Tuesday, September 28, 2004

EUROS TO THE RESCUE

Failing to find any money that I could use in my account (obviously, I don't believe they would allow me to withdraw the $1.32 from Savings), I went in line to change one of my 20 euro bills. After a long wait, I still counted to 200 and the line hadn't moved, so I left and went to another bank a block south.

The lady welcomed me warmly and offered me a seat.

I handed her the euro note.

She punched this key and she punched that key and the machine made all kinds of noises. I mentioned, all that noise for 20 euros? She smiled.

She was so wonderful that I told her, after getting my 84.82 zlotys, that she made me feel as if I had come in with a million euros.

Patrick Barry B.
WARSAW ON FUMES

Went to Citibank this morning to check on the condition of my wealth. The news wasn't good.

I have .61 cents in Checking, and $1.32 in Savings.

So, I am off to Paris via Air Polonia on Thursday afternoon. I hear there are some very rich heiresses there.

I'll be staying at the Peace and Love Hostel, I understand about 10 minutes walk from the Gare du Nord.

Patrick Barry B.
SMART MEDIA to CD

I have had a most expensive problem. When I run out of SmartMedia, those little disks that capture pictures in my Olympus camera, I usually resort to buying new ones for up to $60, sometimes more, sometimes less. When I am on the road I cannot transfer them to my laptop because my lap doesn't accompany me on trips. I travel alone, remember?

I suspected there was an answer and I found it today in Warsaw. I went to this place called Laboratorium on Place Mirowski and, with the help of a very pleasant staff member, stuck five different SmartMedia devices into a machine, loaded each one, selected every photo (I guess up to 260 or more), printed them to CD and sent them all to a computer.

I returned about two hours later, even though I could have recovered the CD earlier, to collect the CD. I paid about PLN 9.50, which is Zloty, their money. One Zloty is worth about $3.48.

I paid another PLN 9.50 to copy the CD. I will store both in separate places then clean off all five SmartMedia and be ready for the month of October in Paris, Bilbao, Milan, Florence and Venice before reuniting with my laptop on 25 October. A least, that's the plan.

PBB
SLEEPING BEAUTY IN VILNIUS

Yesterday afternoon, I performed at the Lithuanian National Opera and Ballet Theater, following the curtain call for Sleeping Beauty. for the police.

I had attended Don Quixote and Rigoletto, without incident, the two previous nights. Now, as I moved toward the exit, with hundreds of other theater-goers, I was stopped by two armed policemen, an apologetic staff member, and a man in black. They invited me to a side of the lobby and, without being asked, I produced my passport and started my impromptu performance.

I said something about if "niggers" can't attend the opera, but was so pissed that I cannot really quote myself. But I didn't press the point.

The young guy, the staff translator, kept apologizing. "People" had complained, he said. Not "somebody", but "people." They were uncomfortable because I looked Muslim, or was it Arab.

They were just responding to these complaints, they explained. I grabbed my passport when the policeman returned it.

I told the translator to tell them that I was leaving Vilnius that night and wouldn't be returning. Which he did.

The bottom line is that I understand very well their concern. After all, Beslan is just a few weeks ago. Even Muslims sometimes hail me A Salaam Aleikum! And I am never usually sharp enough to respond As aleikum salaam, or something of the sort.

Also, people have thrown off plans in the great United States because passengers complained that they looked "Muslim" and that they were uncomfortable. And just this past week, the U.S. Government prevented the former Cat Stevens, who sang one of my favorite songs of the Sixties, prevented him from entering the country and sent him packing to England, I believe.

I understand this all, but my righteous indignation just kicked in without me even being at the controls.

Patrick Barry Barr

Monday, September 27, 2004

WARSAW, POLAND

ARRIVAL

I arrived in Warsaw this morning at about 5:40 o'clock on the 8:59 PM from Vilnius. My cabin mate was a TV writer in Berlin. He was born in Lithuania. He appears to be in his early 70's. I don't know.

We discussed some history and politics. We agreed on a lot. State terror. Stuff like that. You know, just stuff that I cannot discuss with my friends.

Patrick Barry Barr

Saturday, September 25, 2004

SORE THROAT

I don't get sick often, but if my body temperature changes quickly, I get into sneezing. All was well until last night when I left the opera house during intermission to get some fresh air. I had removed my tam inside so as to cool down, so when I went outside I had not replaced it. Now I am showing signs of a slight sore throat, which I am going to get rid of sometime before tonight's performance of Rigoletto.

FUND

At this point, I have $1.32 in my savings account and about $30, give or take, in my checking account, which means that until the 1st of October I have to live exclusively on my credit cards.

Consequently, I may not be able to go online until then.

Peace and love.

Patrick Barry Barr

Friday, September 24, 2004

WALL ART

I saw an incredible piece of wall art today. I haven't seen anything that has blown my mind since Athens.

At this point, I haven't been following any particular route. Just wandering.

I doubt I have ever seen so much grafitti and wall art anywhere, including New York City.

Of course, a lot of it is simply tagging, and some are expressions that are heartfelt, and then there is the art.

I love it!

PBB
VILNIUS

HOTEL




I am in a wonderful hotel in Vilnius, but it is in an isolated neighbourhood. I can walk for about 200 meters without seeing anyone.

So, tomorrow I move into the Old Town.

I am overly cautious because I don't know if the skinheads care for me.

PBB
THIS IS A STICKUP

This evening, on my way to the opera, I went into a store because I thought they sold airline tickets. I spoke with a most pleasant woman, who told me they didn't sell tickets. I believe they booked tours or some related stuff.

An aside. Ever since I was robbed in Tallinn, I have started keeping my wallet and my passport in the inside, zippered pockets of my jacket. Believe me, it is very inconvenient to remove and replace them.

After I left the store, it occurred to me that all the time I had been inside, my right hand was inside my jacket.

I returned to tell her that my hand had been holding my wallet, which I showed her. I simply didn't want her to think that a guy had left all the way from Jamaica to rob her.

PBB
VILNIUS

MORE MISCELLANEOUS



The reason I went to the bar after the opera is because it is cheaper to call a taxi than to wave it down. If you wave it down, it costs douple.

The waitress had very black hair and a wonderful, natural smile. Her boyfriend came in and was chatting with her. I had two beers because I could use my credit card.

I am so low on cash, it is crazy. I believe I am down to about $35 in my account and I have very little Lithuanian or American money, so whenever I can use a credit card, I welcome it. I need to be very very careful until I get paid on the first of the month.

I will be in Vilnius until the 26th for three reasons: Don Quixote, Rigoletto and Sleeping Beauty.

Tomorrow, I will buy a ticket to Warsaw. I really don't feel like nine hours on the road. Of course, I have done this numerous times in Brasil.

When I get to Warsaw, I will still have a money problem. So, I will have to stay at the hostel until I get paid.

Then I take off for Paris.

Patrick Barry Barr
VILNIUS, LITHUANA

MISCELLANEOUS

The children have a wonderful game. They spit, not at cars, but at the drivers.

I went to the opera tonight to see Don Quixote. They have a very interesting custom at the theater: at some point during intermission, many of the people promenade in the lobby, in a sort of oval pattern, round and round. I have never seen this before. It is a good way to have a conversation and stretch ones legs before returning to the opera.

There are no chandeleirs in the theater, but a whole bunch in the lobby.

I panicked this evening when I lost my way to the opera. In the end, got there with about 15 minutes to spare.

Tonight, after the opera, I went to a bar and had a couple beers. The waitress called a cab and when it arrived, about a block away because the bar is on a no-car street (forgot the correct name. What do you expect, I have a couple glasses of beer under my belt). When it arrived, she took me outside and showed me the taxi waiting about a block away. I don't feel comfortable on the streets late at night, not in skinhead country.

I met a brother at the bus station when I arrived. I haven't seen another one. People point at me a lot.

(I almost lost all of this, so let me post it and continue later)

Patrick Barry Barr

Wednesday, September 22, 2004

RIGA

THE POOR SHOULD STAY HOME - PART 2

I actually got side-tracked on the first part. This is what I wanted to tell you about.

Yesterday, a few hours after arriving in Riga, I went to the cash machine and tried to withdraw $200. (On reflection, however, that was a terrible idea because I am going to be here only two days, and leave on the third).

