Izmaylovo

One of our first excursions into Moscow was to the Izmaylovo market.  The market, located in the area that was set aside in the 16th century by the Romanovs as a playground, is now THE place in Moscow for souvenirs, trinkets, memorabilia, crap, and not-crap.  If you don't see what you want in this market, then you're looking for the wrong things.  

When you come up out of the Metro station, you're greeted by this:  

 

  I think that one of these blog pages will eventually be a "Statues of the Moscow Metro" page.  There's a veritable cornucopia of material.  I'm not sure what this one is all about, but many of the statues seem to involve rifles of one sort or another.  Rifles, engineering tools, and farm animals.  And wheat.  I'll have to look into the themes a bit more.  

Regardless, the market.  The first thing we did at the market was get some shashlik.  Shashlik is shishkabob, basically.  You got your lamb, your pork, your chicken, and your salmon.  No beef.  Don't know why.  The shashlik'll run you about ten bucks and, for about a buck extra, you can throw in a piece of flatbread, a few veggies, and some barbecue sauce.  Addy would live off the stuff if he were allowed to.  It was not a bad way to start the day.

The rest of the market is one stall after another, mostly grouped by categories of what they're selling, but not really.  There is a rug area, with rugs from all over the Caucusus.  Many of the -stans send their rugs up to the market to be sold.  We will be going back for those at some point, but we kind of avoided the place this time around.  They're pretty; it was a bit overwhelming. 

Rugs hanging in front of fancy buildings

Pretty rugs hanging from the rafters

Other areas include military stuff, artwork, crystal, books, posters, hats, framing, ever-ubiquitous cheap crap from China, and, interspersed throughout, a seemingly infinite number of matryushka dolls.  You got your traditional matryushka dolls, and you got your slightly non-traditional matryushka dolls:

You got your authentic Christmas ornaments, and your maybe less than authentic Christmas ornaments:

You got your collection of WWII propaganda magnets:

And what I really liked about this collection of magnets was that they were kind enough to include the American "We Can Do It" magnet.  Equal opportunity propaganda!

 What I thought to be the piece de resistance of the whole market was the WWII chess set pitting the Russians with Stalin against Hitler and his Nazis.  You have to look closely, but Hitler even has a little mustache.  On a side note, I wonder if anyone who ever played chess with the black pieces would really want to win.  That would be awkward. 

 On the way out of the market, I discovered this little spot:

The sign on the right is kind of hard to read, but it says, "Unique Charty (sic) / Bear Show of Eduard Rybakov / UNIQUE in the WORLD of the ACTOR-TRAINER of BEARS / WORKING With THEM WITHOUT MUZZLES!!!"  I'm of two minds: 1-How cool would it have been to see that show? 2-How depressing would it have been to see that show?  I'm sure it would have been a really scary combination of authentic and sketchy. 

So that was Izmaylovo, only not really.  The few pictures here really don't do justice to the place.  So you'll have to come see it for yourselves!  We'll definitely go back, and many of you can expect Izmailovo Christmas presents.  We'll also start decorating our house with authentic and, I'm sure, less than authentic Russian trinkets.  As we discovered at Izmaylovo, even the unauthentic stuff has its own brand of authenticity. 

A "SWEET" Saturday at Tsaritsyno Park

The infamous honey festival in Moscow ends next week.  When I say infamous, I mean only recently.   Apparently local honey used to be exported, leaving none for the local community.  Given the hundreds of stalls, each with at least 8 different kinds of honey, and the crowds at every stall, it's an appreciated-and popular-time of year.  The stalls give samples of everything--from dark brown to white in color, syrup to paste, flowers to trees.....it was all quite overwhelming!  We haven't bought this much honey in.....well, forever.  We wandered, and tasted, watched, and purchased.  Jesse even managed to save one or two bees from drowning in the sticky samples--an ironic death for a bee! 

The weather was amazing, and the trip back to the car took us through a GORGEOUS park--Tsaritsyno Park.  Among other buildings, we wandered around the palace of Catherine (or is it Katherine??) The Great--one she never completed because she apparently didn't much like it.  On one of the last beautiful weekends, the park was crowded, and we unknowingly became part of another Russian tradition.  Understandably, the park is a popular stopping point for wedding pictures.  The decorated vehicles, the limos, the wedding parties, and the bride and groom wander the park--stopping often for the photographer and videoman.  Izzy kept count.  27 brides on Saturday.  Meaning 27 dresses, too--one should make a movie about that!!  The dresses were beautiful with a definite Russian flare.  Only one bride seemed to literally be falling out of her top :D We enjoyed watching brides being carried across bridges, being helped up the stairs, stopping in arches.  They would occasionally remove their stole/shall/jacket.....they all had one.  This did bring us some confusion.  After all, it was 65degrees out.  Why all the layers? 

