This blog's been going about a month and I've already explained how I got out to Russia, so it seems reasonable to go back to the very first pic I took in Russia. It was taken from my room at the Hotel Salut, in south-west Moscow, where work had put me up on arriving in Russia and to wait for an onward flight to Surgut. So much already seemed so alien to me at this point; I don't know about culture-shock... it was more like a kick in the nuts (or a kick in the 'eggs', to use a more Russian vernacular)...
The appearance of the place - the rows of apartment blocks. Yes, you have tower blocks in the UK but not as far as the eye can see or a city-full.
I was met at the airport by a man called Sasha. I later discovered how friendly he was, but at this time, with our lack of each other's language, he came across as brusque. Not deliberately unfriendly, you could sense that it was just that the need for efficiency and haste was more pressing than the need to smile. I soon got used to this demeanor among Russians and to see the warmth that lies beyond.
The hotel room looked like it'd been especially imported from another decade or furnished by a shopaholic who'd had a pent-up urgd finally unleashed at a flea market and had bought any old shit. On its own, it probably wasn't that bad. But, as a part of the overall picture, it definitely added to the overwhelming sense of 'where the hell am I?' I also got used to grotty, overpriced Russian hotels that think that old, decrepit furniture equals elegance. For what it's worth, Hotel Salut looks a lot nicer now on the website.
The breakfast was my first encounter with Russian food and thank f**k it got better. I'll never forget how the dining hall was mainly full of young, international sportsmen and -women, taking part in competitions across the road important enough to be televised. I'd already had the cheese flan (yes, for breakfast), which was ok... -ish, and they brought out porridge on which they'd placed butter but, by the time it got to us, it was already cold and the butter had reset. A brave Swiss girl went first. Her face screwed up, repulsed by the offering, and then panic and then awkwardness. Her eyes flitted around the table, measuring up her fellow guests and their possible reaction. That done, she spat out the porridge. I dug past the off-putting layer of butter and tried; it was awful and unpalatably salty... but at least I managed to swallow the one spoonful I was
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Looking back, it's hard to imagine myself before my time in Russia; before its influence; before the experience made me grow and made me stronger. The sense of wonder that I see in Russian friends' and relatives' wide eyes is what must have been in mine when I took this photo - naïve, stunned, intringued and excited all at once.
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