Moscow:
The Dallas Beauty Queen (left) with Coburn (center/glasses). 1st day on the subway:
Coburn in Moscow:
Rules (left); Coburn (ctr.) and the Dallas Beauty Queen outside Hotel Cosmo (start of 1st night):
Coburn (on bed w/ ice-pack); and Rules (red shirt) at Hotel Cosmo. (End of 1st night):
I could write ten million posts about Russia. What’s stopping me? I was only there for (2) weeks, but flesh-out one idea or event properly and you can write a thousand pages. That trip was long enough ago now that I feel the memories as much as see them in my mind’s eye. I remember emotions. That first sense of aloneness when I’d arrived. So far from everyone that mattered to me. Days later, when my friends and I met-up with the tour group; we visited Novgorod. Coburn and I shared a beer at the bar. He had this distant look as he made mention of his mother. Or my mother now that I think of it. Was she still alive? Course he meant his own mother who’d recently died. You think about those things when you’re far away. I know I did.
I wasn’t used to international travel. I’d have been more than happy to go to Costa Rica. Or Puerto Rico. Or Greece. Or Prague. But they’d already been all those places. They’d been everywhere! And who else did I have to travel with? So that afternoon about 6 years ago I got a conference call at my office. It was Rules. By the tone of her voice I knew they’d made a decision on a destination.
Alright Lodo, you ready?
Ready.
“Moscow!”
“...Moscow?!”
“Yeahhh!”
“..Russia?”
“YEAH! YEAH! YEAH!”
“Uh,..okay.”
Russia. Are you kidding me? But once I bought into it I really went all in. Hell, I’m 100% Russian blood. My family’s supposedly from Minsk--not that I ever wanted to freaking go there. But now I was, so l read all kinds of books on Peter and Catherine the Great. About the assassination of Tsar Nicholas and the Communists. About World Wars I and II. Even some obscure pamphlets about the break-up of the State-owned industries under Boris Yeltsin. For a dumb-ass American, I had my shit down.
So much so that I think the Russians thought I was a spy. I’m not kidding. They asked some very odd questions on the visa application. What was my college major? Could I provide the name of one of my professors from Wayne State? What was my H.I.V. status?
When I arrived in Moscow I had a long wait to get thru Customs. I’ve since been told that they probably just wanted a bribe, but I’m not so sure. They seem to be a secretive people by nature. Introverted. Given to intrigue. And here I was: 40+ year old investigator, single guy, who arrived alone from New York. Sounds like the profile of someone up to no good. And I was up to no good! Or at least I was up for it. So we understood each other.
The first Customs Agent I spoke with was a woman; but she simply took my passport and told me to stand against the wall. I stood 5, 10,...20 minutes. In all that time I didn’t see that woman do a thing. No one approached her window and she just stared straight ahead. But eventually a 2nd agent--a man walked over to her window. They conversed a few moments as the man flipped thru my paperwork. Then he called me over with a wave of his hand.
“Mr. Grdzak, correct?,” he asked with a very stern, direct cadence.
The woman watched me answer from over his shoulder.
“Yes sir, that’s correct.”
“And what is the purpose of your visit to Moscow Mr Grdzak?” he asked with the same measured cadence.
“Just visiting,” I responded.
“...I see. And do you have people you plan to visit here?” he asked.
“No sir. I’m meeting up with a tour group in about 2 or 3 days.”
“2 or 3 days? You’re not sure?” he asked with a challenging smile.
“3 days,” I answered.
“3 days. Okay. So what will you be doing ‘til then?” he asked.
“I don’t know. ...Fuck around I guess.”
Jesus people! Any other country would be like, Yeah--come in! Get boozed up. Spend money. Enjoy our great country. But these Russians just didn't get it. When I first checked into the hotel the gorgeous desk clerk with her cold Icelandic features refused to return my passport.
"Hey. Don’t I need that?’
“We’ll keep it here for you. It’ll be safer.”
“Safer from what?”
As soon as Coburn, Rules, and the Dallas Beauty Queen arrived, we went to the the hotel casino for drinks. We shared a round of vodka shots; after which the hotel comped us another round. Then the bartender bought us a round, which the girls gave to Coburn and me. We were pretty lit before we left the hotel. Before all the shit went down about which I’m sworn to secrecy. Or at least I say I’m sworn to secrecy. Fact is, none of us really has all the pieces of what went down that night. Maybe we were set-up. Or maybe it just feels like that in retrospect. You never could shake the feeling over there of being watched. Or followed. On the subway trains the people simply looked at the floor or read a book. No one listened to an Ipod or music player. Conversations were hushed; and certainly no one danced like they will in New York. The people seemed shocked to discover tourists.
“What? You don’t live here?”
“No, we’re Americans.”
“...And you came here?”
“Yeah!”
“...Why?!”
Our first real day in Moscow we visited a flea market. They had great Sheepskin jackets; nesting dolls; lacquered jewel boxes; old Soviet-era pins and classic propaganda T-shirts that my buddy Vintage would bust a nut over. Everything was super quality and dirt cheap; but the Russians limit how much you can take back to the States.
At one point Rules and I were looking at prints when this guy approached us. Totally on his own initiative with no prior contact whatsoever. Not a big guy so much as thick. Big paws. Round skull covered tight in fleshy skin.
“Hey you,” he called to me with a loud voice. “You’re Jewish?”
His wide hand was heavily calloused when I shook it, and I could see his nose had been broken in the past. I looked around at my surroundings since I’d heard about some serious anti-semitism in Russia; but we were the only ones around.
“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” I answered.
“Okay,” he answered with a smile as he looked me up and down. I expected him to say he was Jewish too; or perhaps give me some shit about it; but instead he continued to look me up and down.
“...So, why’d you stop us?” I eventually asked.
“No reason,” he said. “Its just that you looked Jewish to me, so I figured I’d keep an eye out for you. ...Your friend. Looks like you had a rough night last night.”
“How do you know it was last night?” I asked as my heart began to race.
“Well, I just say last night. I don’t really know. How could I?”
* NOTE: All rights reserved on all personal pics.
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