The Russians Are Coming!

I want to like Russians, really I do. But they make it hard.

We got the National Geographic, Life and Newsweek at the house when I was a boy. I saw a lot of pictures of Russians, ordinary citizens, walking on the street and going about their lives. I remember thinking that they looked like a suspicious bunch, warily looking at the camera, never smiling. Must be those Soviets, I supposed, I was sure that Russians smiled at home and were friendly enough when they were sure that no one was watching or listening.

No one was happier than me when the Soviets evaporated. Although I did kind of like having them around for purposes of Mutually Assured Destruction, I was delighted to see that it seemed to make Russians happy to be rid of them. There was an interval of smiling. Now I wonder.

In Pattaya this weekend our hotel was occupied mostly by Russians. Lots of young families, married couples, bigger families with teenagers and maybe a grandma in tow as well, a great variety of Russians. In Thailand for the sun and fun. Well, the sun anyway.

It had me wondering frequently: would it kill you to smile? They all seemed so sullen. I like to smile at people. Not, I mean, like an idiot, smiling all the time, but on an elevator maybe, or passing on the street. Nothing back from these Russians though, not, I think, even once. More likely a sneer, or the avoidance of eye contact all together.

Not to be cruel about it, but there should be Bikini Police to protect us from some of these Bikini wearers. The Speedo can be dangerous to public equilibrium as well. You should be tested for a license if you want to buy one of those bathing suits. Lots of Russians in tiny, tiny bathing suits at our pool and our little private beach, and lots of them were shockingly, distressingly fat. Maybe it’s the weather in Russia, I thought in a generous mood. Maybe when it is so extremely cold being fat is an evolutionary advantage. Whatever the reason, many of the Russians in Pattaya were giant. Russians are a tall people in addition to being generally fat. There were lots of fat guys, 30 to 50 years old, walking around wearing nothing but a Speedo, a bad tattoo, and a sullen expression.

And must they be so rude to the help? Thai people are so kind-hearted, it hurts my feelings to see them treated so shabbily. But what could I expect? I got an eye and a earful of the way some of these Russians treated their own children. In the room next to me was a youngish family with a son about seven and a daughter about ten. I was treated to a good deal of yelling, smacking and crying, once in the middle of the night.

I hate to generalize, although I’m not loathe to do it sometimes. I’m sure that there are lots of very nice, smiling Russians out there somewhere. Maybe in Phuket, where everything is a little more expensive and you find a more monied class of tourist. But no, from what I hear it’s the same thing there. Don’t think that Thai people don’t notice.

And I’m very glad that they do notice. They realize that not all White foreigners are the same. Germans are different from the French, and the English are vastly different from Americans. The later comparison especially, and also any comparison of foreigners, favors we Americans by the way. We are relatively popular here. I’ve heard this from taxi drivers and others with experience. We smile, we say thank you, and we tip. Lots of people ask me where I’m from, and they’re delighted to find out that I’m American.

If the Russians are actually as unhappy as they appear, I’m just glad that I’m not one of them.