Transportation

Last week we went to the Russian version of the DMV to get our drivers’ licenses. I was told to expect a long day so I did. I left my house just before lunch to catch a bus to get me to the Metro. At about 1pm, I arrived at the Embassy to catch up with my hubby and take a transport out to the boondocks to sign a form. Two weeks ago, we filed all of our paperwork and now we had to show up in person to prove our identity. Makes sense right?

We hopped into the van with three other Americans. The ride out there took 90 minutes, which is not too unusual for Moscow. We parked in front of what looked like a shack and followed our Russian translator/guide.

This brings me to discuss tile. Apparently, they are very confused in Moscow about what tile is intended for indoors and what is intended for outdoors. At many places around town, they have used indoor tile on outdoor steps and the effects are, well----slippery. One of our neighbors has a sign posted on her front porch that says, “Don’t slip on your ice.” It’s true.

So we navigated our way up some very slippery steps into a shack about the size of a closet. It was only big enough to house the metal detector we walked through and then right out the backdoor we slipped again. We walked across another clearing and came to the building where we were told to wait in line in the hallway. This was funny because there were doors about every 3 feet. So how do five Americans line up amidst all these doors? Every time we re-adjusted, somebody would open another door. It was really quite funny as we would lean against one wall, door open, lean against the other wall, and so on.

This game of Musical Wall went on for about ten minutes as we all got a chance to prove our identity and sign our licenses. Mission complete.

Back in the van, we began calculating how much time it would take to get back home via highway. We figured around 3-4 hours. The obvious choice then was the Metro. We asked our driver to stop at the nearest station so we could head home. This is seemingly commonplace; we ride the metro all the time. We hopped on board and found a seat (or bar to hold on to). What was different about this day was that there was a man who had found his happy hour specials a little early on this Wednesday afternoon.

As the train began to brake, people inched toward the door. This particular man stood up and before his feet even found the floor, gravity pulled his face downward. He did a sudden fall/slide down the aisle of the car. My husband, well meaning, reached for the man’s hand and tried to help him up. He had no idea which way was up at all. He stood up and waited a few stops before getting off.

Once we were back to our station, it was poor timing to wait for the bus that goes to our home so we decided to share a cab with some neighbors. We negotiated a cab and immediately regretted it. You know how seniors in high school drive a piece of crap car, but they’re proud because it’s theirs? That was this guy.

Anyway, as soon as we got in, he started getting after us in Russian that my husband closed the door too hard. Then, the back of the car was shaking and he attributed it to all of our weight in the back seat. His fee was 250 rubles. Our neighbors had the 200 and were asking us for 50. I had 3 10 bills and was getting out some coins. Then the driver got mad saying “I don’t want your coins.” We gave him 300 and thanked him.

When we got out of the car, I imagined if that situation had happened in the States. No way. Thankfully, my dependence on taxis is coming to an end as soon I will have my own set of hot wheels.

Another Night at the Gym

So this is just too good not to share. My husband and I workout almost every day at the facility right here in our housing development. We run a rigid circuit and I am pooped by the end of it, but I have taken breaks long enough to notice some interesting customs.

When you walk into a European workout facility, it looks very much like an American gym. There are plenty of machines, free weights, mirrors, treadmills, and the like. It’s the people who make European gyms SO much different. Here are some tips if you want to fit in.

a)Please, by no means, wear clean clothes. Wear the dirty, smelly clothes I’ve seen you in every night for the last five.

b)When you select gym clothes, choose wisely. If you don’t have workout pants, wear your swim trunks or a short-sleeved button down shirt that’s so tight your wrist-sized muscles will bulge out.

c)ALWAYS wear black socks with your tennis shoes and ALWAYS wear them up to your calves.

d)Don’t ever smile. If you smile, it may look like the workout isn’t hard enough. Even if you are a 40 year old man doing curls with 5 pound weights, this is serious.

e)When you have selected a machine to use, put your keys, a cup, or your nasty towel on it to claim it. Then walk around the room a few times to establish your ownership while people are waiting anxiously for you to be done. Sit down and do a few reps and repeat. This should last at least 25 minutes.

I will hesitantly mention the last aspect of the European gym experience. The locker room. If I go to the gym in the evening, I simply put my coat on, go home and get a shower. But if we use the pool or something, we have to use the locker-room to get dressed. As I can only share experiences from the female side, I will give you second-hand stories from the men’s locker room. On more than one occasion, I have been witness to bare bodied ladies who proceed to introduce themselves. Not just to me, but my kids as well. It’s hard to muffle the laughter when a bare-chested woman puts out her hand to say “how do you do?”

There are no stalls for getting dressed, just a big room. I’ve been told that sometimes guys sit on the benches in the buff talking on their cell phones with their legs crossed like they’re at the office. Yuck. Need I say more? I’m sure there will be more experiences as I continue to master the bench press and dead lift, but for now, this simple entertainment gets me out of the house every so often.

It's Time I Told You

The sun has been shining all day today. It makes no difference that it is 18 degrees outside---it feels like spring. Tomorrow it will be February. We are hoping to get a car very soon and so I spent the afternoon cleaning out the garage. I still had lots of boxes and wrapping left over from our shipment. I was glad I took the time to go through it because I found a lid to one of my brand new pots. I've been here for four months. I've made curtains, re-arranged furniture, and now thrown away the very last box.

It's funny because I've already considered how hard it is going to be to say goodbye. I've made friends from all over the world. Many of them will leave before me and no matter where I go next, I will take them with me.

The winter hasn't been very hard. In fact, it's been easier for me here than it was in Michigan. No propane bills to pay, no brushing snow off of an icy SUV, no lay-offs, no snow days. We are already six months into our two-year contract. The time is flying. The weeks are measured in packages, the months in paychecks, and I'm sure the years will be measured by home school curriculum.

I just started to miss home---namely, a day off. I miss coffee with my girlfriends, Bible study mornings, and yes, the grandparents. I am thankful for devices and technology yet at this exact moment, I am sick of them. I want to whisper something funny that only you can hear, roll my eyes, and bump your elbow with mine. I miss you and I thought you should know.