It's a long story, but in short I have been asked to spend the remainder of my time in Europe in Russia as acting leader of our practice covering the Commonwealth of Independent States region. This of course has a lot of logistical challenges that I will no doubt be discussing in future posts, but I am excited about the opportunity, not to mention that it may be interesting to be here during the upcoming elections at the beginning of March.
I flew over as soon as I was able to get a double-entry business visa. There is at present a three hour time difference between Moscow and Frankfurt (thanks to a random decision by President Medvedev to not let the time "fall back" at the end of the summer). So the next-to-last flight from Frankfurt leaves at around 18:00 but you land just before midnight in Moscow. Delightful.
As a typical American who grew up during the cold war, the idea of being in Russia and not speaking the language is a bit unsettling when you first approach passport control. Especially after the protests in December regarding allegedly flawed/rigged elections for the Duma were blamed on the U.S. at least in part. But I was allowed in with only a question on where I had flown from.
The firm had arranged for a driver to meet me at the airport, which I was most grateful for at this early hour (it was about 01:00 by the time I was headed out of baggage claim and was not, thank goodness, asked to stop and show the contents of my gigantaur Rimowa suitcase that was brimming with things like snow boots and sweaters to keep me warm and clothed for over a week). I had been warned that the taxi drivers at the airport and around the city are not as regulated, shall we say, as in many other international cities (see also the blog posting on taxis in Frankfurt) and may not always employ meters - you just bargain for the amount you're willing to pay to go someplace, which would be difficult if you don't know where you're going and don't speak Russian. I apparently have "target" or "not from here" written on my forehead because as soon as I emerged from baggage claim I was immediately assailed by taxi drivers urging rather forcefully that I was waiting for them. Um, no, not so much. I was sooooo pleased to see a guy standing with a sign with our logo. Whew!
The guy didn't really speak much English but following him was a no-brainer. Until we got outside, where it's snowing, wickedly cold, and he's leading me across a large area that I thought was a parking lot but was in fact a road, which I learned as a few cars came driving straight at us! We finally got to the car, which was not exactly what I was expecting. Perhaps I have spent too much time in Germany, but I guess I had been expecting a small Mercedes or BMW. No, I believe this was a Toyota Corolla that seemed more like it was a personal vehicle than one used to transport strangers on a regular basis. But somehow its trunk managed to accommodate the large suitcase and off we went. It took nearly an hour for us to get to the hotel, which I guess is amazing time compared to what it takes during the day when traffic is insane. What wasn't quite clear to me, though, was whether or not I was supposed to pay the driver or whether it was being billed to the firm. He pushed a form to me written in Russian and indicated I should sign. Okay.... Also not clear whether I was supposed to add a tip. But since I had no Rubles on me, I didn't have to think about that one very long.
Until my corporate apartment is ready, I am staying at the Swissotel, which is across a main road (more like a highway) from our office and is technically on an island between the Moskva River and a channel/canal (the purpose and history of which I do not know but intend to learn). It's a very nice property and rather high, thus affording some amazing views. I am typing this from the executive lounge on the 19th floor and have a beautiful view of the Kremlin from here, which was also part of the view from my room on that first night here, though I had no idea what exactly I was looking at, only that there were an awful lot of lights out there and the canal that was frozen over looked awfully cold. But with the difference in time that first night, I was wired. So I could not help but take a couple pictures of the Sarah Palin action figure with that view - this most assuredly was not the Russia one might see from one's kitchen window in Wasila (though I realize she never actually said that - but come on, you could easily hear her making such a statement, right?).
The next morning, one of my new colleagues picked me up at the hotel in his car and we drove over to the office, which I thought was a very nice, welcoming gesture. It was a busy but productive day. Towards the end, though, the young woman from our Mobility group in Russia (I will call her Katya) called to ask if I knew how to get back to the hotel. Well, it's just right across the highway - how difficult can it be? But she volunteered to walk me back that evening to make sure that I found it because it might be a bit tricky the first time. And she was right. First, we had to navigate our way out of the maze of connected buildings of the firm (it took me about a week to figure out where I was and which entrance was the one with the ATM). Then you walk along the canal for a couple blocks, then cross the canal. About half a block after you cross the canal, you descend down some stairs and then take a tunnel underneath the highway. At the other side, you repeat the procedure - stairway back up to the surface, cross back across the canal, and then about a block later you are at the hotel.
But it was in the tunnel where things were a bit more interesting. When you reach the bottom of the stairs, there is a little kiosk that is little more than a closet - maybe about half the size of one of those old Fotomat kiosks there used to be in the US in random parking lots at strip malls (how much am I dating myself here?!). Visible within the glass/plastic portions are various baked goods - rolls, bread and the like. AND there are also baking capabilities inside. So there's this bizarre smell of baked goods mixed with the dank (if that can be a scent), wet smell of the tunnel.
And maybe something else. As we proceeded through the tunnel, an interesting visual came into view at the other end of the tunnel. (I am kicking myself that I was staring too much to get a photo.) There was an old man there with a little kid. No, not child. Kid, as in goat. A little white one. Okay, odd, to be sure, but it gets better. The kid was wearing a coat. The coat of a human. It seemed to be a reversible quilted down or faux-down thing that was dirty beige (or just dirty) on the outside and (based on the sleeves rolled up around his front knees) a rusty brown on the other side. Totally bizarre. I was trying not to stare, but reminded myself that I was in a different country and that things were different here. And around that time Katya looked at me and, also seeming a bit speechless as well as reading my mind, said, "That's not normal. Even for Russia, that is not normal."
And so began the adventure....
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