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Immigrants try to stick together. My neighbor John, an Australian, helped me to hook up my home phone. Within a week of our arrival, without having to leave the house, I had opened a bank account, got my TV working, set up insurance policies, connected to the Internet, enrolled my children in school, and bought a car at a nearby dealership.

The paperwork was all done over the phone, quickly. This was the land of the telephone! My main focus was to get a new business up and running. My thoughts were drawn to the idea of a credit card business, and it was in America that this notion was born.

I had been in every database since , when I first came to America and bought a house in Santa Rosa. There is nothing strange or unlawful about it. The form usually states that by default you are releasing your personal information for transfer to third parties.

This is how your information gets out there, into the world. The same thing happened to me. In particular, I was bombarded with credit card offers. I got a couple and started to think that this would be a good idea for Russia, a massive country just like the U. Sending offers to clients through the mail! This was not a bad idea that had come into my head. When I was studying marketing at Berkeley in , I started to become more interested in how the system worked. Having sold my beer business, however, I found myself in a position where I had enough liquidity to turn my dream of opening a bank into a reality.

When I talked to bank owners and clerks, trying to get business development loans, I always wondered what it would be like if the tables were turned. Were they really that smart? Not really; they were just like me. But for some reason it was they who were giving me money and not the other way around. I thought about it for a while and decided that things needed to change, that I should be the one lending the money.

Everything came together: my desire to be a banker, on the one hand, and my love of plastic, on the other. Some uninformed people now accuse me of copying Russian Standard Bank. I hope Rustam Tariko reads this book or this page, at least. He can confirm the accuracy of my next story. It happened in , one of the times we met at my office. Rustam and I quickly came to an agreement with respect to selling his vodka.

After all, he is a rational and competent businessman. There has been talk that he foolishly gets himself into trouble, along with other negative publicity. As for me, I know him well and greatly respect his business talents. His lifestyle and love of luxury and glamour do not correspond to my values, but that is his private life and has no bearing on his effectiveness as a businessman.

It is possible that he is one of the smartest businessmen in Russia. He, along with Andrei Rogachov, Sergei Galitsky, and a couple others conceived of business ventures that are now worth billions of dollars and created these from the ground up. It would be fantastic!

The subject was dropped. The client would then make his or her own decision whether or not to activate the card. Of course a large percentage of the cards were unwanted and a lot of people felt the bank was pressuring them.

Early in the Autumn of , I met with Stephan Dertnig, chief at the Moscow office of Boston Consulting Group , and asked him to do a feasibility study examining how realistic it would be to turn my idea into an operating business. The document cost several hundred thousand dollars. It embodied a very thorough approach to the analysis, however, since I was potentially going to invest tens of millions in the proposed venture.

I asked Stephan to develop a concept and to offer an answer to the question whether it would it be possible to market credit cards, directly, in Russia. In November, Stephan traveled to San Francisco to present the final version of the study. Should the venture be undertaken? I already had some sense of the matter though. They told us they were ready to work with a new bank.

Korolyov gave us the contact information for MasterCard Advisors , the department responsible for helping banks with technology and with setting up a credit card IT platform. Everything was coming together. I could see that this business was a real possibility. I took some of the key staff members from my beer business for a week-long trip to Necker Island, which is owned by Richard Branson, founder of the Virgin brand. All of the Tinkoff people who were working in my restaurant chain, temporarily, following the sale of my beer business were there.

Unfortunately, I had not been able to sell the chain to the Belgians. In essence, I was paying my staff in order to keep the team together, which I continued to do for a year and a half so as not to lose valuable human resources. Ultimately, however, I could not offer a job in the bank to some of the good folks who had worked in my beer business, although I provided a bridge for some of them to continue working in their respective fields.

