Down, But Still Russian

Walking around central Moscow, the thing you notice is the Russians—I mean, the near-total absence of non-Russians.

There is, of course, a tourist element. Appearance is not much to go by here, but I can recognize—not necessarily understand, but recognize—most of the world’s major languages by ear, and Chinese seems to predominate. The Chinese travel in groups of half a dozen or so, middle-class academic or professional types mostly, exchanging scandalized comments in Mandarin about the price of everything. (Moscow is a very expensive city.)

That small tourist element aside, well-nigh everyone here is ethnically Russian. The cab drivers are Russian. The waiters and waitresses are Russian. The staff in barbershops and nail salons are Russian. The maintenance men in the subway and the ladies issuing subway tickets are Russian. The beggars are Russian. The guy selling fags and candy from a sidewalk kiosk labeled PRODUKTY (“stuff”) is Russian. The girl serving me in the pharmacy is Russian. The models shown in ads for escort agencies and “Private Club and Restaurant” are Russian (just as they are in New York, come to think of it).

Even—good grief!—the lady who cleans our hotel room is Russian. She spoke fluent Russian, anyway, though her features had a slight Mongolian. To make sure, I asked her. Yes, Russian—from Yugra, up in the north Urals somewhere, and so presumably with some Siberian-aboriginal blood contributing to the physiognomy. Where in the Anglosphere nowadays would you have your hotel room cleaned by a native of that country?

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