Vegas vs Reality (Wedding Bliss part 2)

Vegas: waking up at 9am and thinking 'OMG I either need another drink or a new liver.

Reality: waking up at 7am and taking a shower and going to work.

Vegas: strolling around with a liter of some frozen cocktail from store to store thinking that it was the most natural thing in the world.

Reality: um, not doing that.

Vegas: Butting into other people's conversations because they are talking about how slutty a girl looks, and you totally agree.  Or offering your sincere compliments to a woman wearing seven inch spike heels, because let's face it, if you or I wore them, we would hurt ourselves.

Reality: offering a compliment to a girl wearing four inch heels because seven inches simply isn't seen in the real world.

Vegas: actually getting a free shot poured into your mouth by a hot bartender.

Reality: um, again, something that usually doesn't happen in the real world.

Vegas: dancing until dawn and thinking what a great dancer you are

Reality: ha, well, okay this happens a lot too.  

Moral of the story:  Vegas is fun.  It's a city which doesn't apologize for being honest about selling and promoting sex, alcohol, and all kinds of other less than desirable behavior.  Mix in some childhood friends and viola, it's a perfect recipe for lifelong memories.  As I expressed in my previous post, happiness comes in waves.  Seeing one of my life long friends get walked down the aisle by Elvis and then spending the next numerous hours doing shots with her family and dancing in crazy high shoes is something that is almost beyond words.  We can't choose our blood family, but we can choose our family which consists of friends and if you're really lucky family.  

Mushiness aside, on my last night in Vegas, as I shivered my way back to the hotel, I think I was almost glowing.  It's been a long time since I've felt so connected with people, and it's been even longer since I had laughed that much.  Truth be told, I was a bit relieved to get out of the city because neither my kidney's nor liver could handle another day in that place.  

Upon arriving in New York, I somehow found enough energy to get out of JFK (no easy feat for anyone who has experienced the entity known as JFK airport) and revisit one of my favorite American cities.  I love New York and no one is ever going to convince me that the people are rude and generally suck, and no one is ever going to convince me that Chicago style pizza is superior to New York.  Unfortunately, it was starting to snow when I arrived and I simply wasn't up to walking around Central Park.  Walking around Central Park in the snow sounds like fun and perhaps even romantic, but not when you're going through alcohol withdrawal and haven't slept more than 5 hours in days; so instead I found an amazingly inexpensive cafe on Lexington and set up camp.  For a mere $7 or $8 I got eggs, bacon, latte and hash browns- in other words, breakfast.  We all know how I feel about breakfast.  Breakfast is amazing.

As I sat in the cafe and listened to people around me I couldn't help but feel a sudden sense of  loss.  For five days I had been surrounded by my friends and the constant banter of people around me, and then suddenly it was quiet.  Yes, it was quiet in New York, and I realize how it sounds, but it was just that, quiet.  This silence would just intensify as I approached Siberia.  It was welcomed and annoying at the same time.  In Moscow I kept trying to make small talk with the guy next to me, but as usual, no one wanted to chat about nonsense.  We are not in America any more.  Pity.  I had forgotten how much people love to chat with strangers, I think it helps relax a little.  Just to be clear, I'm not that annoying person who sits next to you and talks about my cat; I could if I wanted to, but I've also been sat with a people who don't shut up, so I get it.  But would it kill people to smile at a joke or agree about the awesomeness of the coffee? 

Also, I am back in Siberia, in reality.  Going from non-stop walking and drinking and dancing to non-stop walking and working and hoping and being so grateful that the hot water is still working.  This reality isn't so bad.  It still hasn't really snowed, not the heavy, snow crunching, giddy OMG-let's-build-a-snowman snow and I'm actually kinda relieved about it.  Things which I throughly about Siberia is nothing severe really ever happens here.  No blizzards, no tornadoes, no ice storms, and no drunk polar bears.   

