Moscow (Part X - Novoslobodskaya)

Click here for Parts I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII,VIII and IX.

Rusina had said that it was a 15-minute walk from my hotel to the Novoslobodskaya Metro station, where I was to meet her, but I didn't want to take any chances so I went down to the lobby at about 5:30 to ask how to get there.

The first thing the receptionist (the same one who had given me free internet a bit earlier) said was "you see train on street?" Yes. I had noticed a network of electrical cables strung over the major streets nearby  -- it did nothing to improve the aesthetics of the city, but did vaguely remind me of the "T" in Boston and therefore felt sort of homey to me --  and periodic tiny "trains" that ran along them, with little antennae-like rods connecting the "trains" to the cables. Hilariously, to make sure I understood what she was talking about, the receptionist made a little V sign over her head, to indicate the antennae. Anyway, yes, I knew about the train.

"Take train to Novoslobodskaya," she said. I replied "I can't. I have to walk. I have no money for the train." She literally rolled her eyes and I realized how absolutely idiotic I sounded, being a tourist with absolutely no money.

The receptionist impatiently said "follow train," so I did. But when I saw the train veer left at a point that I thought perhaps I should be veering right if I was on foot, I tried asking more people for directions (I'd been correct. Also, the station was VERY difficult to find and I never would have done so on my own. Also, the big M signs indicating a metro station are not as obvious in Moscow as they are in other cities I've visited . . . at least, not if you don't know what you are looking for). Every few blocks I stopped Russian passers-by and said "Metro Novoslobodskaya?" And I learned four things.

First, everyone who had assured me that in central Moscow I'd find plenty of cosmopolitan people who spoke English did not know what they are talking about. Not one single person spoke English.

Second, no one ignored me. Everyone did what they could to point me in the right direction. Some of them did so brusquely, but there were people who were friendly in the sense of stopping and thinking about the best direction to send me, and trying their darndest to explain in English. It was sweet of them to try. Most switched to Russian and I just gave them a blank stare and shrugged, because trying to understand was pointless.

Third, if you are reading this and you have never learned Russian, I guarantee that however you are pronouncing "Novoslobodskaya"in your head is wrong. Every single person, when asked "Metro Novoslobodskaya?" first responded with a quizzical look and then said something like "Noviblublublublublu?" Maybe it was NoVOslobskei, or Novoblintzes, or Novajabotinsky. But however I was saying it, was not right.

Fourth, when you are sick AND you don't know where you are going, a 15-minute walk turns into a 40-minute walk.

Moscow (Part IX - PINs and Needles)

Click here for Parts I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII and VIII.

I managed to communicate to the hotel receptionist that I'm having a problem accessing money and I needed to reach friends in Israel. She kindly gave me a code for the hotel's wi-fi and said I could pay her back later (the hotel charges 100 rubles per day for wi-fi access, the equivalent of 10 NIS or $3).

I emailed my roommate and then sat on pins and needles waiting for her to write back. She was out of town . . . wouldn't be back until at least tomorrow, if then.

I emailed the Buxners. Since they were caring for Wylie, they had the key to my apartment. They could get into my apartment and find the piece of paper with the code to my credit card. Since the card was new, I knew exactly where that paper was, thank goodness.

While I waited for them to respond, I emailed Rusina and asked her to call me. On the phone, she said that indeed I have a problem, since one cannot pay for Metro cards with a credit card, only cash, so I wouldn't be able to get far until I was able to access an ATM. For example, the Matrushka Doll Museum was out of the question until I was able to get a Metro card (or get cash to pay for a taxi – either way I needed cash).

She suggested that while I wait for the Buxners to respond, I go to the JewishMuseum and Tolerance Center. It was just a few blocks from me and I could pay for my ticket with my credit card. Its proximity also meant that I wouldn't be pushing myself too hard, physically.

