Straight into the deep end.

Back to Moscow after 8 months away. The most surreal, outer-body experience of a return and after nearly three weeks it feels like I never left. So much has changed during my time away and I’m still astounded by the speed this city is developing and propelling itself forward into a 21st-century, modern, technological metropolis. A European outlook is creating a city with more greenery, more pedestrian space and more respect for its surroundings. 

With unbelievably fresh eyes, naïvely tainted by a comforting and calm state of mind, which I eagerly acquired during my adventures in Parma, Rome and Vancouver Island over the last few months, I can’t help feeling much more detached from the life I led here before, and I am so excited to enjoy another side of the city. A side that I couldn’t let myself enjoy completely before while studying was my main focus, my main objective, my reason for being here. That’s a side note now. A project to finish physically, while I propel myself forward into creating a different life in this city. A different approach that I can embrace and nourish, using everything the last few years has given me. 

Distance has only highlighted the sharp societal contrasts I had become so accustomed to before I left, and it’s fascinating to see them again in a new light. Final year of studying and I'm seeing lots of engagement and wedding rings appearing among fellow students. Those deeply-engrained, traditional gender roles are always going to be hard to swallow coming from societies embracing non-binary gendering in full force, and for many young people here your mid-twenties is prime marrying time. Take away the importance of travelling and creating personal experiences for yourself in your twenties - a value we have had the luxury of being instilled in us through our upbringing - and it is the logical next step after finishing your degree. It’s so interesting how the concept of age can vary so much between cultures. 
And female and male roles here are also so set in stone. A puzzled look on my face as a lecturer told off a male student for not grabbing a chair for a female student who had arrived late (we have a chair shortage in our lecture halls, but that’s another story) and I was quickly reminded where I was. Come to think of it, I have always struggled with carrying my own chair, putting my coat on myself and, god forbid, opening a door while holding my own bag… 

Jokes aside, it is refreshing to be back in a city where I feel completely safe on my own at night and never feel threatened by offensive comments or unnecessary "attention" in clubs. My dancing shoes are back on in full force and I’m taking full advantage of the exciting, flourishing music scene the younger generation are creating here. No gender division among those really looking for change. And this 24-hour city has so much to offer. 

A new friend invited me* to his conducting of Don Giovanni on one of the Bolshoi Stages and then to a concert in my favourite concert hall in Moscow, Dom Muziki ('the house of music'), where he was conducting the backing orchestra for a Soviet Russian Icon. Alexander Malinin. A quick search engine gander** can tell you more than I could ever could. 

From the front row seat at the opera - stretch out my legs and my feet were on the stage - to two hours of top hits from a legend of the typical Soviet song - with three outfits changes including a sumptuous blue velvet jacket - and I was reminded of the cultural wealth on my doorstep. Impatient Russians waiting for the concert to start, while the latecomers cleared security checks on entry (a standard when entering most public buildings), didn’t hesitate, at 7.08pm no less, in initiating a persistent clap until orchestra members started filing onto the stage. (Eight minutes of waiting was the ultimate test of their patience.) 

And the concert was extended by at least 20 minutes to accommodate the stream of adoring women bringing him extravagant bouquets of flowers (as is custom at concerts here -see: https://arussianabroad.blogspot.com/2016/01/where-is-your-hat.html) between every song. I counted over twenty bouquets professionally stacked on top of the piano by the end and quick mental arithmetic (thank you A-level Maths) confirmed at least two-months’ of my living expenses in flowers on top of a piano I could only dream of owning one day. After the initial bemusement, I realised it was beautiful and heartwarming. His songs offer love, warmth and hope and he was a much needed beacon of light for many in a time of need, and still is. Undoubtedly so. 

With my hunger for culture truly satisfied, the cold and crazy daily schedule has me eating at least triple the normal amount and I realised - surprise, surprise - European food is the one thing I really miss. 

Desperate late-night messages to my close friend, Napolitan-born food guru as I struggle to navigate a variety of “cleverly” Italian-branded, yet Russian-produced, pastas and coffees has left me wishing I hadn’t been so generous in giving everyone packets of parmesan as presents when I arrived. Silly me. And a recent revelation, when I had a weird craving for my favourite Canadian breakfast, BAGELS. I can’t find them anywhere. Not even a crumb. Even the highly popular and equally highly overpriced supermarket Azbuka Vkusa (roughly translated ’the alphabet of taste’) with its array of imported European and North American products has seemed to overlook them. A potential business idea? Why not.  

