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
Saturday, September 11, 2004
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
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.
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.
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.
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
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
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
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
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
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
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.
PBB
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.
PBB
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.
PBB
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.
PBB
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!"
PBB
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!"
PBB
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.
PBB
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.
PBB
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.
PBB
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.
PBB
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.
PBB
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.
PBB
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.
PBB
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.
PBB
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.
PBB
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.
PBB
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.
PBB
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.
PBB
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.
PBB
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.
PBB
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.
PBB
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.
PBB
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
PBB
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
PBB
Monday, August 30, 2004
MOCKOB, 30 August 2004
BREAKFAST
It was 5:14 PM and I had not yet had breakfast. Throughout my life, breakfast had always been my most important meal and if I missed it, I would have headaches on the job. Come to think of it, maybe it was the job that gave me a headache, because I don't recall having gotten a headache since in retired in February of 1996!
Today, I left the hotel and decided to walk in another direction on my exploratory mission of the city. I saw this incredible yellow Ferrari; which reminded me of this incredibly blue Ferrari that I saw in Berlin one evening, in a showroom. I took a picture today, as I did then. What a beauty!
I stopped in a book store and tried to find an inexpensive Russian book so I could learn some fundamentals. Imagine, my Russian book from the seventies is now sitting in my little room in Lima, on the second shelf of my bookcase, toward the left. What must have been going through my head not to have brought it, when I knew full well that I would be in Moscow! Even though two foreigners had been killed in Moscow by skinheads, I still figured it was worth the trip. Today, I'm seeing books and tapes that cost more than 600 rubles. I decided that since I had only about 10 days left in Russia, why should I buy anything.
At 1703 hours, I paid for a paperback called English Story with short stories by R. Kipling, A. Huxley, A. Christie, H.G.Wells, K. Mansfield, W.S.Maugham, J. Joyce, M. Spark, G.B.Shaw. It cost 48 rubles, less than $2.
I found a little Japanese restaurant and ordered sushi. They were huge but if I struggled to bite it in half, the other half would spill all over the place. So I put the whole thing in my mouth. After all, the only polite company with whom I was dining was myself.
I paid the bill, 480 rubles, at 1756 hours.
I resumed my walk along Mysanitskaya and made a left at the Turgenev metro station. He, along with Chekov and Pushkin, was one of my favorite Russian writers. I followed Sretensky for a few blocks and made a left on Rozhdestvenka for a couple blocks and a right on Kuznetsky. I entered by favorite block, on which reside NetCity and a bunch of open air PECTOBAHs, that's restaurants for us who speak Russian, and a series of benches. Since it was about 7, and the price at NetCity drops to 50 rubles an hour after 8 o'clock, I sat and read a bit more of Agatha Christie's Curtain. Poirot was now arthritic and one could tell it is going to be his last case.
It's now 9:31 and I have 54 minutes left to surf and catch up with what's up with the world!
Patrick Barry Barr
BREAKFAST
It was 5:14 PM and I had not yet had breakfast. Throughout my life, breakfast had always been my most important meal and if I missed it, I would have headaches on the job. Come to think of it, maybe it was the job that gave me a headache, because I don't recall having gotten a headache since in retired in February of 1996!
Today, I left the hotel and decided to walk in another direction on my exploratory mission of the city. I saw this incredible yellow Ferrari; which reminded me of this incredibly blue Ferrari that I saw in Berlin one evening, in a showroom. I took a picture today, as I did then. What a beauty!
I stopped in a book store and tried to find an inexpensive Russian book so I could learn some fundamentals. Imagine, my Russian book from the seventies is now sitting in my little room in Lima, on the second shelf of my bookcase, toward the left. What must have been going through my head not to have brought it, when I knew full well that I would be in Moscow! Even though two foreigners had been killed in Moscow by skinheads, I still figured it was worth the trip. Today, I'm seeing books and tapes that cost more than 600 rubles. I decided that since I had only about 10 days left in Russia, why should I buy anything.
At 1703 hours, I paid for a paperback called English Story with short stories by R. Kipling, A. Huxley, A. Christie, H.G.Wells, K. Mansfield, W.S.Maugham, J. Joyce, M. Spark, G.B.Shaw. It cost 48 rubles, less than $2.
I found a little Japanese restaurant and ordered sushi. They were huge but if I struggled to bite it in half, the other half would spill all over the place. So I put the whole thing in my mouth. After all, the only polite company with whom I was dining was myself.
I paid the bill, 480 rubles, at 1756 hours.
I resumed my walk along Mysanitskaya and made a left at the Turgenev metro station. He, along with Chekov and Pushkin, was one of my favorite Russian writers. I followed Sretensky for a few blocks and made a left on Rozhdestvenka for a couple blocks and a right on Kuznetsky. I entered by favorite block, on which reside NetCity and a bunch of open air PECTOBAHs, that's restaurants for us who speak Russian, and a series of benches. Since it was about 7, and the price at NetCity drops to 50 rubles an hour after 8 o'clock, I sat and read a bit more of Agatha Christie's Curtain. Poirot was now arthritic and one could tell it is going to be his last case.
It's now 9:31 and I have 54 minutes left to surf and catch up with what's up with the world!
Patrick Barry Barr
MOCKOB, 30 August 2004
AND SO TO BED
What has become of me? Months ago, my days used to begin at 6:60 or 7 AM. Yesterday, and this morning, I left the hotel at 3:30 PM, after having risen earlier, read some Agatha Christie and returned to bed.
My style, when travelling, had always been to get out of bed early so as to go sightseeing and return to the hotel fairly late; to do it all over again the next day.
How long it has been since the Spring break of 1972 when Kirby, Micky and myself left Madison, Wisconsin by bus to Chicago to catch the train to New Orleans. We stayed at Micky's house.
How frustrated I had been mornings, waiting for Kirby to go through his ablutions, polish his shoes, iron his jeans to be ready about 1o:30 or so, while I had already been dressed a couple hours. Who had heard then of anybody ironing blue jeans?
Granted that was 32 years ago. Granted that if one pays $80 a night in a hotel, one should make full use of that room.
One summer, I visited Kirby and his wife in San Francisco. He was a cable car driver. He had been studying at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, studying Japanese. Partly black and American Indian, he was tall, slender (I keep thinking "aquiline"), very cool and probably the most handsome man I ever saw. When he had gotten married he sent me a nude photo of his wife ... before I'd ever met her.
Cool.
Patrick Barry Barr
AND SO TO BED
What has become of me? Months ago, my days used to begin at 6:60 or 7 AM. Yesterday, and this morning, I left the hotel at 3:30 PM, after having risen earlier, read some Agatha Christie and returned to bed.
My style, when travelling, had always been to get out of bed early so as to go sightseeing and return to the hotel fairly late; to do it all over again the next day.
How long it has been since the Spring break of 1972 when Kirby, Micky and myself left Madison, Wisconsin by bus to Chicago to catch the train to New Orleans. We stayed at Micky's house.
How frustrated I had been mornings, waiting for Kirby to go through his ablutions, polish his shoes, iron his jeans to be ready about 1o:30 or so, while I had already been dressed a couple hours. Who had heard then of anybody ironing blue jeans?
Granted that was 32 years ago. Granted that if one pays $80 a night in a hotel, one should make full use of that room.
One summer, I visited Kirby and his wife in San Francisco. He was a cable car driver. He had been studying at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, studying Japanese. Partly black and American Indian, he was tall, slender (I keep thinking "aquiline"), very cool and probably the most handsome man I ever saw. When he had gotten married he sent me a nude photo of his wife ... before I'd ever met her.
Cool.
Patrick Barry Barr
MOCKOB, 30 August 2004
RASTA
A youngster hailed me a couple days ago: "Rasta", and some other term of endearment, which I have forgotten. I was happy to represent and acknowledged. A beard and a red-green-yellow-black tam is really asking to be seen as a Rasta, isn't it.
I've been on the planet so long that, to quote Yankee baseball sage Yogi Berra, it's like deja vu all over again.
I recall, several years ago in Toledo, Spain, a young schoolboy showing me his wristband with the "African" colors, and asking me if I smoked marijuana. Of course, I have, and inhaled so intensely on one occasion, in my mid-teens, that I had to leave the yard where I had been smoking with my girlfriend's brother, and go lie down on her bed. Somebody brought me tea, or soup, I forget.
Of course, the right-wing thinkers are right. I had graduated from smoking newspaper, brown paper, dried fern sticks, and dried susumber stalks, through Craven A and marijuana. Just for the hell of it. Asked why he climbed the mountain, somebody said: "Because it was there." Ditto, my smoking all that stuff. Newspaper lying all around; bound to lead to marijuana.
My knowledge of Spanish did not enable me to have a good conversation with the youngster, who was glad to make the acquaintance of a guy from Bob Marley country.
Starting smoking that young, you are lucky if you get to the point where you cannot even stand to be near a smoker.
Patrick Barry Barr
RASTA
A youngster hailed me a couple days ago: "Rasta", and some other term of endearment, which I have forgotten. I was happy to represent and acknowledged. A beard and a red-green-yellow-black tam is really asking to be seen as a Rasta, isn't it.
I've been on the planet so long that, to quote Yankee baseball sage Yogi Berra, it's like deja vu all over again.
I recall, several years ago in Toledo, Spain, a young schoolboy showing me his wristband with the "African" colors, and asking me if I smoked marijuana. Of course, I have, and inhaled so intensely on one occasion, in my mid-teens, that I had to leave the yard where I had been smoking with my girlfriend's brother, and go lie down on her bed. Somebody brought me tea, or soup, I forget.
Of course, the right-wing thinkers are right. I had graduated from smoking newspaper, brown paper, dried fern sticks, and dried susumber stalks, through Craven A and marijuana. Just for the hell of it. Asked why he climbed the mountain, somebody said: "Because it was there." Ditto, my smoking all that stuff. Newspaper lying all around; bound to lead to marijuana.
My knowledge of Spanish did not enable me to have a good conversation with the youngster, who was glad to make the acquaintance of a guy from Bob Marley country.
Starting smoking that young, you are lucky if you get to the point where you cannot even stand to be near a smoker.
Patrick Barry Barr
Sunday, August 29, 2004
INVISIBLE MAN
I left the hotel this afternoon and, under an undercast sky, started walking toward the Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts, at least where I thought it is, near the impressive multi-onion-topped Cathedral of Christ the Savior, on the other side of Moscow River from Hotel Rossija.
I took the bridge and walked to a restaurant I had seen the day before. I bought soup and some other stuff that you enjoy when you are really hungry. Afterward, I joined the line to buy coffee, when two women, one elderly the other young, passed me to study the menu. Then, when it was my turn to order, they proceeded to place their order.
Now, homey don't play that!
I go off when that sort of crap happens. I think that since I am black I should be a lot more visible, no?
So I got into, or out of, character, depending on what you really think of me. I understand very that the language can be a barrier so I depend on "attitude" to help send my message. I asked her if she didn't see me? I stated that racism was all about in this world! I pointed to my black arm and asked if that was the problem.
All this time she and the young woman are telling me to go ahead and order. Which I proceeded to do.
A similar incident took place at the Apple store in SOHO [meaning south of Houston Street (as in Howston and not Hewston) in New York City. This guy cut in front of me. I went in front of him, turned to ask if he hadn't seen me standing there. Before I said another word, he anticipated what I was about to get into and he asked me not to go there, said he was from Latin America, so I told him that Peru was one of the racist countries on the planet. That was such a lame explanation, as if el presidente Hugh Chavez isn't hated in his own country, Venezuela, because, like Simon Bolivar, he is of black and indigenous heritage!
The problem with being black is that slights to me cannot always be racist; I know I don't stand out in the crowd. But since I cannot read minds, I just consider the obvious. But I wouldn't change the color, a la Michael Jackson, for a quieter life.
Eminem speaks for me in one of his rap songs:
I am what I am
Patrick Barry Barr
I left the hotel this afternoon and, under an undercast sky, started walking toward the Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts, at least where I thought it is, near the impressive multi-onion-topped Cathedral of Christ the Savior, on the other side of Moscow River from Hotel Rossija.