The machine said: "You gotta be out of your mind!"

So, I tried again and came up with $100.

Later, I counted about 39 Lats in my pocket (roughly one Lat gets you about $2), I panicked. Really panicked.

Much later, I remembered that I had left some of the money in my wallet and put some in my pockets. OK, so I actually had 60 Lats more in my wallet. (Forget the $230 in my wallet.)

So, here I am with $69 in the bank, and a few Lats in my pocket. I am not getting paid until the end of the month. I need to get to Lithuania, then to Poland, leaving Poland even before I get paid, for Paris. Panic. I bought fruit, thinking that I better start saving the little I had.

Then today, I went to pay my hotel bill. The guy doesn't take credit cards. I must pay cash. My room has four beds, so it is not as if I am paying five star prices, but still. Then he tells me the bill is 18 Lats. I gave him a 20 Lat bill.

Now, I am keeping my fingers crossed that they accept credit cards in Lithuania.

Postscript: And I didn't even tell you about the panic in Tallinn, when, with 45 minutes for departure, I couldn't find a credit card and a bank card!!! Anyway, I decided to take the bus and contact Citibank and Bank of America when I arrived in Riga. I was putting my luggage ticket in my passport when the two cards almost tumbled out of my jacket pocket.

Did somebody ever say, All's well that ends well? Well, you can quote me.

Patrick Barry B.
RIGA

THE POOR SHOULD STAY HOME

My friends often question my politics. Let me explain. It's very simple. My politics is driven by a desire to see the poor get a little break.

And if a leader comes along and tries to teach the people to read, I say great. And if he or she, gets medical care to the people, preferably free, I say great. And if that leader makes, or at least tries to make, life a little better for the people who cannot help themselves, I say great try.

You see, I am not one who believes that the poor are poor because they are lazy. Sometimes if one takes a cursory glance at history, one can see the roots of poverty, the reasons why some are rich and why some are poor. Granpa Kennedy bootlegged liquor so that his grandson could grow up rich and become president. Of course, you have to bootleg liquor in a big way to be able to do that.

If one goes around selling a little crack, I doubt that will help the children.

So, that's why you are tired of hearing talk about my man, Fidel, my man Hugo Chavez, Lula, Kirchner, people of that stripe.

Has nothing to do with being a Leftist ... which I am, by the way. I simply don't see George Bush as an option and just cannot figure out how a lame brain managed to mesmerize the American voter. Hitler, yes, I can understand how he could. And did.

Patrick Barry B.
RIGA

I feel terrible.

Today, this little boy, maybe around 7, pleaded with me to give him something, but I found myself saying no. And the more he begged, the more I said no.

What stopped me from giving him a little something? It's like you get into a mode, a "No" mode and you cannot make the adjustment. The 50 cents I could have given wouldn't have affected me one bit, in spite of the fact that I only have $69 in the bank, and, happily, I discovered later, about $230 on my person, thanks to the fact that the robber in Tallinn went for my right pocket and not my left.

He stuck to me for about one block. I kept saying no, and he kept asking for money.

I wish I had made the adjustment, given him a little something, and we would both have left happy.

Except now, I don't know how he is doing, but I know I feel like crap.

Patrick Barry B.
RIGA

HATE

Last night, at about 7:30 o'clock, I looked into the face of hate.

I was heading toward a monument, when a skin head was approaching me. While approaching, he put on his ugliest grimace, and, at about 12 feet away, made a punch to indicate how he would love to punch me in the face.

I nodded to him and kept going.

It wasn't my intention to tour the city, something I never do when I arrive in a city at night, so I went home an hour or so afterwards.

Patrick Barry B.
RIGA, LATVIA

The Old Town in Tallinn doesn't come close when compared to the Old Town in Riga.

I arrived in a slight rain yesterday at about 3:30 o'clock and walked through the market to the Posh Backpackers hostel. Had long conversations with the proprietor who was in the Latvian Army and knows much of the history of the region and beyond.

There are tons of different newspapers in Riga which I consider is probably one of the highest percentage of newspaper readers on the planet.

Bought a ticket already today for 7 Lats to leave at 10 tomorrow morning for Vilnius, Lithuania.

Was walking around this morning when I was invited by Dr. Marty, a wonderful American woman who resides in Toronto, to join the group. She spotted my tam and read me to be Jamaican. She is incredibly well travelled, a psychologist, and is well plugged into people, versus the buildings and monuments. She was inclined to listen to me more than the guide. Obviously, she has fine taste.

Patrick Barry Barr

Monday, September 20, 2004

TALLINN

SOLITUDE

It is lonely out here!

For the 35 years that I have been travelling, I guess I have travelled alone at least 97 percent of the time.

Consequently, I have perfected the art of conversation ... with myself.

It is a thin line between sanity and insanity, I think. Should I begin to verbalize my conversations, I will be labelled a mad man. Many Peruvians, hampered by their racism and superstition, already consider me crazy.

In fact, I do sometimes verbalize! But I am sane enough to know just when to do so. It seems to be a natural extension of those inner conversations.

More often though, what is taking place in my head is not so much conversation, as writing. I am constantly writing and rewriting. Which is why the blog is a necessary component of my sanity. A blog is more useful to me than it could be to any of my friends who may choose to read it.

For you, the blog will tell you where I happen to be and what has been happening in my life.

To me, the blog is a depository. If I dont write and post, I will continue to rewrite, and rewrite ... endlessly. Because everything that I write can be improved, amended. There is always another angle, another approach. And it is usually better than what I had before. So, what is happening in my head is this continuous activity. When I write and post, there is no point rewriting anymore. It is done. Move on. It is no longer percolating in my brain. It is a relief after I hit the Publish Post button.

So, now you know why I am the sanest person you have ever met!

Patrick Barry Barr
LAUNDRY

I arrived for my laundry about 430 PM, half an hour before I was told it would be available. The woman who took them indicated, since we cannot communicate verbally, that the laundry was ready.
She collected them, neatly folded, and brought them. They thumbed through them to let me know they were all there. I tried to fish out my bag to put them and she came just short of rapping me on my knuckles. She went for a bag and put them in it.

I thanked her and dashed out, heading for the bus stop to get back into the city. After walking hurriedly, looking back now and then to see if the bus was coming, I was just across the street from the bus, when it occurred to me. I hadnt tipped her.

I wondered why I was in such a hurry. I turned back, and taking a short cut saw this beautiful purple flower, sitting there in the grass. I returned to the laundry and they called her. She approached wondering what the hell could the matter be. I handed her a 10 Kroon note. She stll wondered what the hell was the matter. Then it hit her. I was tipping her.

I left and returned to find the flower and take a photo.

Patrick Barry Barr
TALLIN

CLOUDY SKIES, BUT SUNNY

Had I not given out my laundry, I would have left Tallinn today for Riga, Latvia. But since I had to get my laundry about 5 PM, I experienced the finest weather since I arrived here. The sky was blue, although the clouds interfered with the light I needed to take some pictures.

I took the No. 3 tramcar to the bus station and bought a ticket for 230 krones. I leave at 10 AM tomorrow for Riga.

Then I walked about interminably.

YESTERDAY

I went to the art museum. One floor only. Some very interesting art. I took some photos. It felt good to go to a small museum and not be overwhelmed. You could have seen everything in 15 minutes.

While searching for a second museum, I came across a plaque in Russian and Estonian. I figured out that it had to do with Pushkins grandfather, Hannibal. While taking a photo and looking around, as if lost, a woman approached to ask me if she could help. She confirmed that the plaque had to do with the fact that Hannibal was in the Russian army and seemed to have been posted at that location. She mentioned they didnt want to talk about him then, but now seem able to. She suggested I visit a castle today. On Monday, it is not possible to enter, but one can wander the garden and the gardens.

TODAY

This morning I went to the news stand to buy bus tickets. It is not the first time. She proferred 10 Kroon tickets and I told her they were for 5 kroons. I took out my 5 kroon tickets to show her. She, a little annoyed, fished out the 5 kroon tickets and sold me five, then dismissed me, several times with a wave of her hand. It was more amusing than annoying.