Petersburg , and production worker Andrei Mezgiryov. All of us were on Necker together. The trip served as an additional bonus for excellent work in the beer industry. We spent the whole week having fun and goofing off. On the very last day, however, I asked for a projector, set it up on a table, pointed it at the wall, and started going through the report from Boston Consulting Group , with commentary as needed. I asked those present if they believed in the idea, and all of them said they did.

In the end we all shook hands, there at the table, drank some rum, and decided that my next business would be in credit cards. Francis hotel at Union Square. I fear new developments may destroy the real estate market [which is probably what happened — O. I have another idea. It would involve building an oil processing plant near the border and exporting gasoline. Funnier still, was a conversation I had with Mikhail Freedman. It was there that I bumped into Mr.

All the managers of Perekryostok sat with us at the table. I shared my idea concerning the credit card bank. I had never worked in the financial industry. How was I to compete with Alpha-Bank , which had been established in ? But conversations like these just left me more excited. I love achieving what others think impossible. This is what a person who has just sold his beer company for million dollars looks like.

The Tinkov family is descended from nobility who lived near Tambov. There is still a village in the area called Tinkovo. Petersburg Public Library. My grandparents, escaping political repression during the dekulakization period, or because of the famine, perhaps, boarded a train and left their home in They disembarked at Kolchugino Station as Leninsk-Kuznetsky was then known and settled there. When my grandfather Timofey started working in the mines he was provided with housing—half of a cabin, that is, thirty-two square meters in house 16 on Kooperativnaya Street, meters from the mine.

It was in this house that my father, Yury Timofeyevich Tinkov, was born in , the second youngest of eight brothers and sisters. The eldest, Vasily Timofeyevich, was 15 years older than my father. He manned a tank in the war and is still alive, thank God. After the elder brothers had grown up and married, they began moving their wives into the cabin too. They had to sleep on bunk beds so that everyone would fit.

In these Tinkov breeding grounds three generations were born. In time, the family members went their separate ways. But my father remained to live in the cabin. My grandfather spent his entire life working in the mines. In , he died of acute poisonous gas inhalation after helping to put out a fire. It was there, in , in the city of Dalneperechensk known as Iman, prior to , that my mother was born. The family had three daughters and no sons.

My grandmother was a capable seamstress. She also kept a farm with a cow and some pigs. Afterwards he ran a sawmill. Vladimir Petrovich, as they called him, was feared and respected by all. They say I look like him. He passed away not so long ago, in A portrait of Stalin hung above his bed until the day he died. It always made me feel a little uncomfortable, but I loved my grandpa.

In , my mother, Valentina Vladimirovna, made a trip to Leninsk-Kuznetsky, to visit her sister Nina. She met my father there. So my mother remained there with her eldest son Yura. I do know, however, that I was born at p. I weighed 4 kilograms. The maternity clinic was 15 kilometers away from Leninsk-Kuznetsky, in Polysayevo. Leninsk-Kuznetsky was a typical Soviet-era industrial city.

In the Communists began to enact their policy of industrialization and for that you had to have coal. Coal was required, not just for energy production the Russian State Electrification Plan was already well underway , but also for metallurgy and railroad-construction.

The Kuznetsk Basin field became a prime focus. The first mine in Leninsk-Kuznetsky was commissioned on November 7, Komsomolets Mine was opened in and Kirov Mine , where my father worked his entire life, in My father was a very bright man. Both of his older brothers, Uncle Vasya and Uncle Vanya, held degrees and lived quite comfortably. Also wanting an education, my dad spent two years studying at Tomsk University.

With a family came the need to make money, however, and he went to work at the mines in the transport section. His job was to operate the wagon dump, a machine used to unload coal coming in from the backwall. Father retired from the mine when he was 50 years old, following an accident where he suffered a head injury. Two of his friends died. He was a month shy of his 65 th birthday. He taught me to be honest and to be myself, straightforward and resilient. He also taught me to love freedom and to hate totalitarianism in all its forms.