I took the bridge and walked to a restaurant I had seen the day before. I bought soup and some other stuff that you enjoy when you are really hungry. Afterward, I joined the line to buy coffee, when two women, one elderly the other young, passed me to study the menu. Then, when it was my turn to order, they proceeded to place their order.
Now, homey don't play that!
I go off when that sort of crap happens. I think that since I am black I should be a lot more visible, no?
So I got into, or out of, character, depending on what you really think of me. I understand very that the language can be a barrier so I depend on "attitude" to help send my message. I asked her if she didn't see me? I stated that racism was all about in this world! I pointed to my black arm and asked if that was the problem.
All this time she and the young woman are telling me to go ahead and order. Which I proceeded to do.
A similar incident took place at the Apple store in SOHO [meaning south of Houston Street (as in Howston and not Hewston) in New York City. This guy cut in front of me. I went in front of him, turned to ask if he hadn't seen me standing there. Before I said another word, he anticipated what I was about to get into and he asked me not to go there, said he was from Latin America, so I told him that Peru was one of the racist countries on the planet. That was such a lame explanation, as if el presidente Hugh Chavez isn't hated in his own country, Venezuela, because, like Simon Bolivar, he is of black and indigenous heritage!
The problem with being black is that slights to me cannot always be racist; I know I don't stand out in the crowd. But since I cannot read minds, I just consider the obvious. But I wouldn't change the color, a la Michael Jackson, for a quieter life.
Eminem speaks for me in one of his rap songs:
I am what I am
Patrick Barry Barr
BASKETBALL
Let me place it on the record that I did not, repeat not, root against the American women in the finals against Australia.
I am sorry the women messed up the 4x100 relays but I was so happy to see the Jamaican woman run down the Russian that I had no time for tears for the Americans.
I missed the 200 metres in which Jamaica won but Compton Rodney, my first-year, high-school who happened to be in Athens, and reported the results to me.
And why did I say my first-year, high-school classmate? Because, being a lot more intelligent than I was, CompT and a bunch of my contemporaries, went to the higher class in the second year, while I continued to languish in the other class, sort of wasting my youth, not living up to my potential.
So when I told my children, and tell my grandchildren, what it takes to succeed, I speak, as an underachiever, whose development was arrested in those teen years, when I was almost suspended for placing crackerballs under the seats, during the lunch hour, at Kingston Technical School, and left without graduating to work, one week short of 18, at The Daily Gleaner.
So I have spent the days since then, admiring guys like the late Trevor Douet, Compton Rodney, Canute Parris, Altamont Weise and Karl Lewin, who for a moment there seemed to be lagging, only to blossom into the wiz that he has become.
My hat's off to them all.
Patrick Barry Barr
Let me place it on the record that I did not, repeat not, root against the American women in the finals against Australia.
I am sorry the women messed up the 4x100 relays but I was so happy to see the Jamaican woman run down the Russian that I had no time for tears for the Americans.
I missed the 200 metres in which Jamaica won but Compton Rodney, my first-year, high-school who happened to be in Athens, and reported the results to me.
And why did I say my first-year, high-school classmate? Because, being a lot more intelligent than I was, CompT and a bunch of my contemporaries, went to the higher class in the second year, while I continued to languish in the other class, sort of wasting my youth, not living up to my potential.
So when I told my children, and tell my grandchildren, what it takes to succeed, I speak, as an underachiever, whose development was arrested in those teen years, when I was almost suspended for placing crackerballs under the seats, during the lunch hour, at Kingston Technical School, and left without graduating to work, one week short of 18, at The Daily Gleaner.
So I have spent the days since then, admiring guys like the late Trevor Douet, Compton Rodney, Canute Parris, Altamont Weise and Karl Lewin, who for a moment there seemed to be lagging, only to blossom into the wiz that he has become.
My hat's off to them all.
Patrick Barry Barr
MOSCOW, 29 August 2004
RADIO MOSCOW
Radio here in Moscow is alive and well. If you are one of those people who like to take the USA with you wherever you travel, Moscow Radio will help. There are a lot of very good FM stations with all types of music. Take your pick. If you want to cross eight time zones to hear Cher, Moscow is for you.
There's Radio Disco, Radio Jazz, Radio this and Radio that.
I heard an amusing song, which partly went like this:
Rah, rah Rasputin
Russia's greatest love machine
I have always thought that Catherine the Great was Russia's hreatest love machine. She is still my favorite "Russian" woman. If course, she was born in Germany ... and worked her way up to Czarina through her strength and guile.
She took things into her hands! ;-) ;-)
Rah, rah Catherine
etc etc
PBB
RADIO MOSCOW
Radio here in Moscow is alive and well. If you are one of those people who like to take the USA with you wherever you travel, Moscow Radio will help. There are a lot of very good FM stations with all types of music. Take your pick. If you want to cross eight time zones to hear Cher, Moscow is for you.
There's Radio Disco, Radio Jazz, Radio this and Radio that.
I heard an amusing song, which partly went like this:
Rah, rah Rasputin
Russia's greatest love machine
I have always thought that Catherine the Great was Russia's hreatest love machine. She is still my favorite "Russian" woman. If course, she was born in Germany ... and worked her way up to Czarina through her strength and guile.
She took things into her hands! ;-) ;-)
Rah, rah Catherine
etc etc
PBB
MOSCOW, Sunday, 29 August 2004
TIRED
It is 8:07 PM and I am tired. I earned it. Went to bed at about 3 o'clock this morning after reading a little Agatha Christie and watching the Olympics here and there.
I don't know what time I woke up to read a little more Agatha Christie and return to bed. At 3:30 PM, I left the hotel only to return five minutes later, when two drops from heaven fell on my head, to collect my plastic raincoat. For the next four hours, with the exception of one stop on the train from Kropotskinskaya to Borovitskaya and another stop to Chekovskaya, i have been on my feet.
On the way, I saw a beautiful painting of mother and child for $200 but didn't buy it. It was well worth it! There's this area stretching for about 100 metres of paintings on the sidewalk, near the Moscow River. Real good stuff that I simply admired in passing because I didn't want to be tempted. But I did stop for mother and child. I have a fascinating with all mother and child paintings. I had two wonderful books of paintings which I gave to two friends.
Apropos walking. If walking is what the doctor ordered, I guess I will be blogging well into my 120's, but, alas, he ordered more. And I told him to forget it, if what ails me kills me, so be it. I will be rid of a lot of crap on what could've been a wonderful planet.
When words fail me, I always seem to opt for my notes:
VISIT
If you plan to visit Russia, do yourself a favor and at least learn the alphabet. It will help you to figure out stations in the metro system and PECTOPAH (restaurants).
It may have been 1976. I was working at UNICEF in New York City and had a strong desire to attend the Olympics in Russia. So I bought a book to study the Russian language. The only thing I learned then was something like "Ya na panamaya pa'russki", which means "I don't speak Russian." Unfortunately, after almost 30 years, that's as much as I can say. The extent of my vocabulary.
In 1995, when I met Irma at a reggae dance in St. Petersburg she knew just enough English to ask: "Patrick like Irma?" Irma was soft spoken, had a child, and was with a girlfriend. We danced a lot that night and something very strange happened. A Russian approached me, and sort of took me over to his group of guys to dance. I felt threatened. Did he find it distasteful that I was with a Russian woman, or did his crew simply want to learn the latest reggae dance steps? So, for a quiet life, I danced for a while, a bit like those guys in the Western movies who dance while some crazy bloke with a wild scar on his cheek, fires gunshots near his feet. I thought I had danced enough and returned, unhindered, to Irma. We were once doing that snake dance where you hold the waist of the person in front of you, and I was holding Irma, or was she holding me?, but a woman cut in between us and Irma was quite pissed. It must have been around 5 AM when I tapped her on the shoulder to tell her I was leaving. She turned and hugged me as if I was her man and was going off to fight the Cossaks.
Irma!
Patrick Barry Barr
TIRED
It is 8:07 PM and I am tired. I earned it. Went to bed at about 3 o'clock this morning after reading a little Agatha Christie and watching the Olympics here and there.
I don't know what time I woke up to read a little more Agatha Christie and return to bed. At 3:30 PM, I left the hotel only to return five minutes later, when two drops from heaven fell on my head, to collect my plastic raincoat. For the next four hours, with the exception of one stop on the train from Kropotskinskaya to Borovitskaya and another stop to Chekovskaya, i have been on my feet.
On the way, I saw a beautiful painting of mother and child for $200 but didn't buy it. It was well worth it! There's this area stretching for about 100 metres of paintings on the sidewalk, near the Moscow River. Real good stuff that I simply admired in passing because I didn't want to be tempted. But I did stop for mother and child. I have a fascinating with all mother and child paintings. I had two wonderful books of paintings which I gave to two friends.
Apropos walking. If walking is what the doctor ordered, I guess I will be blogging well into my 120's, but, alas, he ordered more. And I told him to forget it, if what ails me kills me, so be it. I will be rid of a lot of crap on what could've been a wonderful planet.
When words fail me, I always seem to opt for my notes:
VISIT
If you plan to visit Russia, do yourself a favor and at least learn the alphabet. It will help you to figure out stations in the metro system and PECTOPAH (restaurants).
It may have been 1976. I was working at UNICEF in New York City and had a strong desire to attend the Olympics in Russia. So I bought a book to study the Russian language. The only thing I learned then was something like "Ya na panamaya pa'russki", which means "I don't speak Russian." Unfortunately, after almost 30 years, that's as much as I can say. The extent of my vocabulary.
In 1995, when I met Irma at a reggae dance in St. Petersburg she knew just enough English to ask: "Patrick like Irma?" Irma was soft spoken, had a child, and was with a girlfriend. We danced a lot that night and something very strange happened. A Russian approached me, and sort of took me over to his group of guys to dance. I felt threatened. Did he find it distasteful that I was with a Russian woman, or did his crew simply want to learn the latest reggae dance steps? So, for a quiet life, I danced for a while, a bit like those guys in the Western movies who dance while some crazy bloke with a wild scar on his cheek, fires gunshots near his feet. I thought I had danced enough and returned, unhindered, to Irma. We were once doing that snake dance where you hold the waist of the person in front of you, and I was holding Irma, or was she holding me?, but a woman cut in between us and Irma was quite pissed. It must have been around 5 AM when I tapped her on the shoulder to tell her I was leaving. She turned and hugged me as if I was her man and was going off to fight the Cossaks.
Irma!
Patrick Barry Barr
MOSCOW, Sunday, 29 August 2004
GUM
As I suspected, GUM is an acronym. If you care to probe a very interesting article, you may go to http://www.moscow-taxi.com/sightseeing/red-square/gum.html
PBB
GUM
As I suspected, GUM is an acronym. If you care to probe a very interesting article, you may go to http://www.moscow-taxi.com/sightseeing/red-square/gum.html
PBB
Saturday, August 28, 2004
Moscow, 28 August 2004
STRIPPERS
A couple nights ago, a woman, dressed in black, was outside the Diamond Hall club, on the ground floor of Hotel Rossija. As I walked by, at about 10:30 PM, she handed me a card and invited me to go watch a strip show. I took the card and indicated to her that I was going to bed.
I have just never felt comfortable staring at naked or half-naked women in clubs.
I remember, several years ago, seeing half-naked women swinging in a club on Younge Street in Toronto; again, many years ago, some half-naked women in a club in Toledo, Ohio, either swinging or gyrating, memory fails me. I had gone there to see an exhibition of some works by one of my favourite artists, El Greco! My favourite, of course, has always been van Gogh!
But watching strippers in a club is not my cup of tea. Call me repressed, Dr. Freud.
Patrick Barry Barr
STRIPPERS
A couple nights ago, a woman, dressed in black, was outside the Diamond Hall club, on the ground floor of Hotel Rossija. As I walked by, at about 10:30 PM, she handed me a card and invited me to go watch a strip show. I took the card and indicated to her that I was going to bed.