Relieved to be making productive use of my time at last, I walked to the Museum. Actually, I plodded. Every step was an effort. At first I went the wrong way and though I quickly realized the error and doubled back, I was upset to have wasted the energy, even if it was only a block's worth of steps.

I got to the Jewish Museum. It's located in what clearly used to be a large warehouse, and the entrance was around the other side. I walked the long path around the museum, and discovered that on the other side of the path was . . . a Jewish school. I knew it was a Jewish school because there were about 70 kids playing outside for recess, and all the boys were wearing kippot and tzitzit, and all the girls were wearing skirts. Based on what I knew of the Day School scene in Moscow (thanks to my job), I knew this must be the chareidi school, one of a few different Day Schools in town.

I was tired, but more importantly I was at last seeing my miracle, so I sat on a bench on the path and watched the children playing. A Jewish day school in Russia! They were learning Judaism at school, openly, without having to worry about the KGB arresting their teachers. Who would have thought, when I was growing up, that I'd live to see this? These children had been born after the fall of the Soviet Union. They had no idea how lucky they were, or how special their school is, but I knew. I wished I could hold onto what I was seeing and save it to show my friends and family.

Finally I continued on, step by torturous step, to the Jewish Museum entrance. I went to the ticket counter. The person there spoke English! He said a ticket is 400 rubles (40 NIS/ $12). I handed him my credit card. He swiped it.  

And then he turned a little machine to me and asked me to enter my PIN code.

So I took my card back and walked away.

It turns out that in Russia, as in many other countries (but not in any places I've ever lived), you cannot complete any credit card transactions at all without the PIN code. In the USA and Israel, you just hand over your credit card, they swipe it, you sign the receipt, and you are done. In Russia, they require your PIN (later, a Russian colleague in Israel told me that she was appalled when she discovered how easily someone in Israel could, in theory, fraudulently use her credit card). Intellectually I think the Russian way makes much more sense. But right now, their intelligent credit card security culture meant that I could do nothing, nothing at all, until I heard back from the Buxners and they went to my house to find my code.

I emailed them again. I'm sure I sounded like a mad woman, and in fact, they later confirmed that they thought I was a little nuts, because who goes abroad without money? They didn't yet know all the details of how I'd gotten to this point. But in any case, they were not at home. They were out celebrating their first wedding anniversary and wouldn't be home until late. They'd try to get to my house tomorrow . . .

I called Rusina because I didn't know what else to do. I was so embarrassed; she's not a friend, but a work colleague (though friendly and helpful), and here I was, in the very unprofessional condition of being sick and broke.

She said she'll think, and get back to me. A little while later I got an email from her. I was to meet her at a Metro station about a 15 minute walk from the hotel, at about 6 pm, when she was on her way home from work. She'd feel comfortable loaning me the equivalent of a few hundred shekels, enough to get me started, and then I could go straight onto the Metro and be at the Bolshoi well ahead of the ballet at 7 pm.

I was relieved and grateful, but also nervous. Now I really needed that code, not just to enjoy my travels and be safe but, more importantly to me, pay Rusina back as soon as possible.

But there was little I could do until I met Rusina at the Metro at 6 pm, so I went back to bed for another nap.

Moscow (Part VIII - Cash and Credit)

Click here for Parts I, II, III, IV, V, VI and VII.

The first order of business was to get some money. I pulled on some clothes and brushed my teeth with water, then popped some gum to freshen my breath. Since I was still sick, the process of getting dressed turned out to be pretty exhausting, so I went back to bed for a while.

At the reception desk, I found a woman who spoke very, very basic English. Her English plus a sheet of paper on which to draw maps was enough for her to explain to me both where the nearest Metro station is, and where I could exchange money – a currency exchange station was right around the corner.

The neighborhood where my hotel was located was drab-looking, but Rusina had assured me it's safe. Even so, I put on my best New York "I'm not a tourist, I'm a confident person who knows where I'm going" affect, though I don't know how successful I was given that every step I took felt like an effort. I found the cash exchange very easily and discovered it is connected to a supermarket – a handy thing to know.