For a miner he was very sophisticated and articulate, an intellectual. After all, he was descended from blue blood. His genes showed! From the time I was a child, my father implanted in me a hatred of the establishment. Even relative to the current regime in Russia, I remain a nonconformist. In Siberia there was only one channel, Channel One, and to get Channel Two you had to hook up a special, enormous antenna.

From morning to night all that was broadcast on the only available channel was Brezhnev and the 26 th Convention. Mother turned on the television and Dad pulled out the cord. Thanks to my Father, I was raised with ill feelings towards the Soviet government. Nevertheless, in the eighth grade I was accepted into the Young Communist League. I started at the very bottom of the ranks as a good for nothing. I recognized that it was all a sham. My thinking with regard to Communism was fairly lucid.

I wrote an application letter to the Communist Party while in the army for the sole purpose of becoming a warrant officer. Thank God, I changed my mind afterwards, but more on that later. It was in an atmosphere of great celebration that they tied the scarf around my neck and pinned the badge to my shirt. I was quite worried when it took me two attempts before I was accepted. My father, unlike most in the Soviet Union, loved America. He was a miner from a city of , and had never been abroad.

He had only been to Moscow and Leningrad. According to what was always said on television, it was a bad place, but he claimed it was good. In I completed my mission and brought my year-old father to this country. As it turned out, this was shortly before his death. He lived for a month in California. He was not doing well at the time and was a bit depressed. Many of my positive qualities were developed in me by my father. My Pa means everything to me!

Of course my involvement in sports and my education at the Mining Institute also had their impact. But it was my father who laid the foundation for how I see myself today. He always pressed me to be constructive and to respect others in order to become an upstanding member of society.

I was not instilled with any special values; nor did my parents carry on philosophical conversations with me. He liked the newspapers Trud and Sovyetsky Sport. She was a unique woman. In addition to my father and his seven siblings, she gave birth to several other children who passed away. This was in the twenties and thirties, after all, and medical science was still underdeveloped.

Calling me a heretic, Grandma Senya tried to get me involved in the Orthodox Church. It was only when I was twenty and had moved to Leningrad that I began to think seriously about it and was baptized. When she was young, sugar was the only delicacy available and people tried to savor it. People today are worried about how to lose weight; in those days, the problem was different.

People were preoccupied with their survival. I was reminded of this when I was in the army. Shortly after we had been drafted we were spreading butter on our bread and the dischargees laughed at us:. Until the day that I was discharged, twenty-three and a half months later, I never spread butter on my bread. Grandma Senya stocked up on bags of salt, grain, and peas and kept them hidden in the house.

This was surprising to me:. Grandma and Grandpa were alive in the twenties, during the civil war. It was a time of great hunger. Grandma Senya died in the winter of As a twelve-year-old, I was astonished by the funeral, with the incense wafting from the censer, and by the prayers. She led a prudent life. I inherited limitless energy and the seeds of my entrepreneurial qualities from my mother: even during Soviet times she tried to make extra money by doing sewing work from home.

For my parents, discipline and routine meant everything. My friends would laugh at me when I would stop playing and head home—even in the long days of the Siberian summer. We fought battles with machine guns cut out of wooden panels. We would play soccer in the middle of the street, in the dirt, sometimes with no shoes on. Each of us got only one pair of sneakers for the season and these quickly wore out if they were not torn in half first.

I would go home, while my friends would keep playing soccer till midnight. Who knows what they did afterwards? As for me, I never hung around. Indeed, it was unheard of for me to spend the night away from home. Only when I was 18 and about to start military service did I finally do so. After all, I grew up in a depressing part of the country. Many of my neighbors were in prison; some remain there to this day. After spending time with such people, the St. Petersburg gangsters in their tracksuits seemed like pathetic caricatures.

The Siberian environment is harsh and there are very strict cultural norms to follow. Say the wrong thing and you might get hit. The rules to which one had to adhere came close to what is demanded in prison. There are three penitentiaries around Leninsk-Kuznetsky, two for adults and one for juveniles. You have to be able to resolve issues on your own, otherwise you will lose respect. You have to be a real man. You have to put your money where your mouth is.