I have just never felt comfortable staring at naked or half-naked women in clubs.
I remember, several years ago, seeing half-naked women swinging in a club on Younge Street in Toronto; again, many years ago, some half-naked women in a club in Toledo, Ohio, either swinging or gyrating, memory fails me. I had gone there to see an exhibition of some works by one of my favourite artists, El Greco! My favourite, of course, has always been van Gogh!
But watching strippers in a club is not my cup of tea. Call me repressed, Dr. Freud.
Patrick Barry Barr
Moscow, 28 August 2004 - Day 4
LOST
A couple days ago, I thought I had done everything right. I took the front of the No. 7 train. I got off at Kitay-Gorod. I walked to the front, and when I emerged, I was in foreign territory. Because this is Moscow, nobody could or was willing to help me. Of course, I am assuming they know their own city, which is going too far.
I retraced my steps a few times and, finally, a policeman told me how to get back to the hotel.
Then yesterday, it just popped into my head why I did everything right but everything turned out wrong. I had the direction completely wrong. The front of the train only works when I am coming from Planerskaya. The back is what works when I am going to Planerskaya.
I also got turned around in the hotel yesterday, but I solved that by leaving the building and walking around to the front desk.
MOSCOW
I assume that when people the world over think of the United States of America, they think of that symbol, that gift from France, the Statue of Liberty.
When I think of Moscow, and Russia in general, I think of that incredibly colorful building, with all those onions on top. When I coughed up $120, I could see it from my room 9145, the Cathedral of the Intercession (Cathedral of St. Basil the Blessed), but now that I am stuck in the back, practically in the Moscow River, at a beggardly $86, I have lost the view.
The cathedral sits at one end of the cobble-stoned Red Square, the fourth largest square in the world. Tian'anmen is, without a doubt, number one. I suppose St. Peter's square in Rome is in there somewhere.
So far, I've walked through Red Square every day to go do the things I have been doing. At the other end of the square stands a red-brick structure and off to the right is the store, GUM. I believe it is an acronym and I will see what I can find out. It has to rank as one of the largest stores in the world!
BOLSHOY/BOLSHOI
The spelling seems to be optional since I have seen both in Moscow.
Anyway, I have extended my stay in Moscow until 4 September because yesterday I bought a ticket to a performance of Fire Angel or Angel on Fire or something that has those two words. The ticket cost me a surprising $14.
So, I paid up at the hotel and this morning found that since I am paying the poverty rate, breakfast is definitely not included.
I also bought my train ticket to St. Petersburg and will leave on the 11:11 PM on 5 September and arrive sometime in the morning. Here's hoping I am not with a bunch of folks who smoke.
NIKE
I panicked for a whole two minutes yesterday when I couldn't find my vintage, 30+ year, black Nikes. But I did find it. Now I have to find an email address for the company to ask them how to repair the sole. It could be the most comfortable shoe or sneaker I ever wore and it was black before black sneakers were cool. Bought them at Herald Square in a store that no longer exists.
Patrick Barry Barr
I also
LOST
A couple days ago, I thought I had done everything right. I took the front of the No. 7 train. I got off at Kitay-Gorod. I walked to the front, and when I emerged, I was in foreign territory. Because this is Moscow, nobody could or was willing to help me. Of course, I am assuming they know their own city, which is going too far.
I retraced my steps a few times and, finally, a policeman told me how to get back to the hotel.
Then yesterday, it just popped into my head why I did everything right but everything turned out wrong. I had the direction completely wrong. The front of the train only works when I am coming from Planerskaya. The back is what works when I am going to Planerskaya.
I also got turned around in the hotel yesterday, but I solved that by leaving the building and walking around to the front desk.
MOSCOW
I assume that when people the world over think of the United States of America, they think of that symbol, that gift from France, the Statue of Liberty.
When I think of Moscow, and Russia in general, I think of that incredibly colorful building, with all those onions on top. When I coughed up $120, I could see it from my room 9145, the Cathedral of the Intercession (Cathedral of St. Basil the Blessed), but now that I am stuck in the back, practically in the Moscow River, at a beggardly $86, I have lost the view.
The cathedral sits at one end of the cobble-stoned Red Square, the fourth largest square in the world. Tian'anmen is, without a doubt, number one. I suppose St. Peter's square in Rome is in there somewhere.
So far, I've walked through Red Square every day to go do the things I have been doing. At the other end of the square stands a red-brick structure and off to the right is the store, GUM. I believe it is an acronym and I will see what I can find out. It has to rank as one of the largest stores in the world!
BOLSHOY/BOLSHOI
The spelling seems to be optional since I have seen both in Moscow.
Anyway, I have extended my stay in Moscow until 4 September because yesterday I bought a ticket to a performance of Fire Angel or Angel on Fire or something that has those two words. The ticket cost me a surprising $14.
So, I paid up at the hotel and this morning found that since I am paying the poverty rate, breakfast is definitely not included.
I also bought my train ticket to St. Petersburg and will leave on the 11:11 PM on 5 September and arrive sometime in the morning. Here's hoping I am not with a bunch of folks who smoke.
NIKE
I panicked for a whole two minutes yesterday when I couldn't find my vintage, 30+ year, black Nikes. But I did find it. Now I have to find an email address for the company to ask them how to repair the sole. It could be the most comfortable shoe or sneaker I ever wore and it was black before black sneakers were cool. Bought them at Herald Square in a store that no longer exists.
Patrick Barry Barr
I also
Friday, August 27, 2004
Pink Floyd - Wish you were here
So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from Hell,
Blue skys from pain.
Can you tell a green field From a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
And did they get you to trade
Your heros for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange
A walk on part in the war
For a lead role in a cage?
How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl,
Year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found?
The same old fears.
Wish you were here.
So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from Hell,
Blue skys from pain.
Can you tell a green field From a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
And did they get you to trade
Your heros for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange
A walk on part in the war
For a lead role in a cage?
How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl,
Year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found?
The same old fears.
Wish you were here.
Moscow, 27 August 2004 - Day 3
Today, more than other since I arrived here, I need to flush my brains. So these are simply thoughts that I need to get out of my brain so I can be ready to encounter more crap in this city.
JET LAG
Today, at about 1:30 PM, the weather looked great from my bedroom window ... blue skies, sun and, I am sure, quite pleasant to be out. But I went to bed because my body dictated that I should. Jet lag has finally caught up with me in a bid way. So, I gave in and left at about 6:15 PM in search of Pushinskaya.
I suppose it makes sense to mention that this morning I took a walk to search for the Intourist office. I think I will make my life simple and go to my notes which I made this morning. It is now 9:16 PM. So, go to the notes:
NOTES
I have only been in Moscow 2-1/2 days and have already made myself quite disagreeable several times.
First of all, the majority of Muscovites that I have had the displeasure to deal with, doubly frustrate me. At the Alfa hotel yesterday, the clerk first told me she didn't know what the rates were; then she pointed to the rates above my head, so I went to another line. The clerk quoted me the l0west rate, 2,500 rubles. While I waited the first clerk called me. She wrote down all four rates. When I asked for the lowest, she told me there were no rooms available and that I should try Gamma Delta next door.
Yesterday, I went to the receptionist in my hotel to see if I could borrow a transformer. She wanted to know what floor I was on and what was my room number, just so she could tell me there was nothing that could be done.
This morning, quite desperate, I went to a store on Red Square named Gum. (Pronounced not like gum in chewing gum, but the short vowel in 'look'. So, it is pronounced Goom, with that short vowel. How could I visit Pushkin without my camera. I bought a charger for my batteries and it set me back $30.50.
My philosophy is that if I screw up, I shuld pay the price. Let me count the ways:
Today, more than other since I arrived here, I need to flush my brains. So these are simply thoughts that I need to get out of my brain so I can be ready to encounter more crap in this city.
JET LAG
Today, at about 1:30 PM, the weather looked great from my bedroom window ... blue skies, sun and, I am sure, quite pleasant to be out. But I went to bed because my body dictated that I should. Jet lag has finally caught up with me in a bid way. So, I gave in and left at about 6:15 PM in search of Pushinskaya.
I suppose it makes sense to mention that this morning I took a walk to search for the Intourist office. I think I will make my life simple and go to my notes which I made this morning. It is now 9:16 PM. So, go to the notes:
NOTES
I have only been in Moscow 2-1/2 days and have already made myself quite disagreeable several times.
First of all, the majority of Muscovites that I have had the displeasure to deal with, doubly frustrate me. At the Alfa hotel yesterday, the clerk first told me she didn't know what the rates were; then she pointed to the rates above my head, so I went to another line. The clerk quoted me the l0west rate, 2,500 rubles. While I waited the first clerk called me. She wrote down all four rates. When I asked for the lowest, she told me there were no rooms available and that I should try Gamma Delta next door.
Yesterday, I went to the receptionist in my hotel to see if I could borrow a transformer. She wanted to know what floor I was on and what was my room number, just so she could tell me there was nothing that could be done.
This morning, quite desperate, I went to a store on Red Square named Gum. (Pronounced not like gum in chewing gum, but the short vowel in 'look'. So, it is pronounced Goom, with that short vowel. How could I visit Pushkin without my camera. I bought a charger for my batteries and it set me back $30.50.
My philosophy is that if I screw up, I shuld pay the price. Let me count the ways:
- I neglected to buy a set of universal plugs when I saw them at the Apple store in Soho, New York City.
- I neglected to buy a 240V to 120V transformer.
- I neglected to buy extra batteries.
I could have bought all of these for less than $30.50.
I returned to room 5252, a stone's throw from the river, and, just my luck, the outlets were the standard that you would find in most countries, the one you are defintely using in the US and Brasil, if I recall, but not in Peru. So, with dread, I went down to reception. Two young women told me there was absolutely nothing that could be done. A few minutes later, another woman entered behind the desk, and kindly plugged in the charger in an outlet. (Three hours later, it was still charging my four Ni-MH batteries. Thankfully, four batteries had come with the charger so I slipped them into my camera and left. I told the woman who helped me that in three days, she was the most pleasant Muscovite I had met.
Of course, it is my responsibility to know their language, but language is only a part of it. If I leave Russia without being sent to the Gulag, I will count it a victory. I need to chill, to take things easy, and not tell babuskas what to do with themselves, at least not at the top of my lungs in a crowded subway. But I simply don't know how to maintain my cool when people dismiss me with that sharp wave of the hand. She shouted back at me at the top of her lungs and I have no idea what she desired me to do -- go to someplace quite hot, or do something to myself.
These Muscovites, with three exceptions, are like the Russian winter that I encountered in St. Petersburg in 1995. Today, in the metro, a woman stopped, fetched her glasses, to tell me which direction I should go to get to the "Ring train", that's the No. 5 which goes in a circle, which gives the other nine trains an opportunity to intersect twice, since they all pass through the circle twice.
I rode this train because it seems that the most incredibly-decorated stations are on this line, at Dobryninskaya, for example. I stood the whole way so that I could see when the train stopped at each station. A man and his wife entered the train and she rushed to get a seat and save one for him but another man sat and left no space for him. Still, he offered me the seat that was not there to be taken. I indicated in sign language, even though he understood some English, that I was standing to get a better view. He asked me where I was going and I told him Krasnopresnenskaya, where I would get the No. 7 one stop to Piushinskaya. He got off at Belorusskaya and told me the next station was mine.
Before I took the ring train, I took several photos of the statue of Pushkin and before that, I took one of my favorite Russian writer, Anton Chekov. I even made a correct guess this morning that it was Chekov, but it wasn't a tough one, being familiar with his features. But he was younger than I am accustomed to seeing him and as thin as a rail. If I recall, he was a doctor as well, and consumptive. But don't quote me on the consumptive part.
When I returned to the Pushinskaya train, I tried desperately to figure out for myself how to get to the street rather than ask another Russian which way was up. I went this way and that and, finally saw a policeman, then confirmed with another policeman.
It's time to do a little surfing to see what up with the news.
Bye.
PBB
Thursday, August 26, 2004
Moscow, 26 August 2004
MISTAKES
You would think this is the first time I ever left home!
