The Dethroning of Luzhkov

In the twelve or so years I spent studying Russian, as well as going to and from Moscow, there was always one constant: Yury Luzhkov. For the past eighteen years Luzhkov was the mayor of Moscow. But earlier this week, during Dmitry Medvedev's trip to China to rub shoulders with potential Hu Jintao replacements, the head of state held a press conference, during which he told the media that he had just signed a decree removing Luzhkov from office over "loss of confidence". He added that, as head of state, he cannot work with a regional head he does not trust. Michele Berdy has an interesting insight into the affair in her column on translating Russian over at the Moscow Times concerning Medvedev's choice of words.

Luzhkov is not a popular man, especially among the gay community, whom he has repeatedly condemned for their so-called satanic activities and happily dispatched the police to knock the shit out of them every time they tried to hold an "unsanctioned" demonstration anywhere in the city, though specifically on Triumfalnaya Square, where one can find the statue of renowned poet Mayakovsky...


...but it wasn't always this way with Luzhkov. He did do a lot for the capital. After the USSR went belly up in the 90s, Moscow was in chaos, and Luzhkov's indefatigable management skills came to the fore and managed to turn the place from potentially becoming a swamp to one of the most opulent capitals on the planet.

Urban regeneration was his forte, and for the first few years he pulled it off. In the vid up top you'll see the big gold Cathedral of Christ the Saviour (Храм Христа Спасителя Khram Khree-sta Spa-see-tell-ya). The colossal structure was reconstructed under his watch (it got torn down in the 1930s). He had restored the city, and then some.

...But then things started to go wrong (well, not really for Luzhkov). Luzhkov slowly shifted from being a manager to a political figure, not to mention the sums of money that were being accumulated from the massive construction projects.

Of course, people in office in Russia aren't permitted to have any financial interests, but it would have been a terrible shame to let all those business contacts go to waste. That's where Luzkhov's wife came in.

Unlike her spouse, Yelena Baturina has no such problem with trivial issues like political accountability. Although it's never been declared officially, it's fair to assume that her construction firm wouldn't have been behind so many of Moscow's many sky-scraping eyesores had it not been for her proximity to the highest executive power in Moscow.

Speaking of eyesores, Luzhkov is also partly responsible for the most obnoxious statue in Moscow.

This 90-meter-tall behemoth is meant to be in memory of Peter the Great, and was constructed by the equally obnoxious "artist" Zurab Tsereteli, who just happens to be (surprise surprise) a close friend of Luzhkov. I think we're a seeing a pattern emerging.

Regardless of the slightly undemocratic deposition, it was more than ample time for him to be booted out. His stay in the mayor's office was way past any acceptable term, though I suspect Michael Bloomberg may have been taking notes.

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In other news, I've been lax in visiting the gym, mostly due to laziness combined with the fact that I have achieved more or less what I set out to do. Honestly speaking, the place is pretty lame and the membership is running out soon. The fact that there are so many men doing those previously-mentioned thrusting motions in tight shorts (on more than one occasion I've even seen punters do some form of bizarre tapdance as a warm up) in front of me while I'm on the treadmill makes me feel I've wandered onto the set of a really crap gay softcore porno-comedy. The receptionist is cute, though.

I believe there's a nicer (read: more expensive) gym up the road.

[Husband & wife pic by Misha Japaridze/Associated Press, found in this Guardian article, the rest are mine :P]

A Tale of Two Cities

This entry has been a long time coming, for a whole bunch of reasons. I have alluded beforehand to the subject of problems that foreigners have working overseas. I kept putting it off because each time I attempted to write on this particular matter, I ended up descending into sweeping generalizations about the locals (which is boring, and it's been done to death by scummy nincompoops in various print media), or go into detailed explanation about how there are moments just before going to sleep or waking up whereupon a moment's reflection on my current situation nearly manifests itself into a "WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING HERE?" cold sweat scream (which is depressing, and it's been done to death by scummy nincompoops in various print media). And that's not the route I want to go down, naturally. But after visiting both Shanghai in December and Paris in March I feel as though I can come back to this topic, and subsequently tackle those two issues.

What am I trying to get at, you might ask? Well my overarching point is that, regardless of where you are, or wherever you go, you're still going to have problems. So without further ado, the following are the three main differences which stuck out during my little Parisian jaunt that support my observations.

Race

Yes, Eurodisney is just outside Paris – but there’s no point in going. Paris is kinda like London – people of all creeds and colors have descended on the place, and a short trip on its metro (which is rather unnerving as it is not a particularly smooth form of travel) is like seeing every single nationality in the world in one go. And they are all really, really well dressed to boot. Had I not brought the jacket I’m wearing in the photos on flickr, I’d have felt like a right arsehole wandering the streets.

