I have a crazy travelling schedule these days. Last week, I was on a domestic trip up north. This week, I'm in Moscow. Next week,I'm going to San Antonio. In between the trips,I need to catch up with thing in the office. But most busy was the preparation for everything upfront. My writing has been suffering from this. No time to post on my blog, and no time to work on my so-called novels (yes, plural, I'm working on two novels now, in rare progress). Fortunately, days away traveling also means nights free for writing, and other sorts of fun.
I flew into Moscow today. A driver picked me up in the airport. The traffic jam was terrible. It took almost two hours to get to the hotel. The Moscovians have found various tricks to get around the problem. The rich and powerful have blue lights and sirenes on their Audis and BMWs, to get through the traffic. Along the higway to the city centre, there's an unofficial dirt lane for the impatiant, through gardens and across lawns, wherever it's physically feasible to get trhough.
Actually, I enjoy going to Moscow. It has become a metropol comparable to London and Paris. The Russians are a proud people. Their hospitality is great, and they always want to show you the best of their country (there are plenty of not so great things as well). They always want give you the best borsch (the famous beetroot soup), and the best salty fish (as a starter), and they always book five-star hotels for me.
Moscow has never been invaded or occupied by foreign powers. They stopped Napoleon in the battle of Borodino in 1812. You can read the artistic exposition of it in Tolstoy's War and Peace. The Germans didn't get further than to IKEA. At that time there was hardly any IKEA, of course, but there's a memorialright outside the warehouse, to mark the place where Hitler's army was forced to retreat.
But also, in a sense, the Russians show a lack self confidence. Anything made in Russia is inferior, importeted stuff is superior; cars, clothes and even soccer players (recently Cameroon superstar Samuel Eto'o was signed by Anzhi from Dagestan for a $28 million per year salery). In bars and restaurants, they always want to serve the tasteless imported beers, like Heineken, Budweisser and Carlsberg, even though the Russian beers are much better.
I checked into the Swissotel by the river a couple of hours ago. It's a convenient place to stay, just a ten-minute walk from our Moscow office. They gave me a great room this time, on the 26th floor, with a magnificent view of central Moscow. I didn't bother to go out tonight, so I chose the lazy option, eating in the hotel. Right now, I'm sitting in the restaurant on the 34th floor, to get something to eat. It's dark outside, and I'm looking down on the Moscow River. The barges gliding slowly down the river make a big contrast to the busy highway on the river banks.
I'm eating alone tonight, and taking a couple of beers; first a Baltika #7 with my food, and then Belgian abbey beer, Leffe Brune. Boring? No, not at all. I'm never bored. I'm entertaining my self with some writing. I'm lonely tonight, but doesn't feel lonesome. My own company is good company, sometimes at least.
(Above is a picture I took from my hotel room right before dawn today. Very nice view of central Moscow.)
