True on contacters
To people who, on their own initiative, travel to Russia, in the West are ambivalent. "Why?" – Ask some, not understanding the nature of the strength that leads man to the edge of the abyss.
"Coool!" – Talut others, enthusiastically looking around the brave, as if they wish to capture the courageous features of this amateur extreme sports. Did you never know what can happen to him tomorrow.
And the hero intentionally bypassing all the pubs in the city, every evening a crowd of acquaintances and kinds are going around him, everyone has curiosity in the eyes and, as usual, on a glass beer barrel in hand. Listen, do not breathe, suppressing Ikota, like their countryman, the usual kind of guy, breaks the tongue: "Pepadelnits-graduate-pensoma. " Gives out everything that turned up yesterday in a phrase woman in a pile. So, for the month he is gaining a whole stadium of fans, communication with whom is usually the most pleasant, although not the most interesting impressions of "Travel to Russia".
One of my old friends – Dutchman Ludwig. Curious, active, slightly nervous type. Pianist, jazz and rock and roll plays so that the keys will smoke. One in the fall, he appeared at Pulkovo-2 airport with a huge black suitcase and romantic mood. Russia was for him something like the wild West for the gold killer, although he dreamed of, of course, not about gold. Exclusively about adventures. In Rotterdam, he heard something about heavily drinking heroes inhabiting the Russian province, about "Police", which should not suspect a foreigner in you, otherwise your dollars cried, about cheapness of vodka and beauty Vasilis. The accuracy of all these sense he decided to check the self-independent. Booked a hotel room online, waited for a visa, and here it is here. Instantly identified by taxi drivers as a foreigner – on bright curls, chin of viking and non-trusted jacket in alien brown cell. Bargaining is not capable, because the language does not know.
Solded one hundred bucks. It is impossible to say that Ludwig did not notice or remained indifferent to it. On the adhesion of many Dutch in Europe there are jokes. Somehow in Belgium I came across a fun and informative postcard – "The perfect european must be. " The small cartoon gallery developed a thought: "restrained. As Italian", "sober. like Irishman", "modest. like a spa", "generous. like Dutchman." Ludwig in Russia expected solid financial disappointment. The hotel that he seemed to him already inspected in the photos on the Internet, allocated him a number with "Sovkovov" broken telephone, TV "Horizon" and costed furniture. Ludwig squeezed the will in his fist and said himself: "Launch. If these numbers stand so much, I do not want to know how much decent". Nevsky Prospect struck his imagination. Later he asked me: "Tell me for whom there are so many stores of the highest Paris class? They are huge! They are gorgeous! Someone makes purchases in them. Russian Mafia?" True, he could not understand this. Streets of St. Petersburg Kisheli "Little people", "Old Russians". He also stumbled on the embankled: a single-legged man, a guy with a scar through the whole face, a dirty homeless woman with a padded eye. There were so many of them that he lost their bill and began to think that scars and cult – the inevitable consequence of flawed Russian life. With the arrival of darkness, he began to look for a suitable bar to, according to the sacred European tradition, slightly water. "I ran into such a junk, "he told me – that even the free city of Amsterdam would shuddly. I would not dare to cross the threshold, but I was attracted to the deep, juicy voice of the singer. She sang in English. Jazz. Very nice. And pianist was damn good! Just hurricane! In me spoke vanity. I convinced myself that I go to skip the circle "Heineken". And found himself in Salun, where the ladies are missing skirts, and gentlemen beat the muzzle. My attempts to speak English with a miracle singer suffered collapse. She just did not understand me. In addition, she completely had a connection with a local guard who looked at her with bullish eyes and drank tequila. Only a pianist is a slim-off, in the black hat, very stylish and artistic, straight the hero of the musical – talked to me. In music language. First I played a little. Selfless, of course. And the end of our two-year-old jazz concert. Played four hands. And I still managed to look around. If a decent couple came to the bar and the order did a girl, it was just ignored. In that institution, men were paid for everything. Prostitutes arrived every half hour, in two nights they began to disperse, many at hand with foreigners. Until the morning, they died only two – one of them was very young. She cuddled to the bar and watched all the time in one point – in the middle of an empty ashtray standing in front of her. Another – old, ugly, even funny, with meaningless fish eyes and iron teeth. These two were madly sorry".
Already a month later, Ludwig asked me a curious question and gave a good answer to him: "After all, it was not a typical Russian institution, yes? I’m sure! Paradoxicality – this is really the only Russian, that there was!"
However, Peter became only a transit point on the way to the Siberian province. Here Ludwiga flewly – he gained a translator in my face. And the first thing he shouted into this face when we met, there was a heartbreaking: "I have seen a bat at the airport! You can imagine? There, under the ceiling lives a whole family!" He was shocked. I laughed to colic. In Siberia, Ludwig suffered: he began to ask hundreds of questions, which was quite difficult to answer. As a child who has recently appeared and sweeping all the oddities to which adults are accustomed. "Why in a million city only one beautiful street? Why are there so many small stores that sell absolutely the same thing: all – and nothing? "Why in the city center seven ATMs, and none works? Why so many girls with painted hair? Why on the doors of each store and restaurant is that credit cards accept for payment, and in fact they are not accepted by anywhere? Why cows go through the streets? Yesterday I came in shit!"
