I don't really hate Russia

I have a love/hate relationship with it. I love the rich, diverse history behind this complex country. I love that every day, Moscow surprises me. Not always a good surprise, but surprise keeps me on my toes. I love that my children are exposed to real world issues and have a diverse peer group that, for better or for worse, has forced them to be world citizens at a young age. I love that living here has forced me to simplify my life. Logistics here are too hard to live a complicated life. I love that living here is keeping me far, far away from the politic trainwrecks in the US. I avoid the nightly tantrums of the pundits, thank heavens. However, right now I hate Russia more than I love it. I have never thrived in dark, cold winter days, either here or in Portland. I'm not picking on Moscow exclusively. I'm not a winter gal. I think one of the aspects of living here that makes it hard is that very few people actually understand my life. I remember visiting the US after my first year in Russia and feeling like I didn't belong anymore. I can't recall exacty what set me off, but I remember an epic rant about how I felt like a circus freak with people "ooing" and "ahhing" about the oddities of my daily life from maifia neighbors to traffic horror stories (3 hours to go 20 kilometers was a favorite). I felt like I was being asked to put on a little skit telling people about all the stuff we do that is weird, alien, exotic and scary. I felt like a performing monkey on a leash with a little pillbox hat on my head. I am not a performance artist or a guest on an NPR podcast. This is my *life.* This is my normal, like it or not, and it is hard that most of the people that are closest to me don't get that. In more than two years, I have only had four visitors, two family members (in-laws) and two friends. I love talking to my two friends who visited me because I DON'T HAVE TO EXPLAIN ANYTHING. They get the punchlines. My daughters ask me from time to time if it hurts my feelings that no one wants to visit us. I tell them no, truthfully, because this is not what I call a warm, welcoming tourist destination. Russia is a tough nut to crack--an expensive one at that. You pay a lot of money to come here and are often treated badly once you arrive (unless, of course, you have me to run interference for you). Sheremeteyvo airport alone is enough to send some people running for cover--I know it was for me the first time I arrived there in 110F August heatwave with aggresive taxi drivers, cigarette smoke, and concrete--one of my first impressions of Russia was all the concrete. I understand why people are scared or intimidated at the prospect of a Russia trip. This is a big, misunderstood, messy country that is teetering on the brink of totalitarianism on any given day. I get that people wouldn't want to visit here when you can say, look at fairy tale castles in Germany or contemplate history on the beaches of Crete or Malaga or eat culinary delights in Italy. Besides, Russian food is terrible. That being said, I miss being understood. I realized this when my brother called me on Monday night. He is my first blood relative to visit me here. And he didn't even come to visit me--he came on a business trip. The fact that I'm here is a bonus. He told me about his bizarro taxi ride from the airport (not even Sheremeteyvo--the civilized airport, Domededevo), the awful traffic, the buzz in the air--the hint of an oppressive feeling that people, particularly from the West, sense when they visit Moscow. My German friend (formerly from the East) tells me that East Germany used to feel like this. She didn't realize this feeling wasn't everywhere until she visited the West. I get so used to it that I often don't notice it until I land in the airport of another country and psychic weight lifts from my shoulders. I felt a lump in my throat that felt vaguely like desperation as I talked to him. I was making a connection. He gets it. I didn't realize how hungry I was for that connection until I heard him talking about his Moscow experiences. Tonight, we will take the metro into town to meet him for dinner. We are going to Starlite Diner, the place we expats go when we want to pretend for five minutes that we aren't in Russia. We will take him to Red Square so he can have proof that he *was* in Russia and then we will wave goodbye. And maybe I will hate Russia a little less tomorrow.