Gonkongtsa blog: I was renting a room in Sochi

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Сообщение от Cyril Syzran

But who knows, maybe he has all the shops in Sochi overwhelmed " paintings from Hong Kong ". >

Hong Kong, Sochi ... >
Read, interesting.

I was born in Hong Kong but lived, studied and worked in the Netherlands, Singapore and Russia, worked for The Economist and Russia Beyond the Headlines. In 2011, traveled to Sochi to write a series of articles about the first Russian city that will host the Winter Olympics. I shared this adventure on one of Sochi's online forums, but the editor Slon Alexander Bown, whom we met in Hong Kong for assorted dimsamov, asked me to tell this story for Slon.

Following his guide, Alexander, who was to show me my Sochi apartment, I caught myself thinking that hardly memorize our route: front door, invisible in the shadows, was in the corner of a doorway. Climbing the stairs to the entrance, filled with disgusting smell, I thought, where am I going? anyone stop? Am I sure that my stay in Sochi will end well?

I do not remember how long we were climbing. I just remember how scared I was when we suddenly stopped at a battered metal door. The door opened, and opened her old man stared at us. His view - that is what I will never forget ...

It was a face full of hatred. But, "Do not judge a book by its binding" - I said to myself. "His name is Anatoly," - introduced me to the owner of the apartment Alexander.

Like some of the "typical" old Anatoly experiencing a lot, since my schedule and ending the use of electricity and the potential damage that I can hit his property. He gave me a key and wants me informed him when I come at least an hour. I also understand that in the door of my room does not lock, and the guy who lives on the balcony, can pass through my room when he wants.

But I say to myself, if I'm going to lock things at the castle, everything should be OK.
 
Before leaving Hong Kong, I bought a box of good Chinese tea for the owner of the apartment where I live in Russia. I gave this gift to Anatolia, hoping to gain his confidence and create a good first impression. He meets a wide smile and puts his hand on my shoulder. "This is a way to express the Soviet friendship", - says Alexander.

My first night in the apartment Anatolia seems not easy for both of us. At first I could not find my way home from the bus stop. Without the key, I can only call on the door of each apartment to determine the address I came. The neighbors seem terrified of the Chinese species unknown - perhaps because they had never seen a live Chinese.

Error. Error. Error. After several attempts I get to the apartment Anatolia. It checks every item brought me from the supermarket. He puts my stuff in the fridge, one by one, exactly where he wanted. I take a shower first, then turn off the lights and go to bed.

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Suddenly, the lights go out. Anatoly comes and checks what I was doing.


Perhaps Anatoly went through difficulties, so he feels anxious and insecure. I'm struggling to put yourself in his place.


Seven in the morning. I wake up, because Anatoly comes back and sees I awoke. He eventually wakes me.


Okay. I go to the kitchen and cook your own breakfast. Not to touch his stuff, only eat bread and drink coffee. He sits in front of watching as I eat breakfast like I was a prisoner. It tells me something in Russian, with an abundance of gestures, apparently, that will look after my luggage. I still go back to the room and lock all the key before leaving the apartment.


I'm not used to the lack of personal space. I say this to Alexander. He promises to talk to the landlord. A few hours later I get a message from Alexander: "You were checking out tomorrow."


Why so suddenly? Maybe I went too far? Or incorrectly informed his thought?


With a bunch of questions in my head I'm going back to the house of Anatolia. He looks at me strangely. No, he stared at me. I go into the shower, and I understand that Anatoly blocked hot water. When I start to pack your luggage, it checks every item that I put in the bag.


He points to a hanger, which I brought back from Hong Kong for his suit. I explain to him that it was mine, but he insisted that I brought her "back". Obviously, the plastic hanger purple has nothing to do with the things Anatolia. I let him take it, because I still feel sympathy for this old man nervous.


"Do not join with him in a conversation about money. We have already agreed with him "- I remember the teachings of Alexander.


I write a note to the owner of an apartment in Russian with online translator: "If you do not mind, you can keep my food in the refrigerator. I will not take it all with you. I appreciate your hospitality, but are not used to living without personal space. "


Anatoly seems to not appreciate my lines and started a conversation with me about money. I'm mad: what is the point to talk to me about money in Russian, if I do not know the language and details of his agreement with Alexander? I'm going back to the room and close the door. A few seconds later he opens the door and shouts at me in Russian.


- This is my house! Do not even think to close the door.


Despite my lack of knowledge of Russian, his mind is clear. What is happening seems unreal, but creepy feeling, however, are very real.


Alexander arrives, and the drama ends.


"Anatolia is not like that you take a shower twice a day, he cleaned once a week, - says Alexander. - In addition, he expects to pay for the use of a fan and a washing machine. "


When the bus starts its journey to the center of the city, I turn around and see a house Anatoly disappears from sight. Sure, Anatoly deserves pity, he has lived in the world of anxieties and suspicions. Yet he is no longer in my empathy because he does not share the simple idea that people should be kind to each other.


"The nightmare is over," - I said to Alexander.


Yes, for me it's over, but not for Anatolia. After all, he is obsessed with the same feelings when strangers again encroach on his home. I just think, if he believes that he can take with him an apartment in the afterlife? If so, then it would be a tragedy because then his sense of danger to be with him forever - no matter whether he is alive or dead.

(a)