Here’s to hoping they fix the heating in our building sooner rather than later, and if anyone fancies shipping over a couple packets of sesame seed bagels, I will more than happily pay for postage. 

Speak soon,

xx 

*(after relentless pestering from yours truly I should probably mention)

** I would HIGHLY recommend

fruit salad alla russa hmmm 

beautiful and inspiring Moscow film studios, which effortlessly transport you back in time

the continuation of Europeanisation at its finest - rental motor scooters that no one dares to use in Moscow traffic

the ultimate selection of ketchups - the perfect base to a Russian-style pasta sauce

the blue velvet jacket ft. a MASSIVE organ

one of the beautiful renovations I was surprised with upon my return

Daily living.

It will come as no surprise to anyone that food takes a central role in day-to-day life in Italy. It’s always amusing to hear friends making fun of each other for the way they cook pasta - “you put onion in your carbonara?!” - and slightly less amusing when they make fun of me for eating dinner at 8pm - “you’re going to eat at 8 like a nonna*?!”. I’ve sat through hours of unbelievably in-depth discussions of meals, ingredients, cooking methods and restaurant comparisons: making sure to learn as much as I can while also trying very very hard to not say anything that would be met with a similar comment. I, of course, would never dream of putting onion in my carbonara. 

I’m slowly learning the tricks to a perfect plate of pasta, although the one time I was left unsupervised to cook dinner, I could barely eat from the pressure and stress I felt for the fear of an Italian person critiquing my Italian dish. I can count the days on one hand that I haven’t seen pasta since I’ve been here and the question on everyone’s lips is - how on earth do Italians not gain weight?? I think I’ve cracked it. Italians spend a disproportionate amount of time standing up. Coffee and a croissant, aka breakfast, are often taken standing up at the bar. A lunchtime slice of pizza or an afternoon tramezzino** (a triangular sandwich normally white bread with crusts cut off) are often consumed standing up. And meeting friends for drinks in the evening normally involves grabbing a drink in a cheap bar and standing in the piazza or surrounding area to chat, joke and have the odd in-depth discussion - probably food-related. It is not uncommon to be “standing around” for a few hours before going off to squeeze in a couple hours of dancing. So, I have come to the conclusion that all this standing must counterbalance the daily pizza and pasta. Surely. Or the hourly espresso - burning off all the calories from the constant caffeine buzz.

Apart from the ordering at the bar and consuming your drink there or outside, another aspect of Italian life that might take getting used to is getting your scontrino (receipt/proof of payment) at the cashier separately from where you order your drink. In busy or touristic places you are normally asked to pay first, but in the majority of places you pay just before you leave and, as my brother remarked on his recent trip with me to Rome, “it’s absolutely genius” as it saves time with baristas trying to take payments as well as take orders and make drinks. Not that I brought this up to remark on this “revolutionary” payment system - I understand that restaurants work like this all over the world, but I’m talking café’s and bars. The thing that strikes me here is the amount of TRUST this system requires - I cannot imagine so much trust in any other place I have lived. [Well, perhaps apart from Hornby Island.***] One wonderful Italian characteristic. Trust. Italians speak their mind and are sincere. There’s no games, reading between the lines or trying to second guess. Candour - accompanied by a flourish of gestures and dramatic expressions, which should generally be taken with a pinch of salt. But don’t put too much on your pasta, or you will be the next joke at the dinner table. 

Alla prossima,

A xx  

*grandma

**the word is composed of tra-mezz-ino: tra - meaning between, mezzo - meaning middle, ino - the suffix used to denote something small in size. So all the signs pointing to something small to be consumed between meals in the middle of the afternoon.

***i will leave you to google this one

roof top cacio e pepe con carciofi  

the eastern boarder

1st may bbq vibes 

1st may fresh mozzarella vibes

Where am I?

Back in Europe now for a little while and, after having truly discovered and awakened my Russian side that had stayed dormant for so long, I was fascinated to see how I would adjust back to life in Europe, in Italy. 

