From Russia with Love

My Trip to Russian Electronic Hell

Like in most large cities, there are certain accoutrements that are essential to inhabitants of Moscow. They include but are not limited to: fashionable shoes, ass-hugging jeans, umbrellas and of course a cell phone. Cell phones are omnipresent in Moscow; you can buy them practically at any 'perekhod' (underground crosswalk) and countless kiosks and shops around town. Knowing that I would eventually have to buy one, I asked my babushka where a good place to buy one would be. She didn't think about it more than three seconds before she said "Go to Gorbushka; they have the cheapest ones." The name pleased me as it is reminiscent of a little Premiere Gorbuchev. The fact that Gorbushka's owners managed to turn such a monolithic figure of Russian history into a plaything on the tongues of Muscovites relieved me; there are many places in Moscow that are intimidating for a foreigner like me, and I imagined Gorbushka wouldn't be one of those.
I thought wrong.
Lindsey, Adam and I exited the metro station and began following the crowds of people who also appeared to be on their way to the electronic Mecca of Moscow. The closer we got to our destination, the more I began to doubt my original concept of what Gorbushka would be (in my mind, I imagined a matreshka - nesting egg - with likeness upon likeness of Gorbuchev, each one smaller than the last, but all animatedly talking on cell phones, reading emails on new, flat computers or chipperly writing in schedules on pdas, etc.). We reached the entranced, passed through the requisite metal detectors and I nearly wet my pants. Gorbushka occupied the area of a city block from what I could tell and was crossed-hatched for as far as I could see by alleys whose widths were encroached upon by display windows filled with vacuum cleaners, cell phones, hair driers, DVD players, telephones, mp3 players, cameras, and countless stores filled with pirated cds and DVDs, available to buy for about six dollar a piece. And that was just the first floor. I was too scared venture to the second.
We were so overwhelmed, we didn't know where to start. Lindsey had already navigated the labyrinth and bought a phone, so she guided Adam and I through the confusion. I quickly found a phone that wasn't too expensive (about $70) and was stylish enough to satisfy my discerning tastes. Adam did the same (although his wasn't nearly as stylish as mine, albeit more expensive).
In Russia (and I imagine most of the world outside of the US), in addition to buying a phone, one must also buy a SIM-card. It's basically like buying/signing a contract with Sprint or Verizon, but much easier. You put the SIM-card in the phone; your number is already assign to it, and all you have to do is put money on it (there are no 'plans', you prepay everything). Here's the catch: to buy a SIM-card that has a Moscow number on it, you must prove that you in fact do live and are registered in Moscow. To prove this, you must present a passport that shows you are registered in Moscow; the registration process, like most things in Russia, is littered with needless bureaucracy. My passport has been at some government organ for nearly a week now, so in lieu of the real thing, I've been carrying a copy of my passport and visa around with me, along with my 'spravka' (a document that basically says that I do indeed have a passport, but it's just with the authorities for the moment being registered).
Lindsey was able to buy her SIM-card just by presenting her spravka, so Adam and I assumed we would be able to do the same. I was the first to approach one of the thousands of booths at Gorbushka that sold SIM-cards and successfully chose the appropriate one for my purposes. The young man behind the counter asked to see my passport and I presented my copies and spravka, explaining to him where my real passport was. He flatly refused to sell me a card because my passport wasn't Russian. Although I was disappointed, I knew this was not an actually law and sought out another kiosk where I was also declined. By the third counter, I was more than a little miffed but had been emblazon enough from my first two squabbles to try my hand at arguing more in Russian. I actually surprised myself with my ability to argue with the young lady behind the counter but ultimately didn't walk away with a card.
After the fourth failed attempt, my good humor was exhausted and I asked Adam to give it a try. He had no copies of anything and only carried his spravka and driver's license (which, written in English, was incomprehensible to the merchants). Disappointed, I proposed just returning after we got our passports back, but Lindsey would hear nothing of it; she had bought a card a few days earlier without a passport and without a problem and was sure we could find someone who wouldn't care about the regulations (it IS Russia, after all).
"C'mon, dude; we just gotta find someone who just doesn't give a shit," she encouraged me.
I was on the verge of my first breakdown in Russia, but I trusted Lindsey's advice and we set out for the outskirts of the complex, where merchants not fortunate enough to be located on the Electropolis's main drag were no doubt willing to sell anything, regulations or not. Navigating the outlying shops thoroughly confused us, and to our surprise, Gorbushka turned out to be more the size of a square kilometer! Not wantin to get anymore lost in the complex than we already were, I allowed myself one last chance to buy a card and the next shop that appeared empty and in need of business. I told myself that if this last shop didn't work, I would leave empty-handed and use my unspent money to buy a bottle of vodka with which to commiserate with my fellow passportless companions.
An empty shop presented itself whose worker was a young man, about my age, who appeared bored out of his mind. I approached him and began my well-rehearsed dialogue:
"Do you sell SIM-cards?" I asked, even though they were clearly visible in the shop window.
"Well, yes. Which kind would you like?"
"MTS, please" (MTS is a cell phone company)
"Would you like Super-Jeans or Hot-Jeans?" (for some reason MTS named their cards after the fashionable American pants)
"You don't have just plain Jeans?"
"No, only Super-Jeans or Hot-Jeans"
"Well, I'll take Hot-Jeans." I was in a sexy kinda mood.
"Ok, and do you have passport?"
"Well, the thing is, my passport is still at the Registratsia, but I DO live in Moscow," I explained and showed him all my copies and spravka, even my Russian Student ID to prove that I was studying here. He examined them with some hesitation, but to my relief, he didn't call over a supervisor to double check and began filling out the paperwork. Because of certain differences between Russian and American passports, there was a lot of information we simply made up (including my address in Moscow, which I have yet to memorize). Seeing me take out the 100 ruble note that the card cost, Adam came into the shop to be next in line and also successfully acquired his SIM-card.
I was ecstatic. The contrast from my destitute disposition to my new found elation at having a fully functional cell phone nearly caused me to click my heals right there in Gorbushka. The three of us successfully navigated our way out of Electronic Hell and continued to program yachters' numbers into our phones over a few bottles of Russian champagne. It was surely an occasion to celebrate.

posted by Misha Molodoi @ 4:00 AM