I failed to bring a transformer and am unable to recharge my batteries at 240 Volts.
I failed to bring extra batteries.
My camera informed me this evening that my batteries are low.
I failed to get the room at $75 so I wound up paying $120 for the first night and now $86.
I failed to bring an English-Russian dictionary and the only word I know is spaceba (thanks). I have grave doubts about the spelling and some doubt about the pronunciation. But they understand what I mean.
INTERNET
The business office at the hotel charges 6 rubles a minute. $1 = 29 rubles. So one hour would cost 360 rubles, which is roughly $12.
I am now sitting in a much more interesting place, Netcity, on Kamergergskiy Per, and am paying 60 rubles/hour. They charged me 100 rubles for two hours, $1.72/hour because it is after 8 PM.
THERE GOES THE SUN
The sun goes to bed quite late here in Moscow. Yesterday, I watched it, from my window in room 9145, dip below the horizon, behind Red Square, at 8:45 PM.
I wore a tee-shirt yesterday but this evening put on a jacket.
Patrick Barry Barr
PBB
MISTAKES
You would think this is the first time I ever left home!
I failed to bring a transformer and am unable to recharge my batteries at 240 Volts.
I failed to bring extra batteries.
My camera informed me this evening that my batteries are low.
I failed to get the room at $75 so I wound up paying $120 for the first night and now $86.
I failed to bring an English-Russian dictionary and the only word I know is spaceba (thanks). I have grave doubts about the spelling and some doubt about the pronunciation. But they understand what I mean.
INTERNET
The business office at the hotel charges 6 rubles a minute. $1 = 29 rubles. So one hour would cost 360 rubles, which is roughly $12.
I am now sitting in a much more interesting place, Netcity, on Kamergergskiy Per, and am paying 60 rubles/hour. They charged me 100 rubles for two hours, $1.72/hour because it is after 8 PM.
THERE GOES THE SUN
The sun goes to bed quite late here in Moscow. Yesterday, I watched it, from my window in room 9145, dip below the horizon, behind Red Square, at 8:45 PM.
I wore a tee-shirt yesterday but this evening put on a jacket.
Patrick Barry Barr
PBB
Moscow, August 26, 2004
HOTEL ROSSIJA
This is where I am staying, and I will take it straight from the booklet that I received from Intourist:
Rossija hotel is a symbol of modern Moscow. In the 70's of the last century, it was entered in the Guinness book of records as the biggest hotel the world over and up to now remains the largest hotel in Europe. The hotel has unique location; beautiful panorama of the Moscow Kremlin, Red square and multiple architectural monuments is displayed from the hotels' windows.
The hotel offers first class service and conditions for proper rest in 2,900 comfortable rooms. There is comfortable furniture, direct telephone communication, multi-channel television system, bathroom, etc. (My note: "multichannel" means a max of eight stations.)
For additional payment blah blah blah
Here we are always happy to see You and are expecting you 34 hours a day at the address:
127495, Russia
Varvarka Str., 6.
(My note: I have yet to see anybody in Hotel Russia, employee or guest, whose face said "happy".)
PBB
HOTEL ROSSIJA
This is where I am staying, and I will take it straight from the booklet that I received from Intourist:
Rossija hotel is a symbol of modern Moscow. In the 70's of the last century, it was entered in the Guinness book of records as the biggest hotel the world over and up to now remains the largest hotel in Europe. The hotel has unique location; beautiful panorama of the Moscow Kremlin, Red square and multiple architectural monuments is displayed from the hotels' windows.
The hotel offers first class service and conditions for proper rest in 2,900 comfortable rooms. There is comfortable furniture, direct telephone communication, multi-channel television system, bathroom, etc. (My note: "multichannel" means a max of eight stations.)
For additional payment blah blah blah
Here we are always happy to see You and are expecting you 34 hours a day at the address:
127495, Russia
Varvarka Str., 6.
(My note: I have yet to see anybody in Hotel Russia, employee or guest, whose face said "happy".)
PBB
Moscow, 26 August 2004
I arrived in Moscow at the Pulkova Airport yesterday afternoon. A young Indian, Ramit, studying in St. Petersburg to be a doctor, a plastic surgeon, helped me find the right van, No. 48, to the Planernaya metro station. (Planernaya is the terminal for the No. 7 subway and, while he got off at the ring station, Krasnopresnenskaya, happily the metro took me directly to Kitay-Gorod.
The front desk at Hotel Rossiya (Russia) gave me a body blow, but I take the blame. The hotel had told me by email to fax approval for about $75 a night for a double room. Trying to save a dime, I replied to ask if they had a single. Never received a response. Now that I didn't have a reservation, I paid $120 last night. Do I look like the kind of guy who goes around spending $120/night, for anything?
So, this morning I took the metro from Kitay-Gorod one station to the ring (Taganskaya), the ring metro one station to Kurskaya, and the Shchyolkovskaya train four stops to Izmaylovsky Park. I went there because, although quite a distance from Hotel Rossiya, which is absolutely ideal, being 10 minutes' walk to the Kremlin at Red Square, I figured that the distance didn't matter if I ended up saving money. If you think Grand Central or Penn Station are crazy, you need to see the metro in Moscow. The rush hour goes on and on.
I arrived at the Alfa hotel, which is across from the station and, finally, was quoted four prices. I requested the least expensive, 2,500 rubles. Then she told me there were no rooms. That I should go to the Gamma Delta hotel next door. They had rooms for 1,600 but said I couldn't pay for it, at about 10:30, nor could I make a reservation. So I retraced my steps, dreading the fact that I would be returning on the same three trains, this time with luggage. (I tried to travel lightly and still wound up carrying weight).
When I returned to Hotel Rossiya, I enquired, with dread, if less expensive rooms were available. I finally took a room for four nights at 10,000 rubles, or $86/21 per night. I have never been happier to spend $86.21 for a room before. $33.79 does make a difference in my life!
Nine-tenths of the Muscovites are surly and some quite rude. Smiles are a premium here and the word "pleasant" just might not be translatable in Russian. I doubt you will feel welcome in Moscow, but it is worth it. There may not exist another city as interesting in its history and its architecture. And I have always liked Catherine the Great. What a women she was!
When I arrived at Pulkova, and before I met Amit, a taxi driver approached me and offered to take me for $50. I told him no and he wanted to know how much I wanted to pay. I told him several no's and he finally dismissed me with a flick of the hand as if to say: "Get outta here, cheapskate!" I finally, paid 25 rubles, less than one dollar to get to the metro.
Patrick Barry Barr
I arrived in Moscow at the Pulkova Airport yesterday afternoon. A young Indian, Ramit, studying in St. Petersburg to be a doctor, a plastic surgeon, helped me find the right van, No. 48, to the Planernaya metro station. (Planernaya is the terminal for the No. 7 subway and, while he got off at the ring station, Krasnopresnenskaya, happily the metro took me directly to Kitay-Gorod.
The front desk at Hotel Rossiya (Russia) gave me a body blow, but I take the blame. The hotel had told me by email to fax approval for about $75 a night for a double room. Trying to save a dime, I replied to ask if they had a single. Never received a response. Now that I didn't have a reservation, I paid $120 last night. Do I look like the kind of guy who goes around spending $120/night, for anything?
So, this morning I took the metro from Kitay-Gorod one station to the ring (Taganskaya), the ring metro one station to Kurskaya, and the Shchyolkovskaya train four stops to Izmaylovsky Park. I went there because, although quite a distance from Hotel Rossiya, which is absolutely ideal, being 10 minutes' walk to the Kremlin at Red Square, I figured that the distance didn't matter if I ended up saving money. If you think Grand Central or Penn Station are crazy, you need to see the metro in Moscow. The rush hour goes on and on.
I arrived at the Alfa hotel, which is across from the station and, finally, was quoted four prices. I requested the least expensive, 2,500 rubles. Then she told me there were no rooms. That I should go to the Gamma Delta hotel next door. They had rooms for 1,600 but said I couldn't pay for it, at about 10:30, nor could I make a reservation. So I retraced my steps, dreading the fact that I would be returning on the same three trains, this time with luggage. (I tried to travel lightly and still wound up carrying weight).
When I returned to Hotel Rossiya, I enquired, with dread, if less expensive rooms were available. I finally took a room for four nights at 10,000 rubles, or $86/21 per night. I have never been happier to spend $86.21 for a room before. $33.79 does make a difference in my life!
Nine-tenths of the Muscovites are surly and some quite rude. Smiles are a premium here and the word "pleasant" just might not be translatable in Russian. I doubt you will feel welcome in Moscow, but it is worth it. There may not exist another city as interesting in its history and its architecture. And I have always liked Catherine the Great. What a women she was!
When I arrived at Pulkova, and before I met Amit, a taxi driver approached me and offered to take me for $50. I told him no and he wanted to know how much I wanted to pay. I told him several no's and he finally dismissed me with a flick of the hand as if to say: "Get outta here, cheapskate!" I finally, paid 25 rubles, less than one dollar to get to the metro.
Patrick Barry Barr
Saturday, June 19, 2004
TRAVEL NUGGET
I've been travelling for 36 years now, since I first went to Montreal late Spring, or was it early summer, of 1969. And I would like to share the wisdom of travel with you.
Come closer.
Closer.
"Don't expect too much; and don't expect too little."
Got it?
It simply takes years to learn stuff, sometimes.
PBB
I've been travelling for 36 years now, since I first went to Montreal late Spring, or was it early summer, of 1969. And I would like to share the wisdom of travel with you.
Come closer.
Closer.
"Don't expect too much; and don't expect too little."
Got it?
It simply takes years to learn stuff, sometimes.
PBB
TOUR
I took a very quick tour of the Capitolio yesterday morning. If you blinked, you would have missed it.
First, we went to this room with a curved ceiling with paintings depicting the important battles in the war for independence. There is Simón Bólivar on his horse, at the head of his troops. Those were the days when leaders led, and didn't run to the nearest bunker, way down in the belly of the earth, when they received bad news. The room also had some portraits. It never occurred to me to take a picture.
We were then taken to a room where the Assembly meets. While a guide was into a two-minute explanation, he was being informed to leave. So we all did.
After making enquiries, I found the house in which the legendary man himself, Simón Bolívar was born on 24 July 1783. It takes less than a minute to realize that he was born in the lap of luxury. I plan to find out what made him tick.
PBB
I took a very quick tour of the Capitolio yesterday morning. If you blinked, you would have missed it.
First, we went to this room with a curved ceiling with paintings depicting the important battles in the war for independence. There is Simón Bólivar on his horse, at the head of his troops. Those were the days when leaders led, and didn't run to the nearest bunker, way down in the belly of the earth, when they received bad news. The room also had some portraits. It never occurred to me to take a picture.
We were then taken to a room where the Assembly meets. While a guide was into a two-minute explanation, he was being informed to leave. So we all did.
After making enquiries, I found the house in which the legendary man himself, Simón Bolívar was born on 24 July 1783. It takes less than a minute to realize that he was born in the lap of luxury. I plan to find out what made him tick.
PBB
TOUCHY-TOUCHY
If you visit Caracas -- I don't know about the rest of Venezuela -- be prepared to be touched by complete strangers. Like Jamaica, caraqueños touch quite easily, especially at parting.
But in Peru, to quote that damsel in South Pacific, "Nevah 'appen."
It took me quite a while after arriving in New York in 1968 to unlearn this touching habit. It just doesn't seem right in "civilized" society. Making contact with people, using 500 lb bombs, however, is quite acceptable.
PBB
If you visit Caracas -- I don't know about the rest of Venezuela -- be prepared to be touched by complete strangers. Like Jamaica, caraqueños touch quite easily, especially at parting.
But in Peru, to quote that damsel in South Pacific, "Nevah 'appen."
It took me quite a while after arriving in New York in 1968 to unlearn this touching habit. It just doesn't seem right in "civilized" society. Making contact with people, using 500 lb bombs, however, is quite acceptable.
