londongrad

so i met igor after my unproductive day, and he suggested we go to the "russki magazini" near hyde park. so off we went. this place is really amazing, it is literally russia in the middle of london. it consists of a bunch of shops together. first we went into the food shop where igor stocked up on tvorog and i got grechka, priyaniki and kapusta po-koreiskii. the shop was filled with the same stuff as any of the little produkti in MGY's main building: red oktober chocolots, tulski priyaniki, pickles, only the prices were in pounds which meant things were about 5 times more expensive than in russia....and the place was filled with russians. at one point an english woman tried to walk in an ask a question to the guy who worked there, but he answered "no speak eeeenglish." igor said these guys are "spetsialno vospitana shto bi ni govoryat po-angliski." next we moved on the to book shop. it had all the main magazines at grotesque prices, as well as all the hit books from the motherland, including my two favourites: den shastia zavtra and casual. but we have our own reading for our degrees, so we didnt buy anything;;and then we moved on to the cafe....this cafe was great (it had the very original name "samovar") i had borsh and igor pelmeni. the stereo system was blasting russian cheesy pop (blestashi, valeria), the kind you can hear in any pereihod. behind me were three dyevushki discussing their sex lives (on takoi strashni...kogda on menye tseluyet...) behind igor were three babushki comparing pictures of their grandchildren (i vot mashinka, ona svobodna govorit po-angliski uzhe) these babushki were great. the one i had the best view of had a cream puff of (fake) blonde hair and ....dark sunglasses...in and underlit inside cafe, in the middle of winter, in london! but the best were the guys to the side of us. igor called them narmalni rebyata....and that they were in a certain motherland way. the full works: the almost shaved heads, one had on sports clothes, the other had the compulsory black leather jacket, open enough so you could see his black polyester shirt underneath. you know, the kind you can buy in an outdoor market, or a perihod. they had the grimaces locked on their faces, and once or twice looked at me funny when they noticed i was speaking with a strange accent. ah, mother russia.