my friend the Russian

To this day I have no idea what "John's" real name is. It makes no difference, of course, because when he contacts me, we talk. Sometimes for awhile, sometimes just for a few minutes. He is the world traveler, and he keeps his life pretty much a mystery. I keep mine pretty much the same , and he does not seem to hound me for it. You might remember a post I wrote about 2 weeks ago, when I talked about the "new Internet people" and how they never let you be: They always insist on knowing your exact city, your job history, your family net worth, etc etc. "John" is not like this. I don't pry too deeply into his life; he does not pry too deeply into mine. Job history is, you see, totally off the table.

Still, there is definitely a lot more reason that one should be prying into John's life history--whatever it may really be -- rather than mine. Why? The reason is simple: Since I met John in late December 2011, he has not only changed location about 9 times, he has also changed country. I have not even changed rooms. John -- or perhaps Ivan, or sometimes Pierre - is very different, however. It seems that he has connections and family members all over the world. When I met him, it was on Craigslist: He was looking for a buddy to play guitar with, and I was looking for the same. He was in New York City then.

We began to talk. He told me he was British, or that his father was British, and that he had just moved to New York City two years prior to live with his momma, who lives in some neighborhood rather far from Manhattan. He told me stories about going to junior year and senior year in the States, and how strange it wsa, etcetc. He did not necessarily like the States too much...and we connected, because of course neither do I. For about 3 months we kept in touch strictly through chat, usually discussing subjects that were definitive favorites for me in 2011 and 2012: the early career of the Rolling Stones in 60's London, the black blues of the Mississippi Delta, Eric Claptons latter day work, etc. We never actually wound up meeting in person to jam. He was too far ... I didn't want to take the train. But our correspondence was strong...we both agreed..."you're one of the greatest people I've ever met." 

Back then we talked primarily on Facebook chat, after an initial bunch of e-mails, and his Facebook, I remember thinking, looked particularly vacant for what I was - bck then - accustomed to. I was on Facebook often back then (logged off permanently now) and most people had pages and pictures dating back , at least, to about '06, '07. Not John. He , in fact, did not even have a single photo of himself on his Facebook, just a picture of Keith Richards playing a guitar in the 60s. His name would also, I sometimes noticed, change as well. One day you'd log on and he'd be writing to you as Pierre...the next day Ivan...the next day back to John or Johnny again. As I always say, I had no questions. Especially not after he hooked me up with that random Sicilian girl he knew in Palermo....who gleefully accepted my friend request just because I knew John. She had an ancient Roman name, Flavia, and she introduced me to two great Italian artists, DeAndre and Vasco Rossi. In a way you can say my entire Italian experience happened because of John....  

At any rate, before I go on too long, I might as well jump right into the part of the story where it first got sort of weird: It is the day that John finally wanted to communicate through voice, and not just Facebook chat. This happened probably sometime in 2013, I want to say, and I am ashamed to tell you that it was, in fact, my first time ever using Skype. I remember at first being sort of spooked by the fact that someone wanted to use Skype with me....I thought perhaps I would be hacked....my paranoia led me to doing some simple research on Google... "can you be hacked through Skype? can someone get your IP address through Skype?" I was very bewildered by why John wanted to talk to me through this. It was unusual for me. Nevertheless I went forward with it. Like I said, he was one of the coolest dudes I had ever chanced to meet online!

I'll never forget the feeling I had once we both connected and I heard John's voice coming into my ears. I was shocked as hell. Why? Well, maybe it won't sound so shocking to you, in writing, as it did to me, in reality, but the reason I was shocked was becauyse the accent of the voice that came through my ear that day was not really quite a British one, but rather a Russian one. I couldn't believe it. I had been --- what?---lied to! This dude was not British! He was Russian! He was definitely trying to hack me. All forces up! ALL SYSTEMS TO ATTACK!!! "John," I said, probably in my toughest Brooklyn accent,  "you think I'm an idiot? you think I don't know what a fucking British accent is? you think I'm falling for this shit? You are obviously a Russian... I can hear it clear as day....holy shit....I'll tell you I'm sort of shook! I never talked to a fuckin' Russian before, man. What the hell?"

