Your Subtitle text
Russia, Mr. White Shoes
Everyone should travel to Moscow in the last hours of winter. It is a beautiful shade of gray. Now that the populace is enjoying an emergence of democracy, they too are sporting brighter shades of gray. The carbon base industries are doing their fair share to distribute particulates’ in the remaining snow and slush to complete the painter’s palette of hues of gray with ashen highlights.
Douglas Nash, from our office in Bristol, England had done a distinguished job of securing a trustworthy and capable individual to represent our interest in Russia. He was a kind and patient businessman with diversified interests in Eastern Europe as well as Moscow.
For our purposes of this chapter we won’t discuss his interest in the entertainment industry, music industry, gambling industry, adult entertainment industry, or the scuba industry for which he had tremendous influence as to what equipment brands saw the light of day.
He was patient; I say this as it was almost 3 years from the first mention of Kiril Maldevski by Mr. Nash until the time we suffered through the writing of a contract protecting our interests in the distant “wild west” of Russia.
While at the Diving Equipment Marketing Association Show in Las Vegas in January 2003, Douglas, Kiril, and I had a brief meeting where I agreed to visit the distribution office in Moscow. In all honesty, I was intrigued to see Moscow. The date was set; I would see the RDC (Russian Distribution Center) on (March 10, 2003)
In preparation for my trip Douglas informed me to be prepared for long "queues" at Immigration and Customs in Moscow. I flew from LA to Heathrow in London, England, and met up with Douglas for the British Airway leg of the flight on to Moscow.
Again, Douglas warned me about the lines to be expected. You see, one of the characteristics my father passed on was long line aversion. When we arrived in Moscow, Douglas was more surprised than I to find about 20 people queued up in Immigration. We were processed so fast we had to wait for our luggage. Even more amazing was witnessing the first bag off the flight was Douglas’, and the next was mine, or so I thought.
Kiril had arranged a private car for us as public transportation was neither safe nor reliable. We hopped into a fair sized Mercedes and headed toward the Metropole Hotel. I was totally unaware of the hotel’s notoriety until we had spent some time there and I had enjoyed the limited English hotel literature available in my comfortable room.
In the main lobby as we prepared to check in I asked when the last seating in the restaurant was and a well-spoken English reply informed me 10:00 p.m., and it was about 9:15. After checking with Douglas, we booked a 9:45 p.m. table for two in the formal dining room. Needless to say, I was hungry and a bit “snackered” as Douglas would say having traveled about 17 hours to get to Moscow. We entered the lift together and agreed to quickly freshen up and meet downstairs for a nice meal.
As the lift slowly made its way to the seventh floor, I noticed someone had slapped a Concorde sticker on my Hartman luggage. Now Hartman luggage is relatively high end and I had selected a sand color as to make it more discernible in the sea of black bags at every airport. So, I was surprised to have someone slap a Concorde sticker on my slightly worn Hartman 24” roll-a-long. I mentioned the sticker to Douglas who smiled at me and in his most British of Welsh British accents explained, “They don’t put Concorde stickers on your bag if your bag is not flown on the Concorde. Obviously Douglas was wrong as it was perfectly clear that “they” had put a Concorde sticker on my 24” roll-a-long Hartman bag.
As I started correcting Douglas I noticed how clean and new my bag appeared to be. I immediately presumed that bag cleaning must be some new service the airline had offered, and then realized we had flown British Airways, not Virgin.
When the doors of the elevator had opened I faced the reality that this was not my bag. A quick trip to my room disclosed a bag not filled with my clothes, not filled with my shoe kit, and not containing the 427 page book I had brought describing Magellan’s Circumnavigation of the globe.
I called the front desk and a capable individual, well versed in English, explained it was no problem; they would contact the airport and arrange for the swift exchange of the bags. I was told to head down to the restaurant and they would send someone up to return the borrowed bag.
Needless to say, I managed to beat Douglas down to the lobby. The lobby was immense, with huge chandeliers, beautiful 19th century paintings, gold and gold leaf accents and marble everywhere. But as soon as Douglas hit the lobby, I abandoned the arts in need of a scotch and a good glass of red wine.
We were probably the last seating of the evening. Douglas and I ordered a single malt scotch and he trusted me to scout the wine list as I had always gotten lucky in the past.
The wine list was wide and deep, meaning many varietals, many vintners, and many vintages. Later I learned of the many kings, queens, presidents, and prime minister who had perused this extensive wine list. The list ran the gamut of Bordeaux varietals from Argentina to Ice Wine in Germany.
The next thing I noticed was how affordable all the wines were. I found an 84 Chateau Haute Brion for about $100 U.S. In the states I know this wine would go for $600 - $800 a bottle. While a hundred bucks for a bottle of wine in one night was not necessarily in my company budget, I could not pass up the chance to explain to my father what a great deal I had discovered despite being over budget.
I quickly called out “bin 1437, the 1984 Haute Brion. In seconds, the maitre’d and captain appeared at our table. It was apparent the Captain also doubled as the sommelier, as he pointed out my good taste in wine. He also secured a decanter for our table.
