Last day of our acquaintance

So today is the day when I'll leave Moscow and Russia behind. It might have been more of an epic story if I'd leave Moscow directly for London and UK but a nice cooling down in the lonesome Nordic corner that many people know as Finland appears to be quite vital for me at this point (after three months of Moscow, yeah!).

Now it's time for me to gather some thoughts of my time here in Moscow. Firstly, I ended up in this city very suddenly and even slightly to my own astonishment (mainly due to the amount of work and study I had in the hectic rat race back in Helsinki last spring). Secondly, as I already wrote in June, I continued to live within two different bubbles (in the embassy and at my friends Night and Troll) throughout the whole summer. Thirdly, my life in Moscow very quickly adopted a certain pattern (off to work, off to home, off to sleep) it followed the whole time I was in the city. This pattern did not break but only had few pauses while I was twice in Yaroslavl' and once in St.Petersburg. 

I came back from Yaroslavl' on Sunday with some great ideas that came to my head while I spent a sleepless night on Saturday. Basically what happened was that I was finally able to pick a career I want to pursue. And the one (and the only logical one) I see ahead of me is the one of a teacher. Not any teacher though but a teacher of languages (Russian + Finnish or perhaps English). So, what I need to do about this is to give it a little more thought (find out about the possibilities to realize this in my home university) and sign in and undertake two entrance exams next spring.

Also, these last few days here in Moscow have turned out to be, frankly, the very best days of this summer. Why exactly? Well, let it suffice to say that I've had the pleasure to enjoy the company of an extraordinary girl ('extraordinary' due to her ability to stand me for virtually all the time!). During these last few days we've had some really good time together starting with a house party in Uhtomskaya (where I live) and ending with an evening cruise on the Moskva river. Here I have two pictures for you:

Kremlin (on the right-hand side) at dusk

Me on the waves and in dreamy weather.
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So, I'll leave this city and this country within few hours in a mix of both enthusiasm (of all the things awaiting me) and sadness (for all the good things I've had experienced in Moscow) with the words of Sinéad O'Connor:  
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This is the last day of our acquintance
I will meet you later in somebody's office
I'll talk but you won't listen to me
I know your answer already
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The reason for these particular words remains with a number of experiences and phenomenons I've had to come across almost every single day while in Moscow (some of them being but not limiting to such things as overpopulation and overcrowdedness, bureaucracy that by my reckoning is way closer to idiocracy and inefficiency of most public service, but most of all scrupulous, self-absorbed and indifferent people I had to serve, attend, work with and meet on a daily basis). Without being too bitter I must confess that I've had enough of Russia for quite some time and I also need some time on my own to put my thoughts (and myself) back together after this rattle.

But on the other hand I'm certainly (from overall perspective) happy with my summer in the Russian capital. Firstly, I've met and befriended some amazing people not just from the embassy but also some Muscovites and few people from around the world. I'm also very grateful to my friends Night and Troll who allowed me to stay with them and even took good care of me by providing me with an astonishing environment in which to live on the outskirts of Moscow city. And thirdly I wouldn't have missed these last days in Moscow for the world: I've regained some of my past self-confidence and even few of my older more romantic ideas of life in general. And all these aforementioned things neither I nor anyone else can measure in money or gold simply because they are few pieces of the mosaic that make up the pattern and the picture of my life.

Yours & ready for departure,

Stefan

A Postcard from Bilbao

For once I decided to use this blog of mine for what blogs are usually intended for: to share with you some news and to tell you about my day to day  life here in Moscow. So, let us begin!

I set out to Moscow (and to London) in order to rethink the puzzle of my life and to reset the direction where I'm heading to. This jigsaw has become somewhat clearer mainly due to my isolation (I live in two different bubbles, remember?). To say the turth I haven't been at all intrested in the life of my family and friends in Finland and luckily they haven't been that keen on my affairs. So I've got what I wanted: solitude. Well at least to a certain amount (yeah, alone in Europe's biggest city! Who would have thought?).

Then on the other hand thanks to my hosts and firends (Night and Trol) being active member of CouchSurfing we've had intresting and often quite extraordinary people from all over the world staying with us, for a day or two, and sharing some of their life with us. This, for one, has been in a way a major contribution for my efforts to get different perspective to the rat race of my university, my life in Helsinki and in Finland. I've also befriended some of our guests and it is rather possible that I'll meet them later on while in London.

Last weekend I went with my friend to see a peculiar musical in the Mossoviet Theatre. This play was the Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. For one I could never have been able to imagine this specific piece of literature being transformed into a Broadway style musical. Nevertheless, this Russian cast along with the director succeeded in creating an entertaining and truly inspiring play with accurate coreography and some remarkable acting.