The woman at currency exchange spoke no English. Since I don't know how to count in Russian, I wrote down on a piece of paper how many rubles I want, and she nodded – she understood. I then handed her my credit card.

"No card," she said. "Cesh." She pointed to my wallet. "Cesh."

So. Currency exchange takes only cash. I had about 100 shekels in my wallet, that was all – not enough to get far, even if they do take shekels (I didn't ask, but the sign outside said only dollars and Euros). The woman pointed inside the supermarket and said "With card – machine. Take money machine."

The problem with her idea was that to take out money from the ATM with a credit card, you need the PIN code.

Now I knew what I'd really forgotten. The code to my credit card.

I slowly walked back to my hotel, thinking over my situation. No cash meant no rubles. No PIN code meant no cash. No PIN code, then, meant no money.

Moscow (Part VII - Wednesday)

Click here for Parts I, II, III, IV, V and VI.

When I woke up, it was dark outside and my phone said it was about 6:30 pm. But I didn't know if it was still Wednesday, or if I'd slept through Wednesday night and most of Thursday. The practical question was whether I was about to miss the ballet at the Bolshoi, which was on Thursday at 7 pm. A call to the front desk and some simple words in English combined with the help of my phrasebook determined that it was still Wednesday, thank God. The thought that I might have slept through my chance to go to the Bolshoi had almost made me cry.

I puttered around my room, changing into pajamas, eating a bowl of oatmeal – slowly, in case it hit my stomach wrong – and drinking lots of water (which tasted fine from the tap). At 8 pm, the phone rang in my room; Rusina had heard from the taxi driver that I was sick, and was calling to find out what was going on. I told her that after my nap I no longer felt on the verge of death, and that it had been tough but I think now I was well enough to take care of myself, I just need to take things slow. I told her that in the morning I'd go to exchange money and I think as long as I didn't push myself too hard, I'd be all right. I felt relieved that she'd called; at least someone now knew where I was and what was going on.

I watched a little TV before going back to bed. The shows in Russia were the same mix as what I see in the States. Cooking shows, action shows, dramas, Family Guy, Friends. Everything was dubbed over in Russian, with the English just barely audible in the background. Comprehension was just beyond my reach. I watched a long infomercial about a container that also chops, grates, and slices your vegetables, and went back to bed. I couldn't brush my teeth because the toothbrush was in the depths of my suitcase and I didn't have the strength to look for it, and anyway I had no toothpaste. I didn't set my alarm.

Moscow (Part VI - The Flight)

Click here for Parts I, II, III, IV and V.

I bet some of you were thinking after the last post that I slept through my alarm, but I didn't! I got up and showered and packed, and, though I was quite stressed about having left all this for the last minute, I did make it outside at 1:45, exactly on time. I felt proud of myself! I'd had only one hour of sleep, and my cat was injured and in a strange place, but I was running on time (that never happens!) and my packing list had been incredibly useful. My suitcase was a bit overweight, but I could solve that problem at the airport by moving a few items into my carry on (which I did).

Once I got into the van and we pulled away from my house, I wondered what I might have forgotten. Because everyone forgets SOMETHING! And then I realized, I hadn't packed toothpaste. Oh well, that's not a big deal. Surely near the hotel was a place I could buy toothpaste, maybe even at the reception desk. I felt proud for being so organized that the only thing I could think of that I'd forgotten was an easily-replaced toiletry item. 

I went over in my mind my plan for the next few hours: Get through airport security, change currency, sleep as much as I could on the flight, and, when I got to Moscow, buy a sim card for my phone. Rusina had arranged and pre-paid for a car service to pick me up, so that would be handy. And once I was at the hotel, I'd buy access to the hotel's wifi, let people know I'm OK, unpack and rest, and then see if there was still time to catch a museum or something before everything closed. It was a reasonable plan.

Except.