His truly touched a woman in a green sepper, which is cold late in the evening traded seeds on the street. He gave her a hundred rubles with the words: "Go Home!" She immediately grabbed her bucket, folded his chair and went down to. It would be wrong to think that Ludwig nothing had to do. Two-storey wooden houses, built immediately after the war (in common arched by clocks), caused his lunizing, reminding him of provincial France with its unpretentious landscapes. And also: stores selling pirated laser discs were great to them communities. He still found his golden custody.
The culmination of Ludwigiad was the incident in one of the smoked provincial cafes. We had dinner and led a fascinating dispute over Russian foreign policy. Ludwig smoked his third for this evening to a cigar when in the cloud of fragrant smoke in front of him unexpectedly arose drunk to Oduri Moon – a round spring face of a guy who had two almost sober friends drove into a cafe for a shake. All three sat down for our table. Word for the word, they found out the nationality of my interlocutor and immediately volunteered to treat him by Russian vodka. Ludwig accepted a treat with gratitude, but did not drink a lot. In response, he treated one of them – a quiet, almost probably man – Dutch cigar. He felt politely twice and left the cigar to get to the edge of the ashtray. "Tell him that it costs eight dollars," – asked Ludwig. "He has no matter before," – I replied. Meanwhile, a drunk guy was noticeably activated. "Listen, you, Che at the sweater so simple? I would have such a sweater and in the country, b. No dressed in the ground!" – He breathed in the face of the Dutchman. "What does he want?" – asked me Ludwig, alert. "He likes your sweater," – I said. Here Ludwig began to tell me that this wonderful red sweater he bought in France, that he is very dear to him as a memory of happy days and t.D. and T.NS.. The guy did not like that his words did not make a proper effect. He began to slowly rise from the chair.
– Hear, man, I’m those grew, stupidly at the sweater, squeezed? Two friends of force sat down a guy back. "Paha, not duries!" Sensing on his shoulders superior strength, that crude and somehow immediately supposed.
– Where are you from Holland? Well, look, on me a Russian sweater. Purely. our. Understand? Duc. Other F Case! Ecker! In! Quality. Understand? Duc. I’m those grune. I am those it. Although I will give right now! Believe? At least right now! Let’s! Change, in short! I am Odenu! Russia. You will help!
And he really began to push off a sweater.
– What he wants? – asked Ludwig again. "He wants to give you his sweater, – I replied. – And, apparently, wants yours in return". – "Nooooo! Ludwig refused to believe me. – No, this is impossible! Why do I need his sweater?! I am. never put on!" – "Che he grit?" – appealed to me groa. "He can’t accept your sweater," – There was my answer. "Yes, good thing. – Smoking for a second thought, and again – the heel in the chest: "Yes, what is me sorry? Well you. As a brother, you understand. Brother!" Here he clung to Ludwig and began to kiss him. That is completely crazy: "God!! Tell him. OK then! Tell him: change!" After a second, Ludwig, overcome herself, hit the sweater who gave the sweater, smiled and nodded, Mount Markoch: "Brother, brother, brother." He embraced again with Pat, after which we were released with the world.
On the street Ludwig became serious. He looked at himself, shook his head and categorically stated: "I will not wear it! Hang on the wall like a trophy. Oh my God. As a bear hide!" Already from Holland, Ludwig wrote me about his last adventures in Russia. He gave a bribe of Aeroflot workers twice, so as not to pay mad money for additional kilograms. "I wanted to shout: "I will give everything! all!! Just let me down! Let’s release!" Even later, he made a confession: "I heard many Dutch jokes about Russia from people who told about his intention to go there. They featured bears, snow, kvass and hatches. Sometimes Putin. But the funny lurks completely in the other: the fact that in Europe will take away from you for 5 minutes, in Russia usually takes hours, and even days. It is possible that weeks. Remember that girl in the mail? For a whole hour, she knew himself with stamps for seven letters, which I had to send: I first broke them away, then folded, and did not multiply to find out the cost of all brands. I exploded when she started to stick them. "I am myself!"- I shouted on her. It’s just monstrous! And yet: the person who is now smiling to you, in a minute can pursue you a fist, and no apparent reason. But the main thing is that I learned about Russia already in Russia – this country is impossible to understand this country, it is impossible to believe in it until you see everything with my own eyes and do not experience. Everything is possible here. Absolutely all that is analogically". So that’s the brothers Russians.
Contacters I call people who come to Russia from countries with a different standard of life and other culture. We also talk about the integration of geocultural and man-made processes in the modern world, about the acceleration of the dialogue of civilizations, which it became possible thanks to the Internet, but today, as in a network era, it is necessary to make a mass of efforts: learn the language, culture , life to understand the man from another country to the depths. Some may have a whole life for it, so let’s say straight, most earthlings will always be in relation to each other by alien creatures, at best – contacts.
