Travel - Viajes

Vodka in the Sun: Apartment Living

By Eric D. Goodman

Almost everyone in Moscow (or any other major city in central Russia) lives in a high-rise apartment building, and our host Alexi was no exception.

But it must be pointed out that this is another of those changing things. While the individual suburban housing developments don’t spread like the stateside mushrooms, they can be found. And more “new Russians” can afford larger, more luxurious houses and penthouse apartments.

That said, most Russian apartments I have had the pleasure of visiting during my years in Russia have followed the same relative layout.

There’s a heavy door (usually two) opening to a hallway foyer with closets and a supply of indoor slippers. The hall leads to an eat-in kitchen too small to be considered “eat-in” for westerners. A main room serves as a living room, formal dining room and master bedroom with functional futons in place of oversized mattresses. One or two secondary rooms make up extra bedrooms, or a bedroom and an office. The toilet and washroom are usually separate. The rehabbed apartment of our friend, Alexi, featured the increasingly popular toilet-and-tub-in-the-same-room upgrade.

In this apartment (and in most others I have visited) we enjoyed a popular Russian passtime—sitting around a table and talking, with the exceptional accents of food and drink. Oftentimes such meetings also include playing guitar and singing folk songs and dancing. But tonight, conversation carried the time … with the crutch of vodka, beer and cognac.

Getting Out to Push

Alexi went to work at his city office while my wife Nataliya and I enjoyed Moscow. We visited the Lenin Library, the Russian Museum (of art) and a sort of legal “black market” specializing in pirated CDs and DVDs. We went sightseeing, food sampling and shopping.

That evening we were headed to Nizhni Novgorod, an eight-hour drive from Moscow. When we returned to Alexi’s flat we found that we were not only a full fifteen minutes late, but we were inexcusably late. In fact, our host insisted there was no time for dinner or even a hearty cup of black tea—we had to leave hurriedly and immediately! There was only time for a quick drive through Russia’s favorite fast food restaurant: McDonald’s.

While our host decided we had time for the McDonald’s drive-through, there was no time to get gas, despite the illuminated “e.”

“Shouldn’t we stop for petrol,” I asked.

“Not yet,” he said. “We have enough.”

Then came the Friday-evening traffic jam. To roll the windows down meant to breathe in exhaust fumes so thick they could be seen on the air, perfumed by the second-hand smoke of the surrounding smokers. To roll up the windows was to be in a cramped sauna.

“There’s one,” I said, pointing to yet another gas station, our ticket to ten minutes of freedom.

“Not yet,” he said. “We have enough.” The trend continued for half a dozen gas stations as we slowly proceeded through traffic. Finally, his little Russian car sputtered out.

“I thought we had enough,” he said. We got out and pushed the car along the median. We pushed and pushed and pushed. It was cooler outside the vehicle than it was inside—and we were actually passing some of the slow-moving traffic. Finally, we came to a station and he put in about a tenth of a tank. The gage was still on e.

“Don’t you think we should get more,” I asked, giving him money for the gas.

“We’ll get more later,” he said, nose-diving back into the traffic. Gasoline was less expensive outside the Moscow area, and we already knew that Alexi didn’t mind taking risks … or moving his car instead of having it move him.

Fortunately, the little car continued to move us for the entirety of the drive. Eventually, we came out of traffic and hit the crumbling highway from Moscow to Nizhni Novgorod. We stopped along the way to pee in the trees. It would be some time before we stopped for more gas.

As we tumbled along the Russian roads I read a downloaded Nabokov book on Alexi’s electronic bookreader. We listened to a pirated recording of Neil Young asking the question for which I had no answer. “Where is the highway tonight …”

Next month, we’ll find it in Nizhni Novgorod, Russia