SECURITY

I am now carrying my wallet and passport in the zippered pockets of my jacket. Wallet on the left and passport on the right. Why did it take me what, six years or more to figure this out? Only thing is that it takes a while to fish out my wallet when I need it. Of course, it would give pickpockets that much more time, I guess.

PBB

Sunday, September 19, 2004

EESTI

That's what Estonians call their country.

I am including a link to a travel writer. You may find it interesting http://www.elliotthester.com/column_tallinn_01.html Mostly about the capital, Tallinn.

PBB

Saturday, September 18, 2004

TALLINN

LAUNDRY

My laundry dictates that I remain in Tallin up to, at least, 5 PM Monday.

I walked across the street, Akadeemie tee, from the Academic Hostel to give out my laundry this morning. I asked the young miss at the front desk to write:

No ironing?
How much?
When will I get it?

The bundle will cost 39 kroon. About 15.56 kroon equal one euro, and the dollar is not too far off the euro at the moment.

I don't mind washing my underwear and socks from time to time, but I just cannot get to washing everything. I had planned to leave Tallin on Monday morning but I will leave, by bus, the following day for Riga, capital of Latvia, to the south.

My hostel is great, clean, but at 15 minutes plus, too far from the Old City for my liking. So tomorrow, I plan to move to Hostel Vana Tom, which will cost about $40 if I recall correctly and put me where I want to be. It was formerly called The Barn and is at Väike-Karja 1, 2nd floor.

Patrick Barry B.
TALLINN

MR., WANNA BUY RUSSIAN SOUVENIR?

Lucky bastard, is what I sometimes call myself. And I did again this morning.

Instead of calm, it could have been storm. Instead of being in utter panic and profound crisis, I am here in Restoran Ravintola, on the famous Raekoja Plats (square) in the center of the famous Old City, designated by UNESCO a precious city (something close, but I cannot find it at the moment).

At 11:10, in broad daylight, I was robbed of my passport for a few seconds.

I had just entered the old town about 20 minutes before and been greeted like royalty by this young woman selling postcards. We had this high-octane conversation about the weather in Jamaica and the weather, about two weeks of real summer, in Estonia.

I entered the square proper and got myself situation on the map. I was near a fork in the road and I started going right on Kinga but changed my mind and returned a few feet to take the other, Voorimehe. My "gut", not my brain, noted that four guys, in their 30s, all in dark clothes, mirrored my move as the "leader" spoke to the others.

About 35 feet into Voorimehe, heading toward Pikk, the leader passes me and makes a U-turn to face me. "Mr.," he said, quite forcefully, close up to my face and talking rapidly, "Do you want to buy Russian souvenirs?" His three friends lagged behind me.

Then he put his left arm around my neck (long-lost friends, you know!) and rattles off about three more questions, none of which registered because my brain had kicked into gear just when I felt the slightest touch on my right leg, in that pocket near my knee.

I immediately turned around to see my passport in the hand of one of the three behind me. "Give me my passport!" I demanded, not shouting. He handed it back.

Had he gone to the left pocket, I am positively certain I would have seen the last of my wallet, three credit cards and a Visa bank card, plus $134, plus that address in Kyoto which I still carry after more than five years. Nor would I see them again. As if I would want to.

Patrick Barry B

Friday, September 17, 2004

HELSINKI

(Actually in Tallinn)

COST OF LIVING

It costs a lot to visit Finland.

It cost a lot to live there as well, but I was chatting with a Finn yesterday, after visiting that church among the rocks. I bought a tee-shirt for 10 euros and considered it a bargain. He said, yes, it was pretty expensive but education and health were free. (Where did I hear that before, of course, in little old Cuba, a state so Communist they provide health care and education free). The taxes are pretty high also.

COLLEGE STUDENTS GO WILD

The semester has just started in Helsinki. Which means that a lot of students are costumed, some in red, others in yellow, some in business suits, some as doctors and nurses, name it.

This morning, before checking out, I was walking on Mannenheit (or something like that since I don't have my map with me) when I saw three students in bright red outfits. Two guys and a girl. I asked them what all that was about. They said they were second year students and it was a tradition to order around the first year students. (In the US they call it hazing, and students have died as a result.)

Yesterday, I saw a girl emerge from the pool on market square. Believe me, the water was cold.

So it is just one of those traditions where they have a good time before settling down to study hard.

It got a laugh when the youngster with a bottle of beer slurred his words and I pointed to the bottle and said: "I understand." Even he approved of the joke.

Patrick Barry B.
TALLINN, ESTONIA

Left Helsinki on the 12:30 ferry, Rosella, on the Viking Line. Three hours later, we arrived. I got up only once and couldn't find my sea legs. I felt silly, going around as if I were drunk or never been on a ship. But the waves were kind of big and the bobbing and weaving of the vessel quite notable. Not the gentle motion of my train ride to St. Petersburg.

I am in the Academic Hostel at Akadeemia tee 11 in room 209b. It's Academic because it is on the university campus. I met an Indian working on his Ph.D and I guessed correctly: software. Just read in today's The Guardian that India and China are doing business like gangbusters, as if they won't be needing to do business with anybody else. Incredible.

I didn't receive the warmest welcome from Tourist Information. I told her I was looking for information in English, and she responded as cold as ice, what did I want. No different from what she would have wanted had she ever left the country. A visitor needs a map, for starters, then we can go from there to more specifics.

She told me I could get the No. 3 trolley-bus at some spot that she marked on the map. She told me I could walk there, and I told her I would ask somebody else for directions.

Finally, found the trolley car, with the help of a young man who engaged me in conversation while I was crossing the street. His friend and himself were going to take the same bus, so he told me what to do. I handed the driver a 100 krone and he waved that away. While fishing into my pockets for change, the young man came from the back, where I had left my luggage, to offer to pay. For 25 krone I got about 6 tickets.

The guy is from Denver and his friend is from Los Angeles. They are both Mormons, I guess looking for recruits so I mentioned the fact that the Mormons were now accepting black people. They made as if they didn't know. One mentioned that growing up in LA, he caught hell from his friends for having black friends. They got off shortly after.

I asked a miss if she knew the stop I needed but she said she would get off before getting there. I ask a guy with whom she had been chatting and his friend told me I should get off four more stops. They got off.

I asked a young miss and she said she was going the same place. We got off one short stop earlier because the driver had run out of electricity. She crossed the street immediately, while I continued going straight and, finally, crossed at the university. Then I saw her. She seemed to have been waiting to point me exactly to where I should go. I thanked her big time. How thoughtful!

What else?

I'm staying about four miles from where things seem to be interesting, in the Old Town. Buses stop running at midnight and I hear taxis are a ripoff. What to do?

I came four stops to use the internet and eat something. I will buy some bananas and biscuits and water, just in case hunger takes ahold of me during the night. That has always been one of my greatest fears during most of my life: to be woefully hungry during the night with nothing to eat.

Later.

Patrick Barry Barr

Thursday, September 16, 2004

MORE EUROS, PLEASE

It was 6:50 PM and the sun was thinking of going to bed in another fifteen minutes or so, I calculated. I was hurrying towards an impressive white church in the distance and I thought I'd have enough light to take a picture.

I saw a woman with a one of those carts that fold and unfold, full with what seemed to be clothing. She was left behind by this woman approaching me with a baby in her arms.

"Do you speak English?, she enquired. I knew what was coming but I let her go on.

"I am from Kosovo and I have an appointment with immigration tomorrow ... and my baby is not well. Can you give me some money?"

I ignored the sun, went into my pocket and handed her 5 euros, which today, I understand, is about $5, or pretty close.

"Can you give me two more?, she asked.

Patrick Barry Barr
HELSINKI, FINLAND

YESTERDAY

Yesterday was very quiet. It was a day for mostly thinking, and recovering from Russia.

I thought that visiting Helsinki before or after Russia would be a good idea. If before, you get to rest up for the intensity. And if you visited afterwards, like I did, Helsinki, laid back as it is, affords you the chance to come down slowly and softly.

For instance, I thought about that recurring dream I had the night before of a snake, somewhere within reach of my feet, in front of me. Once, during the dream, I tried to use both legs to smash its head. I was on my back, in the dream. I didn't hurt the snake and the snake didn't hurt me.