Conversely, Moscow is predominantly white, and their fashion sense leaves much to be desired. Blame communism for that one (the clothes, not that it’s all whitey).

In addition, there’s an undercurrent of accepted racism in Russia, but delving into that topic would mean revisiting how scummy the police are here and their habit of beating to death anyone with remotely non-European features. That’s not to say Paris doesn’t have its own problems with race.

Flats

Hearing about the flat-finding process in Paris genuinely shocked me. Central (“traditional”) Paris, which is made up of twenty arrondissements (districts), is demarcated by the Peripherique ring road. Here’s a map:



From what I learned, trying to build/bulldoze any property in central Paris is a big no no, as it is either protected as a World Heritage site (granted, the buildings are pretty, feel free to look at the stupid number of photos I took on flickr) or the level of French bureaucracy makes the whole thing not worth a developer’s while.

What does this mean, then? It means that the housing market is heavily steeped in the landlord’s favor. Why? Because, in reality, there is only a certain amount of places available within the Peripherique. It’s not like Moscow, where Mayor Luzhkov will happily allow his fugly wife to knock over several acres of people’s homes to make way for obscene skyscrapers and further dilute the market.

As such, people seeking flats to rent anywhere in twenty of Paris’ central districts – forget about buying a property – have to accept the appalling fact that they will not only have to pay an exorbitant sum of money per month (if they even get a place), but will also need to fork out some serious cash up front as a deposit.

When my friend told me this (I may have the exact specifics wrong, as we were probably drinking red wine at the time, but the figure is not an exaggeration) to get a two-room flat along with another fellow, he had to pay a year’s rent in advance as a deposit up front. How much is that, you ask? At least TEN THOUSAND EURO.

Never in my life have I heard anything as bad as that. I lived in Glasgow for four years, been screwed around by dodgy Bangladeshi landlords, letting agencies, energy companies, and even the goddamn city council on more than one occasion – but they were mere trifles compared to my friend’s experience.

Still… those boulangeries…

On my side, I’ve had few problems finding a flat in Moscow, and I don’t really have any horror stories to tell of. There are a bunch of expat-friendly websites (expat.ru, redtape.ru, flatmates.ru) that can facilitate the flat/roommate-finding process. Agents are generally efficient and abundant as well, though some landlords will happily try to fuck over clueless Westerners.

Dogs

Within the first few minutes of walking around Paris, it became absolutely clear that the French did not have a revolution just so they could clean up dog shit. There is a frightening amount of the stuff. Not so much in the fancier parts of central Paris like the Marais or Montmarte. Yet up until that point, I couldn't recall the last time I'd stepped in crap on a city street. It's not happened to me in Moscow, that’s for sure, likely due to the fact that the migrant street cleaners do an insanely good job at keeping the place tidy. Having said that, I will likely step in some after I’m finished with this post.

But Moscow has its own dog issues - strays. And I don't mean the saccharine "Aww look at the fuzzy wuzzy's widdle face." I'm talking about actual packs of dogs that occupy courtyards and parks around apartment blocks. Dogs that put families off from taking their children anywhere near the playgrounds. Dogs that roam the streets and will actually attack passersby. Dogs that aren’t pets, they’re vermin.

Sure, bleeding heart liberals kick up a fuss about the city administration rounding them up and exterminating them (I believe there was a big surge prior to last year’s Eurovision Song Contest, which Moscow hosted) as a temporary solution but, pray tell, what’s the alternative? Implementing that unrealistic neutering program that was much talked about?

Thankfully, a phenomenon already exists that partially deals with the flea-ridden mongrels – the weather. Come winter, temperatures drop so low that the majority of mutts simply get killed off, only to start breeding like rabbits and quickly tear up the city again come springtime.

In case it’s not clear from reading the last two paragraphs – my stance on Moscow’s stray dogs is pretty firm. I’d rather have a dead undomesticated animal on my conscience than being witness to a friend or coworker being attacked in front of me. I’ve been fortunate enough that such a thing hasn’t happened, but coworkers have shared too many stories to simply brush it off as an unlikely occurrence…


…Anyway, what I mean by all this is that Moscow has problems, but so does Paris. As an expat working abroad, you might think that you can run amok with a bottle of stout in defiance of the locals. For a brief amount of time, at least in Moscow, it’s possible to do so. But it comes to a point where you realize that the place is not perfect, and suddenly the idea of working in Paris becomes appealing.

However, having spent so much time in Paris – which was a bit of a mistake on my part, but I was damned if I was going to fart around Moscow for two weeks – and seeing what my friends’ lives are like there, they’re not much different to my own. They too sometimes get fed up with their surroundings.