As I went through passport control on my way out of Ben Gurion, the very low-grade gastrointestinal rumblings I'd been feeling for the last day or two started to feel more desperate. I could feel my blood pressure drop and a wave of nausea roll over me. 

By the time I got to the duty-free area, where the money change store is, I was desperate to sit down or get to a bathroom or get to my gate – I didn't much care as long as I could crawl out of my skin. I'd have to buy rubles when I got to Moscow. At the gate I thought about canceling my trip – I could feel that I had a low fever, and the nausea was getting worse – but after everything that I'd been through to plan it, not to mention the non-refundable payments I'd made for the plane and hotel, cancellation was not an option. I'd be fine. If I could just get to a bathroom I'd be fine.

I spent the entire plane ride either sitting in my seat shivering, or throwing up. Yes, I made it to the lavatory every time, but just barely. There was a point at which a flight attendant was standing with me next to the lav, waiting for the person in there to come out, and I was leaning against the wall, sweat dripping down my face, moaning and silently praying that I didn't explode all over the El Al carpeting. The situation was quite desperate.  Apparently, all the energy that my body had needed the day before to stay calm and get everything done, it had diverted from digesting any food. 

By the end of the flight, I was so completely spent I could hardly stand. I asked the flight attendants to order a wheelchair for me to get me through the airport, because there was no way I could walk or even stay standing to wait in lines.

A man who spoke no English pushed me through the airport. Even if I'd had the head space to ask him to stop to get a sim card or rubles, I didn't know how to ask for those things in Russian. 

We met the taxi driver Rusina had sent, and I got transferred into his van. It took two hours to drive to my hotel because traffic was bad (later, on the way back, it was just one hour). I spent most of the time sleeping, but every time I opened my eyes, I saw ugly buildings. Moscow looked like one vast series of housing projects, like a vast Bronx, boxy and unredeemed.

The receptionists at the hotel did not speak English. I was transferred into my room (which looked exactly like the pictures on the site – clean and simple and nothing fancy but satisfactory) and I threw myself into the bed, feverish and scared.

I was now alone and sick in a hotel room in Moscow, with no cash and no way to reach anyone to tell them that I'm not OK.

Moscow (Part V - The Day Before)

Click here for Parts I, II, III, IV.

I woke up very early, especially considering how late I'd been out at the vet, put Wylie in his carrier, and took him to work with me. I was scheduled to spend the day in Kiryat Gat, interviewing new olim (immigrants to Israel), and had to go to the office to pick up the Jewish Agency's car and camera I was to use. Wylie's carrier sat on my desk for an hour while I got myself organized, and a coworker down the hall wondered why she kept hearing a cat meowing. It was a bit strange and a bit embarrassing.

My friends Yardena and Mory Buxner volunteered to look after Wylie while I was away. Yasminah, my new roommate, is perfectly competent and willing to take care of a healthy cat, but an injured one who requires extra care was more than I could ask of a new roommate. 

Then, car, camera and cat all came with me to the vet, where I dropped Wylie off so he could have his wounds stitched up. The vet told me that afterward, Wylie would need to stay in a large cage, the kind they have there at the vet for big dogs waking up after surgery . . . she said they cost about 900 NIS but if I go online maybe I can find a used one, or someone who could loan me one. I was leaving for Moscow in a matter of hours and now had to find a cage. My wonderful coworker, Moran, agreed to search for me on Israeli websites.

Already running late, I drove to Kiryat Gat, a drive of about an hour and half, and met with several Ethiopians who had just immigrated to Israel. I like driving, but running late, and the stress that always comes from the journalistic unknown – would the people I need to interview be cooperative? Would there be language problems? Would they all show up? – was not helping. Meanwhile I texted with Moran about the type of cage I needed and tried to figure out the logistics of taking care of my job and the cat and my packing when I was about to spend the day in Kiryat Gat.