I thought that if I ever went to see a psychiatrist, I would ask two questions:

One - Why do I always fall in love with the prima ballerina in Swan Lake? They don't even look like my mother. Although my mother, when I was about nine or ten, did seem well acquainted with that look that said she knew tragedy. Maybe that's one of the things she got from dad.

Two - I would want to know if there was some significance to the fact that I often head out in public with my fly open. Am I trying to prove something?

I am also thinking of a conversation (email) that I have had with a valued friend. And I am thinking that the US government must have invented Teflon to coat its foreign policy. It has invaded about 179 countries (Note on 17 September): Don't quote me on that figure because I am not sure where I got it; maybe just gazing into the future). But for another take, you may refer to http://www.counterpunch.org/catalin09112004.html, Wars Against 74 Nations...and Counting -- An ABC of American InterventionsBy FRANCISC CATALIN)killed millions of people and still come up smelling like roses.

The Soviet Union, on the other hand, no friend of mine I should add, did invade a lot of countries, including Prague in the Spring of 1968. I wonder how many Czechs they killed! I know thousands fled. But fleeing is different from dying. At the moment, for example, it is estimated that the US has killed 37,000 civilians in Iraq. Repeat, CIVILIANS. Translated, that means, in American English, collateral damage.

Well, I figured it out yesterday: The U.S. government has concentrated a lot of its murder against Injuns, Niggers, Spooks, Ragheads and Hispanics. In other words, they haven't killing a bunch of white folks. And that makes a difference.

You get a bad rap killing "civilized folk" but you get to keep smelling sweet if you murder black folks, red folks, yellow folks. Take note, Putin.

OK, where was I? That much about takes care of yesterday, and I only have 15 minutes left to get to today. I am at this library.

TODAY

I got my butt out of bed much earlier this rainy morning.

I went around the corner, about two blocks, to take a photo of a sweater in the Puma Jamaican line of sportswear.

Then I went online for a moment, before shipping a box to the US. Two tee-shirts, sort of to keep things from moving around; one DVD; 48 CDs: one stamp album from Russia; one COLORS magazine on the theme of drugs. That takes a load off me, I can tell you. Several pounds off my back. But I will be keeping my fingers crossed until the box arrives in about 20 working days.

Then I took the No. 3T tram to the Temppeliaukio Church, a church carted into stone, with water running naturally on the granite stone. While looking for the church, I chatted with a Kenyan who had just earned his MBA. Lived in Brooklyn for a while. Has a job with Citibank in London. Now, I feel even better about my Citibank accounts.

Then I visited the Sibelius monument, in the process learning the proper pronunciation. It is not Sibelius as in "bee" but as in "bell".

Then I stopped at a book store. I saw this book, The Shameful Life of Salvador Dali, by Ian Gibson, for 25 euro. I asked the guy if he could give me for 20. He gave me for 15. So I bought Don't Get me Wrong by Peter Cheyney; and My Favorites in Suspense by Alfred Hitchkock.

So far so good. May visit an art museum or two.

Tomorrow, I take a ferry for Tallinn, Estonia. I could get there in one and a half hours, but I choose to get there in three. And I got a discount for being an old man. Now I know why I couldn't wait to grow up.

Patrick Barry Barr

Monday, September 13, 2004

PARADISE LOST

My tranquility has been shattered the past couple days since four bi.., I mean, witches from the East checked in.

They particularly seem to like banging doors as hard as they can at all hours of the night. I think they mistook my washcloth for something else because they keep moving it from where I leave it to dry, a bit high up in the bathroom since hot air rises. I found it wetter today than I left it, which means it might have been used to clean God knows what. My soap also disappeared.

I detest them so much I haven't said a single word to them. As a matter of fact, the first time I saw two of them I didn't say a word either, so I may have divined the vibrations.

You know, I've always been against the US bombing of Japan in August 1945. I've called it racist, as well as an attempt to show off to the Russians that the US had cojones. But these witches have me so riled up that I would volunteer to fly Enola Gay II, even though I wouldn't know how to land it afterwards! Of course, a few months in a crop duster in Florida could probably correct that!

Patrick Barry Barr



Sunday, September 12, 2004

CUCHARACHA

I entered this restaurant for one reason and one reason only: they had the balls to call themselves COCKROACH.

I was taking a walk. It must have been early afternoon. I had gone to get a ticket for Swan Lake but there was no performance tonight. So, I strolled along Nevsky Prospekt and made a right at a river. I took some photos of grafitti, and saw this restaurant.

Now, I know about cockroaches. I was well acquainted with them as a youngster growing up in Kingston. I know about mice and I know about rats. Life would be better without them.

When I entered the restaurant, I wasn't even hungry, so I selected a fairly light meal and a margarita with strawberries.

I was served by a delightful and pretty young woman from Colombia. She speaks English and Russian, which she has been studying since she came to St. Petersburg about a year ago.

I would have liked to chat with her about her country but one has to be careful chatting with people while they work. If management needs an excuse that surely gives them one. I would have liked to ask her about el presidente Uribe, a US lackey. One has to be careful when drawing conclusions about people, because I went to Spain really hating Generalisimo Franco only to hear from one of my hosts what a wonderful guy he was.

I would have liked to take her photo also but again, at work, I considered it inappropriate.

Her name is Leidy. I think it is wonderful, at that tender age, to leave home and to see the world.

Patrick Barry Barr
US BLACKS TARGETED IN IRAQ

An excerpt from a resistance fighter in Baghdad:

Black soldiers are a particular target. 'To have Negroes occupying us is a particular humiliation,' Abu Mujahed said, echoing the profound racism prevalent in much of the Middle East. 'Sometimes we aborted a mission because there were no Negroes.'

PBB
GUARDIAN ANGEL

You probably would call her babushka, but I call her my Guardian Angel!

A white-haired, fairly short, bespectacled woman in an ordinary dress. Definitely the grandmother of any number of children. You wouldn't spend a lot of time observing her.

We met for a few, unforgettable minutes yesterday, about 1:15 oclock on my street, Bolshaya Konyushennaya. I had spent the past 25 minutes pacing back and forth looking for No. 10, the 505 record shop. I had the ad in my hand. I enquired inside a store and the young woman told me to make a left at the first corner. I did. Nothing.

For a while, I considered giving up the quest and going to the Mussorgsky Theatre, on that wonderful square with the statue of Alexander Pushkin in the park, next to the Russian Museum. Maybe they have tickets for Boris Godunov. But I decided not to give up so easily. So I returned to Bol. Konyushennaya.

I enquired of a young waitress who had been cleaning tables outside the 24-hour restaurant. If she spoke English, I still wouldn't have been able to decifer the many different locations to which she pointed, her hands moving like the arms of a windmill.

Then this woman approached and, in quite good English, asked me if she could help me. I showed her the ad and she said I should follow her, that she would show me the store.

She took me to a car, which turned out to be a taxi, and she told the driver to put this brown dog in the front seat. She went into the back seat and shuffled over to allow me to enter. Which I did.

She spoke both English and Japanese she said. I told her I loved the sound of Japanese, and I asked her where she has learned English but she choose not to respond. She said she had visited England and Japan. She translated for the driver, who glanced back for a second, that I was Jamaican. He seemed to approve.

Then, without warning, she pointed out the record store across the street. I got out quickly so as not to stop traffic on this one-way street (one-way on either side of the central mall) and wished her Bolshoy Spasebo, meaning, not just thanks but many thanks, big thanks, huge thanks, thanks a million, so to speak.

I know I will see her again. When I think about angels, when I think about St. Petersburg, when I think about generosity.

Patrick Barry Barr
HOOKED

Don't tell me I don't know what it feels like to be addicted. I'm just not on crack, that's all. But if you saw me going from record shop to record shop during the past couple days, taking handsful of CDs back to the counter, you would witness what being hooked is all about.

I left my CD player in New York. And I didn't bring one CD with me. Now, I have 40 CDs, almost all jazz. I had been thinking of shipping the CDs to New York but thought better of it. Better to ship some non-essentials like clothes and my other pair of shoes and keep the music close to my body, all the way home. You see, it is tough to consider having lost my 40-year-old collection of jazz because I once let them out of my sight.

Somebody, stop me before I start singing the King Pleasure version of Moody's Mood for Love on Nevsky Prospekt!