Upon opening the wine, as he should, he discreetly waved the cork beneath his nose to make sure the grape had not turned. Slowly and gently he poured the wine as to not bruise it. I commented to Douglas how many times I had ordered more expensive wine in the states and the restaurant staff were never as meticulous as what I was witnessing. Our Captain, still pouring, beamed with pride with that comment. Letting the wine breathe as we enjoyed our single malt, I opened the menu. Again, it was internationally diverse and intriguing. There were French, Continental, Asian and Russian traditional offerings.
From lobster bisque and Carpaccio appetizers to rack of lamb for two, and what I eventually chose, wild boar. Again, I could not get over how cheap these meals were. Rack of lamb for 2 for about six dollars and twenty cents. It was too good to be true.
I mentioned to Douglas that I was worried about spending too much on the wine, but the prices of the meals were so low it shouldn’t be a problem. With a somewhat confused look, he just acknowledged my comment. I then remembered the rack of lamb being under ten dollars U.S. Douglas returned his glasses to the tip of his nose and performed a quick mathematical calculation and said, “Brian, if I convert rubles to euros, euros to pounds, and pounds to dollars, the rack-of-lamb will set you back about 75 dollars U.S.
Suddenly I came to the stark realization I had a decimal point issue and the rack-of-lamb was indeed on the pricey side of about 70 dollars U.S. equivalent. More importantly, I realized the bargain of the year, 84 Haute Brion was now about 20% higher than I could buy it at Hi Times Liquor in Costa Mesa, California or about $1,050 U.S.
I informed Douglas of my “faux pas” and we just stared at each other. I began to laugh and had the sick feeling I would be buying the wine as this mistake would never pass the scrutiny of our sharp-eyed CFO, Gary Prenovost.
I don’t recall what Douglas had to eat, possibly venison or caribou, while I had the boar. Both meals were pleasantly complimented by the $1000 Bordeaux. Many who have been brought into our secret have asked me, “Was it worth $1,000?” I must say “no.” My taste buds at that time maxed out at about 200 dollars a bottle. This wine did stretch that benchmark, but not the $1,000 a bottle level. Dinner was superb. We were the talk of the hotel staff all week.
Upon completion of our meal, I visited the front desk only to discover that my bag had been left in London. It would not arrive until tomorrow night with luck. Douglas and I rode the lift up to our rooms and made plans to go for a walk and to stop in the morning for sundries and some clothes for me.
We met the next morning in the Grand Ballroom for a very memorable, but opulent breakfast buffet. Caviar to crepes, omelets to granola, they had it all. I enjoyed the menu, if in familiar clothes. Fortunately I had new, but comfortable, white New Balance shoes.
We agreed to work off the meal with a nice walk through the shopping center, then on to Red Square. Once around the shopping center and I picked up some underwear, socks, toothpaste and the like. So we walked the perimeter and some of grounds of Red Square. The whole time we were walking, people everywhere were staring at my white shoes. You see, Douglas was dressed very Russian with dark shoes, dark pants, black overcoat, and of course, a black scarf. The only light color about him was the silver in his hair.
I, on the other hand, had sand colored chinos, a tan London Fog overcoat, and of course, bright white shoes. Douglas would comment later that the Kosmos 2421, the Russian spy satellite, could spot me from 40 miles up with my white shoes.
We enjoyed our walk, but it was time to head back and get ready for our day, which included a visit to the Distribution office, some store visits with members, and accompanying Douglas to a Member Forum which is PADI speak for a venue where we tell our customers what we are doing as result of their input from last year’s Member Forum and they get an opportunity to tell us why they don’t like those ideas this year.
I attended this Forum just as eye candy for Douglas’ presentation. I did get up and say a few words, which were translated into Russian and finished with “Spasiba” meaning “thank you” in Russian which endeared me to the crowd despite their staring at my bright white shoes.
During the visit to the office I got to meet the staff and sit through two interviews for the two Russian diving magazines. Each magazine tried to get me to compare dive shops in Russia to dive shops in other parts of the world. Having only visited two dive centers in Moscow, I came up with my very diplomatic responses.
Our day wrapped up with Douglas and I being invited out to one of Moscow’s nicest restaurants. The Café Pushkin restaurant is the home of the well to do and powerful in Moscow. Besides Putin, the politburo and visiting dignitaries, it is where the heads of the Russian mafia meet to decide how to divvy up the boundaries for gambling, prostitution and drug trafficking on an equitable basis.
The Café Pushkin has fine dining upstairs and a more casual fare in the basement. One of our key members, Dr. Dimitri Orlou had used his influence to get us a table upstairs. The three story restaurant has classical Russian ambiance and used to be home to a pharmacy. The main floor still has the old drug store façade.
Once out of the cold and meeting the Maitre’d, he confirmed our reservations and grabbed the fine dining menus and then spotted Mr. Whiteshoes. That’s right; they spotted my white shoes and somewhat casual dress and suggested we dine downstairs. Despite his best efforts, we were destined to eat in the Russian version of the Rathskellar.
I was embarrassed but managed to choke back a couple of shots of vodka upon Dimitri’s insistence and enjoyed a marvelous, relaxed meal. Douglas never let on how mortified he must have been that I caused us not to eat in the fine dining room at Sudar but I digress.
Douglas and I made it back to Metropol and discovered my luggage was not coming until the next morning.
So, in the morning we met again in the Grand Ballroom of the Metropol for an opulent breakfast buffet. A nice touch was a classical harpist who serenaded those of us able to spring for the grand meal.
