21/11: Buying stamps? Not as easy as you'd think.
Russian Post Offices present a challenge for the foreigner like almost no other place here.
The first challenge is to find one. Unlike most other countries’ postal services, the “Pochta” logo is only easily spotted on the post boxes, which are usually located on the walls of buildings. Some maps give the locations of the offices, but in general it’s better to ask someone.
Tourist postcards have yet to make the en masse arrival in Russia that they have in even the most backward tourist spots in the West (you know the ones, “Hello from sunny Tierra del Fuego”), but if you do manage to find and purchase some, the fun is only just beginning.
When I first arrived, I discovered some rather expensive cards in a souvenir shop off Red Square, and I bought some, as there seemed to be cheaper alternative. Having dutifully written my pithy “having a ball” epithets to the folks back home, I made my way to the main post office in Moscow, the Telegraf on the corner of Tverskaya and Gazetny Pereulok. There are no less than about 12 cashier points here, so which one would I need? At the time possessing only rudimentary Russian, I knew that the word for stamp was “marka”, but was dismayed to find not a single sign to help with my choice. Many of the windows were also closed for lunch. Asking the other customers, even showing them my cards as a visual aid (like a good language teacher), didn’t really help, and I ended up in the pension line, with women cutting the queue because, well, they’re women and apparently have an acknowledged right to do this. Lesson learned: you must not only know the window you want, but also their break times. I left frustrated, and returned with my Russian boss, who had no less trouble locating the correct window, bouncing from one to the other like a bleach-haired pinball. At last I managed to send my cards with the correct postage paid. (Many of them even arrived at the correct addresses, albeit several weeks later).
Recently, my mother visited me, and we travelled together to St Petersburg. We were trying to buy stamps for Mum’s postcards, and we managed to locate a large post office near Moskovsky Railway Station. By this time, my Russian was much better, and I asked several people at which window we might buy stamps. One woman kindly tried to help and enquired on our behalf, assuring us that Window 5 was the go. After 20 minutes in a queue of people apparently cashing pension cheques (de ja vu), we were about 3 people away from being served when the cashier looked up at us and roughly declared that “we don’t sell stamp here!” Well, which window, please? “No, we don’t sell stamps HERE!” (ie in this Post Office). So, a Post Office that doesn't sell stamps, huh? It goes to show that just when you think you've seen it all... Anyway, I asked her, “Well, where can we buy them?” “I DON’T KNOW! Ask through there!!!”
So, we headed ‘through there’ to ask at the stationery counter. “We don’t sell stamps!!” came the sneering reply. I know, but where can we buy them? “Somewhere else”, she declared, which was the final straw for this camel, and I exploded, “WELL THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH FOR YOUR HELP!!!!!!” Then she came over all hurt and said apologetically, but helplessly, “Well, I don’t speak English.” I couldn’t believe my ears. “I didn’t ask you in English”, I said, at which point a curious look crossed her face, as if to say “Oh yeah, you didn’t either.”
We didn’t manage to get any useful information, but at dinner a waitress told us where to obtain some stamps the next day. The fact that it was a Saturday afternoon shows that the service is not all bad here. You just have to know the exact time and place to be somewhere in order to get it.
My advice, at least to myself for the future, is to be unafraid of going to each window and, regardless of whether or not they’re serving someone else, ask loudly: “MARKY YEST?” It works for the locals.
The first challenge is to find one. Unlike most other countries’ postal services, the “Pochta” logo is only easily spotted on the post boxes, which are usually located on the walls of buildings. Some maps give the locations of the offices, but in general it’s better to ask someone.
Tourist postcards have yet to make the en masse arrival in Russia that they have in even the most backward tourist spots in the West (you know the ones, “Hello from sunny Tierra del Fuego”), but if you do manage to find and purchase some, the fun is only just beginning.
When I first arrived, I discovered some rather expensive cards in a souvenir shop off Red Square, and I bought some, as there seemed to be cheaper alternative. Having dutifully written my pithy “having a ball” epithets to the folks back home, I made my way to the main post office in Moscow, the Telegraf on the corner of Tverskaya and Gazetny Pereulok. There are no less than about 12 cashier points here, so which one would I need? At the time possessing only rudimentary Russian, I knew that the word for stamp was “marka”, but was dismayed to find not a single sign to help with my choice. Many of the windows were also closed for lunch. Asking the other customers, even showing them my cards as a visual aid (like a good language teacher), didn’t really help, and I ended up in the pension line, with women cutting the queue because, well, they’re women and apparently have an acknowledged right to do this. Lesson learned: you must not only know the window you want, but also their break times. I left frustrated, and returned with my Russian boss, who had no less trouble locating the correct window, bouncing from one to the other like a bleach-haired pinball. At last I managed to send my cards with the correct postage paid. (Many of them even arrived at the correct addresses, albeit several weeks later).
Recently, my mother visited me, and we travelled together to St Petersburg. We were trying to buy stamps for Mum’s postcards, and we managed to locate a large post office near Moskovsky Railway Station. By this time, my Russian was much better, and I asked several people at which window we might buy stamps. One woman kindly tried to help and enquired on our behalf, assuring us that Window 5 was the go. After 20 minutes in a queue of people apparently cashing pension cheques (de ja vu), we were about 3 people away from being served when the cashier looked up at us and roughly declared that “we don’t sell stamp here!” Well, which window, please? “No, we don’t sell stamps HERE!” (ie in this Post Office). So, a Post Office that doesn't sell stamps, huh? It goes to show that just when you think you've seen it all... Anyway, I asked her, “Well, where can we buy them?” “I DON’T KNOW! Ask through there!!!”
So, we headed ‘through there’ to ask at the stationery counter. “We don’t sell stamps!!” came the sneering reply. I know, but where can we buy them? “Somewhere else”, she declared, which was the final straw for this camel, and I exploded, “WELL THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH FOR YOUR HELP!!!!!!” Then she came over all hurt and said apologetically, but helplessly, “Well, I don’t speak English.” I couldn’t believe my ears. “I didn’t ask you in English”, I said, at which point a curious look crossed her face, as if to say “Oh yeah, you didn’t either.”
We didn’t manage to get any useful information, but at dinner a waitress told us where to obtain some stamps the next day. The fact that it was a Saturday afternoon shows that the service is not all bad here. You just have to know the exact time and place to be somewhere in order to get it.
My advice, at least to myself for the future, is to be unafraid of going to each window and, regardless of whether or not they’re serving someone else, ask loudly: “MARKY YEST?” It works for the locals.
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waytorussia wrote: