I have grown weary of Vladimir Putin’s Russia.
The deluge of news emanating from there over the past few years has been horrifying. But it has also served to bring back memories of the remarkable months I spent living and working in Moscow in 1993. I’ve written at length about some of those experiences: the funny ones, the heartwarming ones, and the frankly terrifying ones.
Lately, though, I’ve had to admit that, while I would love nothing better than to turn back the clock and revisit those days, I’m actually glad that I can’t. The place that I once called my “second home” is not the Moscow I knew and grew to love. And it goes beyond political considerations.
This is the Moscow I carry in my mind:
And this:
The stately building on the left is where I lived and worked, on the outskirts of the city. These are current photographs from Google, and the building itself doesn’t appear to have changed much. The bank and post office are still there on the ground floor, though the pharmacy, restaurant and nail salon appear to be new — or newer than 33 years, at any rate. And the three big buildings in the background were just holes in the ground when I left.
But just down the road (about a six-minute drive, according to Google Maps), in what was primarily another residential area, is now this:
It’s described as a mixed-use development, encompassing residential, business, commercial, and entertainment venues. And, while I am sure some of the locals appreciate the convenience, I am equally certain that the majority of the neighborhood’s original residents can’t afford what Kuntsevo Plaza has to offer.
Yes, I know we’re living in a whole new era with a new generation in charge. And I know that things change; they have changed here in the U.S. as well. But I like to remember Moscow as it was in 1993: full of optimism for a better future following the collapse of the Soviet Union, but still holding fast to the old Russian traditions, and what has long been described — perhaps a bit over-romantically — as “the Russian soul.”
If I were to return today, I would miss the small neighborhood shops where people were thrilled to meet an American who spoke Russian (however badly); the kiosks selling everything from ice cream to caviar to souvenirs; the endless talks around the kitchen table about politics, art, music, the price of vegetables, and more politics; the girls with armsful of peonies, happy to share them with an American lady; the Russian “mafiosi” who treated me with respect because I was someone’s mother; and the home cooking that transported me back to my childhood years in my grandmother’s kitchen.
Those things, or some of them, probably still exist in the hinterlands. But likely not so much in Moscow, or St. Petersburg, or any of the larger cities. It’s partly the natural result of technological advancement, of course. But it’s more than that. It’s a change in outlook, in attitude, in the way people have turned inward as they communicate less in person and more through hand-held “smart” devices.
It’s not just happening in Russia, of course. But perhaps it’s more noticeable there because they were so far behind to begin with, and caught up so quickly. Unfortunately, as the reforms of the ‘90s opened up the entire world to a people who had been closed off for so long, they absorbed some of the worst of the West along with the best.
And that is what I’m glad I’m not there to see today. I’d rather remember it as it was, a generation ago, when I sat around a table with a group of Russian school teachers, slamming down shot after shot of ice-cold vodka and toasting Russian-American friendship. Or when I watched the wonder on the faces of little children experiencing their first opera at the Bolshoi. Or when a mother with her hands full of groceries handed her daughter off to me as we hopped onto the escalator in the Metro station.
That was my Moscow, and I miss it . . . but I will always be grateful to have known it when I did.
Just sayin’ . . .
Brendochka
10/8/26
