I Hate Russia, I Love Russia

Only an hour into our travels into Moscow we were walking down an empty street when two money hungry police officers stopped us and bothered us about having proper documentation while traveling through their police state. We couldn't produce the legal paperwork but each graduated from U of M with a minor in bullshit and were able to escape paying anyfines. Just when we were excited to have arrived in the city, these cops had to come and hassle us, threatening to take us to the station and ruining our morning. I hate Russia. In the Red Square, down Arbat Street, in local parks, just about anywhere, drinking pivos (beers) in the open is okay. Of course, there's always the possibility of a fine-hungry cop looking to for some pocket rubles, but with pivos out in the open, wherever we want, I think Russia might have one-upped the US on this one. I love Russia. Walking down the street toward the Pushkin Museum I was lagging behind Peter and Sara taking pictures when a dozen men in uniform poured out of the official-looking building and ran towards us across the street. The soldiers ran right up to me and in Russian told me that I could not take pictures of the building. They made me delete my memory card of pictures and declined my request to have a group shot taken of them in front of the building. I hate Russia. Wandering around an inspiring sculpture garden, Peter made an idiot move and left his camera sitting on a random bench in the park. He didn't notice his camera was lost until 30 minutes later when we were sitting in a small cafe. He ran back to the benches we had been to but his camera was nowhere to be found. Just when we thought the camera was gone for good a Russian man walked up to our table and handed extended out his hand with Peter's camera in it. He had found the camera, looked through the photos in it and found us still sitting in the sculpture garden. What a great Russian guy. Here's a picture of Peter with the man and his family. I love Russia.