Many people still remember the infamous scandal involving the mayor of Leninsk-Kuznetsky, Gennady Konyakhin. Konyakhin and I went to the same school—No. There was a lot in the press and on the news saying gangsters had taken over the city. The magazine Izvestiya called its publication on this matter the Bullheaded Times.

President Boris Yeltsin fired the mayor himself. The eighties saw a rise in street fighting, neighborhood against neighborhood, both in Leninsk as well as in other cities throughout the USSR. Compared to the mass fighting in Kazan, the fights in Leninsk were not quite as bloody and got less coverage.

Nevertheless, there were a few dozen guys per side. Sticks, knives, and metal bars were the weapons of choice. The teenagers injured and sometimes killed one another. An eighth grade classmate, for instance, was shot through the leg. The park where the municipal discotheque was held was in District 4. I did go to the disco a couple of times.

On the first occasion I had to run away though; on the second I got my head smashed in. I tried to avoid showing my face there after that. My experiences in Leninsk gave me a sense of where I ought not to go and a sense of when I ought not to go there. One day, for example, I went ice-skating at the stadium. These huge punks came up to me. One of them asked,. I fell flat on the ice, blood gushing from my nose. To make a long story short: they beat the crap out of me.

What was I to do? I packed up my skates and went home. I never went back there, but instead skated exclusively at my local stadium next to Kirov Mine. After I finished eighth grade, I changed schools, enrolling at School No. But things got so bad there that I had to switch schools again.

I could not study at all because of the emotional and physical torment. Why were they doing this? Still, these experiences made my self-preservation instinct what it is today. On the other hand, nowadays, I can see gangsters or tough guys from afar and know exactly how to maneuver away from them.

This is because I remember all the bullshit—and I remember it well. What was good about those times? Maybe you could make a case if you were talking about Moscow or Leningrad—but in our city it was neighborhood against neighborhood, stolen clothes, ex-cons, crime lords, fights, and murder.

The mass fighting stopped in the late eighties, as drugs became more widespread. Getting high brought people together; it rendered them friends and brothers. At first, grass started to circulate; later on, heroin came on the market. In the early nineties, a lot of my peers and some younger kids died. They say that the youth of today saw what was going on back then and are afraid of drugs. From what I can tell, though, drug abuse remains a serious problem. Strange things were always happening in Leninsk.

People would go missing on a regular basis and still do. The last that anyone saw of him was one day in Kuznetsk Mine. He was gone, after that, for two weeks. As it turned out, three of the miners were standing at the bus stop, waiting for their bus, which was late.

A car drove up and three jock types jumped out. They shoved the miners inside and drove away. The three were taken into the wilderness where they were made to do slave labor, hauling cement, bootlegging vodka, and making marijuana products. Somehow Slava managed to escape.

Making his way home, he would walk only at night, hiding out during the day. He returned two weeks after his disappearance, all scraped up, wearing clothes he had found in a dumpster. Before he could get inside his apartment he collapsed from exhaustion in front of the elevator. In the eighties fat women started to go missing. The public said they we were being cut up for ravioli. There was a serial killer in our town too.

During the day he worked in the mines; by night he would kill young women in the park. Our neighbors in the duplex were constantly getting drunk. At night, arguments would develop into screaming matches. Once, as I was falling asleep, I could hear fighting on the other side of the wall—the usual. In the morning, we found out that our neighbor had killed his wife, Auntie Valya. When the police came, I looked in the room. She was still lying on the bed with a knife sticking out of her.

My neighbor was sentenced to prison and his son became a virtual orphan. It is scary to think about it, but a significant number of my childhood classmates have passed away. Some of them died in jail, others were murdered, and still others drank themselves to death. Strict discipline, routine, and sport were my salvation. God forbid they should ever know what it is like to lose their freedom. Of course, I tried to do things my parents did not allow me to do.