On the other hand the play thoroughly lacked the feeling of Victorian London or rather the stiffness and pompousness of the British upper class which, at least by my reckoning, is an essential part of R. L. Stevenson's work. Also, I was especially annoyed by the sexist division between the male and female roles: the genteel messrs were convincing in their manners whereas the ladies were so profoundly Russian not just in their apperance but their constant melodramatical arias and romantic whining that I almost lost my nerves. Luckily the crucial scene of the last dialogue between Jekyll and Hyde (seen below) was carried out to perfection by Alexandr Domogarov:

This week I also had the pleasure of receiving a postcard from my friend in Bilbao. The postcard reminded me of those things I've lacked here in Moscow including open spaces and horizons, running water (as in a lake or a sea - we do have tubes here!), Finnish summer (or rural summer anyhow) but predominantly the company of many of my best friends. On that postcard is a picture of the Guggenheim Museum of Bilbao at dusk (somewhat similar to the picture below):

But right now I'm on my way to Yaroslavl' once again. This time simply just to relax and to gather my thoughts before I once more find myself in the ever condensing monotony of Finland. 

Yours in haste,

Stefan

PS. Cheezy as it may sound I've collected and unofficial OST of my summer here in Moscow (following an example of my Dutch friend). If you're intrested enough then, by all means, listen:

1. A beginning of an era: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dvgZkm1xWPE&ob=av2n
2. The first and worst days at work: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CzRecTQUXv8
3. The meaning of life (vol. Russian): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AOzkN8dHnjk
4. Babylon had never any power over you!: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pHDafPS4opk
5. Moscow's got magic: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KtvgNBRGnMc
6. Wodka trinkt man pur und kalt!: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BQAKRw6mToA
7. Nights in St.Petersburg: http://www.myspace.com/dushapitera
8. Evening of Finnish cuisine and music: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iCRGnoVLGnE
9. A postcard from Moscow: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BTNeCxtPaeM&feature=related
10. A toast for the turning of the season: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MEnUp2j8TV4
11. A breath of autumnal air: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9CxknQGTjyw&feature=related
12. УГ!: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8P7tW9-_Fck
13. Stuck in the August rain: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xx9I4l64huA
14. Swimming under a starry sky: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ahJ6Kh8klM4
15. On an August summer night: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n4RjJKxsamQ&ob=av2e
16. The last day in Moscow and in Russia: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jLGobWuiYuc

Nightswimming

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After all this whining I decided to treat you guys with something more pleasant: I'll share some more pictures of my life in Moscow. I came to this conclusion for two reasons. Firstly, 'cause I'm lazy. Secondly, 'cause they say a picture can tell more than thousand words (this argument only underlines my laziness and inability to write you something fresh). 

But before the good stuff bare with me for awhile. As strange as it may now seem and sound (after all this time in the Russian capital) I've finally learned to really like Moscow. The key was under my nose all this time: to accept this city, its habits and its people just the way they are. But now let's start with the collage:

Wet Moscow riverbank after two beers and few vessels full of partying people that passed by.

Some unfortunate bublik in a pond in Moscow zoo few seconds before it was eaten up by a swarm of salmons, turtles, catfish and some perch.

Me enjoying myself as one of the locals: chilling out in a fountain in the Moscow's Victory Park with live concert playing some lame popsa on the background.  

From here on the pictures are from last Friday evening which I spend just roaming around the city with a friend of mine after a hard day's work and after we had bought tickets to a theatre play you shall soon enough hear about..

This picture could have ended up earlier in the post "Moscow's got Magic" because the park and the pond in the picture make the first scene in Bulgakov's novel Master and Margarita. This park is the Patriarch Ponds and it is here where professor Woland first appears on this visit to Moscow in spring somewhere in early 1930's.

Cathedral of Christ the Saviour at dusk..
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...and probably the best possible view on Moscow skyline at dusk. Here you can clearly see all the layers (the tzarist, Soviet and modern) of makeup lady Moscow has on her face.
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And here am I thinking of the summers past, pining for Tarnovo and dreaming of a nightswimming (mind you not in the Moscow river - I'm not mental enough to plunge myself into that river!) that I'm going to undertake with my friend some of these days in an outdoor pool.


And speaking of nightswimming here I have my official theme song for this summer: (Psst! mind the link in the subtitle below)

Nightswimming (by R.E.M.)
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Nightswimming deserves a quiet night
The photograph on the dashboard, taken years ago,
Turned around backwards so the windshield shows
Every streetlight reveals the picture in reverse
Still, it's so much clearer
I forgot my shirt at the water's edge
The moon is low tonight

Nightswimming deserves a quiet night
I'm not sure all these people understand
It's not like years ago,
The fear of getting caught,
Of recklessness and water
They cannot see me naked
These things, they go away,
Replaced by everyday

Nightswimming, remembering that night
September's coming soon
I'm pining for the moon
And what if there were two
Side by side in orbit
Around the fairest sun?
That bright, tight forever drum
Could not describe nightswimming

You, I thought I knew you
You, I cannot judge
You, I thought you knew me,
This one laughing quietly underneath my breath
Nightswimming

The photograph reflects,
Every streetlight a reminder
Nightswimming deserves a quiet night, deserves a quiet night

Yours on the photographs above,

Stefan

Vieras väärästä maasta

The topic for this article is the age old antagonism within Finland towards Russians as people. I've already written vaguely on the same subject exclusively in Russian. Since the topic is as specific as it is I feel like it is time for me to write in Finnish. So, the next piece of brain flow is dedicated to my Finnish friends.

