RuKsaK

Exactly seven years ago today I arrived in Moscow for the first time beginning my career as a professional foreigner. Before going:
‘Dav, I don’t want to go.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t want to be a fucking teacher – never have done. I know fuck all about Russia, but I have to go. I love living here, with you guys, but my life is a small pile of shit here also. Anyway, it’s only six months. I could do six months in prison, and this can’t be that bad.’
‘You’ll be sound.’
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I left Russia five years later with different wrinkles, less naivete, a taste for scorn, a wife and a daughter. A barrel full of pub stories, scabby Russian language, a hate of winters. Still a pretentious cunt as only a pretentious cunt would say, would say.

In Russia I saw more naked men, naked women and dead people than I thought I’d ever – including Lenin in his jewellery box. Met people so fu’hucking drunk their bowels were on the floor – was one of them a few times.

My body rebelled and scared my life a few times. I laughed like I thought only bad actors could.

I adore that country with all the bile and enthusiasm I can muster.
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Six Russian winters drove me into Saudi Arabia for a twenty two month warm up. Groundhog Day for all of it. Students tried to fill my brain with Islam, calling it a soul. Terrorists I never saw tried to fill it with flying, flaming metal and get another happy infidel off their soil.
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Now Korea stuffs me with a ton of nothing-much-at-all©. All neon covered concrete. My wife likes the spicy cabbage.
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A round-up of the others:
Sri Lanka is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen – to the edge of tears.

Cairo is a nutty, filth-hole. If it were a human, a blind leper wouldn’t fuck it.

Dubai is sexed-up on selling stuff and we bought it. Cool place.

Istanbul is a bizarre straddling monster with legendary buildings.

Tallinn is good for visas and quiet people in bright jumpers.

Kladno, an industrial craphole in Czech Republic, has cream-yer-jeans beer and parallel great-mad Eastern European porn (the best of course).

Thailand will be always the place I was on the beach until two days before the beach was washed away by 150,000 people’s worth of death.
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Thanks for reading if you got this far, and now go and vote for your local seven-year-old foreigner at Mango on his anniversary:

Tuesday, January 04, 2005

Seven-year country count (condensed)