Douglas and I wanted to get in another walk and chose to focus on the Red Square itself. Mr. Whiteshoes and Mr. Nash arrived near Red Square to discover they were allowing entrance to Lenin’s tomb. This is not that common so we took advantage of our good timing and decided to purchase access tickets to the venue.
While standing in line, a Moscovian man approached us and offered to be our guide for the tomb tour. After a brief sidebar Douglas and I chose to go it alone. Once at the gate, they informed us that no cameras were allowed. I digress by explaining that we had to return to the Metropole to drop off the camera and return again to Red Square.
Once in, we toured St. Basil’s cathedral, which most would recognize as the gold spired topped building always highlighted during Red Square events. There seemed to be a heightened sense of security and many more armed comrades about the square. Douglas and I headed towards the mausoleum that contained the remains of Vladimir Lenin. Despite his dying wishes, Lenin is honored by lying in state. Because his leadership resulted in the first Communist state, his legacy is somewhat diminished in light of the details of his direct involvement in the execution of more than 200,000 Soviets during his reign of Red Terror.
We entered the bunkered memorial and I made a whispered comment to Douglas and an armed Russian soldier yelled for me to be silent. Now that got me thinking about the gentleman who offered to be our guide for the equivalent of 10 dollars U.S. And that was 10 dollars U.S., not 100 dollars! What would he do for the ten dollars? Point at Lenin and nod as if to say, “yeah, that’s him.”
Upon exiting the small mausoleum, it only took about one minute to file by Lenin; Douglas had come to the same conclusion as I. He asked me, “What did that Russian wacker want to do for 6 quid? Point at the corpse?”
We chuckled as we made our way to the Great Kremlin Wall where 88 busts of famous Russian’s mark the final resting place of many Russian leaders.
After about 5 busts and poor attempts on our part to decipher some of the Cyrillic alphabet we had decided we need to get going back to the hotel to get ready for our trade show. We continued to walk until we got behind the Lenin Mausoleum. Keep in mind that the Lenin Mausoleum is built out of polished marble and the steps and walkways around his tomb are also marble. Well, it was winter, there was melting ice. You can see where this is going.
I glanced back at the Kremlin Wall while Douglas passed me walking down the marble steps to go around Lenin’s tomb. When I turned back in front of me I saw the most amazing image. There was Douglas, all 6’5” of him, floating horizontally in mid-air, almost eye level with me.
In a millisecond he had slipped on the icy marble, his two feet slid completely out from under him and I watched his body fall from the sky and his shoulder and head were the first parts of his anatomy to make contact with the marble steps.
The sound his head made when it hit the marble step edge was sickening. It sounded as if a pumpkin was smashed on the marble structure.
I immediately got down to help him up. For a brief second he looked like a cartoon character as his eyes were independently spinning around. He did not immediate respond to my trying to get his attention, which had me quite concerned.
As we got him to sit up he became alert and went to rub his head to discover a sizeable laceration behind his left ear. By this time a small group of tourists had gathered around us. A tour leader of some sort came over and explained that she had some medical training and offered to help. With me feeling somewhat helpless her offer was reassuring. But Douglas became stubbornly stoic, despite the blood oozing from the back of his head, and still seeming a bit disoriented.
As the tour leader was helping, two Kremlin police officers grudgingly made their way around the back of the Mausoleum to check out the disturbance. When they saw Douglas and the amount of blood on the tour leader and Douglas had managed to capture, they too offered first aid and an ambulance to the Kremlin Clinic. Again Douglas turned them down claiming to be fine.
I suggested to Douglas that his injury was quite severe and he should consider a hospital visit and an Xray to his head and upper body as he was now feeling some pain in his arm and shoulder from the impact.
Again, in his charming stubborn way, he let everyone know he would survive. Commandeering some Kleenex from various sources we made our trek back to the hotel. Douglas kept pressure on the back of his head the whole walk. The bleeding was not stopping.
I had some pain killers with me for occasional bouts of gout and also for some residual pain from my recent gall bladder surgery. I offered some to Douglas but he said he wanted to be alert for the various activities of the day.
We went to our respective rooms and showered and dressed for a long day at the trade show and a dinner in the country with Kiril. I was hoping my friend was up to it.
When I saw Douglas in the lobby he looked only a little worse for wear. His complexion was a tad ashen and his hair seemed slightly disheveled. He stood there looking sharp but still holding tissue to the back of his head.
The bleeding had slowed, but not stopped. Again I suggested a hospital visit was in order. I was convinced he had at least a mild concussion, if not an actual skull fracture. Douglas indicated our driver was there so off we went, Douglas, I and a box of tissue.
The trade show was a trade show. Like any other this had a sports theme to it so you had manufacturer’s of soccer balls, mountain bikes, basketballs, you name it. PADI was well positioned. The booth was manned by the RDC team and Douglas and I were there to meet key members and get a feeling as to how the PADI RDC team would represent us in the market. They did a great job. Douglas was proud and I was proud of Douglas for making it happen.
At one point in the afternoon, almost 4 hours after Douglas fell, he announced his head had stopped bleeding. At that moment he was correct. His hair was matted from the dried blood, but Douglas is blessed with a thick frock so it was not terribly noticeable.
We decided to walk the show. While it only took about 30 minutes, I could see Douglas was feeling a little fatigued and maybe uncomfortable, so we made our way back to the booth and waited for the afternoon to end.