I was with my friends Slava Zuyov who died from pneumonia in and Misha Artamanov who was shot five years ago under stupid circumstances on a hunting trip. We drank a bottle of Cahors wine and went to the disco to dance with girls. My classmates, on the other hand, came home drunk and their parents closed their eyes to it.

Later, when I was in the ninth and tenth grades, I drank, of course, but rarely. And I always kept it a secret from my parents. At the same time, though, I was getting into cycling—and sports and alcohol, as you know, are incompatible. Although I messed around with booze that last year before military training, it was mostly out of boredom. We would chip in and buy a bottle of wine for 3 rubles 42 kopeks—or sometimes vodka—and would sit drinking it in the playhouse outside the daycare.

My father almost never drank and I guess he passed those genes on to me. Large amounts of alcohol make me sick, just like my dad. In the summer the boys and I would go swimming in Inya creek, a tributary of the Ob river. Sometimes, though, they figured it out nevertheless and would punish me.

But really there was nothing to worry about. We had a blast, daring each other to jump off rocks and cliffs three or four meters high. Now, at least, I can dive head first, five meters down off a yacht with no problem! One day I smoked a little, and when I came home I smelled like smoke. Once again dad got out his belt. This was a common punishment in our family. A belt is a handy thing.

I was whipped a lot. The worst part was the buckle. It was only when I was 16 or 17 and getting bigger that I grabbed the belt and stopped him from hitting me—and my dad ended the practice. I feel no resentment towards my father. No, I am thankful for what he taught me. Otherwise I would not have made it, considering what was going on around me as a child. Everything you are comes from your family, from how you were raised. We Tinkovs stood apart.

My parents made their living honestly and were not drinkers and this gave me a strong foundation. Up until I left for the army, my parents kept me on a tight leash. I had no choice but to behave myself. At that time, Leonid Brezhnev ruled the country, which would remain at a standstill for a long time afterwards. My grandfather Timofey Tinkov worked in the mines his whole life. He died in from inhaling poisonous gases while trying to put out a fire. My father, Yury Timofeyevich, loved to read the newspaper Trud.

Smokey the cat helped him with this. This honor roll certificate from when I was in the first grade shows how well behaved I was. It was also the last time I made the honor roll. Oleg was born on December 25, , at p. He was always a healthy, active, good boy.

He started walking at nine and a half months. We enrolled him in preschool at two and a half. He sang songs there and played on spoons made of wood. Oleg learned the letters of the alphabet from his older brother Yura. At five, he could read and count and even knew a few English words. The newspaper Leninsky Shakhtyor [Leninsk Miner] was published in the city and he would read lines from it.

Our eldest son would slack off at times. Oleg, on the other hand, always helped his mom and dad. I remember once when he was still a toddler, when we were renovating our home, we were building an embankment and we had to carry in bucketfuls of sand.

Oleg got his toy dump truck and started hauling sand with us. I raised my children with a firm hand. Who knows what would have become of them otherwise? At some level they may even have feared me. I struck him on the hand then and there. I clearly remember an episode involving a swing. I must have been around five, so Oleg would have been four. My father had set up a swing in the courtyard.

What a celebration! We would swing until we were sick to our stomachs and Oleg and I would always argue over who would go first. It got so serious that one day we got in a fight. It was a huge scandal. In the end my dad cut the ropes on the swing. You cannot imagine what it felt like looking at the frame where that breathtaking swing used to hang! Oleg was stubborn from a young age and he always got his way.

Apparently it was his stubbornness that helped him become what he is today. This is not surprising, given that he is a Siberian and that his character was hardened from the time he was a child. Oleg started at our school when he had finished eighth grade. Consequently, we spent only the ninth and tenth grades together. We met through a fight. About what?

Far from the Russian heartland, neighborhood brawls were constant. Those were tough times. Oleg was not from around the school, so we bullied him, wanting to show the new kid who was boss. A meaningless fight—common enough among young people. We remained close from that moment on. It was clear then that Oleg was unique.

