Perfect Parking in Moscow
Driving In Moscow
by black chile
circa 6/03--scared to death. shortly after arriving to post. venturing out into traffic was a traumatic experience. watching from the passenger side was bad enough. trying to wrap myself around the fact that i would soon be knee deep in it was too much to handle. in the monstrous government white chevy tahoe you don't pay much attention to it. you're so far up and there's so much of the car around you, you feel like a fighter pilot dropping bombs and not knowing where they hit. so when you feel the crunch under your wheel, you think it's a bag or something, when in actuality you rolled over a russian lada again. those cars are entirely too small. and invariably there's always a russian guy hanging out the window smokin a cig. even in the winter. i used to think they were just letting the smoke out of the car. not true. there's not enough room in there to fit so he has to hang the leftovers out the window. his head, left arm and upper left chest area.
in my own vehicle, which is a considerably smaller SUV, i'm actually closer to them. there were times when it was all i could to do to get to the side of the road and cry. cry baby. that's right. ballin'. i'm not ashamed.
now. circa yesterday--sept 2004. 5pm. today i had parked on the sidewalk at a 78 degree angle because the a _ _ h _ _ e in front of me pulled into a parking spot that was too small. his car is a car in the technical sense. you have to use a key to start it and it had a window and 4 wheels. however, this car is half the size of a Ugo so instead of pulling in parallel to the street, he pulls in perpendicular with half of his car up on the sidewalk. perfect fit. i'd like to say that i have never done this but sorry... i truly believe that once they get parking meters and tow trucks here, they'll be on their way. in the meantime, when in rome...
when i come out at 5, some other person has blocked him in. my car was too big to block. that's right, anyone who isn't state department has to park out on the street. just another reminder to let the other agencies that are here know where they are in the pecking order. it's ok. you have to give up your first born and a pint of blood to park on the compound and the security checks... forget it.
as usual, i follow the access road out until i reach novinsky blvd.--"the ring road". i pop in my traffic sonata "wild, wild west" by Will Smith to get me in the traffic mode. no, i didn't buy it. not per se. don't ask. i'm always surprised at what is available in the kiosks on the street. i hear Will Smith singing "Jim West, desperado..." uh oh, it's on baby.
traffic is one of the few places i feel equal. i start out. i know there is 2.6" of road to get from the right lane i have pulled into and the far left lane (6 lanes over) that i need to take to get to the tunnel which will put me on the other side of Nove (novee) Arbat. if i miss the tunnel i have to turn right on nove arbat and go out of my way 30 minutes east and many miles to get to a place where i can turn around and get on the other side of the street. or i could use the turnaround at nove arbat and go back the other way on novinsky blvd--30 minutes north and many miles to get to... well, you get the idea neither option is acceptable to me anymore. 30 minutes north or east, 30 minutes back to your starting point, then 1 hour home. you do the math.
russians smell fear. i take off and casually glide over 9 lanes, that used to be 6, while everyone is clapping enthusiastically at the ease of which i have maneuvered my way through this quagmire. damn, i nodded off there. actually it's more like, stop 1/2", drive 1/2", stop 1/2"... everyone's honkin, yellin', and flippin the bird and all at 60, 70, 80 miles an hour. only the mafia gets to go 90 and above. it's the russian autobahn. 6 lanes quickly become 9 when there are more than 7 cars on the road. "swallow your pride, don't let your lip react. You don't wanna see my hand where my hip be at..." Will is poetic, isn't he? keeping in mind that they have no concept of personal space, this also goes for your car. sometimes they get so close. this also used to send me screamin' to the curb. but now i don't look and of course the big car wins. my overseas insurance covers everything for any reason, in any place. surprisingly, it's about half the cost of my insurance in the US.
flippin the bird is pretty universal but the russians add their own special touch. the little dears. they point it at you like a gun. special. classic.
i make it over to the far left lane and invariably there are always 1 or more cars that follow me. the applicable rule here being--follow whatever or whoever gets you through. on this particular occasion a guy follows me and his car is so small, i didn't see him until we both got over to the left lanes and he pulls up next to me and gives me the thumbs up sign. i wink and quickly get back to traffic mode. can't think about that now. my next move is coming up. "then through the shadows, in the saddle, ready for battle.."
after the tunnel i steal my way back over to the right lanes because i will soon be coming to a point where it is actually legal to make a U turn on this street--this 12 lane street--6 actual lanes in both directions. 2 blocks go by. everybody and their brother is making a U turn at this point. you don't want to get caught in that. i did--once. they didn't start the U turn caravan until there's a break in the oncoming traffic. i was the break. i hesitated and ended up waiting 20 minutes just to continue in my lane. after 20 minutes--straight to the curb. in tears of course. today is a different story.
