Okay. At the risk of sounding like little naive Meredith in the big, scary city, I am going to tell you what I saw on Tuesday night.
The train to St. Petersburg was leaving at 1:05 a.m. Andrea and I were meeting at metro Komsomolskaya. Riding the metro at midnight is scary. It seems like the drunks come out like cockroaches. They were
everywhere.
While riding the metro, I watched one man in his 50s talk to an invisible friend next to him, his vodka bottle in hand. He was laughing at himself and falling off the seat.
When I arrived at metro Komsomolskaya, I leaned against one of the columns and waited for Andrea to show up. I was there for about 20 minutes, just watching people.
After one of the metro trains stopped, I saw a clean-cut man in his 50s grab the vest of a drunk man, attempting to drag him off the train. The drunk man was tall and large, and the man used all of his effort to drag him off the train. He couldn't do it, so he pushed him with all his strength. The drunk man fell with the loudest thud. Another man, who looked to be in his 30s, got off the train as the clean-cut man went back to his seat. The younger man helped the drunk man get up, but the drunk man's legs were made of rubber, so it seemed. He wobbled and swayed, muttering who-knows-what. The younger man looked at him and said something very seriously to him, while holding him up so that he would not fall. An announcement was made that the doors were closing, and the younger man hopped on the train, leaving the drunk man about ten feet away from me.
I was terrified. He was so close to the edge of tracks. He was about to fall, and I was praying that he wouldn't. My imagination runs away with me, and I was trying to figure out what I would do if he fell on the tracks. Time between trains can be anywhere from one minute to five minutes. That doesn't leave much times for emergency rescue teams.
It didn't help that I had just come from the Gogol ballet. In the ballet, the demons attacked the drunk man. He passed out, and Satan came onto the stage to destroy him. So, all I could see was this drunk man falling on the tracks and being run over by the metro train.
Metro suicides don't happen as often as they used to from what people tell me here, but it's not rare to hear of drunks falling on the metro tracks. This man was so close. He was on the very edge, swaying back and forth, and a train was coming.
He didn't fall though. Thank God. The train pulled up, and he got on and sat next to some people. They then moved to the other side. Then the train pulled away, and I didn't see him again.
After that a woman and her male friends came up to me and started talking to me. They looked like they were from one of the -stan countries. The -stan men are very aggressive when it comes to women. I'm amazed at their ability to turn "zdrastvutye" (hello) into something sleazy and creepy. It made me nervous when they approached me. The girl said something to me, and I told her I didn't speak Russian...in Russian. How ironic. Then, she said in English, "Pencil, pencil." I gave her a pen, and she wrote something down on her hand to show to the men. Then she walked away. A few minutes later she came back, and she used every word on her English vocabulary list to communicate to me. "Brother, sister, address, metro." I don't know what she wanted. I just wanted her to leave me alone, but she wouldn't. I told her again that I didn't speak Russian. After trying to ask me a million questions with various hand gestures, she finally said, "Bye, bye." And they all left me. I was so glad. I didn't know what her goal was in talking to me. It was all very weird.
I finally found Andrea, and we headed towards the train station. I don't think I've ever seen so many drunk people. Some were sleeping in piles. Others were standing, or attempting to do so, in groups. It was the seedy underbelly of Moscow, I guess.
You know, I know Russia has a problem with alcohol. I knew that before I came here. Michael, Tim, and Beth have told me a lot from their experiences in Russia too. The thing is...these weren't college kids. Drunk college kids are nothing new, but these were grown men
and women who were out-of-their-minds drunk. Not just a little tipsy. They weren't "let's be silly" drunk. They didn't even act like people. It was like their minds were vacant.
Another thing. This was a Tuesday night -- not even a Friday or Saturday night. I can't even imagine what nightlife is like around the train station on a Saturday night...
So, it was a frightening, but interesting night. I suppose it's a "cultural experience," but once is enough for me.
Much Love,
Meredith
I love this picture. Not sure why...
Could the sky possibly be bluer? Perfect.
Holding it all together...
Hallway of tapestries.
The library. This reminds me of "My Fair Lady."
Everywhere we went in St. Petersburg were art school kids who would sit in front of a painting and draw it onto their sketchpad. Their teacher would walk around and comment on their drawings. Kinda interesting.
A view of the outside from the inside...
This is Cupid.
Picasso. This makes me think of Mr. Potato Head in Toy Story when he switches his all his facial features and says, "Hey, look! Picasso!"
Da Vinci. Protected by glass.
This makes me think of Beauty and the Beast. I've seen too many Disney movies, I think.
The bust room (one of the many).
View of the Neva...still half-frozen.