Shortly thereafter, Douglas was talking to one of our key members and I looked at him to find a trail of blood seeping out of his head, down the back of his neck only to continue to the top of his collared dress shirt.
I tapped Douglas on the arm, trying not to interrupt his conversation. Douglas looked at me and I discreetly pointed to the back of my head while looking at his. Without skipping a beat, he reached into his left pocket and in a smooth motion put the tissue to the back of his head, with no break or pause in his conversation.
And so it went the rest of the afternoon – stand, walk, talk, wipe. Douglas had suffered through a blow to the head that probably would have put most in the hospital. But our day was not over.
The PADI RDC crew would close up shop at the show, but Kiril had arranged a very special evening. As I mentioned, Kiril lived out in country, suburb Novo-Ogareno about 50 minutes outside of Moscow. One of Kiril’s neighbors is the President of Russia, Vladimir Putin.
Kiril had his driver take us to his home where we met up with Kiril and his lovely wife, Nina. He had a large, relatively nice home. It had an indoor pool and sauna on the basement level. After a brief tour and appertif, we went off in the countryside to a very traditional Russian restaurant.
On the road we reached a stop sign in the woods. Kiril noticed a few security cars near the stop sign and showed some concern. Apparently Putin must have been headed home to his place in the country so KGB and Russian special services closed down the road.
While Kiril was explaining the delay, I peered out of the sedan window to spot in the shadows the outline of a figure. It was a soldier about 25 feet off the road, holding an AK 47. I then realized there was a soldier about every 100 feet or so. Putin must be going home.
We eventually made it to the restaurant all the while Douglas having to occasionally dab his oozing melon. Once in this special restaurant I knew I was in trouble as Kiril ordered a bottle of the purest vodka. That night I was educated in the fine art of progressive toasting.
Our host explained that in Russia each successive toast is longer than the previous and should acknowledge the previous toast and disclose something special, precious, or meaningful of the toaster.
Nina started with a brief, maybe 2 minute, toast about how nice it was to meet me and see Douglas again and recognize some significant accomplishment of their teenage son. Then we took what would be one of a total of nine shots of vodka that night.
So there I was, about 2 months after gall bladder surgery, supposedly being cautious of my diet, no alcohol, and somewhat resting. What the hell! Besides the 9 shots of vodka, there were some before dinner drinks, a bottle of wine, an after dinner drink, an incredible amount of food in both quality and quantity, but we were not done. Kiril had us back to the house where we had more wine. It was a special night.
Douglas and I made it back to the Metropol about 1 a.m. It had been thirteen hours since Mr. Nash suffered his scary fall. We felt comfortable with him lying down as he had stayed conscious and alert all day, despite his injury.
I offered him some Vicodin to which, at this time, he graciously accepted.
When I made it back to my room I realized it was only about 2:00 p.m. Pacific Time so I thought I’d check in with the wife. In a matter of seconds she picked up on the fact that I may have had a couple of drinks. This is not usually an issue, but the fact that I was still recovering from surgery really ticked her off. Needless to say, our conversation was short.
I then chose to call a friend of mine who worked at a car retailer. He was in the midst of closing a deal and didn’t appreciate the call from Moscow. I then called two other friends to tell them where I was and they did think it was cool to get a call from Moscow, even if I was drunk. Butch and Deb, those two friends, were used to me calling from all corners of the world.
It was time to check in at the office. I called Elaine, my assistant, who passed me on to Ted Moreta, our International Liaison. He knew right away I had zah vaas once too often, so he politely listened to me babble, then politely put the phone on his desk occasionally acknowledging my verbal diarrhea with the “Aha, Aha” every few minutes, and so it went as I was passed from person to person around the building with the following warning, “It’s Brian, he’s in Moscow, and he is in the bag!”
After the call I went to sleep and rested for our last day in Moscow.
I awoke and thankfully the vodka we were drinking was so pure that I had only a slight headache and that was all. Douglas and I went for a walk, a long walk for about 3 hours. We had our last day at the trade show, then an industry party hosted by Kiril. We finally made it to the party and I was surprised to see a country western band, with a fairly attractive lead singer.
After a drink Douglas asked if I wanted to get up and sing, and I said, “sure.” During the second set break, Douglas, Kiril and I went backstage and met with the girl, and I could quickly see that she was not fond of the idea, but Kiril usually gets his way. Douglas and Kiril left me backstage with the girl to workout an arrangement or two I could do with her band. After singing a few lines of Heartbreak Hotel, Treat Me Like a Fool, and Can’t Help Falling in Love” she was feeling better about my singing with her band.
She took to the stage and Kiril came out to the stage and started to introduce me. After several minutes of Russian, I hear “PADI Worldwide, Brian Cronin.” I turned to the girl and started singing “Heartbreak Hotel.” I was ready to close with “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” when the leader of the band said, “Do, Treat Me Like a Fool.” I gladly did that song as well.
We started “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” and I was having a hard time reading the audience. There were about 120 happy Russians in various stages of insobriety, but I could not tell if they were enjoying this short, chubby little singer. Then, on the refrain, something cool happened. Once hundred and twenty Russian’s were joining me in singing “But I can’t help falling in Love with You” in English. I could add one more venue to my world tour
Shortly after that Douglas and I got a ride to the Metropol and ended a long week in Russia. We would fly to London tomorrow and I would visit Douglas’ home for a few days, but I digress.
