Russian Drinkers

My housemates and I went out the other night to visit friend and in turn his Russian friends, in a local bar called Cynic. We arrived and drank some beer and had a good go at chatting in Russian. It is also preferable to sitting in lessons for ours on end, but I stress it is not an alternative. Anyway, a couple of hours in we went off to join some Russians sitting at another table around a corner. This was the most random decision I have ever heard of, but was nevertheless an interesting one. We chatted away with several Russians who didn’t speak any English- which was actually a relief. Often Russians speak, or think they can speak, good English. It pleasantly justifies our study to meet people who for a change don’t know our language. Many good things happen in bars.
Another intensive Russian language experience was last Sunday in one of our local cinemas. We went to see the new film Casino Royal, all in Russian. The dubbing, so often reason enough not to watch anything in Russian, was reasonably good, even sounding something like the real actors. The film was good, although the language was difficult- in Russian, of course. Great stuff though!

Friday night was party night. Two friends’ birthdays coincided and we had cake and champagne at our pad, and then dropped into the old Cynic bar for some more. The brother and sister of one friend were visiting from England, and several more bottles of champagne appeared, much to our pleasure, at our table. The table, however, was not easy to acquire. When we arrived all the tables were taken, and all our efforts to take the next free table as the guests departed were met with stubborn insistence from other parties that the table was already booked by someone else. No amount of negotiating was going to swing things in our favour. I decided to try a Russian tact- outright bribery. Attracting the attention of the waitress I suggested that we pay for the use of a table, perhaps even organizing a “pre-booking” right at that moment. To no avail. Law and order prevailed this time. Perhaps there’s hope for Russia.
While I was waiting around near the bar I was greeted by a character who I recognized from a previous night in Datcha. Ted, as we think he is called, is an enigmatic man to say the least. His apparent skill at speaking with numerous different accents led to us imaginatively calling him Ted the accent. He could be Russian, as he appears, but this is likely to be largely the power of suggestion. He could equally be from any of the Baltic states, Ireland, the UK, or possibly Australia. On this occasion his crown was adorned with a very fez-like hat, completely compounding the confusion over his true character.
Later that night we went on to a club in town. Gribayedov, as it is called, is a techno club built in a soviet military bunker. On the understanding that the others were inside, I approached the doorman to find out the cost of entry. I was absolutely surprised and annoyed to find that 600 roubles was the going rate that night, and therefore well beyond my will and budget. I decided on a different approach. Having observed a quiet and shadowy corner between some trees along one side of the surrounding seven foot high metal-spiked fence, I walked around to investigate more closely. There were security guards at various points around the compound, some distracted with mobile phones, and some smoking. The potential entry-point was ten feet from the office of the security personnel, and some other staff. I went to check out this room from the safety of a gloomy doorway, and worked out that from inside there was no direct view of the first obstacle- the fence. From the shadows I waited a few minutes for a clear street (witnesses complicate things) and then briskly crossed the street and scaled the fence. Rapidly, while ensuring against getting caught up in the spikes, I scanned the area for guards and to check the next stage. I could see the open door of the office and the cigarette smoke floating in the air, and just below the fence was a low mound of earth. Dropping lightly from the fence I ducked down behind the earth and listened for movement or exclamations. Nothing ensuing, I scuttled, crouching, along a shallow bank towards the corner of the building, and towards the area I knew would be in view of the office. Choosing my moment, I sprang up the bank and over to the wall of the main building, now just a few yards from safety. Casually I swung my coat over my shoulder and sauntered down the garden and made my way into the club, unchallenged and unscathed. A doorman, apparently not questioning why I should appear from the direction of the club without having left my coat at the cloakroom before, instructed me to do so now. I willingly complied, with a wry smile to myself.
The club itself, which was intriguing, was on two levels. The lower level was very much the bunker, and was separated into three main rooms connected with narrow tunnels. The music was great, the atmosphere addictive, and the people friendly. Sadly my friends had not wished to pay the entrance fee either, and had not gone in, but it was fun so I stayed for a drink. Grabbing a pint of Nevskoye beer I went through a tunnel to discover another dance-room, with a couple of professional djs doing a great job on the decks. On the dance floor a couple of guys were apparently involved in a dance-off, mixing up break dancing with some unfamiliar moves, but in a highly entertaining way. A ring formed around these guys and the expressions of awe, respect and pleasure on the enthralled audience’s faces told the story. The club also seemed to full of photographers with professional cameras taking snaps of everything. The unlikely appearance of a Brit in cufflinks may cause a few doormen to search their memories, but I doubt they will lose sleep over it.
My dancing done and my pint finished, I made to leave. Collecting my coat from where I had deposited it I retraced my steps back through the small garden to the fence. I noticed that the door of the office of the security staff now stood open, and a small group of men were grouped around it smoking and chatting. I thought it would be better to keep the advantage of surprise, so I quickly hopped onto the base of a brick wall that ran up the fence surrounding the club. Running carefully along, not wanting to wait around, I jumped straight over, hit the ground running and continued straight down the street before doubling back and taking a different route in case they tried to follow me. It was a more interesting night than usual.

Post script: much of the plan was directly inspired by my recent viewing of the latest Bond film. Well you have to start somewhere….