Back to Russia(n) - part 2: human experiences are what make everything worth

Welcome

The first weekend, I had one of the sweetest moments ever. I went to the center to explore a bit. I went walking in the Gardens located right outside the Kremlin, called Alexandrovsky Sad.

It’s a small park with a long marble monument to commemorate the battles of the Second World War. People often took pictures in front of it.

At a certain point, two quite old ladies asked me to take a picture of them. I did what I had to, and we left each other. However, some minutes later, I came across them again, and they asked me if I wanted a picture too.

I accepted the offer, gave them my phone and immediately one of them said: “But it’s not in Russian!”. I don’t remember how I could understand them and get myself understood since I started the classes with my teacher only three weeks after my arrival. My Russian was basic. But, somehow, it was surprisingly sufficient to survive the conversation.

So I gave them my phone, they took a picture of me and then just like in any situation in Russia, saying that you’re Italian is the perfect magic word to open up the locals, get huge smiles and a lot of kindness.

One of the ladies made me understand that she had worked in Italy years before and made the effort to remember how to say “It was a pleasure” and “Have a nice day” in Italian: “E’ stato un piacere, buona giornata”.

I mean, it had been only two days since my arrival, and this melted my heart.

That one was only the first of a series of episodes that made me fall in love more and more with the people I met over those three months.

Taxis, again

On the very same day, I received an invitation to a party organized by the German Rotary Club of Moscow or something like that. I got it because I was an active member of the Rotaract Club of my town (the youth version of the Rotary), and I had contacted the Moscow association some days before getting there.

So, another taxi, another experience.

I had to go from the Smolenskaya area to Yugo-Zapadnaya at the German school in Moscow. I managed to book it through YandexTaxi (God bless YandexTaxi), but I had a little problem.

Smolenskaya Square is basically an urban highway. The driver arrived on the wrong side and tried to explain it to me on the phone. I don’t know how, but I could tell him where I was. Also, since I was wearing high heels, I was not exactly the most agile person in the world.

The different weather conditions in the different parts of the city always struck me there, since it was so big. So, whereas in Smolenskaya it was basically like being in Milan in a “good winter”, in Yugo-Zapadnaya I had the pleasure of walking in high heels in the snow haha.

Caucasus and beyond

Anyway, I hop in the taxi and… the driver speaks. A lot. And I understand nothing.

I kept saying that I couldn’t understand and he kept talking until a certain point he finally asked me where I was from. I answered and asked the same back. His reply? “Me? I’m not Russian!”.

So, I asked again, quite excited about the surprise. He said: “I’m from the Caucasus, prrr prr!” mimicking a gun with the hands on the wheel.

Jeeeez, it was black humor but for me, it was incredibly exciting, so I asked again from where in the Caucasus and he said “From Kabardino-Balkarja”. A-m-a-z-i-n-g.

I was overexcited. He was also very kind at the end to try to get me to the closest point possible to the entrance of the venue. In the end, the event was like dancing 90s stuff, I remember the song “Moskau” or “Wind of Change” by the Scorpions played with a saxophone at the beginning. I also met some other young people I found also later on in the following months.

Going back, the taxi driver was probably pure Russian, because he didn’t speak at all, except asking if he could smoke.

If I think about the little chat on the way to go, I always ask myself how isolated I would’ve felt if I didn’t get even that little information. For me who knew a bit about Caucasus, it was super cool. I cannot describe the excitement.

Home is where Persian is spoken

The following day, a Sunday, I would do something cool and once again made possible by languages, of course. I went to the closest market to my place, the one in Dorogomilovo.

Given my limited skills in Russian, I was like a pressure cooker ready to blow up just for the sake of chatting a bit with someone.

Remember: at that moment, my social life in Italy was pretty Persian-speaking ahaha.

So, I went to the market, which became a habit for the rest of the months. I always would stop at some stall, buy something just for the sake of chatting, and ask the vendor where he/she was from.

Moreover, it was generally a good way to practice Russian.

I go there, I find a little shop full of Italian tomato sauces! I bought a tin of peeled tomatoes and asked the Central-Asian-looking guy: “Otkuda vy?”

And there, once again, magic happens. He answers: “Tajikistan”.

Do you realize why it was so great?! Because Tagiks speak Persian!!!

Finally, after three days of silence, I could properly talk to someone! XD

So, I asked if he spoke Persian, and after he confirmed I told him my life in 30 seconds. In Persian, of course.

A bit of a language mess

Fun fact: Persian overlapped a lot with Russian. I can’t tell anymore how many times I asked my Russian teacher “Yani chi?” instead of “Chto znachit?” to ask the meaning of a word.

I went back to that market also one of the very last days and the very same guy who recognized me tried to tell me something in Persian, but I couldn’t answer anymore but only in Russian!

The same happened on multiple occasions later back in Italy.

In general, I loved markets because they were great to make a bit of practice in Russian. Since a lot of people working there come from the Caucasus or Central Asia they were quite talkative and tended to bargain.

Once I was in the Usachovsky market and there was a lady in a beautiful traditional dress. She was from Dagestan and had tried to ask me for information about the prices of things in Italy for example. Six years later I still ask myself how I could have those chats since I forgot almost everything.

Kindness through languages

The kindness of the people was something unforgettable.

I probably have some selective memory, but I’ve found so much tenderness in so many cases, that I still get moved if I think about it. And in each of these cases, languages have played a role.

One day I wanted to see a sort of “outlet” quite far from the center. It was not a great idea, but going back to the metro I was somewhere like close to an urban highway and a lady was selling strawberries on the sidewalk.

I wanted to talk, above all, so I asked her how much they were and she told me that she had understood I was not Russian and asked me where I was from. After replying that I was Italian, she answered that she was from Moldova and probably if she spoke in Romanian slowly it would have been easier for me as an Italian. I mean: where on earth? So much kindness.

What to say about my teacher? She was a lady in her 50s, treating me really like as if she adopted me. It was nothing in particular, but the way of talking to me, of always preparing a glass of water and some sweets (the Alyonka chocolates!). I loved her and I’ve contacted her multiple times since when the war started because these must be tough times for her too.

Another situation where I felt adopted was at the Sanduny Baths, one of the most famous saunas in Moscow: a last unforgettable experience I wanted to try one of the last days before going back to Italy. There I found a Russian lady living in London who explained everything to me in a perfect British accent: the kindness she communicated in her way of giving me advice was heart-melting.

Since there is too much to say about this, I will go on with the rest in a third and last episode 🙂