   

Ryssänä Suomessa 

Syyttömänä syntymään sattui hän
tähän maahan pohjoiseen ja kylmään,
jossa jo esi-isät juovuksissa tottakai
hakkasivat vaimot, lapset jos ne kiinni sai

                                         

                                         - Eppu Normaali

Sain hiljattain käsiini Suomen Moskovan suurlähetystössä Inna Latischevan kirjoittaman kirjan Ryssänä Suomessa - Vieras väärästä maasta. Eräs ystäväni neuvoi minua kerran jättämään kirjan väliin. Hänen mukaansa minun ei kannattanut kirjaa lukea sillä se saattaisi vain katkeroittaa minua. Itselleni tyypilliseen jääräpäiseen tapaan päätin kirjaan kuitenkin tarttua: olipahan jotain mitä lukea työmatkoilla Moskovan metrossa. Tämä kirjoitus on siis ensinnäkin ko. kirjan analyysi sekä toisekseen itseanalyysi. Odotan lukijalta ensisijaisesti kriittistä lähestymistä artikkelin sisältöön.
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[Ennen kuin varsinaisesti aloitan tahdon korostaa kahta asiaa. Ensinnäkin sitä että olen suomalainen. En ole sitä erityisesti suurella mielihyvällä sillä en ole tähän lopputulokseen varsinaisen helpoin ponnistuksin päässyt. Toisekseen tahdon korostaa että olen varsin isänmaallinen suomalainen. Minulle isänmaallisuus tatkoittaa ensisijaisesti sitä että kykenee suhtautumaan hyvin kriittisesti kotimaahansa. Tämä siksi että jos esim. isänmaallinen suomalainen ei osaa nähdä kotimaansa epäkohtia tai puuttua niihin - millainen patriootti hän silloin oikeastaan onkaan? Varsin kehno kehtaan sanoa.]

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Inna Latischevan teos Ryssänä Suomessa on ensisijaisesti maahanmuuttajataustaisen businessnaisen autobiografinen tilitys. Vaikka teos onkin kirjallisesti varsin kehno, kerronta paikoitellen varsin epäjohdonmukainen ja otsakkeen lupailemat pohdinnat suomenvenäläisyydestä kirjassa usein varsin toisarvoisia - ei kirjan tärkeys hälvene eikä sen "pointti" katoa. Kirja on ensimmäinen laatuaan Suomen kansallisten vähemmistöjen ja valtaväestö välisessä diskurssista. Se on ilmeisesti kirjoitettu Espanjan auringon alla sillä sinne kirjan kertoja päätyy kärvisteltyään ja tuskailtuaan ensin kuusitoista vuotta Suomessa. Kirjassa minua harmittaa erityisesti se, että tämä käytännössä katsoen ensimmäinen suomenvenäläinen puheenvuoro on laadultaan niin heikko ja jo pelkästään siksi on helppoa olla noteeraamatta sitä millään tavalla. Toisaalta vaikeaa on olla noteeraamatta kirjan aiheuttamia reaktioita. Päätin googlettaa ko. kirjan ja tässäpä hakutuloksista ensimmäinen: http://satuvirtala.puheenvuoro.uusisuomi.fi/30563-ryssana-suomessa .

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Lukiessani kirjaa en voinut välttyä peilaamasta Latischevan kokemuksia ja tietoja omiini, mutta uskallan väittää että oma läpileikkaukseni lähes 23 vuodelta Suomea ja suomalaisuutta on kattavampi ja ehyempi kuin hänen. Toisaalta uskallan väittää ingretoituneeni henkisesti osaksi suomalaisuutta varsin myöhään. Itse asissa tuo prosessi alkoi minun ollessani noin viidentoista vuoden ikäinen. Siitä kuitenkin myöhemmin lisää.

Kirjan keskeisiä argumentteja tai ajatuksia ovat: 

a) Suomessa ei ole mitään merkitystä sillä, millainen ihminen olet. Jos olet ulkomaalainen et voi koskaan olla yksi suomalaisista. Muualla maailmassa, kuten kirjan esimerkeissä Espanjasta, olet osa "meitä" heti kun sinusta opitaan pitämään. Suomessa ulkomaalainen pysyy ulkomaalaisena vaikka hänestä pidettäisiinkin.

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b) Suomessa asuva venäläinen joutuu aina tuntemaan alemmuutta venäläisyydestään (olkoonkin että alemmuutta ei voi väitetysti tuntea jollei siihen itse anna lupaa). Itse asiassa Suomessa venäläiset ja muut "huonommat" ulkomaalaiset (kuten somalit ja arabit) ovat B-luokan kansalaisia.

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c) Jokaisessa maassa tai kansassa on hyviä ja pahoja ihmisiä, ja joskus hyvät ihmiset tekevät pahoja asioita. Se on elämää ja sen kanssa täytyy oppia elämään vailla sen suurempaa kiihkoa, sulkeutuneisuutta tai ennakkoluuloa.

