Stranger in Moscow

December 2025

I had been sitting in the Teacher's Room for several hours, looking over communicative activities, flashcards, grammar books and board games. I had forgotten how uncomfortable you could feel starting a new job. I would introduce myself to each teacher as they came in looking for something, or hoping to find online activities. While everyone was welcoming, they had work to do so the room was often in silence or they would speak to each other in Russian. It was something I could never entirely get used to.

No-one had checked what I was doing or given any indication of when I could leave for the day. At 8pm I walked up to the office shared by the School Director and the Director of Studies but it had been locked up for the evening. I checked the kitchen but only saw a couple of the women from reception having a cup of tea. I decided to leave school for the evening and head back to the hotel. Although somewhat disoriented by the darkness, I managed to get the metro from Preobrazhenskaya Ploshad to Ulitsa Podbelskogo but saw the station had four exits. I looked to others for a hint about which way to go but there were people walking in all directions.

I chose a random exit and walked into the night air. Summer had only just ended so temperature wasn't a problem. Around the metro station were street vendors, groups of men drinking and smoking, and a couple of stray dogs lying harmlessly by the stairs. From the denim jeans the men were wearing, to the popularity of the mullet hair-do, and the cars driving past, I had an immediate sense of being transported back to the ’80’s. Across the road were tall apartment blocks that had seen better days.

I made an effort to appear nonchalant as I started walking around looking for where the tram stop could be. It was evident that they came this way because of the wide road lined by the silvery squiggles of light rail tracks, as well as the cables overhead. I saw some go by, but never the numbers 13 or 36.

For several minutes I walked around in an anxious state while trying to broadcast calm, purposeful vibes. Fortunately my appearance didn’t give me away as foreign, but my lack of Russian skills would. The last thing I wanted to do is expose myself as vulnerable. This was my first day in Russia and no-one knew me or cared about me yet. I realised there was nobody in this country I could count on for help.

People walked past talking on their mobile phones in Russian. Every sign I looked at was written in that mighty, Cyrillic script. I needed to choose the right stranger for help in finding the tram stop, and I’d have to be close to death to approach a man, at night, in a foreign country: especially one in a group and doubly especially one with a bottle of alcohol in his hand. I had seen a woman pushing a pram earlier. Couldn’t someone like that come along again?

I decided to cross the road, a Soviet-style, 50-metre-wide expanse. I stepped over the metal tracks as I looked out for vehicles coming from the opposite direction I was used to in Australia. Little did I know that many pedestrian crossings in Russia are underground.

I was really starting to feel lost and I couldn’t have guessed the directions of north, south, east or west. I couldn’t just walk home, either. I had no idea of the name of the hotel, the suburb it was in or even the general direction it was in. I just continued to walk, trying to create the impression that I knew where I was going. I really didn’t know how I was going to get back to the hotel.

I saw several trams in a line, and in the front one sat my perfect stranger. She was a woman of around 50, with sandy hair cut into a bowl shape, sitting in the driver’s seat, possibly waiting for her shift to start. I made a beeline for her.

I knocked on the open door of the tram and said in Russian, “Excuse me, please. Where…?” I faltered as I realised I knew the Russian words for plane, train, and bus but, aggravatingly, not tram. So I pointed to the tram she was sitting in, pulled out a notebook and pen and wrote down the numbers 13 and 36. She started speaking in Russian as she stood up and stepped off the vehicle. She got me to follow her a few metres, talking continuously, and repeatedly pointing to a street corner around 100 metres away. I said “Many thanks” in Russian and she watched me walk off. I waved to her when I arrived and she went back to the tram. Others were standing around, so I pretended to be one of them. I put on a blank face and acted like a bored Russian citizen waiting to go home. The number 36 arrived in less than a minute.

I had a new obstacle: was this tram going to take me towards the hotel or in the opposite direction? I asked the driver, a surly woman, “Preobrazhenskaya Ploshad?” which was the only suburb I knew, the suburb of my school, and pointed towards the front window of the vehicle. She seemed to be saying it was back the other way. I knew I wanted to go in the opposite direction of Preobrazhenska, so I thanked her and happily dipped my ticket in the machine. Veronica had given me metro and tram tickets at Domodedovo airport. The driver tried to stop me, obviously thinking my destination was Preobrazhenskaya Ploshad. I persisted, went through the turnstile, and hopped off two stops later.

After showing a copy of my passport at reception (the school had taken mine to get my twelve-month, multi-entry work visa) to collect my room key, I entered my tidy little room that held a bed, bar fridge and kettle. The school director, in her infinite empathy, had selected a hotel for me that, while perfectly comfortable, wasn't near a metro station, had no English-speaking staff, no internet access, no restaurant or kitchenette and didn’t serve breakfast. I realised that I hadn’t eaten a hot meal for a couple of days since I don’t like plane food. There didn’t seem to be any cafes in this part of town , and I wasn't going to risk going out and getting lost again anyway. Fortunately I still had some fruit and yoghurt that Veronica had given me when she met me at the airport.

I sat on my single bed and started drinking the bottle of yoghurt. The room was filled with silence. I looked at the traditional lace curtains that did nothing to stop the glare of a streetlight. Fat, splashy tears started popping out of my eyes. I didn’t fight them. I sat and let the tears dispel my fear and discomfort from the day. My thoughts circled around the school, this daunting city, the lady who helped me, people back home, my dying relationship and whether I’d made the right decision to come here. I wished I had someone to go out to dinner with and talk to, but eventually I relaxed enough to fall asleep.