From Kiryat Gat I drove back to Jerusalem. Moran told me there is a pet supply store in Talpiot that sells the kind of cage I need for 200 NIS. Fine. I arrived at the store about 5:30 or 6 pm, where they showed me a picture of the cage, and it was perfect, but the only ones they had in stock were bigger ones for 260 NIS. Fine. Whatever. An employee carried the very heavy box to the car while I stressed some more about how to get the cage and Wylie to the Buxners' while also wrapping up my work projects and packing. I also remembered that I had to call the bank about making sure my new credit card was activated – which it was.

From Talpiot I drove home to drop off the cage, then to work to wrap up projects that needed to be finished before I left for Russia. At about 7:30 pm, the vet called saying they were closing soon and I needed to come get the cat.

So I ran out from work and got the cat, who struggled and fought against the carrier and the cone on his head. The vet said that she'd had to remove a lot of tissue, and hadn't been able to close skin over the entire wound, so he had an open injury on part of one leg. It was bandaged up and Yardena and Mory would have to bring Wylie back in a couple of days to change the bandages. They'd also have to go to the pharmacy the next day to get some pain medication for him. I felt guilty leaving him, and I felt guilty giving the Buxners so much to do. I was also feeling a lot of anxiety because I hadn't started packing yet.

At home, while Wylie struggled, I tried to stay calm and avoid panicking, while getting things ready to bring Wylie to what I was soon to start thinking of as the Buxner Animal Rehabilitative Center. I took the very heavy cage, the heavy cat, and a heavy bag full of cat food and supplies, and put it all in a taxi.

At their house – I paid the taxi driver extra to take the cage up the two flights of stairs -- Yardena and I unpacked the cage, which turned out to be . . . not at all what I'd wanted. It was not a cage at all, but a dog pen, with no roof. It would be a simple matter for any cat to jump out of this thing.  But it was too late to do anything about it – I was leaving the country in a few hours.

Yardena got on the phone and ordered a Nesher van service for me, from my house to the airport, while I put Wylie in his cage and we tried to figure out where to put his litter and food in a way that would create the least mess. It was clear that the pan of litter was not going to be adequate and that Wylie would have trouble eating and drinking with that cone on. He was so, so sad. And so was I. Leaving him in a strange environment when he was injured was heartbreaking.

I got a call from my parents. They and my sister had put a few hundred dollars into my Paypal account, to help pay for veterinary care. They wanted to make sure I had funds to cover the kitty, so that I'd still have the budget to have a good time on my vacation.

I went home and was too tired to pack. The van was coming at 1:45 am. It was now about 11:15 pm. If I slept for one hour, it would leave me just enough time in the morning to shower and pack before I left for the airport.

It had been a crazy day but I'd stayed calm and gotten done the most urgent things that had needed to get done. I felt grateful for my family and friends for all their help, and for the fact that this terrible day was over.

Moscow (Part IV - Two Days Before)

Click here for Parts I, II, III

My flight was leaving early Wednesday morning.

On Monday night, after work, I went to the supermarket to buy non-perishable kosher food for my trip. Laden down with groceries, I stopped to sit on a bench on the way home, and got the following text from my new roommate: "Wylie still not home. Thought you should know." He'd been out of the house now for 24 hours, probably cavorting with his friends in the bushes around the corner, but still, I should look for him.

So I dropped off the groceries and went to look for my cat. I called his name up and down all over the neighborhood. Finally I heard a faint "meow" answering me. I called, he answered. I followed the voice. I called, he answered . . . why wasn't he coming to me?

Using the light of my phone, I found him in an unused boiler room under a nearby building. He was meowing, but not getting up. I was terrified. I scooped him up and took him home, where I discovered that one of his hind legs had a wound so gaping, I could see significant amounts of muscle. He was trailing drops of blood behind him.

Very upset, I arranged for an emergency trip to the veterinarian at 10 o'clock at night.  The vet announced Wylie to be infected and dehydrated, and gave him antibiotics, and painkiller, and IV fluids, and said I'd have to bring him back in the morning so that the clinic could stitch and clean him up properly.