Not your average cookie-cutter Joe. He stood apart from the crowd. He was well read, articulate, and it was always a pleasure to converse with him. The quality of the education in districts like our District No. Because of this, we had to educate ourselves. If you liked to read, you would gain knowledge by reading books, newspapers, and magazines. Somehow I always knew Oleg would come up with something and succeed. It was clear his money situation would be in order. Oleg lived in a small mining town.

His wooden house was near Kirov Mine. You were born into a family of miners, you grow up around miners, all you would see your whole life were miners—and so you were destined to become a miner yourself. At that time the school operated on an extended daily schedule. Why does Oleg remember the first to eighth grades? This is because the kids were at school from in the morning until at night.

They grew up as a team. They would go home only to change, spend some time with their parents, and sleep. School was truly their second home. The first half of the day was spent on lessons, while the second half was taken up by self-directed study, homework, and physical education. It was in school that the children would become independent and that their characters developed. This class in particular was made up of good kids, interested in self-expression, self-determination, and in proving themselves to each other.

One kid does the work and the rest copy it. In those days, each student would find his or her own solution to each problem, even in difficult subjects like physics. In class Oleg found it hard to sit still and could be a bit obnoxious, but he was not completely out of control.

But strangely enough, he still knew all the answers. He would pick everything up on the fly, but he was no nerd. He never turned down an opportunity to participate in school events. The teachers treated him quite well, although, truth be told, they would at times compare Oleg to his older brother—with the latter winning out in these comparisons.

They have completely different personalities. Oleg may have had a short fuse, but he was forgiving. No one can remember him making digs at his schoolmates or hurting their feelings or acting spitefully. Our simple mining family lived humbly, but quite well by Leninsk standards.

Most of the cabins housed eight families each, but ours only had two families. We also had a vegetable garden where we grew cucumbers, tomatoes, radishes, herbs, and the sweetest strawberries I have ever eaten. We lived under normal conditions, but there were no amenities: no running water, no drainage system, and a wooden outhouse that stood 20 meters from the house. There was an entranceway near the door, with a hall and a pantry. Beyond this was a wardrobe.

In the corner stood a washstand. We would pour water into it by hand. Below there was a dirty bucket to catch the drain-water. When the bucket was full we would dump it down the outhouse. The outhouse was a wooden structure with two receptacle holes.

One for our family and the other for the neighbors. Everything died in the deep pit below, whether my secret notes, or the crap which, as far as I can recall, was never pumped out. At night, especially in the winter when it was 30 degrees below zero—or colder—we would use the bucket from the washstand and cover it with a rug.

Then in the morning it was my job to dump it in the outhouse before school. Once a week my mother would heat some water on the stove so that I could wash my upper body. I did, however, bathe in a zinc tub until I was around twelve and could not fit in it any more. The water pump was meters from the house. We would fetch the water from there with two buckets attached to a yoke. It is possible that some of my younger readers do not know what a yoke is.

At first it was my brother Yura who fetched the water; but then I did it too, once I got older. This was our drinking water—once it had been boiled. The cabin consisted of a parlor and a kitchen, 20 and 12 meters long respectively. My brother and I slept in the kitchen by the stove on a wire-mesh bed with an iron frame, while our parents slept in the parlor.

There was a table in the kitchen, as well as an old Soviet Biryusa refrigerator, which would rattle and hum loudly at night. During the coldest winter nights, when temperatures would fall to minus 30 — 40 degrees, my brother and I would take turns getting up and stoking the fire with more coal. In the evening we would bring in enough from the coal shed to last for the whole night. We had to get up every hour so that the fire would not go out. We would sleep with our feet to the stove.

It was warmer that way and quicker to throw in more coal. Like the other miners, my father was entitled to two truckloads of free heating coal per year. Once, when I took my children to visit Leninsk it was summertime my son Pasha saw a coal shed and was surprised. He could not figure out what it was for.