 

Wedding Bliss (part 1 of 2)

They say “home is where the heart is.”   I’ve always wondered what this means, or to be more exact how this applies to someone with a restless spirit like mine.  Is home a physical place or a mental or spiritual place?  And is your heart this beating thing in your chest or this thing which makes you cry when you see a slaughtered elephant on your computer screen?   I’ve often struggled with this question and the other question: “are you happy?” 

I firmly believe in balance, and I believe that happiness one hundred percent of the time is a ridiculous notion.  That would be like a serious overdose of serotonin for your brain and we all know too much of a good thing is a bad thing.  Why?  Because as humans we simply can’t deal with too much of one thing at a time.  Case in point: I flew half way around the world to see one of my childhood friends get married.  Before the wedding I was joking that yes it was her wedding, but it was also my vacation and a break from living in place which I am quickly getting tired of.  However, landing in New York and having the most random conversation with the attractive customs officer I realized that what I needed more than anything was that: humorous and silly conversations about nothing at all. 

Las Vegas gave me just that, and more.  As much as I like my private time, I also enjoy people, and I had actually forgotten how truly amazing and friendly Americans are.  Despite our less than ideal government, people around the world usually like us because of our uncontrollable urge to smile, make inappropriate jokes and abuse the word friend.  Case in point: on our second night in Vegas (well, my second night, the first for the happy couple) we went into this bar advertising stripper girls dressed as devils.  You can imagine the disappointment when they weren’t there.  Anyway, everyone was getting drinks and I was just sitting there in my happy bubble just enjoying the moment, when I saw a guy trying to get his friend to take this weird looking shot.  She didn’t seem excited about it, so I told her to just get it and it looked like fun.

Me: Do it!  You’re in Vegas!

Her: I don’t know what it is.

Me: Doesn’t matter.

Her: No, you do it. 

Me: What? 

Her: Please, I don’t want to.  Plus, I think you need this shot more than I do. 

Me: Don’t be silly, I wouldn’t want to insult your friend who bought you a shot.

Her Friend: No please, be a pal and drink it.

Me: Fine.

Turns out it was a Jaeger and something else.  So for the next five minutes this group of people were our new friends.  They also had an extra shot to which I made Justin drink with me. 

Each night in Vegas is a smear of laughter and memories, and naturally some stand out more than others.  Rewinding a bit was the first night, after three planes and more than 5000 miles; Justin, Misha and I were blinking and staring at the city lit skyline from Mandalay Bay on the 64^th floor.  Surreal doesn’t even begin to cover it.  In the morning we had all just been in Moscow, a city famous for grey buildings and a serious love addiction to the rectangular shape and absolute fear of anything abnormal- and now here we were in Las Vegas with all of its sparkling lights, replicas of New York, Egypt and Paris all crammed together, yet somehow tasteful and breathtaking.  The word euphoria comes to mind when such moments are almost beyond words.

Moving onto and fast-forwarding to the wedding day itself.  As per tradition the night before we were on Freemont Street, the whole wedding party, with only one mission: making sure that the couple had a great time and consumed as much alcohol as possible.  Freemont Street is really one of my favorite places in Vegas because 1) it’s much cheaper 2) it’s where all the super freaks come and play 3) they have music videos on the ceiling.

On this night I brought the champagne which I had brought from Russia.  None of us are really champagne drinkers, but a special occasion calls for something equally special, and since we also didn’t have cups, we just decided to pass the bottle around.  I was quite relieved that everyone liked it and it had the desired effect of elevating people’s mood.  As we were slowly, and I mean slowly, I think a turtle could have covered more ground than we did, we took in the scenery around us.  There were a trio of nun who felt the need to show their breasts, nice.  Then there was a transgender woman with even bigger boobs which just made our whole party simultaneously massage our shoulders because we just couldn’t imagine carrying that kind of weight.  Across from all the boobs was a man sporting pink fairy wings and a G-string.  You know what really makes me laugh about all of these people?  Since they were all wearing make-up which requires a mirror, they all looked in the mirror and thought ‘damn, I am so sexy!’ and in their own way, they totally were.      