PBB
PUTAS
The joke's on me. That book I bought yesterday that I thought was about Prostitution in Venezuela, is in fact about prostitution in Venezuela, but the prostitution of the media.
So I don't expect to be sending it to my friend who wrote about the traditional and age-long prostitution.
Incidentally, I believe prostitutes deserve more respect because they acknowledge the fact that they are peddling their bodies, the way I peddled my brain at various companies.
But do reporters, editors and owners in radio, television and the newspapers ever acknowledge their prostitution? Never.
PBB
The joke's on me. That book I bought yesterday that I thought was about Prostitution in Venezuela, is in fact about prostitution in Venezuela, but the prostitution of the media.
So I don't expect to be sending it to my friend who wrote about the traditional and age-long prostitution.
Incidentally, I believe prostitutes deserve more respect because they acknowledge the fact that they are peddling their bodies, the way I peddled my brain at various companies.
But do reporters, editors and owners in radio, television and the newspapers ever acknowledge their prostitution? Never.
PBB
Friday, June 18, 2004
ONE MONTH FOR HISTORY;
12 MONTHS FOR BASKETBALL
How I would love to step into a graduating, high school class and ask the students if they know who Marcus Garvey was. I suspect one or two could give me an answer.
Then I would ask if they knew who Paul Robeson was. It's possible I could get one answer.
Then I would pull this one out of the bag. Who was Robert J. Williams?
Robert J. who?
How well I remember Radio Free Dixie, broadcasting from Havana in the early sixties, the one-hour program filled with jazz and the defiant voices of Mabel Williams and her husband Robert J. Williams, coming through my Grundig radio, strong and clear. Broadcasting on 50,000 watts, Radio Free Dixie could be heard on the West Coast of the US, until the Cuban government exercised their displeasure by cutting it to about 50 watts, if memory serves.
"Radio Free Dixie," Mabel Williams would say, "invites you to listen to the free voice of the South. Stay with us for music, news and commentary by Robert F. Williams." It is not difficult to remember Williams's booming sign-off, the drums still pulsating: "Freedom, Freedom Now, or Death!"
I would tell them about this black man from Monroe, North Carolina in the Fifties, who confronted racism head one, usually a .45 in his waist, and sometimes a rifle or two in his car, and quite a few guns, rifles in his home. The dynamite would be stored outside.
A former Marine, Williams taught his wife and two young boys to shoot. Those were the days in Dixie when Blacks had zero rights, where the sidewalks weren't paved in their section, and when blacks walked in the street to leave the sidewalks free for whites.
After many summers of protests a black man, Elgie Gray, was finally hired as a policeman. Denied the use of a patrol car, Gray said: "I was told that I wasn't allowed to arrest a white person."
Summer after summer, Williams led the struggle to integrate the public pool, without success. An official explained why: "To allow negroes to swim even once a week would be too expensive because the water would have to be changed after the colored people had used it."
I would tell the students that Robert F. Williams, President of the Monroe branch of the NAACP, was suspended by the national office, headed by Roger Wilkins, who despised him, for advocating self-defense.
Robert F. Williams was a friend of Fidel Castro, Che Guevara, Juan Almeida Bosque (the Afro Cuban commander of the Cuban Army), Ho Chi Minh, Mao tse Tung, Chou en Lai, as well as a string of Americans and Canadians, many of whom were white and who helped him escape to Cuba, through Canada, when the government went after him on trumped-up charges of kidnapping.
I would tell them that Robert F. Williams was a rare, black freedom fighter and leader during the civil rights movement in that, for a man on the forefront of the right to vote, the right to integrate public facilities, who managed to die in his bed, at age 71, in 1996.
The Black Panthers were inspired by him in their approach to arming themselves; Imira Baraka credited him for his political awakening. A few of the people he inspired along the way.
I bought the book, Radio Free Dixie, on 21 April 2000, and just read it. Compelling!
PBB
12 MONTHS FOR BASKETBALL
How I would love to step into a graduating, high school class and ask the students if they know who Marcus Garvey was. I suspect one or two could give me an answer.
Then I would ask if they knew who Paul Robeson was. It's possible I could get one answer.
Then I would pull this one out of the bag. Who was Robert J. Williams?
Robert J. who?
How well I remember Radio Free Dixie, broadcasting from Havana in the early sixties, the one-hour program filled with jazz and the defiant voices of Mabel Williams and her husband Robert J. Williams, coming through my Grundig radio, strong and clear. Broadcasting on 50,000 watts, Radio Free Dixie could be heard on the West Coast of the US, until the Cuban government exercised their displeasure by cutting it to about 50 watts, if memory serves.
"Radio Free Dixie," Mabel Williams would say, "invites you to listen to the free voice of the South. Stay with us for music, news and commentary by Robert F. Williams." It is not difficult to remember Williams's booming sign-off, the drums still pulsating: "Freedom, Freedom Now, or Death!"
I would tell them about this black man from Monroe, North Carolina in the Fifties, who confronted racism head one, usually a .45 in his waist, and sometimes a rifle or two in his car, and quite a few guns, rifles in his home. The dynamite would be stored outside.
A former Marine, Williams taught his wife and two young boys to shoot. Those were the days in Dixie when Blacks had zero rights, where the sidewalks weren't paved in their section, and when blacks walked in the street to leave the sidewalks free for whites.
After many summers of protests a black man, Elgie Gray, was finally hired as a policeman. Denied the use of a patrol car, Gray said: "I was told that I wasn't allowed to arrest a white person."
Summer after summer, Williams led the struggle to integrate the public pool, without success. An official explained why: "To allow negroes to swim even once a week would be too expensive because the water would have to be changed after the colored people had used it."
I would tell the students that Robert F. Williams, President of the Monroe branch of the NAACP, was suspended by the national office, headed by Roger Wilkins, who despised him, for advocating self-defense.
Robert F. Williams was a friend of Fidel Castro, Che Guevara, Juan Almeida Bosque (the Afro Cuban commander of the Cuban Army), Ho Chi Minh, Mao tse Tung, Chou en Lai, as well as a string of Americans and Canadians, many of whom were white and who helped him escape to Cuba, through Canada, when the government went after him on trumped-up charges of kidnapping.
I would tell them that Robert F. Williams was a rare, black freedom fighter and leader during the civil rights movement in that, for a man on the forefront of the right to vote, the right to integrate public facilities, who managed to die in his bed, at age 71, in 1996.
The Black Panthers were inspired by him in their approach to arming themselves; Imira Baraka credited him for his political awakening. A few of the people he inspired along the way.
I bought the book, Radio Free Dixie, on 21 April 2000, and just read it. Compelling!
PBB
BRAIN DRAIN
My synapses seem to be on a go-slower of late. Let me count the ways.
1. I had two lapses in the message I sent to you on Tuesday:
a) As a rule I never show the entire list, partly because if it is lengthy, then you have scroll down to read the message.
b) I usually supply a link http://barrspot.blogspot.com and not a name barrspot.blogsot.com
2. Yesterday, a guy approached me near the Capitolio and, not behaving as a stranger, asked me about whether or not I had changed money and at what rate. I would have told any judge that I had never seen this guy in my life. But this morning, having just had a quick tour of the assembly building, I was the one who hailed him, now with a clear memory of who he is. He was the one who took me to get money changed on Wednesday, or was it Tuesday. To solicit a tip, he had told me that he drank coffee also. I had given him 1,000 Bolivares. Today, I gave him 5,000 Bolivares. Of course, afterwards I was wondering if I gave him 5,000 or was it 500?
3. After I purchased two books, one about the CIA in Venezuela, the other about Putas (Prostitutes) in Venezuela, and a pro-Chávez, red cap, I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be $10 in my wallet. I know I am supposed to have $100 and began to search my brain to understand what I did with the $100. About half an hour later, when I got the opportunity to take another look, indeed, I still had the $100 bill.
Incidentally, I am too lazy to read a book in Spanish about prostitutes. It is for a friend who wrote a book about prostitutes in Brasil.
4. Yesterday, after about an hour and a half at the internet, I paid with a 20,000 Bolivar bill. He gave me two ten-thousand bills and continued to search for change. Somebody else with a working brain would have noticed that something was wrong, but I just had a sort of a puzzle bubbling up to the surface of my brain, when he reached and took back one of the 1,000 Bolivar notes from me before handing me the rest of the change. It bothers me that I wasn´t the one to point out the mistake.
THREE STRIKES YOU´RE OUT
After I left the internet cabina, I bought not one but two pineapples. Oh, what a wonderful aroma! Then I crossed the street and bought one kilo of grapes and a kilo of mangos(3).
It was with some anticipation that I ate a couple grapes. They were terrible.
Then I ate a few slices of pineapple. They weren´t sweet by any stretch of the imagination.
The mango didn´t bring me any satisfaction either.
Bummer.
PBB
My synapses seem to be on a go-slower of late. Let me count the ways.
1. I had two lapses in the message I sent to you on Tuesday:
a) As a rule I never show the entire list, partly because if it is lengthy, then you have scroll down to read the message.
b) I usually supply a link http://barrspot.blogspot.com and not a name barrspot.blogsot.com
2. Yesterday, a guy approached me near the Capitolio and, not behaving as a stranger, asked me about whether or not I had changed money and at what rate. I would have told any judge that I had never seen this guy in my life. But this morning, having just had a quick tour of the assembly building, I was the one who hailed him, now with a clear memory of who he is. He was the one who took me to get money changed on Wednesday, or was it Tuesday. To solicit a tip, he had told me that he drank coffee also. I had given him 1,000 Bolivares. Today, I gave him 5,000 Bolivares. Of course, afterwards I was wondering if I gave him 5,000 or was it 500?
3. After I purchased two books, one about the CIA in Venezuela, the other about Putas (Prostitutes) in Venezuela, and a pro-Chávez, red cap, I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be $10 in my wallet. I know I am supposed to have $100 and began to search my brain to understand what I did with the $100. About half an hour later, when I got the opportunity to take another look, indeed, I still had the $100 bill.
Incidentally, I am too lazy to read a book in Spanish about prostitutes. It is for a friend who wrote a book about prostitutes in Brasil.
4. Yesterday, after about an hour and a half at the internet, I paid with a 20,000 Bolivar bill. He gave me two ten-thousand bills and continued to search for change. Somebody else with a working brain would have noticed that something was wrong, but I just had a sort of a puzzle bubbling up to the surface of my brain, when he reached and took back one of the 1,000 Bolivar notes from me before handing me the rest of the change. It bothers me that I wasn´t the one to point out the mistake.
THREE STRIKES YOU´RE OUT
After I left the internet cabina, I bought not one but two pineapples. Oh, what a wonderful aroma! Then I crossed the street and bought one kilo of grapes and a kilo of mangos(3).
It was with some anticipation that I ate a couple grapes. They were terrible.
Then I ate a few slices of pineapple. They weren´t sweet by any stretch of the imagination.
The mango didn´t bring me any satisfaction either.
Bummer.
PBB
Thursday, June 17, 2004
CASAS DE CAMBIO
Caracas, 17 June 2004
Believe me, it is quite a challenge to change dollars in Caracas. And, I would suppose the entirety of Venezuela.
In the first place, many of the money changers behave as if they are doing something illegal.
The official rate is $1 = 1,916.00 but, of course, it fluctuates daily. Yesterday, a woman on the street took me to a small office on the second floor. Initially, the changer wrote 2,500 Bolivares but by the time I produced the money it was 2,000. The day before I got 2,100.
This morning I went to two locations a block from where I stayed the past few days, at the El Conde. I leave on Sunday so the trick is not to do so with a lot of Bolivares in my pocket. Consequently, I was trying to change $50 but they kept insisting on changing my $100. At the first place, I returned the 240,000 Bolivares and recovered my $100. At the second place, I practically grabbed my money out of his hands and walked out. It´s as if they are dictating what you do with your money.
