COLUMNISTS

Deidre Dare 

I recently got together with a beautiful man who I hadn't seen since before I moved to Moscow. He seemed sadder and quieter than I remembered and I told him so. Then I asked him if I seemed any different?

"Yes," this man answered. "Tougher. A lot tougher."

I think we should call a spade a spade and admit that sometimes living in what I call "The ‘Cow" can be excruciatingly difficult. I suddenly realised that because of this, and without knowing it was happening, I have indeed become much tougher.

For expats, Moscow is a city of survival of the fittest. But you don't know if you're fit or not until you survive. And I suppose you only know if you've survived or not once you're on an airplane out of here for good.

In the meantime, you harden up faster than an expat's penis in a Russian strip club.

For instance, when I arrived 20 months ago I was someone whose feelings could be easily hurt. I remember an argument I had with my sister shortly after I got here. In a fury, she levelled the damning accusation at me that I was "too dramatic, too like Greta Garbo" and I cried for days about it. Now we're not speaking at all (apparently I still bear too striking a resemblance to Greta for her tastes) and I can't find a single tear to shed over that state of affairs, search as I might.

Twenty months ago, I was also someone who would get frustrated when things went wrong. These days, I face all setbacks with a gritted determination and an almost Zen-like calm.

Part of the reason for these kinds of metamorphoses is the Russians themselves. Unless you're on intimate terms with them, they tend to be sullen and rude by Western standards or even, often, overtly hostile. Once you get so used to this that it doesn't bother you in the slightest if your neighbour completely ignores your, "Kak dela?" you're well on your way to achieving that erection.

Another part of the reason is that Moscow is an incredibly hard city in which to get things done. I can never be sure when I leave my flat to run errands that I will actually achieve any of the things I'm setting out to do. This includes, I've just discovered, going out to buy ricotta cheese for my famous "Dede Ziti."

And for four days last week I was totally housebound because I was waiting for Sedmoi Kontinent to deliver my monthly 200 cans of Diet Coke and 30 bottles of Evian, which they kept telling me they were about to do. Since they deliver until late into the night, I also had to cancel my plans to meet Cameron for dinner on Thursday, have a drink with Alexander on Friday, go dancing with Josh on Saturday and see a movie with Tom on Sunday.

With a nonchalant shrug and an "It's Russia," I apologised to all my dates and rescheduled. Though something like this would have driven me insane enough to drag razors across my wrists prior to moving here, I wasn't rattled in the least and I quite stoically spent my weekend watching re-runs of "The Ghost Whisperer" and waiting for my doorbell to ring.

They say, don't they, that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger? And I have to have my Diet Coke.

But maybe the main reason we get tougher living here is because the Russkies themselves are so very tough. Think: Stalingrad. Maybe the process is simply one of osmosis by cultural immersion. 

Recently, my New Zealander Boyfriend, his brother Denis and I were scammed by a taxi service outside an airport in Thailand. Though Denis had paid a premium for a private taxi to take us to our resort, the dispatcher was trying to make us take one of those mini-buses that stop at all the hotels. The cab we'd paid for, he said, would take another 10 minutes to arrive.

"Fuck this," I said to my travelling companions. "I'm going to get our 500 Baht back."

"They'll never give it to you," NZB despaired. "Let's just wait."

"We'll see about that," I replied and went over to the makeshift counter where we'd transacted this little piece of business.

Less than a minute later I had the 500 Baht.

Extremely impressed, NZB asked how I'd managed it.

"For God's sakes!" I answered, rolling my eyes in exasperation, "I live in fucking Russia!!!"

xxoo

DD

Deidre Dare's novel "Expat" and "Moscow Moments" video reports are at: www.deidredare.com