PBB
RADIO

Radio is alive and well in St. Petersburg and a lot more vibrant than radio in New York City. Radio Sputnik for hip-hop, techno and all that kind of music that won't let you snooze off, all day, all night.

Radio Hermitage for classical, and a host of others. I forget the name for the jazz station. Just imagine, St. Petersburg with a vibrant jazz station when one doesn't exist in New York City. They have to listen in to Newark, New Jersey. This in the land that gave the world Jazz!

Beyond radio, TV defnitely has Russia beat. Quantity and quality.

And speaking of quality and quantity, the women of St. Petersburg are as hot as any New York lass could possibly be. They step with an attitude. They look you in the eye. Straight in the eye. I'm sure glad I am not here during Spring and Summer. All those incredible ladies.

PBB

Saturday, September 11, 2004

POST OFFICE

Yesterday evening, I walked to find the post office, since I plan to ship some stuff back to the States. I feel and look like a beast of burden with all that weight in my backpack. But a cursory look inside, a look at the forms, all in Russian, the workers who may not be able to help me in any way, I am beginning to think that I should lug the box to Finland and ship it from there if I wish to see it again. I expect to find more people at the post office in Helsinki that can help me ship the box.

Also, I have had no luck locating my Ethiopian friend, Atsbeha. We lost contact after he had sent me photos of his wedding to a Russian, and photos of a painting which he said was hanging in some museum or other. It is hopeless. I have mislaid his correspondence and will stage a massive search when I return to the States.

Yesterday, I went to The Russian Museum, hoping I may see it, but that museum is devoted to Russian artists.

Patrick Barry B.
CUBA

On behalf of my godson, Jesus (well, I don't know how to put the mark over the u to distinguish him from our savior), I add this link for anyone who maybe interested in the Cuban story vis-a-vis the USA http://www.counterpunch.org/bohmer09092004.html

Patrick Barry B.
CDs

Last night, I was hopelessly lost. But that's another story.

Trying to get back on track, I ran into this record store. It was about 10 oclock and I descended the stairs to be told that they were closing. I returned to the streeet and resumed walking, and entered another music store. They didn't have the Russian reggae CD for which I was searching, but I started going through the jazz section.

After a while, I felt I was being watched so I handed my bag to this guy who seemed puzzled and placed it on the floor beside me. I had collected nine CDs when we had some misunderstanding. I thought he was telling me I had to leave and I am telling him I am looking for more CDs. I asked him why the hell I have to leave and other people are still in the store. Of course, when I get pissed it doesn't matter if I am the only person around who speaks English. I use my attitude to transmit what I cannot say in the native language.

Finally, I paid 950 rubles for the nine CDs. Aveage price of $3.45.

Now, will you tell me where the hell in New York City (I seem to be repeating myself, New York City is hell, isn't it?) I can get nine CDs for less than an average of $15 a piece?

Patrick Barry B.
MY HERMITAGE

A few days ago, I learned why the Winter Palace is called the Hermitage. There is this incredible room, in the Hermitage, which contains this clock that has to be seen to be believed. It is a peacock, golden. Turns out that my favorite Czarina, Catherine, was able dine alone without even the maids entering, because there seemed to be some kind of dumb waiter on which food could be sent to the room.

She said it was her hermitage. Think of "hermit".

So, I figure that where I am staying, in room 8, at 17 Konyushennaya Street, as the only guest, that is my hermitage. The building is under construction and, I haven't counted, but there may be about 12 or more rooms, with a shared bath. A woman arrives in the mornings and leaves in the evenings, so I am completely on my own otherwise.

So I can hang my underwear to dry in the bathroom without it getting in anybody's way.

Patrick Barry B
PUSHKIN'S LAST SUPPER

After I left the No. 2 train and took this long escalator up to Nevsky Prospekt, I walked toward No. 18, this club named The Literary Club. And I will tell you why. I quote from a pamphlet I got from the club, once I found it:

"To tour Saint Petersburg without visiting W. Wolf and T. Beranger's former confectionary, which they opened at the corner of Nevsky Prospect and the Moika in 1835, will be a big mistake.

It is authentically known that it was the last cafe called in by the great Russian poet Alexander Pushkin just before his fatal duel in the evening of January 27, 1837.

Many famous Russian writers such as Krylov, Belinsky, Dostoyevsky, Saltykov-Shcherin, Chernyshevsky and others, composed here plots of their works sipping coffee and eating cakes.

In the memory of this original Pushkin's Peterburg the "Literary Cabe"is opened at the place of the former Wolf and Beranger's confectionary. Now it offers Russian and European cuisine. Every day, you can enjoy live classic music and Russian romances in the evening."

I had to pass my street, Konyushrnnaya, to get there. I was, without question, the worst dressed there and I wondered for a moment, if they would let up go upstairs. No problem. I ordered a beer and listened to the piano player, who seemed to know all the American standards from the 40's. Name it, he played it.

Upstairs is fairly small, and diners occupied about three or four tables. All were dressed for the evening.

Since he was playing American music, I had this bright idea of tipping him in US dollars. So, about 90 percent through my tall glass of beer, I sent $5 to him via the waiter. I also handed the waiter a 500 ruble note to pay the 140 ruble bill.

Well, what do you think happened? The pianist invites me to sit up front, by his right hand, at a table, on a chair which he turned around to face the piano, with just a space to walk between us. On arrival at this exhalted spot, a lady did some translating. I told them I was Jamaican, which I always do, because I am, and he started playing something which he said was Jamaican but I didn't quite recognize.

Then he started playing tons of songs, most of which I recognized, some of which I tried to sing sotto voce to let him know I knew them. Songs like I did it my way, which I had heard Frank Sinatra sing earlier in the day; that song which Ms. Bobby Brown made famous, from that movie, and lots more. Then the lady started to sing. I think she had a wonderful voice. She sang quite a few songs.

An attractive blond, probably bleached, who had been sitting motionless on the bench at his left, for the past 25 minutes, detached herself and headed for another table.

The lady, Marina Belan, soprano, sang a few Russian songs, one of which I had requested. A very sad song. I confirmed afterwards that it was, indeed, a sad song. Had to do with nostalgia; being away from Russia.

For the past 15 minutes, he, Alexander Kagan, winner of Glinka and Bach Piano competitions, had been urging Marina to get their two CDs. She did so with a show of reluctance. Finally, when the "concert" ended I asked her how much for the two CDs. She said $10 each. I gave her $20. Now I had two $1 notes in my name, but no matter.

I asked them if they were aware of Paul Robeson, a friend of Russia, and Alexander sat down again and pounded out two of Robeson's better known songs.

I tell you, for me it was an unforgettable experience.

Maybe it was midnight when I got home. Maybe later.

Patrick Barry Barr
I ABSTAIN

I have decided not to vote in the November elections. I don't care how many of my people died to get the vote. I don't think they died so that I could give it to John Kerry, who is not that different than Bush.

Here is the bottom line for me:

John Kerry's position on Cuba is not as bad as the current administration's but he does not accept Cuban self-determination and sovereignty as the basis for U.S. foreign policy. Kerry has said, if elected President, he would end the travel ban but he would not end the embargo/blockade or establish normal diplomatic relations with Cuba. If we are concerned about human rights and the right of all nations to choose their own system, we should do what we can to stop the U.S. from waging war against Cuba, whether it is an invasion or the continuing blockade.

The above is from Peter Bohmer http://www.counterpunch.org/bohmer09092004.html

I never felt comfortable with Kerry and thought I would close my nose and vote for Anyone but Bush. No mas!

Patrick Barry Barr
WHERE THE HELL AM I?

I got lost yesterday, big time. I thought I had a clue, studying the map, but I didn't. I had walked circuitously, after having located the main post office, about which I will speak, very briefly later.

So, it may have been about 8:30 PM and I am leaning on this post trying to find where I am. No luck. I see a metro station but it is too much trouble to cross this vast square to go find out the name. And I think I would need to down into the bowels of the earth to discover the name anyway. Instead, I go into this restaurant called Havana Club. Which is the easiest way to get me to enter anyway. Just say anything affiliated with Fidel!

It is a very interesting restaurant with the menu including cuisine from just about all the Latin American countries. I start by ordering a Pina Colada, which lacked enough liquor. (This same thing happened in Old Havana once, and I gold them to bring me more liquor.) It tasted OK, but without enough liquor I am not going to recommend it.