Douglas Nash, from our office in Bristol, England had done a distinguished job of securing a trustworthy and capable individual to represent our interest in Russia. He was a kind and patient businessman with diversified interests in Eastern Europe as well as Moscow.
For our purposes of this chapter we won’t discuss his interest in the entertainment industry, music industry, gambling industry, adult entertainment industry, or the scuba industry for which he had tremendous influence as to what equipment brands saw the light of day.
He was patient; I say this as it was almost 3 years from the first mention of Kiril Maldevski by Mr. Nash until the time we suffered through the writing of a contract protecting our interests in the distant “wild west” of Russia.
While at the Diving Equipment Marketing Association Show in Las Vegas in January 2003, Douglas, Kiril, and I had a brief meeting where I agreed to visit the distribution office in Moscow. In all honesty, I was intrigued to see Moscow. The date was set; I would see the RDC (Russian Distribution Center) on (March 10, 2003)
In preparation for my trip Douglas informed me to be prepared for long "queues" at Immigration and Customs in Moscow. I flew from LA to Heathrow in London, England, and met up with Douglas for the British Airway leg of the flight on to Moscow.
Again, Douglas warned me about the lines to be expected. You see, one of the characteristics my father passed on was long line aversion. When we arrived in Moscow, Douglas was more surprised than I to find about 20 people queued up in Immigration. We were processed so fast we had to wait for our luggage. Even more amazing was witnessing the first bag off the flight was Douglas’, and the next was mine, or so I thought.
Kiril had arranged a private car for us as public transportation was neither safe nor reliable. We hopped into a fair sized Mercedes and headed toward the Metropole Hotel. I was totally unaware of the hotel’s notoriety until we had spent some time there and I had enjoyed the limited English hotel literature available in my comfortable room.
In the main lobby as we prepared to check in I asked when the last seating in the restaurant was and a well-spoken English reply informed me 10:00 p.m., and it was about 9:15. After checking with Douglas, we booked a 9:45 p.m. table for two in the formal dining room. Needless to say, I was hungry and a bit “snackered” as Douglas would say having traveled about 17 hours to get to Moscow. We entered the lift together and agreed to quickly freshen up and meet downstairs for a nice meal.
As the lift slowly made its way to the seventh floor, I noticed someone had slapped a Concorde sticker on my Hartman luggage. Now Hartman luggage is relatively high end and I had selected a sand color as to make it more discernible in the sea of black bags at every airport. So, I was surprised to have someone slap a Concorde sticker on my slightly worn Hartman 24” roll-a-long. I mentioned the sticker to Douglas who smiled at me and in his most British of Welsh British accents explained, “They don’t put Concorde stickers on your bag if your bag is not flown on the Concorde. Obviously Douglas was wrong as it was perfectly clear that “they” had put a Concorde sticker on my 24” roll-a-long Hartman bag.
As I started correcting Douglas I noticed how clean and new my bag appeared to be. I immediately presumed that bag cleaning must be some new service the airline had offered, and then realized we had flown British Airways, not Virgin.
When the doors of the elevator had opened I faced the reality that this was not my bag. A quick trip to my room disclosed a bag not filled with my clothes, not filled with my shoe kit, and not containing the 427 page book I had brought describing Magellan’s Circumnavigation of the globe.
I called the front desk and a capable individual, well versed in English, explained it was no problem; they would contact the airport and arrange for the swift exchange of the bags. I was told to head down to the restaurant and they would send someone up to return the borrowed bag.
Needless to say, I managed to beat Douglas down to the lobby. The lobby was immense, with huge chandeliers, beautiful 19th century paintings, gold and gold leaf accents and marble everywhere. But as soon as Douglas hit the lobby, I abandoned the arts in need of a scotch and a good glass of red wine.
We were probably the last seating of the evening. Douglas and I ordered a single malt scotch and he trusted me to scout the wine list as I had always gotten lucky in the past.
The wine list was wide and deep, meaning many varietals, many vintners, and many vintages. Later I learned of the many kings, queens, presidents, and prime minister who had perused this extensive wine list. The list ran the gamut of Bordeaux varietals from Argentina to Ice Wine in Germany.
The next thing I noticed was how affordable all the wines were. I found an 84 Chateau Haute Brion for about $100 U.S. In the states I know this wine would go for $600 - $800 a bottle. While a hundred bucks for a bottle of wine in one night was not necessarily in my company budget, I could not pass up the chance to explain to my father what a great deal I had discovered despite being over budget.
I quickly called out “bin 1437, the 1984 Haute Brion. In seconds, the maitre’d and captain appeared at our table. It was apparent the Captain also doubled as the sommelier, as he pointed out my good taste in wine. He also secured a decanter for our table.
Upon opening the wine, as he should, he discreetly waved the cork beneath his nose to make sure the grape had not turned. Slowly and gently he poured the wine as to not bruise it. I commented to Douglas how many times I had ordered more expensive wine in the states and the restaurant staff were never as meticulous as what I was witnessing. Our Captain, still pouring, beamed with pride with that comment. Letting the wine breathe as we enjoyed our single malt, I opened the menu. Again, it was internationally diverse and intriguing. There were French, Continental, Asian and Russian traditional offerings.