I was petrified about what would happen to my cat, and also – the stress of the time this was taking, and the money, and the anxiety was not well-timed, given that I was leaving for Moscow in about 24 hours.

Moscow (Part III - Matrushka Dolls)

Click here for Part I, II

I love matrushka dolls, both as a toy and as an art form. I love seeing how the painters reduce the complexity of the designs as the dolls get smaller and smaller. I love that they come in so many different styles. And I love the ones that have eeny-weeny baby dolls in the middle.  They are just so cute, and I think they are under-rated as a form of art.

I owned just one, a souvenir that a friend brought me from Poland. Reviews of Moscow's Matrushka Doll Museum said it's only two rooms and displays dolls from only one specific time period, but that it has an excellent gift shop. I set aside a fairly significant sum of money to buy souvenirs there for myself, and gifts for friends. After the Kremlin, Red Square, and the Bolshoi, the Matrushka Doll Museum was the only site I was determined to see while visiting Moscow.

I was so excited! Moscow! Kremlin! Jews! Matrushka dolls!

Moscow (Part II - Planning)

Click here for Part I of this series.

HOW I PREPARED (BUT CLEARLY NOT ENOUGH)

Before traveling to Moscow, I had been outside America and Israel to only two places: London (where I speak the local language), and Vienna (which I visited with my mother, a native German-speaker). This would be my first time traveling alone to a country that was new and strange to me, and where I do not speak the language. It would be an adventure!

I had only a few weeks to prepare. Preparing, anticipating – it's half the fun of going away on a trip! I worked hard to be ready for any potential problems, and to enjoy the process.

• Borrowed a friend's "Russian the Fun Way" textbook and learned to read the Cyrillic alphabet, so at least I could sound out words on signs.
• Bought a Russian phrase book and familiarized myself with how it's organized.
• Carefully researched where to spend Shabbat, since that would affect the short list of hotels I'd look into (within walking distance of my Shabbat plans). Got connected with the "Israelis in Moscow" group, affiliated with the Chabad center at Moscow's Marina Roshcha synagogue - perfect!
• Carefully researched hotel room prices and booked a room for six nights at the Metallurg; online reviews warned that the reception desk clerks do not speak English, but I figured between my phrase book and miming maybe I'd be OK. Anyhow, everyone told me that in central Moscow, it is easy to find people who speak English – the language shouldn't be a problem.
• Researched the kosher food situation: there is a kosher mini-market near my hotel, and a few kosher restaurants, but it would be smart and cheaper to bring my own food
• Connected with my colleagues in Moscow, Rusina and Michael. Rusina made an itinerary for me for two days of my trip, for me to see Jewish Agency programs in person (for example, schoolchildren learning Judaism in Moscow – a miracle!) and to meet other colleagues and emerging leaders in the Jewish community there.
• Read "Moscow Top 10" cover to cover and made a short list of tourist attractions I want to see. At the top of my list were, of course, Kremlin and Red Square (conveniently located near The Jewish Agency offices), and third was the little-known Matrushka Doll Museum
• Booked a ticket to the Bolshoi Ballet. Most of the nights I'd be in Moscow, the Bolshoi was doing opera, not ballet. So I bought a ticket for the one night they were doing ballet that wasn't also Shabbat. I knew it would be modern ballet, not classical, so I knew not to expect fancy tutus. People asked me what I'll be seeing, and I said "I don't know. I had one night to choose from, so whatever it is they are performing that night, that's what I'll see." For the equivalent of 250 NIS I got a seat in the 10^th row, center aisle. I was so excited and felt very fancy, having such a wonderful seat booked at the Bolshoi Ballet.
• Went to buy rubles. The currency exchange place I visited in Jerusalem said they don't sell rubles, but I could buy dollars and then exchange those when I got to Russia. I decided to avoid doubling my fees, and figured I'd try again at Ben Gurion airport; if the money changer there didn't sell rubles, either, I could always buy dollars at that point.
• Ordered a new credit card. The Isracard I've used for the past 10 years is not international; it's usable only in Israel. I've managed for 10 years without a Visa or Mastercard, but when going to a foreign country I figured an international credit card would be a smart idea. Don't want to get stuck without funds!
• Arranged with my new roommate to take care of my cat, Wylie. When I left for Moscow, Yasminah had been living in the apartment only a few days, but she's smart and sweet and it's not hard to give Wylie fresh food and water every day. My friends Mory and Yardena said that Mory would come over a few times to clean the litter box.
• Kept a running list of what to pack.
• Compiled Wikipedia entries on various aspects of Russian history into one Word document and printed it out: 80 pages of background reading for the flight on the way to Moscow!
• Did some research into how I could get phone service while in Russia, and decided simply to buy a sim card at the airport there.
• Bought traveler's health insurance in case I got hurt in some way.
• Made a list of emergency phone numbers
• Sent an email to people at work, friends in Israel, and my family in America letting them know what I could about my itinerary and how to reach my hotel and each other.

