I have a number of posts in the draft stage, but this may possibly be the most interesting, so I’ve decided to write it first.

Sunday was International Women’s Day, and on Saturday night I joined several Russian women that I know and a fellow M worker to attend a celebratory concert at the Opera and Ballet theatre. This day really is a very big one on the Russian calendar and trumps our Mother’s Day by far. It was a wonderful evening of Russian culture, with acts ranging from thrilling opera, to elegant ballet, to rousing cinematic songs (Russian films of course), to Ukrainian folk dancing, and brilliant children playing the balalaika or singing opera, or even Ella Fitzgerald with stellar voices that really seemed incredibly incongruous with the prepubescent bodies they came out of! Really, the talent was stunning, and I felt so blessed to be able to watch all of this for the equivalent of about $7. It’s a pity that experiencing the arts is so prohibitively expensive in Australia.

Afterwards, we went to a German restaurant, which seemed to have a distinctively Russian twist – not the least of which was that a large range of Sushi and Sashimi was available as the starter menu. But, as one of the group said, Russia is so big, and everywhere else so far away, that it’s all the same to them. German, Japanese, Australian – it’s all just not Russian 🙂

The food was really quite good, even if it did take a long time to come. Although, according to another of the party, this is also a good thing. It means it’s being made to order and hasn’t been sitting there all day! (Wise words in this country to be sure).

I would have enjoyed the evening more if the next part of Russian culture hadn’t kicked in before I got my meal though. There was quite a good band on (although it did take me a while to figure they were singing in English). However, it really was quite loud. So much so that I had to write on my phone to communicate with the person next to me, and my ear stung vibrantly with the pain. Of course, it could just be that I’m getting old and melodramatic…

However, I digress. The real story was later in the evening.

We left the younger ones to it as soon as we could, and headed off to our families.

Driving in Russia is an adventure, to say the least. Cold is not the major worry – cars have heaters, and most are fitted with automatic starters so the car can be started remotely and prevent the battery from deteriorating in the harsh sub-zero climate. Winter tyres with metal studs to hopefully grip on the ice are another essential item. Many cars are also fitted with dash cams, as a sort of insurance against the vagaries of the Russian road. I have one too – although it is a pretty dodgy cheap one that I bought after my first one broke, not realising that this one resets the date each time I turn it on. Um, yeah, logical – not.  I’ve decided I need a new one. Especially after Saturday night.

Before I go further, no, I was thankfully not involved in any collision, And the six airbags, that I feel mandatory for the driving experience here, remain undeployed. But it still would have been useful if my dash cam had the right date and time on it when I drove that night. After all, who’s going to argue with a Russian police officer?

You guessed it. I got pulled over.

I’ve been driving for over 25 years (now I know you’re trying to calculate my age…), and aside from one accidental speeding find when I was 18 (I really didn’t see the sign), I’ve had no fines for any driving infringement. And compared to many drivers in Russia, I feel downright sedate. So when I was pulled over by a policeman in his flouro yellow vest and authoritatively waving his baton, I just presumed it was a random check – something I’ve already managed to be pulled over for here.

This time I knew the routine and proceeded to get out my licence, the notarised translation, the car ownership documents and my passport. What did take me by surprise was when he asked me what my reason was for not doing ….??? I didn’t quite understand what he was asking me in my now slightly panicked state of mind. I thought he was saying, why didn’t I indicate properly or have my headlights on. None of which made sense to me, because I had had both on. I knew it was something about lights, but whatever it was, I certainly understood the word “shtraf” – or, in English, “fine”.

I must have looked a bit shocked and dismayed when I asked if it was a big one, and he laughed and said, “nothing scary”. Actually, he was really very pleasant.

He then asked me to get out of my car and follow him to his car while he wrote out the fine. What choice did I have? I left my slightly concerned (I would be) travelling companion in her seat with the car running so she wouldn’t freeze to death, and I followed the police officer to his car as he told me to get in the back. It did briefly cross my mind that they could drive me away to some cell somewhere, but I quickly dismissed that as Soviet-era paranoia. I got into the thankfully warm car to be greeted politely by Officer #2, who then proceed to enter my details into his little computer – it appears I really am in the system now – and I sat there wondering what was next, while they discussed the particulars of the strange spelling of my name.

Officer #2 was finished much earlier than the Officer #1, who was having to write a screed by hand on the A4 page ticket, and so the banter began. We discussed kangaroos in Australia and bears in Siberia, comparing the likelihood of either one being found on a suburban street – in its respective country anyway. We also discussed the likelihood of Russian men becoming Australian citizens, and I said the stereotype was more for Russian brides, but that there are many Russians in Melbourne. I also said I didn’t think my husband married me for the citizenship, but that if he had, he’d stuck it out for over eighteen years! On that note, could they please tell me how to pay the fine so I wouldn’t have to ask him how to do it – wasn’t sure how he’d take this… They laughed.

Incredibly, neither were curious about why on earth I was here (it really does puzzle most people), and seemed quite pleased that I said I liked it here, apart from when the snow melts and there’s dirt EVERYWHERE. They agreed with that one.

Usually people ask me if it’s better here, and I gently tell them that’s the wrong question. I pointed out that every country has it’s pros and cons, and it does seem to me that Russian policemen seem to be very nice. (Well, they were very pleasant and polite – even if they were giving me a Russian experience I’d rather not have.) Officer #2 then asked me if the police weren’t nice in Australia (there goes that comparison thing again), and I said, “Oh, yes, they are, but of course there are some who aren’t”. He seemed quite pleased with that response.

In my effort to bring up innocuous topics of conversation and avoid any more questions about citizenship in Australia and my opinions of the police force, I decided to ask about the parking reforms that are currently taking place in the centre. (By my calculations there are about 0.2 car parks for every fifteen cars in Krasnoyarsk city!) At which point he decided to quiz me about my knowledge of Russian road signs! Oh dear.

Officer #1 seemed more sympathetic here, and said it was all international and not to worry about it (while I was thinking, well, actually in Australia we have quite a few different rules and signs, not to mention that no-one here seems to obey any anyway, but…).
Officer #2: “What’s the sign for parking?”
Me: “Um, it looks like a big P. Well, an R – in Russian.”
(Oops, that’s confusing. Why would it be an R anyway. Hmm, I wonder if they wonder that…?)
Officer #1: “See, I told you it was international!”
Officer #2: “What about the sign for NO parking” (in a huh?! huh?! we’ll-get-you-now tone of voice)
Me: (I hold my arms up in a big X)
Officer #1: “SEE, it’s INTERNATIONAL”
Me: (grateful that Officer #1 has now finished the form and starts to tell me about it before I can be quizzed any more!)

I have to sign it in three places.

I don’t really know why.

But, then, I still don’t really know why I was pulled over.

I’m handed back all, my documents and my fine and told I can get out of the car. As I do, they wish me a very sweet “Happy International Women’s Day”. Gee, thanks guys…

We head back home – me, on high alert for any more lurking police officers – and make it back without incident. I tell my husband the story, and he immediately assumes I must have done something wrong. Of course…

When we read what was written on the fine, apparently I’d gone through a red light. I was sure I hadn’t! But, if he said I had, well… who’s going to argue with a Russian police officer? As lovely as they were, I’m still not game to try – probably more from a fear of dealing with bureaucracy than anything else!

And if the dash cam had the right date on it, I’d be vindicated. But, apparently Saturday night was 2010, and so you’ll have to take my word for it that the footage is from that night. I’m pretty sure the light is green. Isn’t it…?