The Rockette's were awesome. I think if I had been a child in New York, my dream would be to become a Rockette when I grew up. The precision dancing was fantastic. The high kicks. The synchronization. Amazing! And it was all so spectacularly New York. I think I sat through the whole show grinning like a 5-year-old. Although that could have been the spiked hot chocolate I was drinking... who knows.
After the show, I took my friend who was in from out of town out to the Russian Samovar for drinks. It's right across from the Russian Vodka Room, which we walked into, but it was packed and we couldn't get a drink, so we walked across the street to the Russian Samovar thinking it would be pretty much the same thing. Well, it wasn't. Let's just say the RVR is more for tourists, and the RS is for Russians. We walked in and sat down at the bar, and people all around us were actually speaking Russian. Now, let me take a minute to say that I could never pass for a Russian. I have super pale skin and red hair. I look Irish, and nothing but Irish. My friend though, has dark, dark hair and could probably pass for an expat from any number of countries, but since we were walking into a Russian bar, the guy next to her almost immediately started talking to her in Russian.
We had a laugh about the language thing, and he spoke fine English with an accent. We were all introduced, food was passed around as were drinks. (Lots and lots of vodka shots.) There was an older man (probably 60) named Boris drinking with his younger friend (probably mid-thirties) named Misha on one side of us, and an American named Chris with his Russian friend named Phil on the other side of us (both probably in their mid-twenties). We were laughing, having a good time, and shots were being passed around, and then things started to get weird.
First, let me just say, that Boris did not speak much english and was often whispering to his friend Misha, who kept assuring us, that all he was saying was how lovely were were. Lovely. Enchanting. I also asked Misha what he did for a living, to which he responded, "oh, odd jobs, this and that. I would say I'm an audience of life." Interesting answer Mike. They couldn't have all been more nice. Hugs all around. Cheers. But I started to think that maaaaaaybe we were going to be sold into Russian prostitution. Well, at least, maybe my friend was. Or perhaps, they already thought she was a Russian prostitute, which was why they were being so nice. Maybe this bar was a Russian mob hang out, and Misha's odd jobs were "fixing things" and we were about to become an episode of Law and Order: SVU.
Then, my thoughts were semi-confirmed when we took a shot with Phil (the Russian student studying in America) and he proceeded to take the shot and then accost my friend. Well... accost is a strong word. He tried to make out with her. She was trying to have none of it. We laughed awkwardly. Phil went outside for a minute and came back and gave my friend a $20 bill... for what, I don't know, but at that point we slapped it on the bar to pay for our share of drinks and "do svidaniya!"
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