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d) Suomessa ulkomaalaiset jaotellaan kahteen kategoriaan seuraavasti: on niitä joita katsotaan alaspäin - kuten venäläiset, somalit ja arabit - ja niitä, joita katsotaan ylöspäin kuten britit ja amerikkalaiset. Suomalaisilla on huonon itsetunnon takia tarve saada katsoa jotakuta alaspäin, siten he saavat oman itsetuntonsa nousemaan.

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e) Suomi on hyvä maa, mutta se on hyvä vain suomalaisille. Tilastojen mukaan noin 96% Suomessa asuvista on suomalaisia. On oltava jokin syy siihen, miksi tässä maassa on niin vähän ulkomaalaisia. Tilaa maassa kyllä olisi, sillä Suomessa on (ilmeisesti Islannin jälkeen) Euroopan pienin väentiheys: silti siellä ei ole tilaa ulkomaalaisille, varsinkaan venäläisille.

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Vaikka nämä väitteet vaikuttaisivatkin asiattomilta tai jopa banaaleilta voin vakuuttaa etteivät ne ole täysin tuulesta temmattuja. Vastaavia lausuntoja olen kuullut ruotsinsuomalaisilta koskien Ruotsia ja ruotsalaisia. Minulla itselläni on osoittaa omasta elämästäni esimerkkejä jotka tukevat useimpia em. ajatuksia.

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Lyhyt katsaus historiaan: synnyin Suomen kansalaisena, Tampereen TAYS:ssa ja sain jo syntyessäni Suomen kansalaisuuden sillä äitini oli suomalainen. Isäni sitä vastoin oli neuvostoliittolainen maahanmuuttoja. Hänen sukunimensä oli venäläistautainen vaikka itse hän ei itseänsä välttämättä edes määrittelisi kovinkaan venäläiseksi. Todettakoon vielä että Venäjällä ja Neuvostoliitolla ei ollut koskaan mitään muuta yhteistä kuin kieli ja samoin kuin entisessä Jugoslaviassa kehittyi (tai kehitettiin) erityinen jugoslavialainen identiteetti saattaa jokunen ihminen maailmassa edelleenkin tuntea itsensä neuvostoliittolaiseksi.
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Vaikka voitinkin lotossa jättipotin syntyessäni Suomeen (ja päästen samalla osakkaaksi maailman parasta sosiaalijärjestelmää, koulutusta ja elintasoa) sen kantaväestöllä kesti pitkään osoittaa minulle että olen osa sitä. Minulla oli (ja on yhä) Suomen kansalaisuus ja kaikki samat oikeudet sekä velvollisuudet mitä muillakin maani kansalaisilla, mutta siitä pitäen kun itseni muistan on minulle tehty selväksi erilaisuuteni tai jopa eriarvoisuuteni muihin nähden. Kohtaamisilla kantaväestön kanssa tarkoitan etupäässä peruskoulua, asepalvelustani ja arkipäiväistä kadunihmisten kohtaamista.
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Alle kuoluikäisenä asuin Etelä-Hervannan ghettossa ja elämäni oli keskittynyt taloyhtiömme pihan leikkien ympärille. Tuolloin elin varsin pienessä ja suljetussa ympäristössä. Parhaimpia ystäviäni olivat maahanmuuttajien lapset, vaikka kaveerasinkin myös suomalaisperheiden lapsien kanssa. Tuolta ajalta minuun iskostui jo ajatus antagonistisesta konfliktista eli aloin ymmärtää maailman "me" vastaan "ne/he". Tällä en kuitenkaan tarkoita kantasuomalaisia vs. maahanmuttajia vaan Etelä-Hervannan ghetton asukkaita vs. kantakaupungin keskiluokkaa. Kuvio säilyi tällaisena pitkään. Aina siihen asti kunnes muutimme ghettosta pois keskelle sitä em. keskiluokkaa Tampereen Kalevaan.
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Uudessa koulussani en enää ollut yksi muista niin kuin Etelä-Hervannassa vaan nyt olin aluksi se uusi poika ja myöhemmin ryssä. Asetelma jatkui samanlaisena peruskoulun loppuun asti kouluista ja asuinpaikoista huolimatta. Kaikissa kouluyhteisöissä oli ilmeinen tarve rakentaa rintamia, jaotella ihmiset "meihin" ja "niihin". Hyvää oli sopeutuminen/alistuminen. Pahaa oli hangoittelu/erilaisuus. Minun kohdallani tämä tarkoitti irtisanoutumista nimestäni ja syntyperästäni. Muutoin ehkä olisinkin pyrkinyt sopeutumaan, mutta kyseessä ei ollut esim. vääränlainen vaatetus tai ujous - kyseessä oli syntyperä. Miten minä sitä olisin voinut muuttaa? Selvennykseksi vielä todettakoon että olen lähes aina pitänyt ihmisen syntyperään puuttumista tai sille minkäänlaisen merkityksen antamista eugeniikkaan eli rotuoppiin verrattavana.
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Peruskoulun jälkeen alkoi a) adoptoitumisprosessi uuteen sukuun ja b) identiteettini etsintä lähes yhdeksän vuotta jatkuneen konfliktin jälkeen. Siihen mennessä se minkä olin kokenut edustavan suomalaisuutta oli tehnyt minulle selväksi ulkopuolisuuteni eikä rauhanteko siis ottanut syntyäkseen. Lukioajan ystäväni saattavat tämän muistaa.
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On mahdollista että ovet suomalaisuuteen olivat jo lukiossa auki mutta minä en sitä huomannut. Totta puhuakseni en siinä iässä olisi välittänytkään huomata. Olin liian kiireinen määritellessäni omaa suhdettani uuteen ympäristöön johon olin pöllähtänyt kaunaisena ja vihaisena viisitoistavuotiaana. Tuolloin kaiken määritteleminen kävi vielä vanhojen tapojen mukaisesti rakentamalla rintamia, ristiriitoja ja konflikteja. Ei liene siis ihme että lukioympäristöni vastaanotti minut valkoisena (tai pikemminkin punaisena) variksena. Jos ympäristöni oli lähtökohdiltaan keskiluokkainen ja valkosuomalainen piti minun (omalla logiikallani) siis olla jotain täysin päinvastaista. Tästäkin huolimatta lukioaika ja se upouusi ympäristö sai minut lauhtumaan ja lientymään. Saatoin oppiakin jotain uutta. Aloin jo vaivihkaa hivuttautua kohti suomalaisuutta. Itse asissa niinkin paljon että päätin suorittaa siviilipalveluksen sijasta asepalveluksen (taustalla edelleen vastakkainasetteluun perustuva logiikka).
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Intissä koin kohtaavani jälleen kantaväestön ja sitä edeltänyt kolmen vuoden taival kohti sopeutumista oli vähällä valua hukkaan: ensin kypäräpappi opetti että minulla oli velvollisuus tappaa ryssiä (tarvittaessa myös isoveljeni) jos halusin Suomen säilyvän vapaana ja demokraattisena maana. Myöhemmin alokaskauden jälkeen meidät jaettiin uusiin ryhmiin ja jouduin tekemisiin muun patterin ja rykmentinkin kanssa. Jälleen sain kuulla niin vertaisiltani kuin ryhmänjohtajilta mikä olen ja minne minun kuuluisi painua. Todettakoon että kypäräpappia lukuunottamatta en kuullut kantahenkilökunnalta muuta kuin muutamia huomautuksia ja vitsejä koskien idän uhkaa tai sen maan asukkaita. Toisaalta simputus tai syrjintä palvelustehtävissä on heille rangaistava teko. Ehkäpä he olivat vain tarpeeksi fiksuja pitääkseen suunsa kiinni (mikä sekin näytti tuottavan silloin tällöin ongelmia)?
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Armeijan päätyttyä selitin positiiviset kokemukset suomalaisuuden parissa itselleni sillä etteivät suomalaiset ystäväni tai sukulaiseni edusta enemmistöä suomalaisista vaan ainoastaan häviävää tai lähes merkityksetöntä vähemmistöä, joka on jollain ihmeellä pystynyt välttymään ryssävihalta. Olen edelleen taipuvainen ajattelemaan näin vaikka järkiargumenttien loihtiminen tämän ajatuksen tuoeksi onkin varsin haastaavaa. Tässäpä kuitenkin muutama esimerkki pro argumenteista:

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Siitä pitäen kun muutin Helsinkiin on minua lääkärillä käydessäni säännönmukaisesti puhuteltu englanniksi. Hammaslääkärit ja yleislääkärit kummastelevat aina äkillistä kielenvaihdosta kun parin englannin sanan jälkeen vaihdankin keskustelun kielen suomeen. Samoin aina työhaastatteluissa ensimmäinen kehu, jonka saan koskee erinomaista suomen kielen taitoani. Aiemmin kirjoitin tähän blogiin jutun siitä kuinka olen kyllästynyt yllättyneisiin ilmeisiin mm. Helsingin lähijunissa kun käytän ensin venäjää esim. puhelimessa ja sitten puhuttelenkin kanssamatkustajaani suomeksi. Tai ehkäpä Suomessa vain ei ole tapana puhutella ketään julkisessa kulkuneuvossa?
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Tällaiset reaktiot muualla kuin yliopiston norsunluutorneissa ja varsin huolella valitussa ystäväpiirissä saavat minut kummastelemaan ainakin yhtä seikkaa: miten Suomessa voisikaan olla hyvää/positiivista (eli käytännössä assimiloivaa) maahanmuttoa jos valtio pyrkii sen kaikin keinoin mahdollistamaan ja kantaväestöä puolestaan pyrkii toiminnallaan tekemään sen mahdottomaksi? Rohkenen nyt jopa väittää (näitä omakohtaisia tuloksia tarkastellessani) että Suomi ei edes ole sivistysvaltio vaan jonkinlainen nurkkakuntainen sovitus Tolkienin Keski-Maan Konnusta.

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Latischevan teos päättyy Espanjaan. Siellä kertoja tapaa nuoren venezuelalaisen naisen, jolla on useita haasteita espanjalaisessa yhteiskunnassa. Eikä vähiten siksi että hän on sudaka (vrt. ryssä) eli maahanmuuttaja Etelä-Amerikasta. Latischevan kehottaessa naista jättämään Espanja ja siirtymään varmemmille vesille venezuelalaistyttö vastaa:  "Vielä jonakin päivänä espanjalaiset muuttavat mielipiteensä kansastani ja tuohon muutokseen vaikuttaa myös minun panokseni. Aion tehdä parhaani muuttaakseni heidän mielipiteensä. Siitä ei tule helppoa, mutten aio paeta."