Then I ordered the fried shrimp which is the Cuban dish. I was still hungry, so I ordered fried bananas -- three bananas and two small scoops of ice cream, plus some dashes of whipped cream. Ate that too and still, unlike me, felt hungry. I paid about 454 rubles, which is good for all that, tipped the waitress too much, and left.

I walked out and retraced my steps to discover that I was on Moskovskiy Street. Finally, I reached a point that I thought I shouldn't be. There were a bunch of young men and women who were sitting around, many drinking beer. I recognized the area very well and knew that, at that hour, maybe I shouldn't be walking to Nevsky Prospekt. I knew that if I just walked along the side of the river that it would take me to Nevsky, but I wondered about the safety.

So I went down the subway at Sadovaya and, determined not to ask anyone, figured out, after about 10 minutes that the No. 2 train was somewhere else, at the end of the platform and then down another escalator. Once there, it took me another three minutes to figure out which of two trains I should take. I arrived at the correct station, Gostiny Dvor Nevsky Prospekt, one stop later.

Then went in search of No. 18.

Patrick Barry B.
THE LITERARY CLUB

You probably know by now that I get a little worked up about Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin!

By the way, you wanna see some fine women, along with some interesting commentary? Go to http://www.elliotthester.com/column_stpetersburg_01.html It's a brother who gets around, takes some great photos and writes quite well about where he's been.

I went to this club at 18 Nevsky Prospekt last night. I went there just because they insist that that is where Pushkin had his meal before going to duel some guy who was making after his wife. Of course, he got the worse of it and died two days later, on 10 February 1837. Then this other bastard turned around and married Pushkin's sister-in-law.

I didn't realize until last night that since he was born in 1799, he is one of these geniuses who died before he turned 40.

If I were the type that gets depressed, I'd be depressed now. What the hell have I done in 66 years, other than to help "replenish the earth" with some of the most beautiful children you ever saw.

Note: You must forgive me using "hell" so goddamed much. You see, I just re-read The Catcher in the Rye, and Holden Caulfield simply cannot seem to finish a sentence without swearing. I swear.

And I am still impressionable.

Patrick Barry B.
MOSCOW, 5 September 2004

ENCOUNTER WITH AN AFRICAN

I met Gavin at the men's room entrance at the station, Komsomolskaya. (No, it's not like that!)

I had just asked the attendant how much it cost to enter and Gavin, who was waiting behind me, echoed her response of 10 rubles. Maybe my hesitation gave him the impression that I was economically challenged (which I am) and he offered to pay for me. But I paid and we entered.

While peeing, we struck up a conversation. Gavin is from Johannesburg and was taking the train before mine to St. Petersburg. We hoped we'd see each other again, you know the usual stuff, and said farewell.

Three days ago, I am trying to get my money's worth at The Hermitage, one of the most spectacular museums on the planet, when, who do I see approaching but Gavin.

We chat for a while, during which the female guard approaches from quite some distance to tell us to remove our stuff off what may have been Catherine the Great's cabinet. Just looked like an OK place to put stuff.

He has been on the road for eleven months! My longest outing was three months and I was pretty glad to return to the US, so that I could take off my shoes, tam and loosen my belt so that the woman at the airport could be assured I had no intent to bring down The Evil Empire!

Like myself, Gavin seems to be travelling alone, since I saw him alone twice. Travelling alone definitely has its advantages but one certainly misses a lot of camaraderie as well. I believe the solitude leads me to blog as much as I do, but if I wait around for somebody who wishes to take off for a few months with, in my present case, no defined route from Moscow to Venice, I'd never leave home.

I still don't know if I will go to Copenhagen after Helsinki, or I will just head south to Estonia, through Latvia and Estonia to Warsaw. Or, if I go to Copenhagen, I will just stay on that side of Europe.

Time will tell ... as it always does.

Patrick Barry B.
ST. PETERSBURG

In the beginningSebastião Salgado is embarking on the last of his great photographic projects, which will appear regularly in Weekend over the next eight years. He is seeking out places that are still as pristine as they were in primeval times, places that provide hope. First stop, the Galápagos Islands. Simon Hattenstone talks to him.

Well worth checking out at http://www.guardian.co.uk/arts/salgado/0,15021,1294976,00.html

PBB

Friday, September 10, 2004

COLD

It is getting cold here. July certainly would have been a better time to visit. Now, I am unable to take several walking tours because after a while my feet may get too cold.

I have lots of notes to add but somehow feel a bit drained to add them. Maybe later.

PBB

Monday, September 06, 2004

GOOD MORNING, ST. PETERSBURG

The 10:11 trained pulled out of Moscow last night -- exactly as scheduled. I shared a cabin with three very nice Russians, one, a quiet, very helpful youngster in the military services, spoke with me in English when the other two were absent. He's from a suburb of Moscow and is doing his training in St. Petersburg.

We all turned in about an hour out of Moscow. It was a wonderful ride; like a baby being rocked ever so gently, back and forth. I was sure to place my feet at the window since I feared getting a cold. Even though our bodies were moving sideways, the motion of the train assured that never once did I feel that I was gong to roll out of bed. In fact, if you closed your eyes, and closed or open the cabin was totally dark, you could play mind games and imagine any position you wished. You could have your head going in the direction of the train, or your feet.
We made up our beds and tucked ourselves under blankets. I don't think I've had a better sleeping experience.

Just before 5 AM, I noticed a lot of activity. The guys were up and already dressed. What is going on, I wondered. So I got up and put on my clothes. I went to look outside and noticed a city. That city happened to be our destination!

My first experience in the city was quite good. A woman left her office to try help me find out how to get to Hotel Neva. Finally, I bought a map and discovered the site. I considered walking, but that was a very foolish idea it turned out. I bought ten tokens for 80 roubles and took the metro at the train station just one stop to Chernyshevskaya.

Without asking for help, so as to ensure a good start to the day, I walked to the corner and made a right on Kirochnaya Ulitsa. While traversing this incredibly long block, the street lights went out at 6:33. Obviously it was timed to go off then because daylight was a long way off, and the skies were totally overcast. Looked like rain would fall today.

I made a right on Liteyny, crossed the street and walked one block. And there was Neva Hotel. I opened the street door and sat inside for a while since nobody seemed to be stirring inside. I sat on the steps, read a little of The Catcher in the Rye, ate some chocolate, drank some water.

At about 7:15, the first employee arrived and knocked. A guy came out and took my very heavy bag. The lady behind the desk said I "couldn't possibly have paid over the internet, you don't have a reservation; what's your name? Oh, Patrick Barr; yes, you paid $224?; oh, I am sorry. But you have to check at noon, unless you want to pay for the day".

I left at about 7:30 and walked very slowly done Liteyny toward Nevsky Prospekt, stopping at a restaurant for a roll and coffee. The cook addressed me in French, but Je ne parle pas de francais. I continued walking and took photos of some grafitti in an entrance way off the street. It is really private property but I took photos anyway and a woman seemed annoyed but I told her I didn't speak Russian and that seemed to cool her off a bit. I was really on private property.

It was a bit cold and I could have used a sweater.

So here I am at the Quo Vadis internet cafe quote in the center of the city unquote. (Did you guess that I am having trouble with the quotation marks?) The morning rate cost me 80 Roubles for two hours. That cannot be beat. Less than $3.

I slept well last night. Got up once to use the toilet. But I am still tired and think I will probably spend a lot of time in bed today.

Greetings from St. Petersburg.

Patrick Barry Barr

Sunday, September 05, 2004

MOSCOW, Sunday, 5 September 2004

GOODBYE MOSCOW

I had banana split on my mind from last night, so here I am at Phlegmatic Dog where you get one banana and three scoops of excellent ice cream -- strawberry, chocolate and vanilla.

It's bright and sunny outside but it is past the tee-shirt weather that welcomed me 12 days ago. I could do very well with a sweater under my jacket.

Today, I took my luggage to the Komsomolskaya train station. I had thought of leaving it at the Hotel Rossija's storage room but thought better of it when I considered it must cost a fortune. I took it to the train station and left it there for a pittance.