I don't quite remember his exact reaction; but I think he laughed. Then he began to explain himself. He was not Russian, he said, but rather Bulgarian, and his father was a British, just like he had always told me he was, but his mother, you see, she was the Russian, or the Bulgarian, or the whatvever. He then proceeded to shock me with the next amazing detail I could not - and soetimes still cannot - believe: He wasn't even in the United States anymore. He had left during the 2 months we had not talked so frequently on Facebook chat. Where was he? England? Somewhere in the UK? No. He was, he said, in a country called Moldova, in a city called Chisinau. Being from New Jersey, I had never heard of either of these places. Yet again, my immediate reaction was "...COMMUNIST!" Or something like that. "PUTIN FREAK!" I have no idea. "SLAVE TRADER!" "BODY ORGAN THIEF!"  It wasn't yet 2016 with Trump and Russian collusion shit. This was back in 2013, remember. Russia was stilll  a country of lunatics then; but it wasn't a country of colluding lunatics.

Plus...wait a second...John wasn't in Russia anyways! He was in Moldova, which is a small little country that sits right in the middel of Ukraine and Romania. It is a very, dreadfully poor country...and in fact, Moldova's poverty was, so John told me, the exact reason he was there. "My father sent me here, so that I can live cheap in an apartment he pays for. Since he makes his money in Britain and elsewhere in the West , living here is like nothing. It's really not a half bad country anyways." I remember attempting to do some research on the place....most of what I read sounded mortifying. I vaguely recall reading something about how there were many places in Moldova where street lights had not  "popped up yet". People just walk along in the dark and some even walk around with  lanterns. I am not kidding about that, I vividly remember reading that part about the lanterns and candles in particular. I also remember reading about how a lot of the roads were so badly paved that they were impossible to drive. When folks walk the sidewalks they have to be careful because "...maybe you just fall right in". To what? A hole, I suppose. Sort of like the way I almost broke my ankle yesterday morning here in Jersey, when I almost tripped into a pothole whilst crossing the street with my pitbull. Something like that, you see, but 10,000 times worse. No fuckin' streetlights. Holy shit. 

I always had a lot of questions I wanted to ask about Russia of course, or Moldova, whatever it was, but I couldn't always ask them because often John would get rather annoyed. Like you might be able to imagine, he often thought I had a lot of "mistaken American ideas" about this region of the world ... which of course I did, and still do.

One week in which John became particularly social, for example, I remember him sending me a series of short videos and photos whilst shopping in Chisinau. He sent me photos of the grocery store, of aisles filled with food. "See?" he said, "We have things here just like they have in America. Same thing." Then of course he sent videos of the girls he would always be with ....and trust me,John --for being a rather awkward kid at times--was always with girls, it seemed. Sometimes he even said he was living with em. They always had Russian sounding names. Olga, Thekla, Inna, Marya. And they also, always, seemingly as a rule, could never speak in English as well as John could.

They were all, he would always assure you, "girls who are completely of the East.. They know nothing of the West except, usually, what I tell them. Of course they all want to live there, mate, trust me, they all would kill to live in Germany or somewheres."  Sometimes we would be in the midst of long phone conversations and I would hear one of the girls briefly in the background, saying something to John in Russian. "Is that Olga dude?" "Ya mate." "Put her on, I wanna talk to her." A light girls voice would approach the phone. She would laugh, embarassed...a far thicker accent than Johns..."I do not speak English well, I just do not..I am sorry, I wish we could talk.." Then she would say something to John in Russian again. They would perhaps say  a series of things. All of which I of course could not understand at all. "Sure is ashame I can't communicate with Marya, I'm very curious to know of her life." "Meh, there isn't really much to know," John would say, "For the most part she has just lived in Chisinau her whole life,on the outskirts. She is a very simple, provincial girl. It's sort of a miracle she even puts up with a foreigner like me, really... most of the girls here," he would always be sure to tell you, "most of them are incredibly frightened of foreigners. Foreigners are like aliens here, it's crazy mate."

