A glimpse into my time in Russia

In September 2019, my friend and I spent 10 days in Russia.   It all started with a road trip from San Diego to Denver to meet my friend, an International flight, and then another road trip from Denver to home.  It was the greatest trip of my life!  However, I am doing more than just writing a little blog about it.  I'm writing about my entire journey, from why I chose Russia, to personal observations, to self discovery, plus adding a few travel tidbits and humor along the way.   I learned a lot about myself during this trip which lasted 22 days, so it's taking some time reading through my notes and looking at pictures to refresh my memory.  I'm already 18,000 words in and I'm not even half way done!   

But here is a very quick glimpse into my time in Russia.  Enjoy.

A leisure day!  But it is a cold one.

We emerge into a chilly and windy 49-degree Moscow and I pull tight the scarf I’ve worn nearly every day since my arrival.  I love scarves, but was never one to wear them, at least until now.  I wear it now for warmth, but I also like the touch of femininity it brings to my normally frumpy wardrobe.  It gives me a sense of style.

Much to the chagrin of my ex-husband, I’ve never been one for fashion, but I’ve been more put together as a woman during these last few days in Russia than I’ve been in my entire life.  And that includes wearing makeup!

My better state of mind, my being thousands of miles from home, my improving fashion sense, all lends itself to the successful start of my transformation.  I am finally recognizing my capabilities and strengths.  I’m sensing my sexuality, realizing my potential as a woman.  For once I’m embracing my femininity, instead of being self-conscious of it. 

Somewhere, sometime, over the course of my career, I forgot how to be a woman.  Sexy heels were replaced by work boots and tennis shoes; slender slacks replaced by wool uniform pants and baggy jeans; chic blouses replaced by starched uniform shirts and cotton t-shirts.  A sweet smile replaced by a scowl; gentle words replaced by vulgarity. 

My mom once told me I walked like a cop.  Head up, off kilter a bit to protect my gun side, left arm swinging ready to defend, right arm against my holster ready for confrontation.  A coworker once told me I lead with my chin (and not my boobs).  Confidence as a cop.  Insecurity as a woman.

I’ve never walked like a Victoria’s Secret model, never learned the proper hip-thrust-swivel thing to attract a man’s attention.  (Side note: When I was buying clothes for this trip, I tried on a pair of strappy high heels.  Sexy as all get out, but I nearly broke an ankle when I tried to walk in them.  Perfect if my feet never touched the ground, but not practical for a walking tour of Russia). 

As I’ve aged, my posture has worsened.  When I’m tired, I find myself leaning forward, stooped at the shoulders, head and eyes down.  My chiropractor straightens me up each month, but sometimes it hurts to walk ergonomically correct.  Too many years wearing a heavy gun belt pulling at my joints.  Sometimes I’m just too lazy to try. 

Maybe it’s because I’m wearing a scarf, but I feel different today.  Hips wiggling a bit as I walk, chin tilted slightly down, trying instead to lead with my perky boobs, a teasing smile at the corner of my lips…yet no one makes eye contact with me and those that do, quickly look away.

I check my reflection in a window.  I’m conservatively dressed in dark jeans, a black, waist-length Calvin Klein raincoat borrowed from Christy, and a white scarf.  My hair is a bit windblown, but not too crazy, and my makeup’s still intact despite the wet weather.   I think I look cute.  Christy agrees, but if no one initiates eye contact to be followed up by a flirty smile and conversation, how will I ever meet Husband #3?

Somewhat disappointed that no one has accosted me during our walk across town, Christy and I arrive at Lenin’s Mausoleum.  Other than a nice hotel, Christy’s only other request was to see the mausoleum.  It isn’t open yet, but the line is growing so we fall in with the others to wait.  A group of Chinese tourists joins the line directly behind us, completely unaware of where their personal space ends and mine begins.   

The body of Russian revolutionary and politician Vladimir Lenin has been on display for public viewing since his death in 1924.  Before we can enter the mausoleum, we must pass through a metal detector while guards check our purses.  Security is tight.  We’re waved through and firmly reminded to show respect while inside the mausoleum. 

Photography is strictly prohibited, but even if it was allowed, I’m not sure I’d want to take pictures.  I’ve seen dead bodies before, even attempted CPR on one, but it seems disturbing to me that this is a tourist attraction.  It’s not a marble headstone or statue honoring Lenin, but his actual dead body in a glass case!

The day is bright, but inside it is dark, except for a small light positioned above the case in which Lenin rests.  Christy’s transition lenses on her glasses have yet to adjust to the low light, so she is basically blind, even more so if she were to take them off.  I take her arm and guide her the best I can.  I am blind too.  My eyes haven’t adjusted yet either.  We stumble along the corridor trying to not to bump into anything. 

I am expecting the hall to lead into another room where the body is displayed, but it passes directly by the tomb.  When my eyes finally adjust, I see that Lenin’s body is right there!  A guard reprimands us with a curt “ssshh” and another yells at Christy for having her hand in her pocket.  There is no stopping to gawk and we are already halfway past the body.  I glimpse Lenin in a suit.  His face is waxy and weird looking.  Thank God his eyes are closed and then just like that we are back outside in the bright sunlight.  

What just happened? 

I ask Christy if she was able to see Lenin and she says, “barely.”  For a moment we think of getting back in line, but it has tripled in length so instead we move on visiting the graves of others buried at the Kremlin, like Josef Stalin and Leonid Brezhnev.  

Thankfully, those sites are marked with busts of the deceased, and not with embalmed bodies.