Arrival - June 17, 1999

On previous trips to Russia I kept an electronic diary. Some of my writings went out as e-mails; I’m going to put a few on the blog to compare experiences today with experiences earlier. Here’s a posting of “Arriving in Russia,” June 17, 1999:


There's plenty of room on Delta flights to Moscow this summer. On this flight I got a center section of three seats to myself and so was able to sleep comfortably on the overnight flight. Jet lag turned out not to be a big problem this time.

Slava met me at the airport with a bouquet of flowers -- a nice Russian tradition. Instead of schlepping my bags and carry-ons, all I had to do was carry daisies. A car was waiting to take us to Ludmila Aleksayevna’s apartment.

At Ludmila's there were a number of surprises. First of all, she wasn't there. Slava didn't know where she had gone, but he had a key, and he knew that Ludmila had set out food for our lunch. I saw that she had done some extensive redecorating, with new kitchen flooring, new kitchen cabinets, and new carpeting and wallpaper in the large entrance hall. The biggest surprise was the renovation that had been done to the entrance of the building itself: a beautifully stained wood door instead of one with thick layers of paint, an intercom system at the door, and inside, attractive tiles covering the plain concrete stairs of the Soviet period. Although the building is still owned by the city of Moscow, the investment in it had been done by two new residents, an Italian and an American, both living on the second floor. (The last turn of the staircase, going up to Ludmila's apartment on the third floor, remains Soviet style.)

After lunch Slava and I took off for the Delta office, to get tickets for our return to the U.S. on July 30. We browsed through some shops on the way back, wanting to pick up some food and gifts for Ludmila. Our good intentions went awry, however, because Ludmila had expected that I would take an afternoon nap and be ready for an evening concert. Since we weren't at home, Ludmila had to go by herself. She was extremely upset afterwards because it had been a very special concert -- by the chamber orchestra of Mikhail Spivakov. Now, as an educated American-Russian, I am quite aware of the superstar status of Spivakov in the classical music sphere. Tickets to a Spivakov concert would be unaffordable to a pensioner like Ludmila, but she had arrangements with a concert hall employee who would let her in a side door for a modest personal payment. Pleasure shared is greater than pleasure absorbed alone, and Ludmila had very much wanted me to be with her. It was not to be.

The next day Slava went off to the closing ceremonies of the Academy of Sciences' 275th jubilee. Every single major politician in Russia was there (except for Yeltsin, who's never anywhere). The evening news covered the event, and for a few seconds Slava Timashev was shown on national TV nodding wisely as someone spoke.

Ludmila and I had a quiet day. I reverted to my old bad behavior of sleeping instead of fighting jet lag. About all we did was take a walk around the neighborhood. Ludmila's neighborhood happens to include the American embassy. I was glad to see that they've been able to cover most of the bright blotches of paint which were angrily thrown at the embassy recently. And Russian militisia were in evidence to keep crowds from gathering anywhere near the building.

It would have been nice to end the day with a nice hot bath. But half of Moscow was without hot water -- Ludmila's half. It was an intentional shut-off, part of the annual treatment of the city's hot water system. It only lasts a few weeks. Residents and their guests have a choice of bathing in cold water, or heating a pot on the stove. I had a sponge bath with tepid water, and looked forward, a tad too optimistically, to better conditions on our next stop, near Orenburg…