Student Experience

Only a few days after we arrived in Moscow, Russians were celebrating a national holiday called “Den' Rossii”, or “Russia Day”. Unlike other holidays, like Victory Day, Russians don't seem particularly enthused about celebrating it with liters of beer and vodka. In fact, it seems like the only purpose of this special day is to have a day off work. This year, Den Rossia fell on a Saturday. So no day off? That would be a waste of a holiday – it was therefore put off to the following Monday. Taste of Russian mentality.

So, on Den' Rossii, we went out to dinner as a group and then decided to wander around in the streets of Moscow. We went past Red Square on which the official celebration was taking place, where famous Russian rock bands were invited to perform and fireworks were set off (both of which I missed, unfortunately).

Bravely deciding to go on the forty-minute walk from Red Square to the university dorms, we ventured onto Tverskay Ulitsa, one of the main streets of Moscow, which is also probably the busiest. The sidewalk was overcrowded and it took a real effort to keep our group intact. Nobody knew whether to catch up with the fast walkers or wait for the slow ones.

Then, all of a sudden, it happened. I tripped. Over my own shoe. Fortunately the masses of people prevented me from tragically crashing down to the ground. But that was far from being enough to console me from what I was about to experience.

I looked down at my right sandal, the one on which I had tripped. The strap going through the first and second toes that was supposed to hold the whole shoe together was completely detached from the sole. Moreover, the sole was itself decomposed into two very much detached layers of bad-quality shoe material.

I carefully tried to stick the strap between my toes and back into the sole. I was hopeful, it could work. I took a step; I tripped. The sandal was back in its decomposed state.

Up until this point, initial panic and bewilderment had prevented me from clearly realizing what kind of situation this unfortunate event had put me into. I was in the middle of a still unfamiliar city, with only one functioning shoe, and unfortunately no recognizable face in sight.

My situation was so desperate I even considered walking shoeless. But I was in Moscow, and the filthiness of its streets is such that not even a hobbit would dare go barefoot. So that was out of the question.

Thus, the only way for me to move forward was by lifting my right foot high enough so I wouldn't trip. This particular movement required much careful attention, and I repeatedly tripped and destroyed my shoe a little further as I progressed through the crowd of pitiless speed walkers. But practice makes perfect, and I eventually managed to master this injured ostrich walk.

Dare I add that the level of embarrassment of this situation was proportionally magnified by the juxtaposition of me as an injured ostrich and the elegant Muscovite women who all (without exception) walk with an unbelievable ease on stiletto high heels.

A few days ago, I was in class studying verbs of motion (ugh), and I learned that ostriches could go faster than cars. Overlooking the grammar part, I am pretty sure that an injured ostrich would not be able to run as fast as a car, but might nevertheless be able to catch up with a group of jet-lagged American students. And indeed, how relieved was I when I caught a glimpse of the blond hair and blue dress of one of my fellow group members.

After understanding what had happened, she handed me a bright green hair tie that I skillfully wrapped around the sandal and each of my toes. I tried walking. Success! Foot and sandal did not separate. I was finally able to enjoy walking again.

I was conversing with our newly-met Russian friend when I started to feel a slight pain around my toes. I looked down; my middle toe was dark blue. All of a sudden an intense psychological pain got hold of me, and I undid the harmful tie in a split second. What a relief.

But what now? It was probably too late to buy new shoes, and in any case how could I afford them on the main street of the so-called most expensive city of the world?

The practical mind of my Russian friend came to help. Those who are well enough acquainted with Moscow know that the city is full of apteki (pharmacies) open “24 hours”. And they might not have shoes, but they certainly sell medical tape. Fortunately I did not have to describe the product to the pharmacist in my broken Russian, as Tatiana had already asked her for it.

The climber of the group, who claimed she had been using this kind of tape since the age of five, undertook the shoe-mending process. Our friends were enjoying taking pictures and making fun of me trying to stand on one foot while she was fixing my sandal. All in all, the result was a success and I was finally able to comfortably walk back to the dorms with a perfectly functioning pair of sandals.

When you go to Moscow, be prepared to face the fact that dealing with problems will probably be ten times harder, but also ten times more interesting and exciting.

Paloma Jeretic

Haverford College, Moscow, 2010