In the parlor there was a black-and-white glossy TV set, a table in the center of the room , and a chest of drawers. The latter was also glossy and made at the local Leninsk-Kuznetsky furniture factory, where I made some of my first money after the sixth grade. There were no doors between the rooms, so we could hear everything our parents did.

As I mentioned earlier, our TV received a single channel: Channel 1. To get Channel 2 you had to set up a massive antenna. Our neighbors had one, but my dad was never much of a handyman. My hands, as they say, grew out of my backside; I could not put in a screw and there was no other way to put up an antenna. Ultimately, then, we had to watch whatever they were showing on Channel 1. I remember a lot of the shows well. I especially liked White Beem Black Ear , a movie about a dog. Watching it made me cry into my pillow.

Probably all of us Soviet kids cried. Tikhonov was an excellent actor. After watching this movie I fell madly in love with dogs. Next to our house there was a huge poplar tree, which had been planted by Grandpa Timofey. All of us Tinkovs loved that tree. Unfortunately it was chopped down when the cabin was demolished in Between the garden and the house there was a bit of bare ground where my brother and I erected a chin-up bar, which we used for working out.

This was a great help to me once I joined the army: being able to do pull-ups and pull-overs was essential to your reputation. In summer, Leninsk-Kuznetsky was a great place to be, but the winters and springs were hell on earth. Few districts had central heating; coal was used instead. A gray carpet of smoke was spread over the city, visibility was low, and the snow was layered with gray. Akin to tree rings, the streaks of soot in the snow banks left a record of snowfall.

We ran out of the sauna and jumped into a snow bank. But the snow was only white on top. Underneath it was layered with black. We went back into the sauna all dirty. Quite the washing! In the spring everything would start to melt. There were dirty black puddles all around.

You could not wear your dress shoes out. If you put on a white shirt in the morning, by evening the collar was so dark that you would have to put it straight into the laundry. We had to whitewash the house twice a year. What the hell! First, we would move everything into the parlor and whitewash the kitchen; then we would move everything into the kitchen and do the parlor.

Finally, we would have to wash the lime and chalk off the floors. What a nightmare! Even as a child, I began to understand that money was a good thing. My mom did not give me much pocket money and there were plenty of temptations around.

My brother and I would argue over who would get to go buy the milk. You could fill a three-liter canister for 86 kopeks. Whoever went could use the change to buy something small—like a chocolate—or, as I would do, save it to buy something bigger and better later. I earned my first 50 rubles after the sixth grade. The mother of my friend Slava Kosolapov was the director of the furniture factory. Some of the machines there were used for gluing pieces together. The glue smelled terrible. Slava and I were hired as helpers—gophers—at the factory.

We also ended up working at the local pasta factory, which for some reason also produced mineral water. The crates, which were meant to hold twelve bottles, were always coming apart and it was our job to nail them back together. The pay for that job was also 50 rubles. I could have bought pet fish or pigeons with the money; instead, I spent most of the money on food straightaway. Pomegranates cost one ruble each, and raised-dough meat pasties 16 kopeks. Mother never bought any of these delicacies, which were sold only at the market and not in the store.

I loved and still love to treat myself to good food. In terms of food, the shops in Leninsk looked very sad—with rare exceptions. Younger readers can have no idea what these shortages were like. Goods could be bought if you knew someone in the store.

Slang expressions like these were born out of the Soviet system of distribution. Miners would take a thermos, some bread, sausage, and garlic underground for lunch. The Soviet leaders understood this and kept coal-producing regions well stocked with sausage.

The Kuznetsk Basin is an explosive region. Later, however, they opposed him, thumping their hardhats on Gorbaty Bridge in Moscow. And under Putin they came out to protest against low and late pay more than once. Indeed, people would come to Leninsk all the way from Novosibirsk, over kilometers away, to buy sausage and butter. We, on the other hand, would make the trip to Novosibirsk for junk food like corn curls, candy, cream soda, and Pepsi-Cola, which was our favorite.