"But John, dude, what the hell you talking about? You're not a foreigner. You speak to her in what sounds like perfect Russian. You're apart of the scene out there, man."

He would laugh. "It sounds perfect to you," he would say, "but not to them. For her, I am not a Russian, nor a Moldovan, and never will be. I'm a westerner. They hear it in my speech. I cannot speak the Russian as good as them. When they speak, they just flow. It's not the same for me. I can only really carry on a conversation so far in Russian. I discuss simple things. Nothing complex. Nothing like what we discuss in English. And trust me, mate, it makes a big difference, because girls in the East , most of them really only go for guys who have never seen anything except the East. Some of them don't care to leave, y'know, many don't, they'll stay here whether they know it's good or bad. They, you know, many of them hate the West and see the West as the cause of all problems that have ever been..>"

"Total loyalty to Mother Russia." I would say.

"Well, mostly just to Eastern Europe, but yeah, something like that. Vladimir Putin."

Every now and again you could hope for a good political conversation from John - if you got him started on the Russian topic like that-- but usualyl, not so much. He did not -- does not -- like to discuss politics. Most of our topics still, to this day, hover around the Rolling Stones, new guitars, the songs he tries to write and upload to Soundcloud. These days, for example, for the past few months, John has been developing a serious love affair with the guitarist who used to be in the Chili Peppers, John Frusciante. It is kind of odd, since I myself, when I was about 19 (John is 22, by the way) used to have a big time love affair with Frusciante; I thought he was the greatest solo artist of the new age. Johnny really loves the guy ... sends me file after file (rather nicely recorded file, too) of him singing Frusciante's stuff with his guitar. The other day he sent me him doing the songs "The Past Recedes" and "Song to Sing When I'm Lonely".  Usually it is quite good; in fact, I have been quite fond of following John's steady improvements with the guitar and his singing for all these years now. He used to only sing in a sort of whisper; now his voice has been growing significantly more confident. Fascinating to watch a young artist grow, especially when you know you are helping him build his confidence. In fact, I feel a serious sense of responsibility to listen as soon as possible when John does chance to send a file, sinceI often feel like without my talking, he might have never started recording any at all. I did a lot of persuading in our earlier conversations back in 2012, etcetc.

At any rate, sometimes the topic of the Chili Peppers will lead to us discussing that area of the States neither John nor I have ever seen: Los Angeles. Last week we had about an hour long discussion that centered completely on Los Angeles. I felt like I basically went through the entire history of the city from the 1920s to the 90s and beyond for my Russian friend. Los Angeles, he tells me, if he ever comes back to the States, "is the city for me."  I explained to him something I knew he would particularly like about LA and its mythos: "Here in America, what they say about LA, you see, they say it's a city where you go to die and get reborn ...and what that means is that, unlike New York, and unlike our big cities in Texas etc., LA is not at all concerned with ethnicity or religion or any of that shit, really. In LA, they say all of that just gets washed away. You become someone totally new -- maybe even someone totally plastic. The city is like an artist really, and it just reinvents you entirely. No one in LA has any history John, people there only have a future."

These days in 2017, of course, John is no longer as "technically far" from Los Angeles as he was in 2013 when he was in Chisinau, smack dab between Ukraine and Romania. Don't forget what I told you before: While I have been here in New Jersey living in the same cozy little room (quite happily, I assure you), John has been out there criss crossing half the known world. After Chisinau, you se, he lived in Lithuania for a very little while ("my fathers knows people there, with business"), then  he was , I remember, in Bulgaria ("my mothers family lives here still), and then from Bulgaria he finally went back east, to London, for quite awhile , before leaving for Germany, where he lives now, in Berlin. A lot of his stories about London were actually rather depressing: He went there thinking he would love it (all those old stories about the Rolling Stones, remember) only to find that "the city has changed irrevocably from what those old stories are". One afternoon he sent me a fun video from London where he was actually walking around in what was once Jimi Hendrix's old apartment, now on display, on a street out there called Brook Street. This is a new museum dedicated to Hendrix which I believe has just opened. John sent me a photo of himself crouching next to a little TV Hendrix himself supposedly one watched. It was pretty surreal....

