Instead of posting a picture for #throwbackthursday, I decided to write a whole post about it (Contain your excitement, will you please? Sheesh).
I was digging through my box of pictures, which is one of the few things I decided to bring to Canada when we moved here 6 years ago. There are many treasures in that box, but it's actually missing a few things to complete the picture that is my life (<--- see what I did there?).
I got rid of allthepictures that had my first husband in them (Not PJ's dad; he was my second husband. Yes, Roland is husband #3 - shocking, I know. Whatevs) and I also got rid of allthepictures that had my parents or my sister in them. That one is a long story; what I'm trying to say is that along with the pictures that are no longer there, a few memories have disappeared as well.
Some good memories have disappeared, so I was very excited to find an envelope filled with pictures of a trip to Moscow in 1988.
I was in Grade 10 and had just started learning Russian. Languages have always been my thing and I was able to read and write the cyrillic alphabet (which was an accomplishment in itself), but apart from a few sentences I didn't understand anything nor could I communicate fluently.
My father thought it was enough to drag me along on a trip to Russia, so in May 1988 my parents took me out of school for a week, left my sister with her grandparents and off to Moscow we went.
It was pretty exciting - the iron curtain was still there and Gorbachev was just about to take power. We still needed a visa and there was no doubt that this was a communist country, but you could feel the change in the air.
I was fascinated by how big and empty everything was. Yes, there were people, but not nearly as many as you'd expect in a city that size. I specifically remember all the stores being empty. There was nothing to buy - not exactly a dream destination for a 16-year-old teenager. Nevertheless, I have only positive memories of that week.
I was deeply impressed with the subway system there. The subway stations were 90 metres (270') below street level and the escalators that took us down reminded me very much of Sylvester descending into hell after trying to eat Tweety. Once we got down there however, each station was a beautiful work of art...
I'm glad I held onto those memories, because they are good ones.
