Ladies & Gentlemen: Please Enjoy Capitalism!

12.30 a.m. in New York City and a sudden craving for none other than a shrimp salad sandwich literally caught me off guard. Having had a full day and only one meal through it all (is it possible to get too engaged in one's daily activities and forget to eat? You bet!) I realized a little too late that a quick bite could only help before calling it a day.

What does one do past midnight about getting a very specific sandwich, given that I'm a bit of a choosy eater when it comes to late-night cravings (always has been the case, not a recent phenomenon, that's for sure) ?

Back in Russia, at least before the whole "Westernization" period when late-night supermarket, 24-hour McDonald's spots, etc. opened throughout the city of Moscow, solving a simple dilemma like this particular one at any given time of the day, let alone way past midnight, would have been next to impossible. Queuing up for hours on end for bread and butter was the norm back than - that is, unless you belonged to the "foreign" circle of Westerners, whereby you were admitted to the "foreign currency only" specialized stores. But that was far from an easy achievement for a Sovietsky person, therefore, I would have been stuck 20 years ago back in the USSR under these circumstances....

However, we now live in a capitalist society and it is, after all, the 21st century - and plus, this is the Big Apple:

10 minutes after the initial craving, I was already paying for my double-decker sandwich (shrimp salad, naturally - as ordered by her majesty!) with a credit card on the Avenue of the Americas.... And you know something - a decade or so ago, all of this would have sounded like a sci-fi fairytale to my post-Communist regime ears.

But hey, that's what makes all of this so exciting - having had the opportunity to experience life on both sides of the fence. Whereas, I am sure, a lot of you, my readers, have long taken all of these "supernatural" opportunities for granted!

They say you should never forget your roots - and I certainly won't (in fact, I'm growing so fond of the whole pre and post Soviet regime collapse history - at the moment I am literally engrossed in all sorts of literature in any way connected to that era!) - but there's something similar to a quiet relief and silent joy in the very knowledge of being able to live and experience that, which back "then" seemed truly impossible.... Unbeatable, really!

When "Abroad" Becomes a Home

Some of you probably heard about the Euro 2008 soccer semi-final results - Russia got completely swamped by the Spanish team. In fact, they met twice during the tournament, and on both occasions, Spain pretty much outplayed Russia, particularly in the semi finals.

Now, fear not, my friends, this blog isn't about football (sorry, I should say "soccer"!) but rather about sometimes - only sometimes - actually feeling like you miss being home, in my case, back in Europe.

One of my best friends in Moscow sent me a message on Facebook this morning and we had a brief chat about the Euro 2008 - she couldn't believe that I missed all of the games, except for the highlights (Russian cable TV made us, the viewers, watch the scored goals a million times over and over again!) - "It's time you come back home," she added, jokingly.

And then I realized something...

A lot of my friends - both in Russia and Georgia - have never really approved my moving abroad. Not only because we don't get to see each other that often (I visited Moscow, where my parents are still based primarily, last September, but believe it or not, I haven't been in Georgia for... 4 years... shocking!!!) but also due to a simple fact - you'd be surprised how many of my friends and relatives strongly believe that one should live and die in one's very own homeland. An admirable kind of patriotism, no doubt, and as much as I love and miss both of my homes and the family and friends, I sometimes wonder if I could ever go back for good, having lived away from home for so long now... Should I feel guilty? I'm not even sure if this is good or bad.

Ever since I was a little girl, watching all the Hollywood movies, listening to what we used to then call "The American music" ranging from Barbra Streisand and Frank Sinatra to Michael Jackson, Whitney, etc. I had an inexplicably strong urge to one day live in this country and do what I love the most (and have always loved, in fact) here, in USA. A part of this fascination was definitely an offspring of my parents' ultimate dream for me to live here someday.

When the first group of ex-Soviet people were finally allowed to cross the border into the Western world, my parents came to the States to visit some friends on several occasions, which was pretty much unheard of at the time. So every time they went away for a couple of weeks to the Land of Hope and Dreams, my cousin (it's weird calling Ketuta my cousin, she's my sister, for God's sake - after all, we grew up together!) and I used to mark the days of their absence on our individual calendar as our grandma had suggested to keep us entertained and out of mischief... :-) We were rather impossible, particularly when we were plotting the next "disaster" as a duo! :-)

Back when the Soviet System Collapsed and people were hopeful and excited about the future back home, my dad, was offered a very tempting and creative job in NY with a Green Card, refurbished home, etc. to go with it, and had my mom not insisting on going back to Georgia ("How can we ever leave our home, family, friends???", she was definitely against it!) I'm sure we would have moved right away. But we stayed back in Tbilisi, and guess what? A year or so later, a civil war broke out! Good timing! :-)

The next opportunity was also turned down, but this time by none other than yours truly. When I came to New York to perform at the Alan & Marilyn Bergman show several years ago, my agent strongly suggested - no, he actually insisted - that I stay in the US and pursue my career here, except not in the pop world but on Broadway, instead. Because of all sorts of reasons, I declined the tempting offer and stubbornly made it clear that I wanted to live in London and that was it.

Well, I did move to London some time later, and I have to say I never ever regretted the teenage decision, although deep down, I always had a quiet urge to one day move here, to America, but this time on my own terms. How was it different from the previous offer? It was actually a great offer, now that I look back on it, but somehow I didn't feel prepared at the time and don't ask why - who knows! Immaturity being one of the issues, for sure :-)

So when I think about the struggle and a long path that perhaps could have been easier and shorter, after all, under different circumstances, I don't for a second want to go back and leave all of this behind, especially being half way "there", it would mean betraying myself in many ways. And as much as I love and miss my friends back home, there's a constant will power and a passion for what I do and why I do what I love in a country that was always an ultimate dream destination for me - and there's no way I could let it go. Those of you who had to make that journey at one point will surely understand what this is all about...

I don't think I'd be so passionate and so madly in love with all of this had it dropped on my lap too easily and too quickly... Doubt it.

Russkiy Amerikanskiy or Brighton Beach Foreva!

A day spent on the train to and from Brooklyn left quite an impression on me this afternoon. In search of “khinkali” (Georgian dumplings - well worth the schlep!) I also managed to dive into a Russian-American world yet again for several hours…

Every time I visit Brighton Beach in Brooklyn, I am constantly amazed by how un-American, let alone non-NYC it really feels being in the area.

Many years ago, Brighton Beach was dubbed “Little Odessa” by the locals, since many of its residents had come from Odessa, Ukraine. Largely populated by a huge community of Jewish immigrants who left the Former USSR 1970’s onwards, the locals are probably more culturally similar to Russians and Ukrainians than to the earlier Jewish immigrants in Brooklyn.

You will hardly ever hear an English-speaker in the street, and most of the stores and restaurants (if not all of them) are strictly Russian-oriented. I remember a couple of years ago I accidentally bumped into an elderly lady on Brighton and apologized to her in English (we are in America, after all, or are we not?) - she looked at me like I had just landed from Mars and told me to go get a life (in Russian, of course.)

Easter being one of the main Georgian family-gathering celebrations back in the former Soviet Union, I desperately tried to get real “red” Easter eggs this year and called one of the Georgian restaurants in Brooklyn, hoping I could get my dozen eggs for take out. Indeed, they did have the authentic Easter eggs, but because I asked the first question in English and not Georgian upon calling the restaurant, the owner immediately told me off and threatened that because of my non-Georgian attitude, he’d never sell me anything, including the Easter eggs! I took it as a joke initially, but as it later turned out, he meant it with all his heart and patriotic soul!

Although, there are times when I feel so nostalgic, it’s actually quite nice to be able to drop by, purchase a few Russian books and perhaps even some russkiy CDs and DVDs for “some good times”, accompanied by delicious snacks from one of the local stores - can’t go wrong with the food in the area, that’s for sure!

But to live there…. I don’t know. It seems pointless moving all the way to the US and A from USSR to create a local Russian Republic of Brighton Beach in New York. As a dear friend and a writer/journalist I have immense respect for, Ian Williams, once put it: “If you immigrate the country, you need to keep your language yet acquire the skill and knowledge of the culture in a country that you have moved to, yet you do have to maintain your own roots, as well.”

There is a healthy balance of course, but the question is: where does patriotism end and assimilation begin?