Finally, I walked to Avenida Urdaneta, following the directions from the woman who sold me orange juice. I spoked with a man who took me to a jewellery store. At first, they didn´t have change of the $100, but, finally, I changed $60 at the rate of 2,500. Which was a hell of a lot better than in Altamira, on the same block as my hotel, Floresta. They, American Express, offer the worst rates you can find in Caracas, about 1,900 Bolivares and compound it by charging you an interest for service.
I´m not a big spender so I don´t see why this money shouldn´t carry me through to my ride, Aeropostal, on Sunday afternoon.
PBB
Caracas, 17 June 2004
Believe me, it is quite a challenge to change dollars in Caracas. And, I would suppose the entirety of Venezuela.
In the first place, many of the money changers behave as if they are doing something illegal.
The official rate is $1 = 1,916.00 but, of course, it fluctuates daily. Yesterday, a woman on the street took me to a small office on the second floor. Initially, the changer wrote 2,500 Bolivares but by the time I produced the money it was 2,000. The day before I got 2,100.
This morning I went to two locations a block from where I stayed the past few days, at the El Conde. I leave on Sunday so the trick is not to do so with a lot of Bolivares in my pocket. Consequently, I was trying to change $50 but they kept insisting on changing my $100. At the first place, I returned the 240,000 Bolivares and recovered my $100. At the second place, I practically grabbed my money out of his hands and walked out. It´s as if they are dictating what you do with your money.
Finally, I walked to Avenida Urdaneta, following the directions from the woman who sold me orange juice. I spoked with a man who took me to a jewellery store. At first, they didn´t have change of the $100, but, finally, I changed $60 at the rate of 2,500. Which was a hell of a lot better than in Altamira, on the same block as my hotel, Floresta. They, American Express, offer the worst rates you can find in Caracas, about 1,900 Bolivares and compound it by charging you an interest for service.
I´m not a big spender so I don´t see why this money shouldn´t carry me through to my ride, Aeropostal, on Sunday afternoon.
PBB
Wednesday, June 16, 2004
In Search of ...
Caracas, Venezuela
I must have cut quite a suspicious figure this afternoon, standing at the gate of the Casa Blanca, asking the guard if this is where the April 2002 coup against President Hugo Chávez took place.
And, a few minutes later, What´s that building, the one across from Casa Blanca. That´s administration. And this one says it´s a jail.
Then, two blocks down the boulevard, Is this where those people were killed. Yes, right here on this overpass.
And where did the shots come from. Over there, on that building.
I bought a few postcards another block away but had to walk about 10 more blocks, to Plaza de Candelabria to buy the stamps. Being a stamp collecter before I was a teen, I will not mail postcards without real stamps.
This morning, I moved from the hotel El Conde (which means Count; I didn´t know) in Chávez country, Silencio, to Altamira, rabid anti-Chávez country. Both areas are entirely different from each other. Casa Blanca is in Miraflores but I am not sure if it sits in barrio Silencio or is adjacent to it. Like Kingston, half of Caracas seems to be selling and half seems to be buying. The activity on the streets in that area is extremely intense, small booths packing sidwalk after sidewalk.
Two men warned me today to keep a wary eye on my money. I bought five CDs for 10,000 Bolivares from a guy. I heard a song being played this morning while I was on my way, via metro, to Hotel Floresta in Altamira. It is about nine stops from Capitolio. It was a difficult haul with my backpack, a smaller bag and my laptop. Luckily, at about 9, it wasn´t rush hour and I made it without being a nuisance to other riders.
I had told the guy I would return for the album. I deliberately asked him not to play them because I like the idea of being surprised. Let´s see what type of surprise awaits me in Bush country since I forgot to pack my CD player!
I like taking tours early so as to get the lay of the land, but I head into day four, tomorrow, without having done so. I am yet to visit an art museum, and I leave Sunday afternoon.
I bought a Chavista red beret. It´s not really a beret beret, but close enough to it. I think it says Soy Chavista. Something like that, but identifying with him.
Hopefully, he will embarrass the oposition on the August 15 referendum that they moved heaven and high water to wrangle, throwing in several thousand illegal votes, many from the cemetery. If Bush could just get rid of Chávez he could, at the same time, strike another blow against Castro. Even now, I can see the opposition crafting their statements for whatever outcome. Well, that´s normal procedure, isn´t it.
But if they lose, they will raise hell. As will the US government, who so quickly approved the lilliputians who ousted Chávez on 11 April 2002, throwing out the Constitution, abolishing the Congress and the Supreme Court while they were at it. The thugs lasted only a couple days as the president retained the support of the army and his people who took to the streets.
There are a bunch of people dreaming of the good old days when they controlled everything, but the forgotten folks are more interested in a future that offers them more than they dared wish for in the past.
I am yet to get any information regarding places in Altamira worthing visiting. I may remain or I may make another move in a couple days. We´ll see.
PBB
Caracas, Venezuela
I must have cut quite a suspicious figure this afternoon, standing at the gate of the Casa Blanca, asking the guard if this is where the April 2002 coup against President Hugo Chávez took place.
And, a few minutes later, What´s that building, the one across from Casa Blanca. That´s administration. And this one says it´s a jail.
Then, two blocks down the boulevard, Is this where those people were killed. Yes, right here on this overpass.
And where did the shots come from. Over there, on that building.
I bought a few postcards another block away but had to walk about 10 more blocks, to Plaza de Candelabria to buy the stamps. Being a stamp collecter before I was a teen, I will not mail postcards without real stamps.
This morning, I moved from the hotel El Conde (which means Count; I didn´t know) in Chávez country, Silencio, to Altamira, rabid anti-Chávez country. Both areas are entirely different from each other. Casa Blanca is in Miraflores but I am not sure if it sits in barrio Silencio or is adjacent to it. Like Kingston, half of Caracas seems to be selling and half seems to be buying. The activity on the streets in that area is extremely intense, small booths packing sidwalk after sidewalk.
Two men warned me today to keep a wary eye on my money. I bought five CDs for 10,000 Bolivares from a guy. I heard a song being played this morning while I was on my way, via metro, to Hotel Floresta in Altamira. It is about nine stops from Capitolio. It was a difficult haul with my backpack, a smaller bag and my laptop. Luckily, at about 9, it wasn´t rush hour and I made it without being a nuisance to other riders.
I had told the guy I would return for the album. I deliberately asked him not to play them because I like the idea of being surprised. Let´s see what type of surprise awaits me in Bush country since I forgot to pack my CD player!
I like taking tours early so as to get the lay of the land, but I head into day four, tomorrow, without having done so. I am yet to visit an art museum, and I leave Sunday afternoon.
I bought a Chavista red beret. It´s not really a beret beret, but close enough to it. I think it says Soy Chavista. Something like that, but identifying with him.
Hopefully, he will embarrass the oposition on the August 15 referendum that they moved heaven and high water to wrangle, throwing in several thousand illegal votes, many from the cemetery. If Bush could just get rid of Chávez he could, at the same time, strike another blow against Castro. Even now, I can see the opposition crafting their statements for whatever outcome. Well, that´s normal procedure, isn´t it.
But if they lose, they will raise hell. As will the US government, who so quickly approved the lilliputians who ousted Chávez on 11 April 2002, throwing out the Constitution, abolishing the Congress and the Supreme Court while they were at it. The thugs lasted only a couple days as the president retained the support of the army and his people who took to the streets.
There are a bunch of people dreaming of the good old days when they controlled everything, but the forgotten folks are more interested in a future that offers them more than they dared wish for in the past.
I am yet to get any information regarding places in Altamira worthing visiting. I may remain or I may make another move in a couple days. We´ll see.
PBB
Tuesday, June 15, 2004
CARACAS - 15 June 2004
Got out of bed this morning and ate the other mango. Showered, without soap, as the doctor suggested yesterday, and applied this creme around my middle. He looked through the miscroscope but didn't see anything of consequence wiggling under it. He couldn't tell me why I was itching. Psoriasis popped into my head just now, so I will go look it up when I am done here. I have no idea what it is, it just, like a message from my guardian angel, popped into my head.
I got such a message from my guardian angel several days ago. It was early morning and I couldn't get back to sleep so I switched on the TV at 5 o'clock to see an report about an Afghan who was killed in Moscow by skinheads. He left a Russian wife and a less than one year old child.
Then I was reminded of the Peruvian recently killed by skinheads in Moscow.
I started wondering if it were for some good reason why I had turned on the station. For months, my top priority had been to visit Moscow. I didn't make the trip when I was in St. Petersburg in 1996 (?). Maybe I didn't have the time to take the round-trip. Anyway, it is working itself back into my head. Why should I let some skinheads regulate my itinerary! Let's hope those aren't my last words.
Speaking of last words. I believe the Reagans have manufactured an urgan legend. His daughter spoke warmly of how, after being a vegetable for about ten years now, how he opened his eyes, which had been shut for a few days, how he opened his eyes, looked at his dear Nancy, who he hadn't recognized from God knows when, looked at her in a very knowing way, and died. I think that is a load of crap. Is that the way death goes? You are a vegetable for ten or more years, and at the moment of death, lucidity appears?
OK, where was I? Enough of Moscow. This morning, I went for a walk in the SILENCIO neighbourhood, which is where I am staying. It is chock full of life. First, I went to Plaza Bolívar, which had a long line of people. Later, I found out that they were renewing their ID cards, which they will need for just about every transaction, including voting on August 15, when the United States hopes that Chávez will lose the referendum. My thoughts: Pond scum! And I wasn't referring to the Venezuelans.
The streets nearby are chock-full of small booths, selling all manner of knicks knacks.
I returned to the hotel at about 10 o'clock and had breakfast in a room that lets the sun in. The roof has a colored glass, or is it plastic? Because of the tint, the color of food suddenly becomes strange. You've never seen food like that before, unless after a while, forgotten in the refrigerator.
But, suddenly, when I opened my book about Robert F. Williams, a heroic but largly unknown freedom fighter in the South, the highlighted portions literally jumped out at me from the pages, as if summoned. It was quite amusing to see this effect.
I took the metro to Bellas Artes, then took a cab to Maripérez to take the Teleférico de Caracas. I'll tell you about this cable car in another post.
PBB
Got out of bed this morning and ate the other mango. Showered, without soap, as the doctor suggested yesterday, and applied this creme around my middle. He looked through the miscroscope but didn't see anything of consequence wiggling under it. He couldn't tell me why I was itching. Psoriasis popped into my head just now, so I will go look it up when I am done here. I have no idea what it is, it just, like a message from my guardian angel, popped into my head.
I got such a message from my guardian angel several days ago. It was early morning and I couldn't get back to sleep so I switched on the TV at 5 o'clock to see an report about an Afghan who was killed in Moscow by skinheads. He left a Russian wife and a less than one year old child.
Then I was reminded of the Peruvian recently killed by skinheads in Moscow.
I started wondering if it were for some good reason why I had turned on the station. For months, my top priority had been to visit Moscow. I didn't make the trip when I was in St. Petersburg in 1996 (?). Maybe I didn't have the time to take the round-trip. Anyway, it is working itself back into my head. Why should I let some skinheads regulate my itinerary! Let's hope those aren't my last words.
Speaking of last words. I believe the Reagans have manufactured an urgan legend. His daughter spoke warmly of how, after being a vegetable for about ten years now, how he opened his eyes, which had been shut for a few days, how he opened his eyes, looked at his dear Nancy, who he hadn't recognized from God knows when, looked at her in a very knowing way, and died. I think that is a load of crap. Is that the way death goes? You are a vegetable for ten or more years, and at the moment of death, lucidity appears?
OK, where was I? Enough of Moscow. This morning, I went for a walk in the SILENCIO neighbourhood, which is where I am staying. It is chock full of life. First, I went to Plaza Bolívar, which had a long line of people. Later, I found out that they were renewing their ID cards, which they will need for just about every transaction, including voting on August 15, when the United States hopes that Chávez will lose the referendum. My thoughts: Pond scum! And I wasn't referring to the Venezuelans.
The streets nearby are chock-full of small booths, selling all manner of knicks knacks.
I returned to the hotel at about 10 o'clock and had breakfast in a room that lets the sun in. The roof has a colored glass, or is it plastic? Because of the tint, the color of food suddenly becomes strange. You've never seen food like that before, unless after a while, forgotten in the refrigerator.