Moving to any new place for an extended period of time always involves a few boring, often unnecessarily-complicated errands that take up the first week or so of your time. Now was no different. Coming from a city where everything is open late into the evening, if not 24/7, and lunch break is something to be taken when one has a minute to spare, adjusting to the sacred 90-minute Italian lunch break and generally limited opening hours meant morning rushes to get to places before they closed for lunch as well as factoring in the much more relaxed pace Italians have when it comes to getting things done. I kept missing the guy helping me with my bank account - as it turns out being in “in the afternoons” means arriving at 14:30 and leaving by 16:00. [A guy at the hospital the other day even made a joke to to his colleague who was leaving early; “do you work in a bank now?” - a common theme?] At least everyone is unbelievably friendly so it always feels like you’re talking to an old friend doing whatever they can to help with a big, cheeky grin. 

A month in a city I know and love deeply, before going to Parma to study at the conservatory until June, Rome allowed me to gently settle back into Italian life before the late end-of-February start of term. Within a couple of days I found my go-to coffee and croissant place and it took a mere few days before I was greeted with a morning “Ciao bella, come stai? Cappuccino, vero? e un cornetto, si?”* 
[see 'Feeling Raf and Ready' http://arussianabroad.blogspot.com/2018/10/]. 
In any new place I live in, I tend to get my bearings and orientate myself through food. I like to try as many potential cafe’s, coffee places, restaurants and on-the-go spots as possible (money permitting of course). This not only gives me a perfect opportunity to explore the city, including smaller roads, shortcuts and less touristy areas, but it allows me acquaint myself as quickly as possible with the area as well as giving me some kind of “local” knowledge - a crucial factor in feeling like you have a life there. I found the best ice-cream spot in Rome this way, and of all the people (including a couple complainers about the 15-min walk from the metro to get there) I have subsequently brought there, no one has yet to disagree. Relaxing my diet rules slightly, after some encouragement, I allowed myself to try bucatini all’amatriciana and the best spaghetti alla carbonara Rome has to offer, while also indulging in the normality of having slightly under-sized donuts for breakfast. (They count as a “pastry” here, and who am I to tell them otherwise?)

I quickly adjusted to hectic drivers, buses that run on their own, as of yet, undisclosed schedules and the late dinner time (around 9/9:30pm), and after a few weeks I felt ready to tackle real life in Parma. Having never been there, but knowing the city was located not far from Bologna and with a reputation of a good university and a very good conservatory, I expected the city to be a smaller version of Bologna. Oh, how mistaken I was. I was greeted with this hybrid german-dutch-italian city and I was caught off guard. Parma is clean and orderly. People are on time and follow the rules of the road - including slowing down for pedestrians at a crossing. It feels like there are more bikes than cars - especially in the centre - and the number 5 “bus” is some kind of strange hybrid between bus and electric tram. Think electric tram on wheels. The buses are regular and reliable and people seem to be trustworthy. I have seen bikes left on streets secured by a lock between the back wheel and the frame but standing otherwise freely on the pavement. Things and people here are organised, straightforward and calm - a surprisingly welcome change and breathe of fresh air. 

A city known for its Parma Ham and Parmesan, I wasn’t surprised to see Parmesan being sold in outdoor vending machines to ensure 24-hour access in case of emergency and I’ve vowed to find the best Parmesan in town before my time is up. The coloured houses and clean architecture weirdly remind me of Dusseldorf, while the overwhelming number of bikes, of Amsterdam - this impression not at all hindered by the legalisation of CBD marijuana in Italy and the shops that have been popping up since. However, go into the historical centre and the “italianness” is unmistakeable. The beautiful duomo completed 900 years ago is as stunning as ever and radiates with rich Italian history and art. And there is the ever present slightly hexagonal-circular shape of the old city walls, which are clearly visible on any map and typical to these cities. A day spent in the nearby city of Reggio Emilia (on the same line between Bologna and Piacenza) and the feeling was the same and very comforting. An architecture and a history giving these emiliane cities a character that is beautiful and completely and truly Italian. And, of course, no other country will make ice-cream like they do here. Thankfully I’ve already found my Parma gelato place and it is conveniently right around the corner from my house. 

Visitors are more than welcome. 

Un bacio,

A xxx

*the name for a croissant tends to vary region to region but cornetto/brioche/pasto are all acceptable options. 

breaking rules

mid-winter lake trip

freak hailstorm to cool us down in the heat

central Rome morning views that melt my heart

Parma bike parking

the tomb of the composer of one of the most famous tunes ever written