As we walked around the festival and park, one thing became obvious--we were tourists.  Not just because of Jesse's pack, or my Keens, or Izzy's yelling in English.  Nope, Addy gave us away this time.  Our good-ole, Colorado native wore a t-shirt and shorts all day.  65 is gorgeous weather!!  HOWEVER, if you're Russian, you wear a hat, a coat (some even wore down) long pants with the optional boots--gloves on the little ones.  There is definitely superstition here about covering your head and keeping the drafts away.  Funny to pay attention and find that Addison truly was the only one in shorts and t-shirt.  Tourists!!

Sasha....the wunderhund. Our Russian Sobaka!

The move to Russia was a big step. When Jess and I took the job, we thought of ways we might soften the blow of leaving Berlin. Even a little bit. We came home and told the kids we were moving to Moscow and showed them several video clips the school had provided. I think we had them at pictures of the indoor pools complex, but we went one step further!! We "mentioned" how we might even be able to get a dog. Moscow has many dogs needing good homes. We prepared them for the idea of adopting a dog, not a puppy, as puppies are more work than we can handle. Plus, who would want to potty-train a puppy in a 12th floor apartment with Moscow winters coming quickly??

Jump to Moscow and this morning as I walk out of the shower to Jesse sleeping soundly with our 8-week old puppy, Sasha. We tried. We really did. We even met a "dog". Which is how we ended up with Sasha. See, the dog we met, Lord--and yes that was his name--was a tad-bit (okay a huge bit) attached to his caretaker. She had raised him from when he was 5 days old. We knew quickly that it wasn't to be, but the daughter sent us pictures of several puppies her friend needed to find homes for.

Jesse could have hit "delete". We could have not sent a reply. Izzy could have been allergic. But none of that happened. We met "male black puppy". Izzy didn't react with allergies, even after rubbing her face in his neck many times. Jess and I figured if we got this far, we would be goners. And so we were. Puppy stayed.

Jess even had a perfect name picked already. We have met MANY Alexanders/Alexandras in our short time here. The Russian nickname for Alexander and Alexandra is Sasha--for either a boy or a girl. So Sasha it is. He's adorable, sweet, smart. It's a bit like having a baby in the house again. Early mornings, things put up high and out of reach. He puppy-nibbles everything, and when you're about to lock him in a closet, he falls asleep on you :D

So much for our "no-puppy" rule. Although we were right about potty-training on the 12th floor--highly inconvenient. We seem to have added to the chaos of moving to a new country, new school, new language, new apartment, new everything--so really, what better time to add a puppy to it all. He makes the kids happy. He makes the family happy.

The Art of Communication, or, Caveman Russian for the Idiot American

It was a banner night on the survival front.  At about 1915, I called Cory Wanamaker, our awesome neighbor, and asked him to give me a ride to the mall.  We navigated the not-quite-rush-hour traffic and worked our way there.  Along the way, he shared a great story he heard of the time a colleague was driving with the US Ambassador’s wife and they got pulled over.  A cantankerous police officer asked, or demanded, rather, papers from the passengers.  It took about three seconds for his face to turn five shades of white, two more seconds for him to hand the papers back, and they were on their way.  Good times!

But back to me!  We were at the mall to get a doggie crate for Sasha the wonder puppy.  We found one that was the right kind, but it was too small.  We dragged a nice saleslady over to the crate, pointed at it, and said, “Bolshoi?”  And she brought out a ballet company!  No…bolshoi means big.  She said, “Odin moment,” and a Norse God briefly appeared!  No…odin means one.  (No more bad puns, I promise).  Eventually, a large crate in a box appeared.  I asked, “Kolka stoit?”  We got another “odin moment” and she disappeared in back for a while.  She reappeared with a printout that had the number on it, and I said, “Nyet.  Spasibo.”  I grabbed a different crate, walked to the front, paid for it, and left. 

THEN…it was off to the eyeglass store.  I gave the lady at the counter my best “Ya ponimayu tolka nimnoga parusski” (I only understand a little Russian), put out my hands with the broken glasses, as if I were making an offering to the Gods, and said, “Help?”  She picked them up, accepted the offering, and demanded tribute.  She found the price list, pointed to the correct price, and I said, “Da!  Spasibo.”  I then pointed at my wrist, also pointed at the clock, and raised my eyebrows.  She said, “Dvasta/treesta minute.”  I understood “dvasta” as twenty, assumed “treesta” was thirty, and “minute” was fairly self explanatory, Russian accent and all.  God bless cognates! 

I wandered the mall for about 15 minutes, came back to the store, and the glasses were done.  I said, “Bolshoi spasibo.  Do svidaniya,” and walked out.   And that was that.  I might have slipped in a few more, although I doubt it, but the total Russian words for the evening…13.  It wasn’t quite, “Me Tarzan, you Jane!” but that’s only because my language skills aren’t that sophisticated yet.  Baby steps, and all that.

Next:  ordering food at a restaurant.  We’ll have to go out for Thanksgiving, right?