But, suddenly, when I opened my book about Robert F. Williams, a heroic but largly unknown freedom fighter in the South, the highlighted portions literally jumped out at me from the pages, as if summoned. It was quite amusing to see this effect.
I took the metro to Bellas Artes, then took a cab to Maripérez to take the Teleférico de Caracas. I'll tell you about this cable car in another post.
PBB
Caracas, Venezuela
I left Lima at 4:30 AM, stopped in Guayaquil, Ecuador, and arrived in Caracas just short of noon. At immigration I was missing the arrival form so I had to go to Aeropost to get it. Then when I went to exit, I found I didn't have the customs form either.
I had read all morning and only closed my eyes an hour or so out of Guayaquil. They must have handed out the forms then. But why wouldn't they just leave the forms in my lap? How could they have figured that I am a pain in the ass even without an interaction?
Anyway, as I exit the customs door a guy outside attaches to me. It was simpler to just go along with him. He took me to an office where I got the name of the tourist office, INATUS, in the city. I also got the name and address or a hotel, Le Conde, where I am at the moment.
Although I was offered a 20,000 Bolivar ($1 = 2,000) taxi ride, I opted for the 4,000 Boliver bus ride. I am certain the driver had said he would let me off at Parque Bolívar, but that offer was taken off the table. As he let a passenger off near the metro station Gato Negro (Black Cat), he suggested that I take a cab for 6,000 Bolivares) and I did.
The Hotel Conde sits in the middle of the business district, which is not the greatest place to be during the night because there is no ebb and flow of a bunch or residents. I decided to at least say for two days while I check out the place.
I got accustomed to the musty smell pretty fast. I have a view from room 218 that's not worth viewing. It contains a terrible, worn print of Van Gogh's reapers, two beds, two wafers of soap.
FIRST TRIP
I walked about three or so blocks to the Capitolio metro and asked the guy in the booth for six tickets. He asked me where to. I told him I didn't know. He looked at his fellow worker and shrugged his shoulders.
I then told him Bellas Artes because that's where I was going, to visit INATUR. It is the Central Avenue station. It took me a while to find the office on the 35th floor of one of two towers. I got material from a very pleasant woman, whose body offered an aroma rather than a smell. Slender, lipsticked, a warm look, pleasant look in her eyes.
Then I spent half an hour in an internet cafe deleting enough stuff to still leave me 89 percent full.
I took the metro to ALTAMIRAS. Altamiras is where she had suggested I may find some good hotels and more segurity at night. Altamiras is the square where about 14 people were gunned down by a desperate opposion who tried to pin it on the President.
I would have a defintely better view and pay 2,000 Bolivares less if I moved there. I may still go there tomorrow. This morning a maid rang my bell and when I answered, immediately apologized and left. Had me thinking about my stay at Hotel Seville on 28th Street (if memory serves me), near Madison Avenue, late 1968, when our telephone would ring every now and then and when we picked it up, there was nobody on the line. Strange, we thought, my girlfriend and I. Then one night I went to meet her coming home from work. By the time we got to the hotel, the ring that she had borrowed from her friend, to prove to the world that we weren't living in sin, was gone. My laptop is being stored in the office.
I had dinner nearby, returned home to finish a bit of watermelon and one of two mengoes that I had bought earlier.
Earlier, I stopped at a kiosc to buy a newspaper. I asked the man for the pro-Chavez papers, since I didn't want to spend a dime on an opposition paper. He then came outside to show me the pro-Chávez art on the wall above his kiosc. (I don't know if I spelled that right.)
PBB
I left Lima at 4:30 AM, stopped in Guayaquil, Ecuador, and arrived in Caracas just short of noon. At immigration I was missing the arrival form so I had to go to Aeropost to get it. Then when I went to exit, I found I didn't have the customs form either.
I had read all morning and only closed my eyes an hour or so out of Guayaquil. They must have handed out the forms then. But why wouldn't they just leave the forms in my lap? How could they have figured that I am a pain in the ass even without an interaction?
Anyway, as I exit the customs door a guy outside attaches to me. It was simpler to just go along with him. He took me to an office where I got the name of the tourist office, INATUS, in the city. I also got the name and address or a hotel, Le Conde, where I am at the moment.
Although I was offered a 20,000 Bolivar ($1 = 2,000) taxi ride, I opted for the 4,000 Boliver bus ride. I am certain the driver had said he would let me off at Parque Bolívar, but that offer was taken off the table. As he let a passenger off near the metro station Gato Negro (Black Cat), he suggested that I take a cab for 6,000 Bolivares) and I did.
The Hotel Conde sits in the middle of the business district, which is not the greatest place to be during the night because there is no ebb and flow of a bunch or residents. I decided to at least say for two days while I check out the place.
I got accustomed to the musty smell pretty fast. I have a view from room 218 that's not worth viewing. It contains a terrible, worn print of Van Gogh's reapers, two beds, two wafers of soap.
FIRST TRIP
I walked about three or so blocks to the Capitolio metro and asked the guy in the booth for six tickets. He asked me where to. I told him I didn't know. He looked at his fellow worker and shrugged his shoulders.
I then told him Bellas Artes because that's where I was going, to visit INATUR. It is the Central Avenue station. It took me a while to find the office on the 35th floor of one of two towers. I got material from a very pleasant woman, whose body offered an aroma rather than a smell. Slender, lipsticked, a warm look, pleasant look in her eyes.
Then I spent half an hour in an internet cafe deleting enough stuff to still leave me 89 percent full.
I took the metro to ALTAMIRAS. Altamiras is where she had suggested I may find some good hotels and more segurity at night. Altamiras is the square where about 14 people were gunned down by a desperate opposion who tried to pin it on the President.
I would have a defintely better view and pay 2,000 Bolivares less if I moved there. I may still go there tomorrow. This morning a maid rang my bell and when I answered, immediately apologized and left. Had me thinking about my stay at Hotel Seville on 28th Street (if memory serves me), near Madison Avenue, late 1968, when our telephone would ring every now and then and when we picked it up, there was nobody on the line. Strange, we thought, my girlfriend and I. Then one night I went to meet her coming home from work. By the time we got to the hotel, the ring that she had borrowed from her friend, to prove to the world that we weren't living in sin, was gone. My laptop is being stored in the office.
I had dinner nearby, returned home to finish a bit of watermelon and one of two mengoes that I had bought earlier.
Earlier, I stopped at a kiosc to buy a newspaper. I asked the man for the pro-Chavez papers, since I didn't want to spend a dime on an opposition paper. He then came outside to show me the pro-Chávez art on the wall above his kiosc. (I don't know if I spelled that right.)
PBB
My second article in Counterpunch follows:
Weekend Edition
May 29 / 31, 2004
Pre-Emptive War Insurance
A War Crimes Avoidance Strategy
By PATRICK B. BARR
"Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely."
- Lord Acton (1834-1902), 1887
How often have we parrotted that well-known phrase without having any concrete understanding of what Lord Acton really meant. But now, akin to proving Einstein's Theory of Relativity long after he developed it, we can point to the special status of the United States in Gulf War 2 as concrete proof of absolute power in action.
Far from absolute was the power of the Ottomon, Spanish and British Empires, and before that, the Arabs who spread civilization as far north as Spain. Their power had geographic limits. The United States of America, unlike any other nation in history, projects absolute power to every corner of the earth ... as well as to outer space.
With this absolute power at its command, in 2002, the US succeeded in getting an exemption from war crimes by a compliant UN Security Council, and, not leaving any stone unturned, signed bilateral agreements with 89 countries to ensure they do not prosecute US personnel or turn them over to the International Criminal Court. Twenty-six of these countries remain unnamed publicly and one, the Philippines, sits on the Security Council. The exemption was renewed last year, and a third is being pursued at this moment. The pressure applied by the US can bring countries to their knees.
In The Clash of Fundamentalisms, Tariq Ali recounts how, in August 1976, then Secretary of State Dr. Henry Kissinger visited Lahore in an effort to dissuade Prime Minister Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto from acquiring nuclear weapons. When Bhutto refused, Dr. Kissinger told him that "we can destabilise your government and make a horrible example out of you." Within six months, Bhutto's government was removed in a coup, he was charged and found guilty of murder, and, two years later, executed.
Arab Free Voice reports that CIA director George Tenet paid a secret visit to Qatar on Tuesday, May 25, where he met the Emir of Qatar, Shaykh Hamd ibn Khalifah Al Thani and the Qatari Foreign Minister Hamd ibn Jaxim ibn Jabr Al Thani. The US spy chief gave the Qatari leaders a letter from the U.S. Administration reportedly couched in undiplomatic, tough, and frank language. It was reported that the letter contained a paragraph concerned with what it described as "the policy of media incitement pursued by Qatar's al-Jazeera satellite TV company against the American forces and the American presence in Iraq. Time will tell if Al-Jazeera is muzzled, or if Qatar is destabilized.
Unlike the US, Nazi Germany failed to see the brilliance of the concept of total freedom in times of preemptive war. This "lapse" on the part of Hitler means that today, in the 21st century, Israeli groups may still be hunting Nazis culpable of murdering millions of Jews before and during World War II.
But, despite the atrocities carried out at Abu Ghraib, who will dare challenge this most powerful country, even at the level of human rights, much less war crimes? The most that can be expected is that the US will suffer a bloody nose and its war crimes in Iraq, as well as alledged war crimes in Afghanistan and Guantanamo Bay, will fade into history. Within a few years, Abu Ghraib will fade from memory, especially now that the US Administration may raze the compound made infamous by Saddam Hussein and now, by the US military.
Long before the neo-cons highjacked the US government, it was widely known that Saddam Hussein was an evil man; even back when he was embedded with the CIA; even when the US and Great Britain supplied him with WMDs in the form of anthrax spores and other such nasty potions that he, with US knowledge, used "to kill his own people", as the mantra goes. "Why, oh why," Saddam must be thinking, esconced in US custody, place unknown, "didn't I seek exemptions for crimes against humanity as well as against war crimes?"
Absolute power enabled the Administration get Peru's Alejandro Toledo, against the wishes of politicos and Peruvians alike, to vote for a US resolution against Cuba at the 60th session of the UN Human Rights Commission in Geneva. It was the one vote needed to pass the resolution. Within 24 hours, the United States announced that Peru and Ecuador would join with Colombia in the first round of negotiations on a Free Trade Agreement scheduled for May 18-19. The Office of the US Trade Representative announced: "The FTA negotiations were scheduled to begin with Colombia alone, pending the resolution of certain issues with respect to Peru [emphasis mine] and Ecuador, which have now been addressed."
A year ago, in an incident that strained relations between Cuba and Mexico, the US pressured Mexico's Vincente Fox to ensure that Fidel Castro depart prematurely from an OAS meeting, and the country, before the arrival of George Bush, who seems to lack the grace of his father, who at a similar OAS meeting remained in the same conference room with Castro. While Castro's plane was leaving Mexico, President Bush's was arriving. Mission accomplished.
Absolute power means never having to say you're sorry after killing wedding guests, including bride and groom in Irak, two years after a similar massacre in Afghanistan.
And, for the third time since 2002, the United States is pushing for a new U.N. Security Council resolution aimed at exempting its troops from prosecution for war crimes when they serve in any U.N. peacekeeping operations.
Just as Hitler failed to seek exemptions for war crimes, so did Donald Rumsfeld fail to ban recording devices from military compounds in Iraq before the preemptive war. Don't show the bodies coming home and don't show the fun time to be had by our folks in Abu Ghraib, among other prisons. As a consequence, the whole world gets to see the dark side; the side that only a handful of newspapers and magazines dare illuminate, but which groups like the Black Panther Party, countries like Chile, groups like the Sandinistas, and the men and women who fill our jails, know all too well.
Iraqis, male and female, were raped in Abu Ghraib prison. Uncle Sam is caught with his pants down, double-standards and hypocrisies exposed for the entire world to witness.
