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beware the uniform,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]
Shortly after dawn eventually on my first visit to Russia,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], a land where guidebooks advise foreigners to prevent just about anyone in uniform, I elbowed my way out of the cramped subway car in Moscow onto a marble platform full of indecipherable Cyrillic signs.
Lost, sleepy, and trying to find my way beneath fluorescent-lighted chandeliers and timeworn frescoes of muscle-bound workers, I pushed through the throng of rush-hour commuters and realized that all of the hammers and sickles,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], red stars along with other relics of communism weren't the only real holdovers in the Soviet era.
Looking at me somewhat ominously would be a large man wearing a bright blue beret, combat boots, and a blue-striped tank top. He appeared as if a guy familiar with the skill of killing. I tried to prevent his gaze as he hoisted a virtually finished beer and shouted during my direction,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], "Slava,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], VDV! Slava,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], VDV!" gibberish that anyway sounded menacing.
After nearly a week in Russia,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], however, it no more seemed odd to locate someone drinking in public,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], haranguing passersby with drunken songs and incomprehensible epithets. Already I had been accustomed to curious sights throughout the fading grandeur of Moscow's metro system, which some 9 million people use every single day. For instance, I had seen a man,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], in full view of just about everyone within the subway car, plant his hand down a ladies shirt while another lost his lunch as the train lurched to some halt.
Things i couldn't know that morning hours was that I would spend the day attempting to stay away from most of the drunken man's comrades,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], thousands of beret-wearing veterans who wrought a measure of chaos at nearly every corner of the capital,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], from metro stations and markets to parks and Red Square.
I'd learn later that this disjointed legion of huge men -- many of whom were educated to kill -- were celebrating a peculiar holiday here called Paratroopers Day,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], which appeared like a mixture of St. Patrick's Day and Veterans Day, with increased alcohol and much more belligerence. counterparts and rise from what seems like miles below ground. I emerged right into a cold drizzle near the massive,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], neo-Gothic Foreign Ministry Building, which could pass for the Legion of Doom, and trudged through the sodden streets,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], passing everything from a McDonald's to vendors hawking trinkets bearing likenesses of Lenin and Marx.
Watermelons and gewgaws
As morning blurred into afternoon, I wandered the town, from the ornate metro stations to a gritty market where Asian-featured men in the former Soviet republics within the Caucasus sold imitation Nike sneakers,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], oversized watermelons,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], and all kinds of gewgaws. I rubbed elbows with grimacing babushkas and beautiful ladies who flaunted their long hair,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], short-skirts and stiletto heels,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], a perilous choice on cobblestoned streets. I ate pelmeni (Russian dumplings), borscht,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], stuffed cabbage and black bread,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], though sushi,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], pizza and lots of gourmet imports were widely available.
I visited that old Lubyanka prison,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], where Stalin jailed a large number of dissidents,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], potential counterrevolutionaries, and innocent victims within the 1930s. The imperious building is now headquarters of the Federal Security Service,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], successor to the KGB. When a guard gestured for me to stop snapping pictures of the weathered,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], gray stones and several surveillance cameras,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], I crossed the street and located a tiny park,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], home to the relatively invisible Memorial to the Victims of Totalitarianism,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], an area of garden with nothing more than a commemorative rock from the labor camp in which the Soviets worked untold millions, or millions,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], to death.
A block away, I stumbled upon Moscow's premier science museum, which highlights the nation's contributions to from chemistry to rocketry. There were some of the world's first spacesuits,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], an exhibit about how exactly Dmitri Mendeleev developed the periodic table along with a type of the Soviet Union's first atomic bomb.
Afterward,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], when i passed the scaffold-covered Bolshoi Theatre and neared the red brick gates of the Kremlin,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], I began to realize something was different about this day from my previous days in Russia. Nearly everywhere I turned, I saw the men within the blue berets and striped shirts,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], or telnyashka,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], a signature area of the uniform of Russia's navy and special forces.
I prodded a friend, an expatriate living in Russia, to ask the police that which was happening. She was reluctant, because of the advice about not approaching those wearing uniforms. space shuttle, the paratroopers were everywhere.
These were strumming guitars,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], and videotaping one another dancing and wrestling. Some disrobed for their tattoos and splashed through the park's fountains.
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