From lobster bisque and Carpaccio appetizers to rack of lamb for two, and what I eventually chose, wild boar. Again, I could not get over how cheap these meals were. Rack of lamb for 2 for about six dollars and twenty cents. It was too good to be true.
I mentioned to Douglas that I was worried about spending too much on the wine, but the prices of the meals were so low it shouldn’t be a problem. With a somewhat confused look, he just acknowledged my comment. I then remembered the rack of lamb being under ten dollars U.S. Douglas returned his glasses to the tip of his nose and performed a quick mathematical calculation and said, “Brian, if I convert rubles to euros, euros to pounds, and pounds to dollars, the rack-of-lamb will set you back about 75 dollars U.S.
Suddenly I came to the stark realization I had a decimal point issue and the rack-of-lamb was indeed on the pricey side of about 70 dollars U.S. equivalent. More importantly, I realized the bargain of the year, 84 Haute Brion was now about 20% higher than I could buy it at Hi Times Liquor in Costa Mesa, California or about $1,050 U.S.
I informed Douglas of my “faux pas” and we just stared at each other. I began to laugh and had the sick feeling I would be buying the wine as this mistake would never pass the scrutiny of our sharp-eyed CFO, Gary Prenovost.
I don’t recall what Douglas had to eat, possibly venison or caribou, while I had the boar. Both meals were pleasantly complimented by the $1000 Bordeaux. Many who have been brought into our secret have asked me, “Was it worth $1,000?” I must say “no.” My taste buds at that time maxed out at about 200 dollars a bottle. This wine did stretch that benchmark, but not the $1,000 a bottle level. Dinner was superb. We were the talk of the hotel staff all week.
Upon completion of our meal, I visited the front desk only to discover that my bag had been left in London. It would not arrive until tomorrow night with luck. Douglas and I rode the lift up to our rooms and made plans to go for a walk and to stop in the morning for sundries and some clothes for me.
We met the next morning in the Grand Ballroom for a very memorable, but opulent breakfast buffet. Caviar to crepes, omelets to granola, they had it all. I enjoyed the menu, if in familiar clothes. Fortunately I had new, but comfortable, white New Balance shoes.
We agreed to work off the meal with a nice walk through the shopping center, then on to Red Square. Once around the shopping center and I picked up some underwear, socks, toothpaste and the like. So we walked the perimeter and some of grounds of Red Square. The whole time we were walking, people everywhere were staring at my white shoes. You see, Douglas was dressed very Russian with dark shoes, dark pants, black overcoat, and of course, a black scarf. The only light color about him was the silver in his hair.
I, on the other hand, had sand colored chinos, a tan London Fog overcoat, and of course, bright white shoes. Douglas would comment later that the Kosmos 2421, the Russian spy satellite, could spot me from 40 miles up with my white shoes.
We enjoyed our walk, but it was time to head back and get ready for our day, which included a visit to the Distribution office, some store visits with members, and accompanying Douglas to a Member Forum which is PADI speak for a venue where we tell our customers what we are doing as result of their input from last year’s Member Forum and they get an opportunity to tell us why they don’t like those ideas this year.
I attended this Forum just as eye candy for Douglas’ presentation. I did get up and say a few words, which were translated into Russian and finished with “Spasiba” meaning “thank you” in Russian which endeared me to the crowd despite their staring at my bright white shoes.
During the visit to the office I got to meet the staff and sit through two interviews for the two Russian diving magazines. Each magazine tried to get me to compare dive shops in Russia to dive shops in other parts of the world. Having only visited two dive centers in Moscow, I came up with my very diplomatic responses.
Our day wrapped up with Douglas and I being invited out to one of Moscow’s nicest restaurants. The Café Pushkin restaurant is the home of the well to do and powerful in Moscow. Besides Putin, the politburo and visiting dignitaries, it is where the heads of the Russian mafia meet to decide how to divvy up the boundaries for gambling, prostitution and drug trafficking on an equitable basis.
The Café Pushkin has fine dining upstairs and a more casual fare in the basement. One of our key members, Dr. Dimitri Orlou had used his influence to get us a table upstairs. The three story restaurant has classical Russian ambiance and used to be home to a pharmacy. The main floor still has the old drug store façade.
Once out of the cold and meeting the Maitre’d, he confirmed our reservations and grabbed the fine dining menus and then spotted Mr. Whiteshoes. That’s right; they spotted my white shoes and somewhat casual dress and suggested we dine downstairs. Despite his best efforts, we were destined to eat in the Russian version of the Rathskellar.
I was embarrassed but managed to choke back a couple of shots of vodka upon Dimitri’s insistence and enjoyed a marvelous, relaxed meal. Douglas never let on how mortified he must have been that I caused us not to eat in the fine dining room at Sudar but I digress.
Douglas and I made it back to Metropol and discovered my luggage was not coming until the next morning.
So, in the morning we met again in the Grand Ballroom of the Metropol for an opulent breakfast buffet. A nice touch was a classical harpist who serenaded those of us able to spring for the grand meal.
Douglas and I wanted to get in another walk and chose to focus on the Red Square itself. Mr. Whiteshoes and Mr. Nash arrived near Red Square to discover they were allowing entrance to Lenin’s tomb. This is not that common so we took advantage of our good timing and decided to purchase access tickets to the venue.
