August 04, 2010
A summer afternoon in Moscow
As we arrive at the park, I spot a small fire on the banks of the lake or "pond" as the Russians call it. The grass on the bank is yellow and dry. A group of Russian teens sit on the bank by the fire, indifferent to the fire and smoke that burns next to them. I leave junior in his pushchair, grab an empty wine bottle form a trash can and go down to the lake to fill it with water to dowse the fire. After 6 bottles, the fire is out, the teens continue to chat and frolic and I, the invisible foreign hero, continues on his hot way. Before I go, I ask them in English why they did nothing? They smirk and ignore me. Teens, perhaps they are no different in Moscow as they are in Milan, Manchester or Madrid? Responsibility evades them, life goes on. Was I the same? No.
I put junior on a swing and pushed him back and forth, forgetting how hard I am pushing him, still tense and annoyed, I see the same nannies and mothers at the play ground. After forty minutes, I have had enough and we head home past the drunks on benches, to the sanctuary of our cool oasis that is home.
Labels: Parks Moscow