A New Russia Denies Us Our Small Pleasures

In the old days, my friends tell me, Russia was the happiest place on earth. The deficit economy has its compensations, especially when everyone else is in the same boat.


"You find bananas, you're ecstatic. You manage to buy shoes that almost fit, you're on top of the world. Every day there was something to feel good about," said Lena, who, incidentally, was so overjoyed with life here that she moved to Germany -- not entirely of her own volition, but that's another story.


I remember those days well. It is not exactly ancient history: As recently as the fall of 1992, I was calling friends and acquaintances with the remarkable news that a man selling toilet paper for 20 rubles a roll had set up shop on a street corner near the university.


I had a distinct feeling of victory as I carted off 10 or 20 rolls that I never get by squeezing the Charmin in a U.S. supermarket.


But those days are gone. Instead of combing the city for light bulbs or matches, we spend our time trying to find products we can afford.


"It's much better," said Tanya, my doctor, confidante, and masseuse. "You can find anything in the stores these days. Of course," she added, "you have to have a lot of money."


Money never used to be a problem. While there were always complaints, most people seemed to have adequate disposable income to cover available luxuries -- oranges, for instance.


Now the well-heeled squander thousands at nouveau-riche shops and casinos, while the rest of us comfort ourselves with the thought that we are, somehow, superior in our poverty.


For many, small triumphs have been replaced by mega-rage at the cornucopia of goods in plain sight but financially out of reach. I myself am starting to boil over at the plethora of high-priced, high-prestige automobiles in town.


The New Russia is quite a change for a foreigner. We are no longer catered to, looked up to, deferred to, as we were under the old regime when America, for all the anti-capitalist propaganda, was the distant promised land and the dollar was king.


We were the sophisticated, wealthy, exotic representatives of a world that most Russians had never seen. Our fashions, habits, and values were studied with a blend of fascination and fear, and a curiously Russian ambivalence. Everything Western was "better" except for those times, after a healthy helping of the local brew, when eyes would grow moist and hearts would grow heavy thinking of the lost glory of Velikaya Rus, or Great Russia.


The tables have turned. Many of my Russian friends now give me tactful tips on style and fashion and can discuss restaurants in New York or shops in Paris with much more authority than I can.


But something of the old spirit remains. I was recently treated to the sight of a usually phlegmatic friend, Christopher, positively bubbling over with delight.


"It's done! It's in! My finsky kompakt!"


Noting my bewilderment, he explained, almost giggling with glee. It seems he had bought a new toilet for his apartment, but had had quite a bit of trouble getting it installed. After a months of searching, negotiating, hoping, despairing, he finally had a working WC.


"I'm going home right now to look at it," he said, after getting the news from his wife.


Now that's the old Russia. Happiest place on earth.