timing is everything. once over in the right lanes, you can zoom through. if you get caught at any of these lights on the ring road, i hope you packed a lunch. not that it matters. russians don't seem to get the concept of the red color of the red light. in fact the yellow light starts flashing before the green light. i've sat in traffic when my light turned green several times over before the crossing traffic stopped. and there's usually a militia guy standing there. just standing there. doing nothing. just standing there. there--facing the red light, looking at the traffic. just standing there smoking a cig of course. why is he here?
next. the bridge. believe it or not i have to make my way back to the left lanes to cross the bridge. bob, weave, break to the left, steal home, touchdown!!! whew, if i get caught in the left lanes, i could end up in Vladivostock. look it up. i'm on the bridge. the 11 lanes on my side that used to be 9, that used to be 6 now have to come back to 6 to get over the bridge because the bridge is--well, finite. this will not stop them from making a new lane in the oncoming traffic if the traffic on that side of the street is sparse. i call this the pied piper relay. ingenuity at work again. some folks now choose to drive up on the bridge walkway that's designed for the pedestrians. it's the only lane that's clear--except for, well--the people.
i make it across. back to the right to catch my exit. if i miss my exit, i have to go 30 minutes east... hey, wait a minute. i think you already know this story. my exit is 3 inches from the ring road. coming off the ring road at 60 miles an hour. break it down to 15 in 5.8 seconds. "up to sundown, rollin around, see where the bad guys oughta be found and make 'em lay down."
once on the main street off the exit, i'm headin' home. i can relax a bit because the traffic slows to a mere 40 miles per hour in the residential areas. i pop in santana. i'm rockin'. i drive pass the usual mcdonald's on boishoi ordinka, a myriad of churches, kassas (money change places), kiosks, salons, renok (open-air market), a monastery and i see my sign SERPOHOVSKY VAL (serpohovsky blvd.) i'm prepared to make my right. my sail is now blowing at an even keel. it's almost relaxing. almost. i've long forgotten about the stares. actually, i've learned to live with them. i do remember not to do anything embarrassing. the light is red. here comes a russian guy running with a baby carriage trying to catch the light. this in itself is enough to cringe. but the added absurdity was that he was carrying and drinking a bottle of beer and smoking a cigarette with his right hand and weaving the carriage through traffic with the left hand. the kid was screamin with delight. crosswalk? what is that? the lines are there. i see them. their big and white. oh, i guess he doesn't think the crosswalk is for him. still--a baby? i just shake my head and go back to Santana "give me your heart, make it real, or just forget about it."
i make the right turn after the light changes. 10 cars have driven up on the sidewalk to pass me because they had more pressing engagements than to wait for the GREEN light. i pass the park where i run and tell myself to remember that a big dog is taking a dump on the path. no, they don't pick up after them. some mornings it's like an obstacle course. i pull into my entrance and prepare to scan my card that will let me in the parking lot. the security arm rises before i can scan my card. then once in, Sergey is standing blocking my way. i say doubre dien (good day), kagdela (how are you?) he says hadosho, (ok) then he starts to motion to someone behind the gate. then i see all the guards that work at our parking lot. they're bringing a bouquet a flowers. FOR ME!!!
how sweet is that? let me explain. since i've been here and living out in the general public, i don't have the protection that one might expect on the compound. but i wanted it that way. i wanted to experience the city. but with that view one must take into consideration the security risks. shortly after arriving i tried to make nice with the guards at my building, russians do not take kindly to people who are not pasty pale white like them. just in case. they were casual. i began to cook little things for them. a chocolate cake, some fried chicken, cookies, guacamole dip and chips, homemade soup and cornbread, etc. i don't do it all the time and i know they don't expect it. but they look out for me. when i go out running, one of them will stand at the gate just to make sure i'm ok. when i come late from some very important "meeting" at Ye Ole Irish Pub, they meet me at the street. sometimes i would come down to go to work and everybody's car would be completely covered with snow. except mine. it would be cleaned off and ready to go. i would pass the guard's gate and he would tip his hat and smile. on other occasions i might find my car washed and waxed. sometimes, i found litle chocolate candies left at me door. it's the little things.
so when they gave me the flowers and showered me with little kisses, i was overwhelmed. russians are not that easy to warm up to. so, i guess i'm in. so to speak.
back to the indy on monday.
© 2005 black chile (For security's sake, the author remains anonymous--at least for now)
The Testimony of Mary Glen Scot*...