I'm a great planner, right?

I Went to Moscow So Now You Don't Have To (Part I - Why I Went)

I was urged to write this blog series by friends on Facebook who were wondering why I was so, so very glad to be back home from my vacation in Russia. This will take many posts to explain properly. Buckle your seat belt and have fun; I didn't.

WHY I WENT TO MOSCOW

Optimism is a powerful force. When I went to journalism school, it was with the specific goal of becoming a freelance magazine journalist. During my time there, many faculty members said "freelancing is really tough. You'll never make it if you don't take an entry-level position, work your way up in the field, develop your network, and THEN become a freelancer."

My internal response was always "there's something they know that I don't know, which is how difficult it is to freelance. But there is something I know that they don't know, which is how badly I want it, and how determined I am." I was pretty successful at freelancing for many years, until I wasn't.

I never set a goal of going to Moscow, but when the chance came unexpectedly, I jumped at it. I work for The Jewish Agency for Israel, as a marketing writer, and therefore often write materials (mostly donor-relations materials) for our Unit for Russian-Speaking Jewry. I recently wrote a material urging Jewish groups to go on  organized visits to our activities in Moscow, and so I knew something both about the tourist attractions there and the activities of the Jewish community. It never occurred to me to go myself; if I were going to spend money on an "exotic" vacation, there are other destinations I'd rather see first.

But El Al, the national airline of Israel, had a "Fun Day" about 2 months ago, during which, for 24 hours, the prices to select (not-popular-in-winter) destinations were rock bottom. For $200 I could go round-trip to Moscow, St. Petersburg, or Valencia.

Valencia would be more relaxing, but I have no connections there and have never been specifically interested in seeing Spain. But in Russia I could see these programs I write about all the time; I have colleagues at our Jewish Agency offices in Moscow (and St. Petersburg) who could help me if something went really wrong (an important point, since I speak neither Russian nor Spanish; in Russia I wouldn't feel as alone); and most importantly, I was sincerely and deeply curious to see Jewish life in the former Soviet Union.

Having grown up in the USA in the 1980's, the idea of being able to witness, with my own eyes, children studying in Jewish day schools in Moscow was very, very compelling, even if it is the middle of a Russian winter; in the summer I could never afford it.

Everyone said I'm crazy. The weather is terrible, and anyway who goes to Moscow on VACATION? There was something they knew that I didn't, which is how ugly and cold and not-vacation-like Moscow is. But there was something I knew that they didn't, which is how deeply connected I feel, for some reason, to my Russian-speaking colleagues and to Russian-Israelis, how cool I, personally, felt it would be to interact with the Jewish community of Moscow, and to see the Kremlin and Red Square. For $200, it was within reach now.

So I booked the ticket.