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Samaiseen lopputulokseen viimeiset neljä vuotta yliopistolla ovat minut johtaneet. En enää aja virvatulta. Paras on tyytyä siihen mitä on jo tullut saavutettua eikä sekään ole mielestäni kovin vähän. Mutta samalla kun koetan edelleen raivata itselleni omaa paikkaa osana suomalaista yhteiskuntaa en kuitenkaan aio tinkiä suomenvenäläisyydestäni - identiteetistä jonka piiriin suomalaiset itse ovat minut vaihtelevin keinoin johdattaneet.
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Päätän tämän hajatelman minulle oleellisimpaan otteeseen Latischevan kirjasta:

Tänä kesänä vietimme muutaman päivän yhdessä Suomessa, ja hän [tytär] sanoi minulle, että häntä ei enää hävetä puhua venäjää täyteen ääneen. Vastasin, ettei minuakaan, ja me katsoimme toisiamme kasvoillamme erityinen ilme, jonka voivat jakaa vain pitkästä sairaudesta toipumassa olevat ihmiset. 

Häpeilemättä sinun,


Stefan

Streetwise in Moscow Metro

What would we get if we first take twelve million people from allover Eurasia and fence them into an area about the size of Tahiti or Martinique right in the middle of East European Plain? While collecting these people we give them enough time to mix with each other (about 900 years should do the trick), then, finally, we add the highest amount of billionaires in the world, insanely huge and controversial Socialist legacy and rampant corruption. Now, the outcome should be something similar to the city of Moscow. 

In deed the Russian capital is huge. It's almost incomprehensible (as is Russia for many people). But there's still something highly comprehensible in the Third Rome (one of many nicknames Moscow's got in due course of those nine centuries of its existence). Moscow can boast with many things but from the perspective of an average Muscovite there's nothing quite like the Moscow metro or the metropolitan as it's called more officially.

Moscow metro consists of 182 stations, twelve lines (which extend far out onto the suburban railways system), 301 kilometers of tracks and it transports daily from six to nine million people. The only more heavily used rapid transport system in the world is Greater Tokyo's twin subway. The Moscow metro is indeed undoubtedly one of the wonders of the man-made world. Have look at the map:

 

Apart from the facts and figures the Moscow metro is by now a system I use and handle every day. It took some time for me to learn just how exactly it works. For example (unlike in so many other rapid transport systems I've used so far) the junction stations almost never share the same name. In other words this means that confusingly enough every platform on a junction station has its own name (as is the case e.g. with the quartet junction of Alexandrovsky Sad, Arbatskaya, Smolenskaya and Kiyevskaya stations). This has to do with the history of the metro system: the first five lines where constructed primarily during Stalin's regime in the 30's and 40's (as a matter of fact so was most of modern Moscow). This meant that any notable projects received a certain scale and grandeur. Thus every new metro station gave an exceptionally good possibility to build yet an other monument to commemorate the achievements of the young Socialist state and the brave Soviet project of which the Moscow metropolitan was part of. 

Although the Soviet engineers and the construction workers who build the metro system considered themselves to be pioneers of the technical progress of mankind they still couldn't do it completely on their own: some assistance was invited  from the city of London (a city that can boast with the oldest underground rapid transport system in the world). As a reminder of this brief Anglo-Soviet cooperation there is an entire subway station in London's Gants Hill (mind the link!). I'll make sure to go and see it next time I'm in London.

When strolling around in the Moscow metro one cannot avoid being astonished by the diversity and richness of art: there are mosaics, frescoes and statues almost on every one of the older metro stations. My personal favorite is the Площадь революции (Ploshchad Revolyutsii meaning the Revolution Square) and, as you can see in the picture below, there's more to the station than just the name. The station reflects perfectly the spirit of the age when it was build: there's a statue for every trade and profession there was in Soviet Union in the early 1930's (before the brunt of Stalin's repressions began). What is even more noteworthy about these statues is that there are always both male and female counterparts for every profession (yes, including engineers, farmers, firefighters, officers, journalists etc.). There also few examples of different nationalities or, if I may say so, races (Caucasians, Northern Natives and Asians):

Apart from the wonders of the metro system there's the reality and because I haven't whined about anything here on my blog for a while now, I think, now's a good time for that. So, please bare with me, while I tell you in depth about an adventure I have to undertake every day.

As I told you earlier in June I live in the leafy suburb of Uhtomskaya and the closest metro station for me is the one in Vykhino (the last station on the purple line). In order to get there I need to take a commuter train which goes directly to that aforementioned station. The first inconvenience on my way to work is the fact that these commuter trains are practically always crammed with people. And when I say crammed I do not mean that there are not enough seats for everybody to sit. I mean the train is so ******* full that one hardly can get in it! By now I'm accustomed to use some soft form of violence in order to push those fat grannies and muscular hood gangstas more tightly in and to fit my scrawny body and my rucksack into the aisle. Usually the doors slam shut so close to my nose that I'm honestly scared that some part of my body might get crumple or stuck. Luckily I've been fortunate enough to avoid this. So far.