Yesterday, I spoke with the only pleasant person working at Hotel Rossija. She is the one who used to plug in my battery charger. I was paying for an extra day yesterday because I had miscalculated and pair through the 4th, not the 5th. So, when I returned to the hotel at about 6 o'clock, I had been locked out of my room. I was straightening this out when she came to see if she could help.

She wondered when I would be back and told me that they had plans to demolish the hotel and put up a smaller, more expensive one. I wished her the best getting a job with the new hotel.

Today, I rode the ring metro and stopped at about three or four to take photos, all the time clearing it with the police who were quite pleasant.

Thanks to the Bolshoi, I have remained in Moscow about twice as long as I had planned. Despite all the agida, Moscow is one of the highlights of the travelling bug that I caught in the summer of 1969, the bug that took me to the expo in Montreal.

I look forward to visiting and spending a lot of time in The Hermitage, Catherine the Great's Winter Palace.

I have not decided whether I should leave Helsinki for Copenhagen, or head from Helsinki via Estonia, Latvia and Lithuana for Warsaw. The main question is whether or not I wish to postpone Warsaw, and I really can't think of any great reason why I can't.

I edited this post to mention my biggest puzzle about Moscow: the fact that not once was I stopped by the police and asked for my passport. I have no explanation for it. Not that I feel neglected by the police, no, just because everywhere I go I see them asking people, especially, Russians for their IDs. OK, then, I've said everything I wanted to say.

So, Farewell Moscow!

Farewell, my friends!

Patrick Barry Barr
THE FIERY ANGEL

Last night, I saw Sergey Prokofiev's The Fiery Angel at the Bolshoi Theatre. It is Bolshoi's 229th season, since it opened in, yes, 1776.

You are not going to leave this performance whistling any melodies. It is a lot of screaming and shrill singing. I was really hoping for a ballet performance but got Prokofiev instead. An American couple from the state of Washington told me that this was one of Prokofiev's least commendable, and that Romeo and Juliet is the one to see.

I had a wonderful discussion with the slender, gray-haired woman from Washington State, while her husband left to stretch his legs. Not only is she Democrat, but seemed to acknowledge state terror, terror from the top, as well as terror from below.

I was tired and nodded big time. At one point, I was scared I would topple over from my chair. I tried to get into the music, but no go. I had the world's louisest seat. But no matter, I was at the Bolshoi!

During intermission, I went to buy a whisky. Offered a 100 ruble bill and waited for my change. The guy pointed to the price on the machine: 300 rubles. I blinked. He explained that it was Hennessey's. I calculated that that was $10 and felt a lot better. Actually tipped him 20 rubles; less than a dollar. Considered going to the toilet, but a massive water spillage in the hallway was an obstacle, considering I don't yet know how to walk on water.

Actually, I almost blew it because swimming in my head was the thought that the performance started at 9 PM. The fact is that it started at 1900 hours, which translates to 7 PM. So I spent many hours in Phlegmatic Dog, trying to get my money's worth on the internet and when I returned to the hotel, I only had an hour to shower, change and get to the theater with half an hour to spare.

It is a marvelous theatre, decidedly horsehow and about five levels, with a wonderful chandeleir hanging from the center of the roof.

PBB

Saturday, September 04, 2004

THERE GOES THE SUN

I had a piece all ready to go, and here comes the sun. I send it anyway:

The wonderful, sunny days that welcomed me to Moscow when I arrived are just about gone. I enjoyed it while it lasted.

For the past two or three days, it has rained. And no question it is going to rain today.

I awoke after 6 o'clock this morning, so I must be getting back to normal. At the same time, I am physically and mentally ready to leave Moscow. I am no longer taking stairs two at a time, although I am still walking up and down escalators that take forever to get where you are going.

This morning I bought a pair of binoculars so I can zoom in on the faces at the Bolshoi tonight. "Bolshoy" means large, so I expect to see a huge place. I think the performance starts at 9 o'clock. Must check.

I only have Russian TV in my room and have been watching the tragedy in North Ossentia, which is near if not on the border with Georgia. I don't even want to start talking about that.

Tomorrow night, at about 10:15, my train should be pulling out for St. Petersburg.

This morning, I went to see if I could find a biography of Pushkin for a good price. I got turned about real badly, but finally reoriented myself and got back on track. I didn't find anything on Pushkin but bought Victor Hugo's Les Miserables, and J. D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye.

I will read The Catcher again because, like Billie Holiday, you must be in a good frame of mind for Heinrich Boll. He is so good, but he doesn't let you come up for air; he keeps punching you in the gut. An incredible writer and Nobel Prize in Literature in 1972. He packs a punch and I want to chuckle and smile a bit before I become a Muscovite.

I probably mentioned I got a room at $74 for three nights in St. Petersburg. The Hotel Neva is ner Nevsky Prospekt, which is probably wider than the Champs Elysees.

Time to check on the news.

Bye.

PBB

Friday, September 03, 2004

WORLD-WIDE WRESTLING

I was in the Chistye Prudy metro station yesterday afternoon, walking back and forth, searching for the No. 6 train back to Kitay-Gorod, when a young man gave me a shoulder block that had to be premeditated, because he kept going, without missing a stride, while I was rocked back, stopped in my tracks, off balance, and had to recover and start moving forward again.

If you think that Grand Central Station and Penn Station are crazy at rush hour, you haven't been to Moscow. If you think the Russians defeated the Hordes and drove them out of Moscow, they, The Hordes, have simply transformed into Muscovites and are alive and well riding the metro.

Often, I have to dash for a safe spot, to contemplate my metro map and the signs to figure out where to exit or where to transfer for the next train.

Passengers entering the trains barely leave you space to exit. Passengers depart and head for other trains or exists as if a dam has burst.

I think, What a shame. This chaos belies the stunning beauty of the architecture and decoration of some of these very stations in which these Russians are battling daily.

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ADAPTER

I was in the Komsomolskaya metro station, where I will get my train this Sunday for St. Petersburg. There are hundreds of stores there, so I started looking for a transformer to lower the voltage from 240 Volts to 120 Volts, so that I may charge the batteries for my camera.

Finally, I went to a watch repair shop on the lower level. The white-haired woman was extremely pleasant, which is something quite absent from the Moscow scene. Let me quote you what I am talking about, from the September 2 edition of The Moscow Times:

"Aeroflot, still the country's major international carrier and an important player on long-haul domestic routes, began a bold makeover three years ago.

"Flight attendants were given smiling lessons. ..."

God's truth!

The white-haired lady pointed out where I may go to enquire. But as soon as I arrived, she was at my side. She took me into two stores, but no luck. Then she suggested I visit a big store called Moscowitska, or something of the sort. I found the store and the guard told me that the fourth floor is where I needed to go. Long story short, I bought the adapter.

I was so pleased and apreciative that I returned to the shop to thank her.

I know she shared my joy.

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INHERITANCE

Two planes are blown out of the Russian skies the day I left New York, 24 August, killing 90.

A bomb blast at the Rizhskaya metro, a mere two miles from my hotel, kills 10 and injures 50.

Hundreds of children are held hostage in North Ossentia, cancelling Putin's plans to visit Turkey.

And my love-child, Sondra, hasn't even sent an email to check on the status of her inheritance, to see if sooner, rather than later, she can buy the mansion she has been dreaming of.

Makes you wanna go: "H-h-m-m-m-m-m!"

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PHLEGMATIC DOG AT MIDNIGHT

I walked "home" through the midnight rain last night, through Red Square. Thankfully, it was not a shower, only a steady rain, a bit more than a drizzle. I had asked for it because I had space in my Lucent Technologies bag to have carried my plastic jacket. One of those decisions where you don't to debate considering it has been raining on and off during the past several days. It's like when I am driving, I always, always signal, rather than decide that this situation I should, and the next situation, I don't need to. (Well, I have beat that into the ground, haven't I?)

I finally, finally found Phlegmatic Dog, voted the coolest internet cafe in the world. It is the best I've ever seen, with music in the background all the time.

The model is very interesting. You don't pay for the internet service; you pay for the food. I suppose you want to pay something back so you do order something. I don't suppose there is any minimum order, and I don't know what happens if you just use the machine and don't order anything.

(Let me get back to my notes and not flounder around).