Krasnoyarsk Weekend Getaway!

Me: So Gabi, what should we do for your birthday this year?  It’s going to be hard to top last year’s repelling and medavukha adventure in the middle of Altai.

Gabi: True, true.  There’s always Yekaterinburg.  We haven’t been there yet.

Me: I would love to go there!  But it’s so far!  It’s 24 hours by train and I have a 12 hour patience level with trains.  That leaves Krasnoyarsk.

Gabi: Yes, when I was there in the summer it looked nice, but I didn’t see the city.

Me: Plus, according to this website, maybe we can push through to Abakan!  That’s near that village where the Jesus of Siberia lives!

Gabi: Oh!  Let’s research it!

This conversation took place about a month ago, and tragically, Abakan was just too far to get to.  In case we all forgot, Russia is an enormous country with the world’s slowest trains.  We naturally decided on Krasnoyarsk since it’s the perfect distance away, 12 hours by train.  After endless hours of reading travel website and blogs about this place, thank you Lonely Planet, TripAdvisor and Ask.com I was put in charge of finding and booking a hotel while Gabi was assigned booking train tickets.  When in doubt, divide and conquer.  Who would have thought a weekend trip would require so much work?  Oh yeah, we are both obsessive compulsive planners, so we are OCP. 

We were lucky and got our own private kopay car, which meant we could stay up all night chatting and not having to worry about our neighbors.  Once we finally arrived in Krasnoyarsk, we were greeted by fairly warm, yet very humid weather.  There are four train stations and we weren’t quite sure how to get to the hotel, and in a random moment of bravery I asked for directions.  As a rule, I really dislike having to ask strangers for help because most of the time I get snarled at or ignored; but not this time.  Just to be clear, I didn’t have enough credit on my phone so I wasn’t able to call the hotel myself.  Anyway, so she not called the hotel to ask for a concrete address, she then wrote down bus numbers and the bus stop which we needed.  Wow.  Then at the bus stop the conductor told us which stop was ours and we were greeted with open arms at our hotel.  For a moment I forgot where I was.  It was amazing.  The hotel was bit further from the center than I had hoped, but overall, it was everything and more: it was warm, real beds, a café and it was free from Soviet furniture.  After a much needed nap and shower we were energized and ready to do some real exploring. 

Like all tourists, we wanted to see everything and we wanted to see it NOW.  Then we climbed onto a bus and…sat in traffic for over two hours.  Krasnoyarsk is smaller than Novosibirsk and yet it feels so much bigger: it takes thirty minutes to cross the center, but not because it’s big, well it is, but there’s nothing to really see, the whole city is just spread far.  Our main mission was to find a museum, and somehow we missed our stop and wound up on the furthest side of the city and after standing on bus for so long and being pressed against the glass for so long, well, we needed to stretch our legs.  Only after about ten minutes of wandering in the dark did we think that perhaps this was not the wisest of decisions since we managed to lose our path back to the bus depot.  Great.  Happily, one thing which is really great about Russia is that bus stops are usually quite frequent, so we just hoped for the best. 

Fast forward to the end of the night, and by end I mean 8pm because it was pitch black and we were cold and hungry after wandering around for an immeasurable amount of time in search of a café.  Instead we found a super market and decided that it was high time for some real nourishment since we clearly weren’t going to find it in a café where one is usually served lukewarm soup and cold questionable sandwiches.  Gabi went on a fruit and yogurt buying spree and I went for the salad and water; she’s sweet and I’m savory.  The biggest question of the night was whisky vs vodka and let’s be honest, vodka just isn’t as fun as it used to be.  So we went with cognac and champagne instead.  And chocolate cake.  Lots and lots of cake.  I can safely say that not only did we suffer from regular hangovers, but from sugar and insulin shock for sure.  However, how often does indulge in decadence and bourgeois treats?  Dinner for the night included a cake roll- brownie thing, dark chocolate, cognac and 1870 champagne; followed by watching the end of a Soviet movie about a girl named Olya and her inability to love her husband and then killed herself.  It was a good night.

