Lessons Learned in Strange Places

Chapter 4
In the Land of Winter, but Never Christmas

When we landed at the airport, (in November 1983) snow was all over the ground. I would have been disappointed if there hadn’t been, as my mental picture of Russia always included snow. It was November, and Moscow had had ten inches of snow already.
After landing, we went immediately to customs. Getting through customs was a unique experience, as each person had to stand, one at a time, in front of a young Russian soldier who stared first at your passport and then at you. You felt rather like you were facing a single firing squad as the minutes passed by, and he continued to stare at you, unsmiling and deathly silent. Finally, if you didn’t appear to be a threat to their Communist society, you were allowed to pass on into another room, where you retrieved your bags and had them x-rayed for contraband (contraband being, of course, things such as Bibles, comic books, and pornography).
As soon as all of our group safely made it through customs, we climbed aboard a large Russian bus to be taken to our hotel. Our hotel was quite modern. Each room even contained a color television set, although I never could get mine to work.
When we had gotten situated in our rooms, my mother announced that she was thirsty. Since the travel literature had said that the tap water was unsafe to drink, I decided to buy a bottle of mineral water. Having noticed an icebox standing by the lady who kept the keys (on each floor there was a lady ensconced behind a desk to whom you turned in your keys each time you left your room). I approached her and asked for a bottle of water. When I went to pay for it, however, I found she would not take my American dollars or German marks, and I had no Russian rubles, since we had just arrived, and the hotel bank was already closed for the day. I tried to explain to her that I would pay her as soon as I got some money changed, but to my consternation she understood none of my “jabbering.” I soon found myself in a position similar to the criminal, as I began having to sneak around, hoping to avoid “the keeper of the keys.” Every time she spotted me, she demanded her money. At least I understood that much. Whatever else she was saying (whether she was threatening to have me arrested or something worse), I fortunately did not understand. I certainly felt much happier the next day when I got some money changed and “the keeper of the keys” was paid.
The name of our hotel was Belgrade I. My mother and I discovered one evening when we were let out of a taxi that just across the street was a hotel called Belgrade II. And this is the one we entered. We knew that we were on the right street, as the buildings looked familiar, but somehow the lobby of the Belgrade II Hotel appeared completely different. We were thankful that we discovered we were in the wrong hotel while we were still in the lobby and did not get involved with “the keeper of the keys” in a hotel that was not our own.
After a good night’s rest, we were to begin our sightseeing tour the next morning. However, I became panicky when I discovered I was missing an important document given to us the night before to keep for money transactions. I had visions of being thrown into a Russian jail for the rest of my life. I was very much relieved when I found the document was with my passport, which was being kept by the hotel receptionist!
Our sightseeing tour took us to all the usual attractions—the Kremlin, Red Square, St. Basil’s Cathedral, etc. Red Square we discovered to be neither red nor square. It was a long rectangular area going uphill from the street and Moscow River below. At one end were Lenin’s Tomb and the Russian Historical Museum. At the other end was St. Basil’s Cathedral. All along one side of Red Square was the beautiful red brick wall of the Kremlin. Inside the Kremlin were four Russian Orthodox cathedrals. For a country that claims to be atheistic, their seat of government came well-equipped with places of worship! None of them were used as actual places of worship, however, but were museums when we were there.
Breaking away from the tour group one evening, my mother and I went on our own to visit the GUM state-owned department store. It was a crisp, cold evening as we entered through the large side entrance of the store to mingle among some 350,000 people who daily shop in GUM. One of the people in our group described GUM as looking like a big, dirty railroad station with a balcony. Actually, this is not just a single department store, but rather many different stores under one roof. There were three floors but no elevators or escalators. Neither were there any places to rest one’s tired feet or body, as was shown by the yellowish walls, which were tinged with black where countless tired bodies had leaned up against them seeking a moment’s rest. Each floor was divided into two long, wide corridors, which were lined with small shops. Once inside the shops, it was difficult to even get up to a counter to see what they had to sell because of the crowds of people lined up inside. Once a person found something to buy, he or she had to first show the clerk the item wanted, then pay for it before he or she could actually hold it in his or her hands. And the sales personnel figured the bill on beaded abacuses!
Just inside the entrance to the building was a beer dispensing machine with a single glass from which everyone was supposed to drink. And throughout the store were found many ice cream vendors. They seemed to be doing a brisk business, as we brushed past many ice cream cones in all stages of being devoured.
After making a purchase of two bottles of perfume, we decided to head back to our hotel. Coming out of the warm store into the cold Russian night, we developed countless goose bumps as we walked along the street shivering. Everything was dark as we headed toward a large thoroughfare where we thought we could catch a taxi. Although it was getting close to Christmas, and all the shops in Western Europe had been gaily decorated with religious symbols of the season, there was not a single Christmas decoration anywhere in Moscow. We saw only the ruby red stars glowing in the night, which were placed on top of Communist government buildings. The whole scene—snow everywhere but no sign of Christmas—reminded me of C. S. Lewis’s, land of Narnia, in which there was always winter but never Christmas.
We placed ourselves in a strategic position near the street and began trying to hail a taxi. Several actually did stop, but upon noticing our destination (I had a card with the name of our hotel in my hand for purposes of better communication as I can only speak two words of Russian, yes and no), the answer was always “nyet” (no). As the time passed, and we got colder and colder, I suggested that we walk over to the Rossia Hotel, supposedly the largest hotel in the world. I thought it might be easier to catch a taxi at a hotel. But such was not the case. When I tried to ask someone for help, no one spoke any of the languages that I speak.