Thankfully, it was not a shower, nor a steady rain, but a bit more than a drizzle. Thre was no reason for me to get wet, since I had spae in my bag to have carried my plastic raincoat, but I guessed wrong and now I have to change my uniform. I have been wearing the same pair of trousers since I left the US on 24 August and now I will change into the other while this one dries.

Well, that is certianly a lot better than the time I visited Jamaica wearing onlyh one pair of jeans. My idea of travelling light. Not only was a friend embarrassed, but so was my daughter, Winsome who pulled her hand away while we walked Cumberland Avenue, just past the bridge where we bought those fantastic grated-coconut what-you-call-it? (Verena, help!) I was about 6 or 7 then, going to Franklin Town elementary school. To this day, I remember that bright youngster who came to school barefooted. Wonder where he is today? From those days, I've felt closer to the poor, than to the rich. And not because of my economic malaise.

Back to notes:

I finally found Phlegmatic Dog, thanks to my determination and the help of the most gracious young woman last night. I finally approached a restaurant on Revolution Square where I saw a man and a woman, apparently connected to the restaurant. The young woman was on her cell phone and smiled when I showed her that I had written Phlegmatic Dog in Russian. Let me see if I can recreate it here: фдэгматик дог Hopefully, it will show up in my blog as Russian.

She called another friend. Meanwhile, an Asian woman arrived and said one, quite gruff word: Dinner! But the young miss had her wait another five minutes while she told me how to get to the internet cafe. I had searched on the building before but found another internet cafe. I thanked her profusely and went on my quest again. This time, I returned to the other and while asking for their competition, a customer entered and told me it was upstairs. Cut the suspense: I finally found it.

Now all they had to do was to say: "If you are coming from Red Square, take a left at Marshall Zhukov, walk to the eternal flame for the Unknown Soldier, and make a sharp right." Of course, their business card is more helpful, suggesting that you enter from the Alexander Park, but you need to get there first to get to business card.

Last night I had two large beers and shrimps. It came up to 400 rubles, a much better experience than breakfast, which cost 440.

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Thursday, September 02, 2004

ST. PETERSBURG HOTEL

Tonight, with my internet time running low, I booked three days in the Hotel Neva in St. Petersburg for $74 a night. At these prices, I may be passing my hat around pretty soon. Let's hope, it's all downhill from here on. The prices, I mean. I just got fed up with Intourist at the hotel.

They say the hotel is 15 minutes from Nevsky Prospekt, and I only hope it is near The Hermitage Museum. But, in any case, it seems closer to where I want to be than where I stayed in the winter of 1995, or 1994. I did write about the trip in my web pages (which no longer exist as web pages), but cannot confirm the dates at this time. They are on my hard drive in Queens, New York. That was an unforgettable winter!

So, I take a train on Sunday night and get to St. Petersburg about 8 o'clock the next morning. I like the idea of having a room before I get there, so that I don't get burned like I did here.

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ST. PETERSBURG HOTEL

Tonight, with my internet time running low, I booked three days in the Hotel Neva in St. Petersburg for $74 a night. At these prices, I may be passing my hat around pretty soon. Let's hope, it's all downhill from here on. The prices, I mean. I just got fed up with Intourist at the hotel.

They say the hotel is 15 minutes from Nevsky Prospekt, and I only hope it is near The Hermitage Museum. But, in any case, it seems closer to where I want to be than where I stayed in the winter of 1995, or 1994. I did write about the trip in my web pages (which no longer exist as web pages), but cannot confirm the dates at this time. They are on my hard drive in Queens, New York. That was an unforgettable winter!

So, I take a train on Sunday night and get to St. Petersburg about 8 o'clock the next morning. I like the idea of having a room before I get there, so that I don't get burned like I did here.

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JAMAICA REPRESENTS ON REVOLUTION SQUARE

Thanks to Donovan for sharing photos of Jamaica's Golden Women. I am sorry I missed the 200 metres, but I did get to see the 4x100 relay. My hotel only carries about 6 Russian stations, but if you read their promo you would think they carry everything on TV.

I was happy to see a real large Puma add on Revolution Square. The ad shows two male relay runners, against a white background, dressed in skin-tight Jamaican colors, one passing the baton to the other. I took a picture, of course, but cannot share with you until I return to the US end of October.

You get to Revolution Square after you have left St. Basil's Cathedral, walked the entire length of Red Square, then pass through one of the gates that leads you immediately to Zero Kilometer. At that spot begins the distances to other parts of Russia. It is the center of Moscow and people stand on the spot, I suppose they make a wish, then throw a small coin over their shoulder. The moment it hits the ground, women who stand around, collect the coins. The saying is that if you give something, it will ensure that you come back.

As you enter Revolution Square you can see the famous Marshall Zhukov, hero of World War II, defending Russia against the Germans; then you enter Manezhnaya Square, where I finally found the highly-rated internet cafe and club, Phlegmatic Dog. I don't know yet, but it seems that the internet is free and you pay for the drinks. I will report later. But it is quite a hip spot, and very near to the hotel. I can get here in 12 minutes.

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MASK

I am wearing the coldest of masks in Moscow. I make eye-contact with no one. I pass the chambermaids without a glance, without a word. I struggle to find my way on the metro without so much as asking the women who are there to help.

Today, I ent to make arrangements for a hotel in St. Petersburg. When I went this morning, the attendant broke out into a terrible coughing fit and pulled out a 15-minute break sign.

I returned this PM and she said she didn't have the time, because she was alone. But I bet she found all the time for the two guys who were waiting their turn.

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BREAKFAST AT THE ACADEMY

This morning, I got to the Academy cafe on Kamersgersky and did some miming to find out that they had eggs. I returned at 11, when they actually open, and ordered two eggs, orange juice and coffee. When the eggs came, I sent them back to be flipped over and fried.

I usually eat without drinking, but the bread was so heavy it just wouldn't go down. I have just so much saliva, you know. That's when I ordered the orange juice.

The bill came to 400 rubles. That's $15.17. I had to pay in rubles and was running low, so I told her I didn't have enough to tip. But I left $2 anyway -- $1 more than I should have.

But I did like sitting by the window, and looking at the statue of my all-time favorite writers, Anton Chekov.

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INTERNET

I've been wondering, where are the other internet cafes. I have been using netcity and it never occurred me go google to find out.

This morning I read about Phlegmatic Dog and have been searching for it without luck. It was rated by Yahoo's readers as "one of the most stylish with its 'unique combination of comfort and high-tech.'" Rated against other cafes in the world, that is.

I searched for it all over but so far no luck.

TERROR

Today, I visited the Rizhskaya metro station that was bombed two nights ago. I took the No. 6 train at Kitay-Gorod, near the hotel, four stops. It's about two miles away. The Chechans have taken responsibility for the attack against the station, as well as two planes a week or so ago.

I believe they were after me. Look at the pattern.

When ETA bombed Madrid in December 1995, I was in Cordoba, quite a distance south.
When those guys destroyed the Twin Towers in September 2001, I was quite closer, in East Brunswick.
A couple nights ago, I was just two miles away.

You can place bets that one of these days, I will be at ground zero.

So, if you love me, don't wait too long to let me know! Time seems to be running out.

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MOSCOW, 2 September 2004

LENIN

This morning, I joined a line that, at 10 o'clock, would enter to see the body of Vladimir I. Lenin who died 24 January 1924. Given that he had retired two years earlier because of ill health, this morning he couldn't have looked better than he was alive.

I reached for my glass case and the guard approached me, probably thinking I was about to take a picture.

It must be tough on a guy who worked so hard for the revolution and cannot get a quiet rest like the other party bigwigs buried outside the wall of the Kremlin, guys like Stalin, Yuri Gargarin, Andropov and Kosygin, for instance.

MY READERSHIP

I informed about 40 of my friends where to find my blog. Today, I am happy to report that at least three are devoted readers, 7.5 percent. I consider that a good number when I bet less than that number read Heinrich Boll's Missing Persons & Other Essays. Of course, my friends read me because I am their friend; all of Boll's friends read him because he was a great writer, not just because he won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1972.

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Wednesday, September 01, 2004

MOSCOW, Sunday, 29 August 2004

Red Square

If you take this virtual tour of Red Square you will know a whole lot more than I do because I have yet to take an actual, nor this virtual tour: http://www.geographia.com/russia/moscow03.htm

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