An Adventure in Barbaric Russia
So tonight I drank too much and ended up on an adventure.
I met a Frenchman I know from my Russian classes at a little pub in Moscow, and afterward we walked toward the Metro. He wanted to go to a station 20 minutes away, but I happened to remember that the “Clean Ponds” park has a station – I know this because Clean Ponds is apparently a iconic location in the novel Master and Margarita, which I have not read but is apparently an exciting place to Russian fans of the book. I took the Metro to Komsomolskaya station and boarded the electrichka train (pictured above).
Then some kids, four boys and two girls, I’m guessing 12–14 years old, started talking to me. They were fascinated to meet an American who likes Russia and can (sort of) speak Russian. They asked if I know Mr. Beast (I do not), and if I have a TikTok. I explained that I am very old so do not have a TikTok. But I did show them my YouTube handle, though I am not sure how useful an English-language political channel is to Russian teenagers, but anyway. They wanted to know if I had bought my vape pen in America – but no, it was just something I got in St. Petersburg, which made it boring and dumb. Naturally, like all kids Gen. Z and below, they had their own vape pen, which was quite stronger than mine, I might add.
After the kids left I realized I had somehow gotten on the wrong train and was now God-knows-where, perhaps Siberia. Russia is very big – so if you board a train in a major city and get out at a station without turnstiles, you’ve probably made a serious navigational error. You’re now in provincial Russia, where people distill their own vodka and ride bears to work. I’m not sure I would even classify this place as a town, more like a village. Just by dumb luck I had gone in the generally correct direction of North – if I had gone South it would have taken me at least 2–3 hours to retrace my steps back home.
With the train still moving I made my way to the door, and found it completely open. Now to be clear, the electrichkas are generally in good condition and this was the first time I had seen such a serious malfunction, it was just funny – especially because everybody was completely nonchalant about it. This is the Russian mentality, the doors working or not working has no impact on the train doing what it’s supposed to do – moving from Point A to Point B, so it seems no one had even bothered to complain about it. And who knows, maybe the door will fix itself the next day. Still, if I wanted to swan-dive into the snow from a moving train like James Bond, this would have been the perfect opportunity. I’ll be honest, if you spend enough time on Russian trains you will often see weird things and weird people, but you won’t be shot or stabbed, which is more than can be said for American trains.
After leaving the train (correctly, after it stopped moving), a scatter-brained young man in woodland camo asked me if I had rubles. I gave him a 1,000 note – this is normally a tip I reserve for kind, well-endowed young waitresses, but my senses had abandoned me a long time ago, and, when I am in peculiar predicaments I tend to be more generous, so as to not defy God and Fate. This made him my best friend for the evening, which may have been a mixed blessing.
I went into the store by the station and bought cigarettes, since I was there so why not. While I was there, a woman with a little dog saw that my current traveling companion might have been less than helpful so stopped to ask if I needed directions. I said no, I had simply ordered a taxi to avoid any further higher brain activity for the night, and was good.
The moral of the story is that people around here aren’t aggressive, and will try to help if it looks like you need help.
Ian Kummer
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