Patrick B. Barr was formerly with The Daily Gleaner, Kingston, Jamaica. He can be reached at: barrybar@hotmail.com
WWW http://www.counterpunch.org
Weekend Edition
May 29 / 31, 2004
Pre-Emptive War Insurance
A War Crimes Avoidance Strategy
By PATRICK B. BARR
"Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely."
- Lord Acton (1834-1902), 1887
How often have we parrotted that well-known phrase without having any concrete understanding of what Lord Acton really meant. But now, akin to proving Einstein's Theory of Relativity long after he developed it, we can point to the special status of the United States in Gulf War 2 as concrete proof of absolute power in action.
Far from absolute was the power of the Ottomon, Spanish and British Empires, and before that, the Arabs who spread civilization as far north as Spain. Their power had geographic limits. The United States of America, unlike any other nation in history, projects absolute power to every corner of the earth ... as well as to outer space.
With this absolute power at its command, in 2002, the US succeeded in getting an exemption from war crimes by a compliant UN Security Council, and, not leaving any stone unturned, signed bilateral agreements with 89 countries to ensure they do not prosecute US personnel or turn them over to the International Criminal Court. Twenty-six of these countries remain unnamed publicly and one, the Philippines, sits on the Security Council. The exemption was renewed last year, and a third is being pursued at this moment. The pressure applied by the US can bring countries to their knees.
In The Clash of Fundamentalisms, Tariq Ali recounts how, in August 1976, then Secretary of State Dr. Henry Kissinger visited Lahore in an effort to dissuade Prime Minister Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto from acquiring nuclear weapons. When Bhutto refused, Dr. Kissinger told him that "we can destabilise your government and make a horrible example out of you." Within six months, Bhutto's government was removed in a coup, he was charged and found guilty of murder, and, two years later, executed.
Arab Free Voice reports that CIA director George Tenet paid a secret visit to Qatar on Tuesday, May 25, where he met the Emir of Qatar, Shaykh Hamd ibn Khalifah Al Thani and the Qatari Foreign Minister Hamd ibn Jaxim ibn Jabr Al Thani. The US spy chief gave the Qatari leaders a letter from the U.S. Administration reportedly couched in undiplomatic, tough, and frank language. It was reported that the letter contained a paragraph concerned with what it described as "the policy of media incitement pursued by Qatar's al-Jazeera satellite TV company against the American forces and the American presence in Iraq. Time will tell if Al-Jazeera is muzzled, or if Qatar is destabilized.
Unlike the US, Nazi Germany failed to see the brilliance of the concept of total freedom in times of preemptive war. This "lapse" on the part of Hitler means that today, in the 21st century, Israeli groups may still be hunting Nazis culpable of murdering millions of Jews before and during World War II.
But, despite the atrocities carried out at Abu Ghraib, who will dare challenge this most powerful country, even at the level of human rights, much less war crimes? The most that can be expected is that the US will suffer a bloody nose and its war crimes in Iraq, as well as alledged war crimes in Afghanistan and Guantanamo Bay, will fade into history. Within a few years, Abu Ghraib will fade from memory, especially now that the US Administration may raze the compound made infamous by Saddam Hussein and now, by the US military.
Long before the neo-cons highjacked the US government, it was widely known that Saddam Hussein was an evil man; even back when he was embedded with the CIA; even when the US and Great Britain supplied him with WMDs in the form of anthrax spores and other such nasty potions that he, with US knowledge, used "to kill his own people", as the mantra goes. "Why, oh why," Saddam must be thinking, esconced in US custody, place unknown, "didn't I seek exemptions for crimes against humanity as well as against war crimes?"
Absolute power enabled the Administration get Peru's Alejandro Toledo, against the wishes of politicos and Peruvians alike, to vote for a US resolution against Cuba at the 60th session of the UN Human Rights Commission in Geneva. It was the one vote needed to pass the resolution. Within 24 hours, the United States announced that Peru and Ecuador would join with Colombia in the first round of negotiations on a
A year ago, in an incident that strained relations between Cuba and Mexico, the US pressured Mexico's Vincente Fox to ensure that Fidel Castro depart prematurely from an OAS meeting, and the country, before the arrival of George Bush, who seems to lack the grace of his father, who at a similar OAS meeting remained in the same conference room with Castro. While Castro's plane was leaving Mexico, President Bush's was arriving. Mission accomplished.
Absolute power means never having to say you're sorry after killing wedding guests, including bride and groom in Irak, two years after a similar massacre in Afghanistan.
And, for the third time since 2002, the United States is pushing for a new U.N. Security Council resolution aimed at exempting its troops from prosecution for war crimes when they serve in any U.N. peacekeeping operations.
Just as Hitler failed to seek exemptions for war crimes, so did Donald Rumsfeld fail to ban recording devices from military compounds in Iraq before the preemptive war. Don't show the bodies coming home and don't show the fun time to be had by our folks in Abu Ghraib, among other prisons. As a consequence, the whole world gets to see the dark side; the side that only a handful of newspapers and magazines dare illuminate, but which groups like the Black Panther Party, countries like Chile, groups like the Sandinistas, and the men and women who fill our jails, know all too well.
Iraqis, male and female, were raped in Abu Ghraib prison. Uncle Sam is caught with his pants down, double-standards and hypocrisies exposed for the entire world to witness.
Patrick B. Barr was formerly with The Daily Gleaner, Kingston, Jamaica. He can be reached at: barrybar@hotmail.com
WWW http://www.counterpunch.org
Friday, May 28, 2004
Thursday, May 06, 2004
TERRORISTS R US
Yesterday, cinco de Mayo, my article on terrorism appeared in Counterpunch! At first, because of problems with my computer, attacked by a virus, I had to send the article as an attahment to Counterpunch. When I heard nothing, I resent it with the article as part of the email rather than as attachment, but still heard nothing. I wrote to ask them to advise me so that I may offer the article to another source.
As usual, I visited the site yesterday and what a shock of recognition to see my article!
I am now rubbing shoulders with some of the greatest minds on the planet.
The first article that I sent about three months ago, seemed to have a good chance of being published. I received an immediate response that said it would be published. It died.
I am very happy to be published in Counterpunch because it is my all-time favorite site for political thinking and analysis.
PBB
Yesterday, cinco de Mayo, my article on terrorism appeared in Counterpunch! At first, because of problems with my computer, attacked by a virus, I had to send the article as an attahment to Counterpunch. When I heard nothing, I resent it with the article as part of the email rather than as attachment, but still heard nothing. I wrote to ask them to advise me so that I may offer the article to another source.
As usual, I visited the site yesterday and what a shock of recognition to see my article!
I am now rubbing shoulders with some of the greatest minds on the planet.
The first article that I sent about three months ago, seemed to have a good chance of being published. I received an immediate response that said it would be published. It died.
I am very happy to be published in Counterpunch because it is my all-time favorite site for political thinking and analysis.
PBB
May 5, 2004
The Powerful are Exempt from the Label
Terrorists R US
By PATRICK B. BARR
"We do not want the Filipinos. We want the Philippines. The islands are enormously rich, but unfortunately, they are infested with Filipinos."
-- The influential San Franciso Argonaut (early 1900s)
It's normal, over time, that words change their meanings. In the early 20th century, gay didn't mean homosexual. And just a few years ago, bad actually meant bad.
And, at a time when there may have been a bit less dishonesty in the land, the United States of America actually had a Department of War! But it has long morphed into the Department of Defense, which has conferred on the world's most powerful nation, the right to even wage defense from space.
During the past several years, the words "terrorist" and "terrorism" has been effectively nuanced. So cleverly has the transformation been made that whatever the actions of the major powers, they are never called terrorists. Waging an unprovoked war in Iraq is not terrorism; but opposing that occupation, is.
The word has been reserved solely for the weak who strike back in desperation.
Even the dictionaries are playing along, not recognizing that state terror exists:
The systematic use of violence as a means of intimidating or coercing societies or governments.
-- Worldnet(R) 1.6 (C)1997 Princeton University
The unlawful use or threatened use of force or violence by a person or an organized group against people or property with the intention of intimidating or coercing societies or governments, often for ideological or political reasons.
-- The American Heritage(R) Dictionary of the English Language, 4th ed., (C)2000
It would seem that these companies associate themselves with the state and, thus, cannot see the forest for the trees.
In that context, Israel's policy of killing leaders of Palestinian organizations is not considered state terror, even though the Palestinians must be terrified of the overwhelming power of the state of Israel. The fact is that it is the Palestinians who are responding to Israeli state terror and not Israel responding to the suicide bombers from Palestinian. Note the behavior of Israel when things seem to be getting too quiet to satisfy Sharon's designs: another targeted killing.
On cursory examination, it should be painfully obvious to anyone that it is in the interest of Ariel Sharon to keep turmoil on the front burner, especially now that he has embedded President Bush, whose sympathy with Israeli tactics knows no bounds.
And in the case of the brutal war being waged against Iraq, not a single reporter, or talking head, has ever referred to the invasion as an act of terrorism. Unprovoked by Iraq, The USA travels across the ocean to unleash a deadly mix of weapons of mass destruction on innocent Iraqis, but it is the people resisting the brutal occupation who are labeled terrorists, both by the media and the perpetrators in the White House.
George Orwell may have foreseen 1984, but could anyone have conjured up 2004? Apart from the neo-conservatives, that is.
Patrick B. Barr, formerly with The Daily Gleaner, Kingston, Jamaica. He can be reached at barrybar@hotmail.com
The Powerful are Exempt from the Label
Terrorists R US
By PATRICK B. BARR
"We do not want the Filipinos. We want the Philippines. The islands are enormously rich, but unfortunately, they are infested with Filipinos."
-- The influential San Franciso Argonaut (early 1900s)
It's normal, over time, that words change their meanings. In the early 20th century, gay didn't mean homosexual. And just a few years ago, bad actually meant bad.
And, at a time when there may have been a bit less dishonesty in the land, the United States of America actually had a Department of War! But it has long morphed into the Department of Defense, which has conferred on the world's most powerful nation, the right to even wage defense from space.
During the past several years, the words "terrorist" and "terrorism" has been effectively nuanced. So cleverly has the transformation been made that whatever the actions of the major powers, they are never called terrorists. Waging an unprovoked war in Iraq is not terrorism; but opposing that occupation, is.
The word has been reserved solely for the weak who strike back in desperation.
Even the dictionaries are playing along, not recognizing that state terror exists:
The systematic use of violence as a means of intimidating or coercing societies or governments.
-- Worldnet(R) 1.6 (C)1997 Princeton University
The unlawful use or threatened use of force or violence by a person or an organized group against people or property with the intention of intimidating or coercing societies or governments, often for ideological or political reasons.
-- The American Heritage(R) Dictionary of the English Language, 4th ed., (C)2000
It would seem that these companies associate themselves with the state and, thus, cannot see the forest for the trees.
In that context, Israel's policy of killing leaders of Palestinian organizations is not considered state terror, even though the Palestinians must be terrified of the overwhelming power of the state of Israel. The fact is that it is the Palestinians who are responding to Israeli state terror and not Israel responding to the suicide bombers from Palestinian. Note the behavior of Israel when things seem to be getting too quiet to satisfy Sharon's designs: another targeted killing.
On cursory examination, it should be painfully obvious to anyone that it is in the interest of Ariel Sharon to keep turmoil on the front burner, especially now that he has embedded President Bush, whose sympathy with Israeli tactics knows no bounds.
And in the case of the brutal war being waged against Iraq, not a single reporter, or talking head, has ever referred to the invasion as an act of terrorism. Unprovoked by Iraq, The USA travels across the ocean to unleash a deadly mix of weapons of mass destruction on innocent Iraqis, but it is the people resisting the brutal occupation who are labeled terrorists, both by the media and the perpetrators in the White House.
George Orwell may have foreseen 1984, but could anyone have conjured up 2004? Apart from the neo-conservatives, that is.
Patrick B. Barr, formerly with The Daily Gleaner, Kingston, Jamaica. He can be reached at barrybar@hotmail.com
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