I have managed to accept the fact that the brief sensations of loneliness and the doubts about my current way of life are not exclusive either to me, or to my location – be it Moscow, Paris, Shanghai, Glasgow or Belfast. It’s a given that has to be tolerated. Those that can’t and move on to the next place invariably end up going through the motions again once the novelty has worn off.

As such, I feel I can officially lay this topic to rest and move on to writing about something more meaningful – like Moscow’s numerous stripclubs.

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In other news, there was a gay pride march (sort of – it was more like small groups of people streaking, but fully clothed and holding placards in various places for a few minutes at a time) on the day of the Eurovision Song Contest, but Peter Tatchell didn’t get punched this time by a Moscow riot cop, so no one cared too much.

I also had a wisdom tooth removed, which made me a bit cranky. My hot water went off the day after it got extracted. Double trouble.

Caveat Emptor

I'm at terrible risk of sounding like one of those foreigners that plague Moscow with this post. The Expat stereotype, especially those from England and America, who haven't been here that long, have a dreadful tendency to openly complain about everything here, like the service or food or general quality of anything, despite the fact they don't pay taxes because their multinational employers pay them via their Swiss bank accounts, nor do they even go as far to sample anything Russian (and yes I do pay taxes, unfortunately, quite a hefty sum too because of the whole double taxation bawls). They pay no heed to the axiom "when in Rome..."

In this case, though, I am not so much complaining, but rather warning anyone who comes here expecting anything simple, such as a basic transaction. One shop relatively near to mine (I'm not petty, so I won't point out its exact location via googlemaps just yet) is but one of many 24-hour продукты (Produkti, like the word product with an 'ee' at the end) which are scattered around Moscow, and are exceedingly useful for food, booze, emergency toilet roll (or even all three if you're having a good night) etc...

A scant few outlets let you walk around and pick up your own stuff and proceed to a makeshift till, but god forbid you muss anything up as you meander around the cramped shop. Most of them, however, are over-the-counter style, which create the ideal situation for language students who have studied the necessary vocab, but what that teaching doesn't prepare you for is how vile some of the shop attendants are towards their customers.

I don't give a monkey's about the sub-par service or the relatively-low quality food that is permanently at odds with its price tag. What I do care about, or rather what baffles me constantly, is my constant need to be within approximately ten kopeks of whatever I need to pay for.

The simple idea of a float in a till isn't just limited to the uncouth turnips responsible for the bungalow down the road, it's EVERYWHERE - all the way up to the equivalent of Marks & Spencers, Седьмой Континент (Sedmoi Kontinent - lit. Seventh Continent). I have been refused service on more occasions than I care to remember, simply because I had in my possession more money than was needed, until I coughed up something closer to the sum required.

Think of it this way: you come into the Savoy, or the Ritz or somewhere fancy and you order a cocktail from the bar and halfway through your drink you whip a £50 noteout of your wallet to hand to the well-dressed waiting staff, only for them to say"we can't take that" (I think the phrase in Russian is "не несете" ne nesyote lit. "you don't carry").

What would you do? Kindly root around your pockets for two minutes trying to get the exact amount in musty coins and piss-soaked notes, or would you spit up that half of your drink onto their face in utter disbelief?

I cannot understand what the root of it is. Some places are okay. Ironically another produkti not far from the one I accuse has no such problems with doling out change (and they actually smile because I'm such a regular customer), but it's just that little bit too far away sometimes and my laziness prevents me from venturing that far. So what's their excuse? Does someone come in every day right before I do and pay for chewing gum with a 5000 rouble note (approximately £100)? Do they have a stingy manager lying in the wings who snatches away any and all cash of notable amounts as soon as the till drawer closes? Or do they just not care that I'm trying to not only prolong my existance by eating their sub-par salads, but also to contribute to an economy that is going down the toilet?

Nothing works against them either. You be nice and present the correct change and they stonewall you. You are neutral and they stonewall you. You act as much of a miserable fuck as they do and still nothing happens.

It's just... I just can't get it.

Oh right, yes other news:

- Eurovision tonight, approximately 7PM GMT which is 10PM here
- Gay pride parade was attempted earlier today near the grounds of MGU, only for about 24 people to be strongarmed by the armed forces (both the regular police AND folk called OMON, who are not known for their patience) and viciously heckled by right-wing arseholes claiming to represent the Orthodox Church. Cue footage of a policeman in a big hat smoking a fag dragging a transvestite in a wedding dress by their hair. Mayor Luzhkov, in one of his more diplomatic moods, has referred to the parades as 'satanic' and an abomination.

No one seems to have pointed out to any of these people that Moscow is already hosting the biggest gay parade Europe has ever known and they're paying for it too.

I can't say it about all of my Russian friends, but the ignorant bigotry in this country is staggering.

Hey wait, did I mention that foreigners need to get HIV blood tests every six months?