While standing in line, a Moscovian man approached us and offered to be our guide for the tomb tour. After a brief sidebar Douglas and I chose to go it alone. Once at the gate, they informed us that no cameras were allowed. I digress by explaining that we had to return to the Metropole to drop off the camera and return again to Red Square.
Once in, we toured St. Basil’s cathedral, which most would recognize as the gold spired topped building always highlighted during Red Square events. There seemed to be a heightened sense of security and many more armed comrades about the square. Douglas and I headed towards the mausoleum that contained the remains of Vladimir Lenin. Despite his dying wishes, Lenin is honored by lying in state. Because his leadership resulted in the first Communist state, his legacy is somewhat diminished in light of the details of his direct involvement in the execution of more than 200,000 Soviets during his reign of Red Terror.
We entered the bunkered memorial and I made a whispered comment to Douglas and an armed Russian soldier yelled for me to be silent. Now that got me thinking about the gentleman who offered to be our guide for the equivalent of 10 dollars U.S. And that was 10 dollars U.S., not 100 dollars! What would he do for the ten dollars? Point at Lenin and nod as if to say, “yeah, that’s him.”
Upon exiting the small mausoleum, it only took about one minute to file by Lenin; Douglas had come to the same conclusion as I. He asked me, “What did that Russian wacker want to do for 6 quid? Point at the corpse?”
We chuckled as we made our way to the Great Kremlin Wall where 88 busts of famous Russian’s mark the final resting place of many Russian leaders.
After about 5 busts and poor attempts on our part to decipher some of the Cyrillic alphabet we had decided we need to get going back to the hotel to get ready for our trade show. We continued to walk until we got behind the Lenin Mausoleum. Keep in mind that the Lenin Mausoleum is built out of polished marble and the steps and walkways around his tomb are also marble. Well, it was winter, there was melting ice. You can see where this is going.
I glanced back at the Kremlin Wall while Douglas passed me walking down the marble steps to go around Lenin’s tomb. When I turned back in front of me I saw the most amazing image. There was Douglas, all 6’5” of him, floating horizontally in mid-air, almost eye level with me.
In a millisecond he had slipped on the icy marble, his two feet slid completely out from under him and I watched his body fall from the sky and his shoulder and head were the first parts of his anatomy to make contact with the marble steps.
The sound his head made when it hit the marble step edge was sickening. It sounded as if a pumpkin was smashed on the marble structure.
I immediately got down to help him up. For a brief second he looked like a cartoon character as his eyes were independently spinning around. He did not immediate respond to my trying to get his attention, which had me quite concerned.
As we got him to sit up he became alert and went to rub his head to discover a sizeable laceration behind his left ear. By this time a small group of tourists had gathered around us. A tour leader of some sort came over and explained that she had some medical training and offered to help. With me feeling somewhat helpless her offer was reassuring. But Douglas became stubbornly stoic, despite the blood oozing from the back of his head, and still seeming a bit disoriented.
As the tour leader was helping, two Kremlin police officers grudgingly made their way around the back of the Mausoleum to check out the disturbance. When they saw Douglas and the amount of blood on the tour leader and Douglas had managed to capture, they too offered first aid and an ambulance to the Kremlin Clinic. Again Douglas turned them down claiming to be fine.
I suggested to Douglas that his injury was quite severe and he should consider a hospital visit and an Xray to his head and upper body as he was now feeling some pain in his arm and shoulder from the impact.
Again, in his charming stubborn way, he let everyone know he would survive. Commandeering some Kleenex from various sources we made our trek back to the hotel. Douglas kept pressure on the back of his head the whole walk. The bleeding was not stopping.
I had some pain killers with me for occasional bouts of gout and also for some residual pain from my recent gall bladder surgery. I offered some to Douglas but he said he wanted to be alert for the various activities of the day.
We went to our respective rooms and showered and dressed for a long day at the trade show and a dinner in the country with Kiril. I was hoping my friend was up to it.
When I saw Douglas in the lobby he looked only a little worse for wear. His complexion was a tad ashen and his hair seemed slightly disheveled. He stood there looking sharp but still holding tissue to the back of his head.
The bleeding had slowed, but not stopped. Again I suggested a hospital visit was in order. I was convinced he had at least a mild concussion, if not an actual skull fracture. Douglas indicated our driver was there so off we went, Douglas, I and a box of tissue.
The trade show was a trade show. Like any other this had a sports theme to it so you had manufacturer’s of soccer balls, mountain bikes, basketballs, you name it. PADI was well positioned. The booth was manned by the RDC team and Douglas and I were there to meet key members and get a feeling as to how the PADI RDC team would represent us in the market. They did a great job. Douglas was proud and I was proud of Douglas for making it happen.
At one point in the afternoon, almost 4 hours after Douglas fell, he announced his head had stopped bleeding. At that moment he was correct. His hair was matted from the dried blood, but Douglas is blessed with a thick frock so it was not terribly noticeable.
We decided to walk the show. While it only took about 30 minutes, I could see Douglas was feeling a little fatigued and maybe uncomfortable, so we made our way back to the booth and waited for the afternoon to end.
Shortly thereafter, Douglas was talking to one of our key members and I looked at him to find a trail of blood seeping out of his head, down the back of his neck only to continue to the top of his collared dress shirt.