The next morning, Saturday, we decided to try and get an early start so we could see Chasovnya, the cute chapel on the 10 ruble banknote, and naively we thought we could take a bus up there.  Silly us.  It required a taxi.  Chasovnya itself is on the top of a small hill which overlooks the city and every day at twelve sharp they light a cannon which either wakes half the city while scaring and annoying the other half.  Why?  Because it’s tradition. 

Later in the afternoon the hunt for the elusive museum was resumed.  Since this was officially Gabi’s birthday I didn’t want to be downer because I really had no interest in museums, except for perhaps the Literature Museum, but that didn’t seem interesting to her.   So once again we were searching for the museum and the equally intangible city center.  The ‘center’ consisted of giant government buildings and no shopping or cafes or anything which is generally associated with a city center.  There was however a giant Lenin statue, not city is complete without Lenin.  Throughout the city we spotted bushes shaped into animal shapes, like what they do at the zoo, so it was a nice change from the usual square and rectangle what everyone loves, but aside from that, it makes me sad to say that the city is quite drab and shabby.  One day I will stop hoping to see a truly ‘Russian’ or ‘Siberian’ city: all unique culture, tradition and architecture was lost 90 years ago.

After a quick lunch we finally succeeded and found the Tvagenski Museum which for some reason was decorated with Greek and Roman deities along with Egyptian pictograms.  Curious.  Inside the museum was filled with an old ship which was a replica of the ship the Tsar was transported by to see his newly conquered lands hundreds of years ago.  Then there were some impressive displays about the tribes of Irkutsk, Abakan, Krasnoyarsk Kray and so on.  What did Greek gods and Egyptian art have to do with the native people of this region? 

After the museum it was time to return to the hotel and get ready for a night out.  For once we were cool enough to have reservations and weren’t snubbed by face control or other nonsense like that.  The club was called Koloradski Papa; and the building was amazing.  The staff were dressed in Soviet clothes and kept asking the customers why they were drinking and if they could join them.  In case you hadn’t noticed, it was a theme restaurant, and not a lazy eye roll-OMG-I-hate-my-job theme, but real enthusiasm and humor.  Once again, where were we?  Never have I been to a club in this country where the people are happy to show you around (it was a huge place, four dance floors) talk you through the menu and explain that there are drinking games and prizes.  We played a few games, but didn’t win.  The music was great, and it wasn’t just American stuff either, about sixty percent was Russian, which is impressive these days. 

Around four or five in the morning we got back to our hotel for a few hours of sleep and then we were off to see the Stolbi.  Volcanic rocks which you can climb on.  Except that it rained and it was muddy and cold and much further than we expected.  Krasnoyarsk is a ski town, not resort style such as Aspen or Vail, but the equipment is quite new and modern in summer and autumn it’s possible to ride the lift up a mountain and either walk down or ride down.  The cold fresh air was a nice way to clear away the cobwebs from the night before.  It’s so nice to be able to escape the monotony of the city: the daily bus rides, nasally offensive people, mindless chatter of co-workers…we desperately needed this trip. 

There’s something magical and almost indescribable about being on a train or bus or even plane going somewhere new.  It’s this excitement and energy which drives me on and makes me stare for hours on end at maps and wonder what’s going on there.  Krasnoyarsk reminded me that Russia isn’t so bad, not everyone is a jerk and not everyone thinks that foreigners are the anti-Christ coming to invade and take over.  Returning to Novosibirsk was nice simply because traffic isn’t as bad and this city is more glamorous (did I really put Novosibirsk and glamorous in the same sentence?) and easier to find coffee shops and supermarkets.