The next annoyance is the heat. In the aisle between the two doors there's no draft what-so-ever (the opened windows are further away). There's only heat and sweaty skin of your fellow passengers rubbing against your own. At this point I always regret that I took a shower before leaving for work: once I get out of the train in Vykhino I'm so ******* sweaty that I cant stand it even myself. Blah!

Thirdly there's the Vykhino station itself. This is how it looks like on any average morning: 

It's useless to comment the amount of people on the platform in Vykhino. There's just a lot of folk there, okay? Just ridiculously amount. By now I've learn to ignore or even grin at the situation but I must point out that there were few occasions, in the beginning of my time here in Moscow, when all did not work out that well. To be bumped would have been the least of my worries then. Once I even got kicked in the ass (apparently some drunkard found my face displeasing). Now, that's enough for Vykhino.

During the rush hour Moscow metro operates extremely well: there's a metro train twice within a minute. That might sound like an exaggeration or even dangerous to have so many moving trains simultaneously in the underground system but trust me - it's fine. In fact it is just enough to take care of those nine million people using this system daily. The Russian state or the Moscow municipality might have many flaws but when it comes to public transport the Soviet heritage is still substantial: everything works to the best of the systems abilities which, at least in the case of Moscow, means fairly good indeed. So, to be honest, I haven't really got anything more to whine about (except the incomprehensible crowdedness).

Still, we have the most grim topic left. Besides Vykhino I use two metro stations daily. First one is the Lubyanka station (where I change from the purple line to the red one) and the other one is Park Kul'tury (the station closest to the embassy). Both of these stations were scenes to a suicide bombing on the 29th of March in 2010 (have a look at the map):

Honestly, I try not to think of the risk I take daily when getting into the metro: there has been one act of terror in the Moscow metro and frankly speaking the Moscow police doesn't have any real means to prevent an other one from happening. With nine million people pouring in and out of the underground daily there are no ways of controlling who gets in and who doesn't. But acts like these (just as the ones that took place yesterday in Oslo and Utöya) cannot possible be ignored. At least I cannot.

The world is a deranged place where no one seems to be interested in anything else than their own well-being. It seems that one of the few things that can truly drag our attention away from ourselves (even for a moment!) is an act of most horrifying violence. This, I believe, is the ultimate problem of our time: our own numbness and lack of compassion. Believe it or not but the political and economical system we're a part of and the very world we keep in shape is based on ideas that are fundamentally twisted and wrong. The Kremlin, while dealing with the problems on the Caucasus solely on the basis of its own political and economical interests, does not and will not understand this. Neither will the Norwegian government or any government in the industrialized world for that matter. And nothing will change unless we make it happen. As always the choice is yours and mine or in a word - ours.

Yours in turmoil,

Stefan

PS. I was writing this with a extremely cuddly cat on my lap. Hence the hasty mistakes.

Cities like people

At first I wanted to write you something new about St.Petersburg, or to be bit more precise I wanted to write about the soul or the atmosphere the Northern Capital possesses especially during summertime (the very thing I'm so eager to re-experience within few days!). But then again - I've taken you to St.Petersburg already on this blog once and right now I see no reason in doing so once again. So rather than ponder upon what has been said already I would like to take you on a tour to visit a certain group of cities and towns. And this time it won't be photos or memories - this time it'll be people. Or to be completely frank: cities embodied as people. So, without further ado, let us begin!

I'm not sure if you are familiar with the idea that cities, not unlike people, have different faces, moods, personalities and even (I'm reluctant to say this but what the heck:) souls. I personally came first across this idea when a colleague of mine wrote and article (http://kopeekka.blogspot.com/2009/12/blog-post_8670.html) on this very same subject. To some extent the ideas I will share now with you are originally my colleague's and they sort of belong to him. But I suppose I'm not breaking any copyrights here so no one should get offended.

When one has the chance not just to live in a city but to experience it and to share one's life with it - then there's a possibility of becoming a particle of the organism that is called Amsterdam, Istanbul, Boston, New Delhi (you name it!). And thus one will experience it not just as a passer-by but build a relationship with the city. And when one has a relationship with a city, town or any place for that matter - then one can also say that "this is something I know", "this is something that's mine".

If there are any places that you can claim to have a relationship with - then I say that you ought to know those places like you know your friends. And as you can describe your friends you should be also able to define those aforementioned places as if they were people. I must underline that just as there are no two completely identical people there certainly are no two identical views on e.g. the city of Berlin as a person. For everybody the concept of a place is as individual as is a relationship with an other person. I suppose you get my drift. (I hope I wrote this paragraph as complex as possible, my apologizes!).