I tapped Douglas on the arm, trying not to interrupt his conversation. Douglas looked at me and I discreetly pointed to the back of my head while looking at his. Without skipping a beat, he reached into his left pocket and in a smooth motion put the tissue to the back of his head, with no break or pause in his conversation.
And so it went the rest of the afternoon – stand, walk, talk, wipe. Douglas had suffered through a blow to the head that probably would have put most in the hospital. But our day was not over.
The PADI RDC crew would close up shop at the show, but Kiril had arranged a very special evening. As I mentioned, Kiril lived out in country, suburb Novo-Ogareno about 50 minutes outside of Moscow. One of Kiril’s neighbors is the President of Russia, Vladimir Putin.
Kiril had his driver take us to his home where we met up with Kiril and his lovely wife, Nina. He had a large, relatively nice home. It had an indoor pool and sauna on the basement level. After a brief tour and appertif, we went off in the countryside to a very traditional Russian restaurant.
On the road we reached a stop sign in the woods. Kiril noticed a few security cars near the stop sign and showed some concern. Apparently Putin must have been headed home to his place in the country so KGB and Russian special services closed down the road.
While Kiril was explaining the delay, I peered out of the sedan window to spot in the shadows the outline of a figure. It was a soldier about 25 feet off the road, holding an AK 47. I then realized there was a soldier about every 100 feet or so. Putin must be going home.
We eventually made it to the restaurant all the while Douglas having to occasionally dab his oozing melon. Once in this special restaurant I knew I was in trouble as Kiril ordered a bottle of the purest vodka. That night I was educated in the fine art of progressive toasting.
Our host explained that in Russia each successive toast is longer than the previous and should acknowledge the previous toast and disclose something special, precious, or meaningful of the toaster.
Nina started with a brief, maybe 2 minute, toast about how nice it was to meet me and see Douglas again and recognize some significant accomplishment of their teenage son. Then we took what would be one of a total of nine shots of vodka that night.
So there I was, about 2 months after gall bladder surgery, supposedly being cautious of my diet, no alcohol, and somewhat resting. What the hell! Besides the 9 shots of vodka, there were some before dinner drinks, a bottle of wine, an after dinner drink, an incredible amount of food in both quality and quantity, but we were not done. Kiril had us back to the house where we had more wine. It was a special night.
Douglas and I made it back to the Metropol about 1 a.m. It had been thirteen hours since Mr. Nash suffered his scary fall. We felt comfortable with him lying down as he had stayed conscious and alert all day, despite his injury.
I offered him some Vicodin to which, at this time, he graciously accepted.
When I made it back to my room I realized it was only about 2:00 p.m. Pacific Time so I thought I’d check in with the wife. In a matter of seconds she picked up on the fact that I may have had a couple of drinks. This is not usually an issue, but the fact that I was still recovering from surgery really ticked her off. Needless to say, our conversation was short.
I then chose to call a friend of mine who worked at a car retailer. He was in the midst of closing a deal and didn’t appreciate the call from Moscow. I then called two other friends to tell them where I was and they did think it was cool to get a call from Moscow, even if I was drunk. Butch and Deb, those two friends, were used to me calling from all corners of the world.
It was time to check in at the office. I called Elaine, my assistant, who passed me on to Ted Moreta, our International Liaison. He knew right away I had zah vaas once too often, so he politely listened to me babble, then politely put the phone on his desk occasionally acknowledging my verbal diarrhea with the “Aha, Aha” every few minutes, and so it went as I was passed from person to person around the building with the following warning, “It’s Brian, he’s in Moscow, and he is in the bag!”
After the call I went to sleep and rested for our last day in Moscow.
I awoke and thankfully the vodka we were drinking was so pure that I had only a slight headache and that was all. Douglas and I went for a walk, a long walk for about 3 hours. We had our last day at the trade show, then an industry party hosted by Kiril. We finally made it to the party and I was surprised to see a country western band, with a fairly attractive lead singer.
After a drink Douglas asked if I wanted to get up and sing, and I said, “sure.” During the second set break, Douglas, Kiril and I went backstage and met with the girl, and I could quickly see that she was not fond of the idea, but Kiril usually gets his way. Douglas and Kiril left me backstage with the girl to workout an arrangement or two I could do with her band. After singing a few lines of Heartbreak Hotel, Treat Me Like a Fool, and Can’t Help Falling in Love” she was feeling better about my singing with her band.
She took to the stage and Kiril came out to the stage and started to introduce me. After several minutes of Russian, I hear “PADI Worldwide, Brian Cronin.” I turned to the girl and started singing “Heartbreak Hotel.” I was ready to close with “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” when the leader of the band said, “Do, Treat Me Like a Fool.” I gladly did that song as well.
We started “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” and I was having a hard time reading the audience. There were about 120 happy Russians in various stages of insobriety, but I could not tell if they were enjoying this short, chubby little singer. Then, on the refrain, something cool happened. Once hundred and twenty Russian’s were joining me in singing “But I can’t help falling in Love with You” in English. I could add one more venue to my world tour
Shortly after that Douglas and I got a ride to the Metropol and ended a long week in Russia. We would fly to London tomorrow and I would visit Douglas’ home for a few days, but I digress.
Content copyright . Brian P. Cronin. All rights reserved.
3,828,861 unique visits so far.
3,828,861 unique visits so far.