RuKsaK

We woke up and went and flagged a car. It was nine am and my head was heavy with decayed booze. I felt ill in the back of the Lada. We got to the Palace of Marriages. A typically surly bitch gazed, unfocussed I’m sure, at our numerous, hard-fought documents. She gazed more. Came to. Wiped her expansive brow and said:
‘And what?’
‘We need a license?’
‘For what?’
‘To get married. This is the Palace of Marriages right?’
‘Yes, of course.’
Ninety more minutes of slapping stamps, fucking-idiotic-questions™, sighs and sighs, draughty lung filling and my head getting worse and we were out. We had a date. We were going to get married on 20th February.

Caught another car to MC Mikey G’s. The driver took twenty minutes before he told us:
‘I’m bloody lost.’
‘What!’
‘I’m lost. Get out. We agreed 100 roubles.’
Natasha paid.

‘You paid him?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘We’re not here. We’re in a middle of nowhere. Well, a shitload of snow, but not there.’
‘Let’s get the Metro.’
‘Aw, fuck, no!’
‘Why not? We have to get there.’
‘I’ve got a cunt of a hangover and the Metro will rip my fucking innards out!’

On the Metro I felt worse. Nausea tidal waves and prison-shower worthy arse-clenching all the way to Avtova. We surfaced for cold air at the exit forty five minutes later. My body was hanging from my head like a limp, flabby thread.

Eventually, at Mikey’s, coat off, shoes off, all the winter clothes off – a respite:
‘Do you want a beer?’
‘Hell yes! In the fridge?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Mikey G – you’re my hero.’

Around the table already was Bolshoi Dom and Scott:
‘Fuck me! What happened to you guys?’
‘Got mugged RuKsaK.’
‘What? After we left last night?’
‘Yep. Couple of guys maced us and then booted some nasty fuck into our faces. Took our roubles.’
‘Jesus – your faces look like a renegade butcher’s window. How you feeling?’
They raised their beers and said:
‘Fuck it –Merry Christmas.’

My hangover evaporated faster than usual and I knew the year 1999 would carry my wedding day and more beers with Bolshoi Dom and Mikey G. Good festive future thoughts. There was a lot I didn’t know.

That was Christmas Day 1998 in St.Petersburg while the rest of the city worked as normal.

The next two-three posts will talk about Russia 1999.

Saturday, December 25, 2004

Russia pre-1999