If you're lost by now I'll give you few (ugly but truthful) examples. Now I live in Moscow and by now we (Moscow and I) have established a relationship. It's not cordial by any means but we both seem to have worked hard on it already. For me Moscow (as a person!) is a vain old lady, covered in jewelry, make up, glamour and fashion. She's been through a lot of plastic operations and at times she might dress up and look like a young beautiful woman in here early twenties. But as soon as the ball is over and the midnight magic has run out you see what she really is: a sad old lady that's lost all that was dear to her and now she's got nothing and no one except the show that must go on. And what might be even more sad is the fact that she still considers herself to be the dancing queen of that show.

Moscow

Then there's is Sankt-Peterburg, Leningrad, Petrograd, Pietari, the Northern Venice. I see St. Petersburg, the bastard son of Moscow, as a man of indeterminable age. Physically he's not old. At times he seem really young and definitely, when you look at his lifestyle and tempo, he seems to be an energetic, determined and even virile man. But then again he's got a shadow of gloomy and murky past constantly lurking over him. He's become wise not by years but by his own experiences and when you look him in the eyes you see, on one hand: sadness, disappointment and suffering but yet, on the other hand: constant uncompromising and resilient hope. My St.Petersburg's motto is: times there are a-changing and we ought to change with them.

St.Petersburg

And Helsinki: my dear beloved and hated Helsinki. She's a quiet and modest old bat. But there was a time when she used to be a fine and attractive woman. She was never really that feminine and never had she the bosom of those ladies a sailor might have met on the Southern shores but then again she was (and to some extent she still is) devoted, caring and naive. When Helsinki was young she was madly in love with the guy next door called St.Peterburg. They had their romance but with time St.Peterburg became overly patronizing with this independent woman and finally the couple broke apart. Heartbroken she fled into the arms of a handsome Prussian officer (might have been called Berlin, dunno) and was oh-so-devoted to him until he used her for his own selfish purposes. Since then Helsinki has lived on her own. She has grown old, lost the little feminine she had and is now suspicions towards everyone. I meet her every morning while I'm there in Helsinki: she's focused on minding her own business, mumbling something illegible on her own and every once in a while she might be whistling "I will survive".

Helsinki

I cannot carry on without my native Tampere, Helsinki's kid brother. He's is a middle aged manager with stubbly beard, few teeth missing (with shining new dental implants there instead) and slightly puffy face (due to the regular consumption of alcohol). The suit he's now wearing doesn't suit him. His biography is a Cinderella story: he used to be an exploited, young and angry factory worker who knew his rights and would go out on a strike in a whim. Then, after certain changes, he sold his believes for money and has now become part of that plump middle class he so fiercely used to hate. Now he's living his Happily Ever After although deep down he understands that he'll never fit in to his newly adopted circles, neither will he become accustomed to his white collar outfit. On Friday nights he's singing Tapio Rautavaara (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WjPl2wkn30A) on karaoke with a half-empty pint in his hand.

Tampere

And last but not least there's London. To be honest I don't know London all that well but my two encounters with this chap have been enough for me to leave me with a distinct impression. London is a dangerous man with many faces: he's an old philanderer and a young playboy - he always changes his form according to his needs. Out in the daytime he's an impeccable businessman, clerk or just an ordinary gentleman but once he gets out to the dark streets of his native city - beware! Then he might be just after you money, pleasurable company or even you life - you never know for sure. In a word: in the face of London I see Mr. Dorian Gray. Why then I feel so comfortable in his company? Because, while being tricky and cunning, he really is the best of hosts. He buys you a round after round while pub music is playing on the background and he offers you all you could ever wish for: drinks, gamble, music, conversations - everything! Of course he has his own well-hidden purpose and in the end you'll (for better or for worse) probably find it out. But before you succumb yourself to his inducements you ought to think twice.

London

In due course of the next twelve months or so I will have the change to meet Berlin, Prague, Amsterdam and Paris. Perhaps even few more places. And if I do get a hold on them and will meet them in person - I'll surely let you know. But to conclude this nocturnal writing of mine I would like to challenge YOU to tell me right here, in this very blog, about your relationships with cities and towns. I would also like to encourage you to depict these cities I mentioned here in this article and share your own views on Moscow, St.Peterburg, Helsinki, Tampere and London with me and the rest who are reading this. The stage is yours and the show will go own!

Yours in Moscow,

Stefan

Pics from Moscow

If you'd follow the Moskva like the Scorpions once did this is what you'd probably see..

 The Red Square!!..

...and some BEER! 

In the hood

On a hot summer afternoon some people like to swim in the fountains.. can't blame them! :) 

Unlike in all those American motion pictures it doesn't actually snow that much in Moscow during the summer. This white stuff you see is in fact poplar's pollen and during June there was a LOT of it everywhere.

Lomonosov's university aka the MGU. Highly impressive.

Some shopping glamour in Охотный рад

Victory Park and some newer Moscow on a holiday June the 12th. 

Dancing party on the docks. Join in!

The Moskva City.

And a rural bonus from 2009

Yours on a warm July evening,

Stefan

PS. Since I do not posses a functional camera my friend and colleague gave me some of his pictures. The best ones from June are now here on my blog for you guys to see. Enjoy them and enjoy the summer!

PPS. Just bought tickets to St.Petersburg. I'm going there on 15th of this month. If you'd be interested in finding out something new about the Northern Venice - stay tuned!