My mother is visiting me for a while. That means exploring the world of markets in Moscow. I rarely go to them but that has changed with my mother’s arrival.

The first place we went to was Ashawn. It is the only large supermarket chain in Moscow. That means there are plenty of adventures to be had. We placed our 10 ruble coin into the cart, took it with us, and ventured into the chaos called the produce section. Never ever go to Ashawn on a Friday night. People are in a hurry, want to get their produce, and leave. That means carts hitting carts, people pushing people, and high voices. I guarded our cart while mom ventured into the herbs section…or what was left of it. She found the lettuce bags where the lettuce is still planted into a container’s dirt. It is a new wave of eating fresh lettuce right after cutting it “free” from dirt. I didn’t think so much of the new wave so we bought “traditional” lettuce. Then it was to find the carrots and the onions. For such large cardboard boxes we found small, old onions and sad looking carrots. The place had been picked clean full of people who seemed as if they were going to starve any second if they weren’t able to buy their kilos of something. With that, I had to understand the weighing system. Oh…you have to look for the code for the vegetable, weigh the vegetable, and then press the numbered button. This means I have to try to remember multiple numbers for the multiple produce or get each one separately to wait in a line for each one separately to push a button for each one separately. I opted for remembering multiple numbers. All the while my mother is moving from place to place as I am trying to not lose her in the crowd. To say the least, I am singed by the experience. My cart was banged up, my arms a bit chafed, and my soul chastened. We had to “flee” the produce section…for the meat section. Oh, I can say it was a bit of silent heaven; calm and serene. We had time to figure out which meat was pork and how much to buy. I was more than ready to leave. My Friday night date with mom needed an ending.

For the early morning wake up and foray into the Vietnamese world! I visited this Vietnamese market long ago but wanted to take mom there. Well, I had to find it first. I had a print out of the directions and nothing else. I made one mistake with a U-turn to find my way. We parked like Moscovites do…badly, crossing the street. I tried to warn my mom this market was not the best. To say the least, she agreed with me. She gasped upon entering. What was this? It was a stall where the meat lay on cardboard on one side of the room and a cat licking its claws on the other side of the small stall room. I mean small. It was live fish being handled haphazardly. It was frozen food being switched around to look fresh. It just was. Mom asked a woman for a specific herb. Response. The woman just stared at mom. Why? Mom doesn’t look Vietnamese being ½ Indian and ½ Vietnamese. Fine. Mom found another woman who had that herb but wouldn’t hand it over until my mom answered her questions. Why does mom speak Vietnamese? Why was she in Moscow? I picked up the bag ushering our way out. Our idea of eating Pho for breakfast disintegrated with mom’s exposure to the market nearby. Let’s leave now. No breakfast.

For the next stop of Metro. Russia’s version of Costco, one has to be a special status for membership. Me. I am a diplomat. We entered the quiet haven of the “elite”. I relished in it after Friday night’s chaos. Meandered past the big screen TVs. Passed the many rows of alcohol. Researched the Asian food section. We stopped by the bread section. I wanted the warm $3 USD bread. Mom. She wanted the cold cheap bread. We went back and forth and back and forth. All of a sudden a woman grabbed 4 packages of “my” bread. All of a sudden my mom wanted my bread. Don’t believe me. Believe the woman. I got my bread. Only to almost forget the take the food I bought after the check out because she and I were still talking about my bread…and the cold produce area…and the caviar.

For our next stop at the commissary in the U.S. Embassy. Mom remembers the days of the military commissary with its cheap goods. No. This is called the “posh” commissary where goods are much much more. One pizza can be $11 USD. White bread can be $5 USD. Mom was most shocked by the $1 USD burrito where she could get it for 30 cents. Let’s just say we left there quickly. We reached home by noon with my exhaustion peaked and rest called for. 4 stores in less than two days.

Enough…