Nothing seemed to quite go right for John in London, however. The people, he kept telling me, "are no good here". For starters, he would often remark that many of the native English there were unusually rude to any and all foreigners , and the next thing he told me was that "...they all think they're Americans, and copy you Americans, even though they're anything but." I kept telling him to try harder with the London social scene.."there has to be something happening out there...Christ almighty, if i was in London instead of New Jersey, specially with my geetar, I can't imagine what I could make happen.." I tried to encourage him with the old stories of the American rockers who all went to London to make it...there were quite a number of them, even right down to John Mellencamp, believe it or not, in his very early days. But my John wasn't having it... perhaps because it's no longer 1969 or 81, but rather 2017. "The English don't know shit about music anymore." He told me, "This city is hopeless. I'm going to leave the first chance I get...I jsut have to get my papers together and make the proper arrangements. A few months from now, my mother got cousins in Germany, in Berlin, and I'm gonna go see them, and see about settin' something up there." Sure enough, a few months later, and London was a wrap for him. He sent me pictures of himself in front of a random landmark in Berlin. Then he sent another of a hotel that was clearly for the rich and famous. "You see that hotel?" he said, "That's where I'll be working now, as a barista."

 Many of the first messages John would send to me about his new life in Berlin, most of them audio messages with the sound of a roaring train behind him, were initially happy. He was considerably more excited for Berlin than he was about London, and he kept telling me that the city was definitely "Way better" and "Way more interesting". We focused on the local music scene a lot of course, which he told me was really phenomenal, "far healthier than anything in that awful London". I myself had a lot of questions about how, exactly, the language barrier was working for him there, for "don't they speak German in Germany?" John tells me however that speaking German, which he does not speak at all, aside from a few words, is apparently not a necessity, when one is "merely working as a barista". This all sounds positively unfathomable to me but is apparently really the case for him there. In fact, John says he really can't stand the German language..." I have no plan whatsoever on learning it. It's a hideous language." I make jokes and laugh along...I have always thought the same thing. I remember the old joke from the Dylan Moran comedy special, when he talks about the German language... "it sounds like nails on a chalkboard....an awful language..no one should ever speak it!"

 Recently though John has been getting more interesting, in other ways, I have found. At least, ways that are interesting for me. For example, about two weeks ago, he wrote me a message saying he had been reading the Keith Richards autobiography, Life. He said he wanted to read it outloud for me "..to practice my narration skills , and also my English". This was actually a little strange because previously I had never realized he thought of himself as having a limited English (I had always kind of felt it was limited).  So he sent me some random passage from the Life book where Keith was rambling on and on about his childhood and his families politics in 1940s London. "If you're going to read something as boring as that, John," I said, "you might as well read something by me." He laughed ... "Yes its actually what I was tring to make happen, since I know you're writing things... why don't you send me something and I will read the entire thing?" Every now and again he will sort of pester me to get a link to this blog (I never link anyone in my real life to this blog) and so I figured I would give him something. I sent him the article I published in late October "Stories about Pirates".  He read it outloud and recorded himself doing it. For some reason, ridiculous as it might sounds, it was fascinating to hear. So immediately after "Stories about Pirates", I sent him another article, "They Turned On Johnny Depp", which he also read in a 'narration' voice. Now he is saying we should start a podcast.... "we will talk about everything," he says, "countries, music, pirates, the Stones, movies, everything.."

I am kind of wondering if it will ever really happen I guess. I'm also now wondering why I was even writing all of this in the first place?

perhaps to be Continued