened. He called the manager. She showed up and couldn't figure out what was going on, so she left. Then she came back 10 minutes later, tried to enter a few codes into the register, then decided that the best thing to do was to RE-SCAN EVERY ITEM AGAIN. Which they did. And the culprit was an 11,000-ruble sausage that was not supposed to cost that much, but whose bar code designated that price. At this point, all I could do was laugh, because there was no other logical response for such a situation.
Yet another amazing grammatical find in a Moscow mall. I can has 2 words in lowercase separated by a symbol and then one word in CAPS?