Plans, Plans, Plans

I realize I need to talk about the Swiss part of our Christmas vacation. For whatever reason I'm drawing a blank. Switzerland is clean, gorgeous and has incredible dairy products. Also--my very cool baby brother and his family live there and we love spending time with them! Parry told me once that talking to Christina felt like "talking to a mirror." For Parry, this is a tremendous compliment. We love their kids (only our girls can out-talk Ruby-do) and Abby loves mothering Henry. In fact, we had such a wonderful time that we are having the 1st Christmas Vacation Reunion Tour--London edition in April. Also cool baby sister Julie will be along for the ride, beautiful baby Hannah in tow, and we hope the parental units, Jeff and Marge. We anticipate that there will be many other Christmas Vacation Reunion Tours before our time in Moscow is up. I'm campaigning for Spain/Morocco next April break and we're already talking about Israel for Christmas. Which brings me to the way a Moscow expat stays sane in the winter time: planning. Even for a compulsive list-maker planner like me planning takes on a new dimension during the Russian winter. When weather.com pronounces the forecast as "dreary," when you haven't seen the sun directly overhead for a month and everywhere you look seems to be coated with a layer of sludge and scum, you need to know that at some point, you're going to get out. For me this is especially important because of the rash of headaches I've had. I've been prone to migraines lately with no real logical trigger. When you're in a country that hates you, the weather is lousy, inflation rampant, the financial crisis bottomless and everyone around you, including your kids, are tight-lipped with stress, a migraine is the proverbial pond scum of your days. In fact, I'm writing this, squinting at my laptop because my head feels like an axe is embedded in my scalp and it is two hours too early for bed. I am COUNTING the days until I go to the US. You know things are ridiculous when an endoscopy and a bunch of blood tests are something to look forward to. I want OUT. My daily life has to be very planned. Unlike some expats, my driver is more like a personal taxi service than a personal driver. He is paid a flat fee per month to drive us; we give him a weekly schedule of when he is needed. The rest of the time is his--it is rare to never that I can simply call him in the middle of the day and say "Hey, McDonalds, пожалуйста." This means that I have to know when and where I'm going every day, a week in advance. This is anal retentive even for a control freak like me. A routine makes it easier : Mondays--shopping and/or lunch with Elke; Tuesdays--Anglo-American School Russian class; Fridays--International Women's Club Architecture Group. Sometimes my Indian cooking class breaks up the routine. Sometimes I take the bus and metro to the center for business lunch. And sometimes, I feel like I am a rat in a maze and one more week of planning is going to make me crazy. This is why I like vacations: I can come and go as I please without having to put it on a spreadsheet. I want a spinach salad from the pre-prepared food aisle at Waitrose--grab the Oyster card and head to the nearest Tube station. I want to walk aimlessly or go to a bookstore or window shop--all can be done at my leisure. I love to plan vacations. I spend hours online and reading travel books. I have become an expert on airports, airlines, hotels, public transportation and shopping. I can pack an under 20kg bag in 15 minutes and be out the door at a moment's notice. I don't do that often because I'm usually supervising the packing and document procurement for three children, but I can. Planning to get out is the best escape from living the plan. It's one of those twisted Catch-22 things about being Russia. Someday when I have my own car and the ability to go to Costco and indulge in rampant consumerism at will, I may recall with fondness the odd sort of simplicity that my planned life here has forced upon me. For now, I look forward to the next escape plan.