A Red Square New Year's

A new year is upon us. Years seem to turn over much faster now than when I was a child. How I spend my New Year’s Eve directly reflects my stage in life, as I suspect it does for most people.

When I was a young adult, it was all about the big party, dressing up and celebrating with a large, sometimes raucous, crowd. As a young mother, my New Years’ Eves were spent in the company of couple-friends, eating and playing the latest parlor-game sensation. The TV was on in the background, just to make sure we didn’t miss the stroke of midnight. When that magic moment arrived, we quickly passed hugs and “Happy New Year” greetings, and then it was back to the game. As my children entered high school, New Year’s suddenly became about them—what they were doing, who they were with, and their safety—while I watched celebratory events around the world on TV and waited for them to return home.

For the past 15 years or so, New Year’s Eve usually concludes, for me, somewhere around 10 p.m. My mother used to say, “Whatever you do on January 1st, you will do all year long!” I use that as an excuse to beg off attending any late parties on New Year’s Eve, because I need to be well and rested on January 1, so I can enjoy the same throughout the year (wink).

An exception was December 31 of 2005. I was in Moscow and it was cold, with lots of snow on the ground. Two medical-unit colleagues and I decided we would walk down to Red Square to people-watch. The Kremlin was holding a huge outdoor party in the Square but it was by invitation only, and we were not invited. We arrived at the Okhotny Ryad shopping center, which is a large underground mall just outside the entrance gates to Red Square. The street crowd was massive—many thousands, just milling around, drinking and singing. At the ground-level entrance to the mall, a park and recreation area, soldiers stood in a semi-circle, shoulder to shoulder. One of us decided we should try to get in, so we made our way to the front and flashed our diplomatic badges. Voilà! The guard let us pass.

We were feeling pretty cocky until we realized that, behind the barrier of guards, was another barrier in front of the gate to Red Square. We boldly marched forward and got in the line, but when we made it to the front, our diplomatic badges didn’t pass muster and we were denied access. Darn!

We found a vantage point to watch the activity but, as we were still outside the walls of Red Square, we had no inkling of what was happening on the Square. Then we noticed an opening in the wall, off to the side from the main entrance. A few people, walking on a path that led to the opening, disappeared into the Square. There appeared to be no guards at all. Well, you just know we had to give it a try and, once we made our way to that path and through the portal in the wall, there we were inside Red Square on New Year’s Eve!

The rest of the evening was truly magical. President Putin addressed the crowd on a big screen set up to the side of a stage, where entertainers sang and danced. Fireworks burst over Saint Basil’s Cathedral, probably loud enough to disturb poor old Lenin, who was laid out in his glass box across the way. I have no idea how the invited guests were chosen, but the variety of languages spoken was like a mini Tower of Babel. People sang and danced and generally had a great time, my friends and I among them, considering our selves very fortunate to be enjoying the party rather than experiencing the disgrace of having been caught gate-crashing!

Happy New Year!

For Reflections on Nursing Leadership (RNL), published by the Honor Society of Nursing, Sigma Theta Tau International.

Viva Italia!

Today was a beautiful, sunny day—a real treat during this mostly gray-skies time of year in Prague. I took the opportunity to hop a tram, followed by the metro, to go to a distant shopping area and explore that vicinity of the city.

Before I joined the Foreign Service, I spent my entire life in southern United States. Mass transit really doesn’t exist in the South, other than a rather limited system in Atlanta, so being involved with some of the world’s largest and most sophisticated mass-transit systems has been of real interest to me, both in technology and in the culture of mass travel.

Most of my metro/tram experience has been in Europe, but I was also a frequent rider of the Mexico City metro, while serving in that post. Frankly, most of my colleagues wouldn’t ride the Mexico City metro, for fear of pickpockets or of being squashed to death. The latter was a real possibility, as I quickly discovered one rush hour when I witnessed a young woman trying to exit the train and be literally picked up by the oncoming rush of people and pushed back into the car. I hoped she was able to get off at the following stop.

My favorite thing about living in Moscow was the metro system. This system is HUGE! It is dependable, inexpensive and has the most artistic stations I’ve ever seen. I spent many weekends just traveling the metro and taking pictures of station decorations, which was strictly forbidden but not enforced. There are tours of the Moscow subway stations—I took one just to learn more about the history—and coffee-table picture books of the most ornate.

The culture of mass transit in Moscow is interesting. There is a set etiquette for travel, and it includes being straight-faced and, preferably, quiet. If one must speak to another passenger, it is to be done at a whisper and as quickly as possible. And one should never ever smile, nod or make eye contact with other travelers.

In contrast is travel on the Rome metro, where jabbering travelers might be entertained by a fellow commuter(s) who breaks out in song—usually opera—for a few minutes, and then finishes to raucous clapping. While Rome stations are not particularly ornate, in comparison to Moscow stations, their displays of Roman antiquities are a real plus.

In Bucharest, I sometimes traveled on the new and modern metro, usually with only a few other passengers. The line is rather limited, but so expensive that most people couldn’t afford to travel. Sure kept those cars clean and shiny, though.

In Budapest, the stations were underground shopping malls with food courts, stores, flower shops and travel agencies—sort of one-stop shopping while going to or from home. I mostly used the trams in Budapest, and I don’t think I was ever on one that wasn’t standing-room-only, which became an issue when tram police jumped on to check tickets. People without tickets would start pushing to the other end of the car, hoping to get off at the next stop before getting caught and fined. It was great entertainment, if I could get out of the way.

The metro and trams in Prague are modern and quite utilitarian, and the system is widespread. The most important thing is, they are punctual with a great frequency schedule. Unlike our neighbors to the far northeast, people happily chat and smile at each other, though not so much to strangers. On my tram ride back home today, our car was serenaded by a group of three young men—visiting Italians!

For Reflections on Nursing Leadership, published by the Honor Society of Nursing, Sigma Theta Tau International.