Moscow, Russia
One of my worst pet peeves is being woken up in the morning. And that's precisely what happened.
The old lady clapped her hands as loud as she could and screamed, "WAKE UP, WAKE UP, TIME FOR BREAKFAST!" clap, clap, clap, clapppp.
Gritting my teeth, I spoke from under my sheets, "We slept late, please don't worry about serving us anything." My phone read blinked 8:02AM.
"I already have the table set!" she replied, clapping even louder.
"Please, we don't like to eat right after we get out of bed, leave it on the table and don't worry we'll eat it cold."
"Fine," she finally said, and slammed the door. JW threw off his sheets and swore, complaining that he was having a nice dream. Right when I was about to doze off to sleep again, the lady entered the room.
"I change my mind; I can't leave to do my errands until you guys eat so wake up."
"Why?" asked JW. "We'll do the dishes, please go do your thing."
"No, just wake up now. Wake up, come on," clap, clap, clap.
Grumbling and rubbing our eyes, we walked into the kitchen and immediately felt sick at the sight of so much food. Moreover, the food wasn't even good. The soup was lukewarm and thick with bean paste and shrimp, which was terrifying. Trying to shove down grainy rice down our dry throats was torture, and we simply gave up after a few scoops. JW looked as if he were chewing on spoonfuls of cockroaches. We left the table leaving barely anything touched, as the lady quickly came in and began cleaning up. To my horror, I saw her take our bowls of soup and dump the contents back into the pot.
"We ate out of those," I said.
"It's fine if you boil it," she coldly replied. Trying not to imagine the countless people who ate out of the soup before me, I vomited a little in my mouth.
Too disgusted to fall back asleep, JW and I promptly began packing our bags.
"Leaving so soon?" chimed the lady. "You, don't forget to pay me $90, and you, I think I said 3160 rubles, right?"
"Actually I think I'll just pay $180 for both of us," I answered for JW. "For no reason whatsoever."
The lady narrowed her eyes a little and left without a word. $90 a night for this? What has the world turned into?
There was something about paying the woman and finally leaving that godforsaken place that made us rejoice and cheer for fifteen minutes straight. We brought our luggage to another home stay that JW found in his guide book, and at $60 a night it was not only as comfortable as our first but also the owners were much friendlier. It was also the oldest Korean-run home stay in Moscow.
The moment after we stepped in the door, the owner's wife ran towards us to help us with our luggage (unlike the other lady!) and offered us fresh watermelons. Her husband was out fishing but he'd return later that night. JW and I showered, finished a quarter of a watermelon and left to explore a little more. Too lazy to go anywhere specific, we wandered into random cool buildings for about three hours. At some point we passed by a subway station that was overflowing with hundreds of Russians dressed in red from head to toe, including a red scarf around their necks. There must've been a soccer game going on, and the sea of red reminded me of the horde of Korean 'Red Devils' during the 2002 Korea-Japan World Cup.
We eventually came by a large concert hall and JW, the passionate piano major, sprinted towards the timetables to see if there was a show that night. Unfortunately the building was undergoing renovation and all performances were postponed to next month.
We did, however, run into a different kind of a show that I consider a lot more valuable than a ticket to Sarah Jung's live act. When we went down an undeground walkway to cross the road, we ran into an old man with thick glasses, playing a small trumpet, keyboard, and drums simultaneously. He was a one man band. Amazed at his talent, we couldn't believe how there wre barely any coins the cardboard box that sat in front of him.
After listening to him for a few songs and clapping along, I wondered if he could play one of my all-time favorite songs.
"Do you by chance know The Girl From Ipanema?" I asked.
"Of course, of course," he chortled with an enormous grin on his face. "This is a great song, yes."
I had to refrain from yelping with excitement. I asked JW to get out his camera and record a video of this wonderous occasion. The performance lasted a sweet two and a half minutes, which included an impressive trumpet solo.
After the show, JW and I took pictures with the old man and paid him three hundred rubles, or about $10. I also threw in a 5000 won bill from the bank of Korea, which was worth slightly under $5. We sat there and talked for half an hour, as we learned that he used to live in China with his parents when he was a young boy. JW and I were too afraid to ask what happened afterwards - to his life and his parents.
Despite his slight stench, we hugged the old man tightly before departing.
"The world is yours," he told us with a smile and a wave. Had anyone else in the entire world told me this, I wouldn't have taken it seriously.
Walking aimlessly again, JW and I stumbled upon a luxurious hotel, lined with Ferraris and Lamborghinis. We entered the mammoth lobby and ordered coffee and cake, leaning back in the cushiony couches to get a taste of the lives of the riches. But there was something missing; the well-dressed, virtuoso pianist filling the halls with a thousand jazzy notes sounded somewhat empty. The coffee and cake were delectable, no doubt about that. But the atmosphere was very, very lacking.
JW and I left with our bellies full but somewhat unsatisfied. Then, long story short, we arrived at St. Basil's again. Not only was this simply ridiculous, but we also realized just how much we had walked. The enormous gumdrop raindrops bombarded us once again, this time for much longer. Learning from last night's infamous incident, we took the subway back home.
The owner was back from his fishing trip. He was just as overly kind as his wife, and offered all of us beers. For the second time on my trip I had to say no, for I was a minor. The owner however insisted in an avuncular fashion, explaining that drinking with adults would serve me well. We all sat around a low table on the floor, and I took a tiny sip because now his wife and JW were encouraging (pressuring) me too. I flinched at the bitter taste and handed the rest to JW.
The three of them had a blast drinking 6 huge cans with peanuts, discussing education, jobs and music. JW and I also derided our previous home stay, and the owner was shocked to hear our anecdotes.
"What, you actually think I can make a fortune out of running a homestay? Ha," laughed the owner. "The only reason I do this is so I can meet interesting people like you folks. It's truly amazing that you students have planned to travel alone on the transsiberian, ended up meeting each other, and changed your schedules according to each other. There's a certain beauty in that." He paused, drained the rest of his beer and poured himself another cup. "You aren't merely people who come and go, leaving some bread cash so I can live off of it. Hell no. Honestly, I hope you don't feel like I'm invading your personal space but I think of you guys, students, as my own kids. My son just graduated college and my daughter is still in law school. And you wonder why I offer you free beer. And, even though our website says that we only serve breakfast, do you actually think I'd say no if you guys asked for some lunch? How much does a bowl of rice cost anyway?"
Clearly the opposite of the previous lady who had wronged us.
Avid fans of live jazz, JW and I set out at 10:30 with the sudden urge to test out the music scene in Russia. We looked up the closest jazz club in JW's guide book, adorning ourselves in spiffy shirts, jeans, and cologne. Unfortunately, the pouring rain washed out most of the excitement as JW and I continuously tumbled into ankle-deep puddles, making our jeans nice and soggy.
And of course, after the fifteen minute trudge through dark Moscowian alleys, we arrived only to find a towering Cartier store without the slightest hint of jazz in the air. Clothes and moods quite rained out, JW and I returned to our homestay, cursing the author of his guide book.
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