Really Dirty Money

I haven't posted in an embarrassingly long time. While I would like to write something light and positive, I have to get this off my chest.

It's often hard for me to articulate to friends and family abroad some of the everyday challenges of living in Russia. Because I've been here long enough to grow accustomed to life a la Rus, many things that a few years ago may have surprised me, now simply seem normal. My threshold for stressful events has risen to a level that allows me to navigate life here without cracking too often. Only now in moments of real awareness am I able to clearly pinpoint those events that build up to cause living-in-Russia stress.

Take for example the exchange that took place in the checkout line of the grocery store yesterday. The cashier informed me that my purchase total was 649 Rub and 10 kopecks. I dutifully placed my 1000 Ruble note on the change dish, and waited for the cashier's inevitable request for small change. She looked at my 1000 Rubles and growled for me look for 10 kopecks (less than 1/2 of one cent). Even though I knew I didn't have any change, I replied by dutifully searching my wallet and apologetically told her that I don't have 10 kopecks, causing her to give me the Stare down (or more accurately, the Glare down) followed by an angry silence. After a moment, she banged around in her drawer and grudgingly handed me 351 Rubles change. Ah, but the 1 Ruble coin wasn't your average Ruble coin. It was a disgusting, filth-encrusted Ruble like none I had ever seen before. I paused with the nasty coin in the palm of my hand alternating between staring at the horrid Ruble and the cashier. I knew in an instant that she chose the most disgusting coin to send me a clear message about her displeasure at my lack of kopecks. And she knew that I knew. I considered for a moment -- do I slam down the coin and tell her to give me a different Ruble, or do I walk away irritated and disgusted at the thing that I just touched? I finally decided that it was easier to walk away. Such are the everyday interactions here that can break you down if you don't learn to ignore them. But then sometimes, there are moments too precious not to share with others.

Ivan made me throw away the toxic coin, but before doing so, I decided to take this photo to share with you. Just be happy you didn't have to touch it.

On buying real estate

After a serious adrenaline rush and a lot of action, we bought a new apartment today. We had been looking for some time, and while we tried to make up our minds about how serious we were about buying, the real estate prices in St. Petersburg doubled. So much for good timing.

Nonetheless we found a place that we are very excited about. Even better, it's now almost paid in full.

You may ask 'why adrenaline?'. Simply put, Russians still use cash -- even for real estate purchases. This means that you can't let people know when you are planning to buy a place, because it means that you may well be carrying hundreds of thousands of dollars -- either on you, or locked in your safe at home (Russia's 21st century version of under the mattress). Needless to say, there are plenty of willing thieves out there. You have to assume people will come after you if you give off even the slightest hint that you're ready to buy.

Without going into too much detail, we mustered up 80% of the cost of our new apartment in cash. Dollars and Rubles. On Sunday, we drove to a designated meeting place where he picked up a plastic bag filled with $150,000 in 100 dollar bills. We were both armed (me just with pepper spray), and I behind the wheel. It was like a scene from a movie. Vanya got out of the car and casually strolled to the pick up point. I stayed in the car with the engine running -- keeping my eye out for suspicious looking people. Thank goodness that suspicious white car parked nearby drove off without me having to use my spray. I breathed a sigh of relief when Vanya emerged from the apartment building carrying a plastic bag. He got into the car and told me to wait until another suspicious-looking guy walked away. I put on my sunglasses and scanned the environment for potential traps, feeling like I was playing a role in a gangster movie. We decided that the coast was clear, and I carefully pulled out of the apartment complex driving. Vanya kept a look out for cars tailing us, and dangerous looking drivers who might try to side swipe our car. My knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel, and my heart pounded drowning out all other sounds. We made it home, walked calmly into our apartment building with our bag, up the stairs, and then collapsed from the adrenaline drain.

That night we sat and counted money. Piles of cash totaling a few hundred thousand dollars. I've never seen so much money in my life. At least not piled on my floor.

Yesterday, we stuffed the carefully counted money back into a plastic bag and casually walked to the car - again me with my pepper spray, Vanya with his gun - and drove to the bank. Did you know that you can walk into a bank with a gun in Russia? Even though we thought we looked like regular bank customers, I think the bank security was trained to spot bags of cash (and perhaps concealed weapons?). He took one look at us and the bag I was carrying, and quickly waved us through the security point. Ahhhh. Safe and sound. We walked into a small room, locked the door behind us, and handed two sets of bank tellers our stacks of cash to count. It took a total of three hours for them to inspect each bill (each dollar need to be checked 6 different ways), then count and re-count the total amount. The money was then deposited into an account over night and transferred to the seller today and documents signed.

I'm very excited about our new apartment ... but I do miss the sight of those stacks of money on our floor.

Russian Market Logic - Confirmed

This will probably be a quick post. Yesterday I wrote about mystery of the Russian soul when it comes to buying things, and noted that I would ask around about why people would buy things for more than they are worth. With respect to the question of the shoes in the market, the response I received was simple -- there must be something wrong for shoes with 200 Rubles, which explains why people will buy the same pair for 800 Rubles from the neighboring vendor. Ah ha.

Today I had lunch with a colleague that works for an advocacy group for people living with HIV/AIDS in Russia. She told me that there is a growing group of HIV/AIDS activists in Russia that are against the distribution of generic anti-retroviral drugs in Russia. They believe that only the name brand drugs are good enough for Russians living with HIV/AIDS. In a place where ARV treatment is available only to a few, and the idea of paying the price for brand name ARV treatment in a place where the need is snowballing into epidemic proportions is simply mad -- or so I think.

So, there you have it -- the idea is the more you pay, they higher the prestige and quality. There are actually jokes about this that circulate widely -- One "New Russian" in conversation with another "New Russian" proudly shows off his new $500 tie. "Oh, that's nothing" boasts the second New Russian, "I bought the same one across the street for $5000".

I guess the logic isn't so mysterious after all.

Market Logic - Russian Style

I'm Moscow for a few days with Vanya -- partly for work, and partly just to spend a little time in a different environment. Mind you, Moscow is far from my favorite city, but being here inspires entirely different thoughts and feelings than St. Petersburg. That in itself makes it worth the trip.

Vanya and I are staying outside of the city center in an area called Izmailovo Park. This area is best known for its complex of larger than life Soviet hotels built when the Moscow hosted the Summer Olympics in 1980. The other main attraction in this part of Moscow is the massive Izmailovo market. I spent a few exhausting hours trolling around the market place this morning, so overwhelmed that all I managed to purchase were some much needed socks and triple-A batteries.

The Russian government has recently cracked down on illegal immigrants by closing down operations by foreign merchants in the market places. So they say. I'm glad to report that Izmailovo remains a babylon of cultures, sounds and smells. To describe the market, the only thing that comes to mind is the image thousands of superballs -- the colorful, marbled ones we played with as kids -- bouncing all over the place, off of one another and out of control. My heart raced and eyes darted around trying to take in all of the sights and sounds as I made my way through the stalls, my feet falling victim to the countless carts that rolled over them in the narrow, crowded rows. The place is a frenzy of people pushing all sorts of hand trucks piled dangerously high with boxes and bags of just about everything under the sun that can be imported from China, plus Halal meats, pirated DVDs, underwear, fur coats and fake Soviet paraphernalia. I spent some time elbowing my way past carts and people through the shoe section. There, I saw the same shoes for 200 Rubles ($8) that sell in shops off of Nevsky Prospekt for 2000 Rubles ($80) sold by Chinese merchants with just enough grasp of Russian to shout "young lady" and the price of their products. Strangely enough when I wandered out of the 'Chinese shoe section' and into what appeared to be the 'Southern Caucasus shoe section', the price for the same shoes quadrupled. In the same market. I'm not why, but I saw people buying the more expensive shoes. Maybe there's a pecking order, or a 'support our former USSR brethren' sentiment driving the decision to buy shoes that just steps away cost a fraction of the price. I'll have to ask around, because like so many other things here, to my simple western mind, there is no apparent logic to how things work -- at least not to someone who once thought that Adam Smith's invisible hand guides the market.

Actually, my same bewilderment goes for the real estate market here. Vanya and I have been looking for a bigger apartment in St. Petersburg for a little more than a year. At first, we were just browsing. Unfortunately, during our browsing period, we saw housing prices more than double. Then, when we started seriously looking, I noticed that some of the same properties were just sitting on the market, not moving. These were places in good parts of town, and for the life of me, I couldn't figure out why they weren't selling. We called a few places with for sale signs in the windows, and were told that the places weren't 'really' for sale. So... why post a sign? Vanya told me it's because they aren't in a rush to sell the place. (Here's my first question - 'why not?' Property prices in St. Petersburg have finally hit a plateau. 'But', I ask, 'what about the opportunity cost of not selling your place'? Huh? Opportunity cost? Privatization has managed to give many citizens a piece of real estate who are now waiting for the miracle of a windfall of cash. Waiting... waiting. In the words of a friend who has been in the real estate business for 10 years here, forget trying to find the logic. 'Property is not sold based on its market value here, it's sold based on the most money they can get for it.' Ok, I understand that part - what seller doesn't want the highest price? But wouldn't it be wiser to have sold for a good price months ago and put that money to work instead of waiting for a price that is just a fraction higher? Ivan just shakes his head at me and says that I have so much to learn about Russian capitalism. I guess so.

A Good Toast Should Make You Cry

The Russian toast is an art form and in my opinion, one of the greatest opportunities to learn about the true nature of my Russian friends and family. The toast starts out often with a little history, or perhaps a loving, awe-inspired description of the person being toasted. The toastmaster reaches into the depths of their soul to say only the kindest, most moving words to elevate and distinguish the person being honored by the toast. Toasts are the measure of a person, their ability to communicate their most honest feelings, and their willingness to publicly declare their love, support, admiration, etc. Toasts are judged by the listeners, and if sufficiently touching, are followed by murmurs of agreement and 'good toast, good toast'. The toast can go on for quite a long time, often evolving into a story or a soliloquy. This is important to know, because when raising glasses in a toast your arm can grow tired, the blood can drain from your hand and you may - in the cases of really long toasts - begin to feel a little panicked the you'll need to put down your glass, thus calling attention to yourself and offending the seriousness of the occasion. I have had this feeling more than once.

As the title of this post suggests, the best toasts surprise and move you to the point of tears. This happened tonight. We went out to dinner to celebrate my father-in-law's birthday. Many toasts were said in his honor, but tonight's winning toast came from my brother-in-law to honor his mother. It was long, epic, and featured a description of his mother as one of Russia's finest, most brilliant scientists, who works hard for her country, whose research is not only important for the advancement of Russia but the whole world, and who, in the face of governmental research funding cuts, deserves protection and the most rigorous defense for her invaluable service. He went on to emphasize that her two lawyer sons are ready to fight for her well-being, and for the social protection of her good colleagues, and that her sons know the real value of her selfless, and endless giving. Needless to say, Mama Lera began to cry, Losha (my brother-in-law) was teary eyed, my stalwart, strong father-in-law looked touched, and even Vanya was impressed by his little brother's emotional range. It was a good family moment -- the kind most often shared over alcohol here. Russians love to show their love, which is why I think they love to drink.