In the Americans convinced our communists to start importing it and in the first Pepsi bottling plant opened in Novorosiysk. It cost 45 kopeks for a ml bottle. Soviet pop cost 30 kopeks for ml, but everyone wanted to drink cola. Some smartass decided that the miners in Leninsk-Kuznetsky had no need for it, and none was delivered to the stores from Novosibirsk. People were of the opinion that selling imported clothing was okay, but profiteering in food and beverages from the stores was somehow unseemly.

Even today I prefer Pepsi to Coke. Pepsi symbolized freedom and sparked an interest in life in the West: if American soda pop was so delicious, then maybe the country was not so bad after all…. A good business to be involved in during Soviet times was bottle collection. Between and I was actively engaged in this line of work. When the miners got their bonuses, all the money would go into a pool, either by default or by code.

The money was used to buy cases of vodka, bread, and sausage. The whole gang would sit in the park and drink until they could not stand up. They would vomit and a third of them would stay until morning, passed out on the benches. I would pick up the bottles after them and take them to the bottle depot, where they were worth 12 kopeks each. As with a lot of other places at the time, there was always a line-up at the depot and we had to wait for empty cases.

In the summer, I would stay home while my parents were at work. Workout started at in the evening and I would need to eat. The only food in the fridge was butter and rendered pork fat. I would tie fishing gear to my bike and ride to the river to catch minnows. At home I would clean the fish, fry them up, and, by way of dinner, would eat them with cucumbers and tomatoes from the garden.

I cannot say I went hungry, but we never ate pickles and I often had to find my own food. My father instilled in me a love of fishing. We often spent the whole day at the river. He would wake me up at in the morning—and those were the only days on which I was happy to get up so early nowadays, the only time I can get up at am is if I have a flight to the Maldives at Father and I would take the am No.

The amount of carp we would catch was commercial in scale—sometimes we would leave with 8 or 10 kilos.

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Check Availability. Family Room Garden view 2 Adults 1 King bed. Connect Room Garden view 4 Adults 2 King bed. Superior Room Garden view 3 Adults 1 Double bed. Hotel Policy Check-in and Check-out. Check-in from Check-out before Children are welcome at this hotel. Additional fees may be charged when a child stays at the hotel with parents or guardians, please confirm with the hotel. Parking is available free. Guests under 18 years of age are not permitted to stay at the hotel without a parent or guardian.

The following payment methods are accepted by the hotel:. Need to Know. Important City Info. If the accompanying persons are not legal guardians, they are required to provide the notarized consent form of the legal guardians one of them and the birth certificate of the minors. A foreign citizen is subject to registration at the place of stay: At the address of the hotel or other organization providing hotel services.

To fill out the arrival notification form, a foreign citizen presents to the receiving party an identity document, a migration card except for cases when a foreign citizen is released from the obligation to fill out a migration card in accordance with an international agreement of the Russian Federation and or a residence permit or a temporary residence permit for a foreign citizen permanently or temporarily residing in the Russian Federation. In case of arrival of a foreign citizen to a new place of stay, required to provide their identity document and immigration card, and proof of check-in information from the former hotel in Russian Federation.

Hotel Description Opened: Number of Rooms: Offering a range of spa and fitness facilities including a large indoor pool, a gym and badminton courts, this health club in Repino is just a minute walk from the Baltic Sea Coast.

Transportation Services. Shuttle bus service Additional fee. Spa Additional fee. Front Desk Services. Cleaning Services. Public Area. Wi-Fi in public areas Free. Business Services. Meeting room Additional fee. Kid's Facilities. How much does it cost to stay at ForRestMix Club? Prices at ForRestMix Club are subject to change according to dates, hotel policy, and other factors. To view prices, please search for the dates you wish to stay at the hotel.

The closest airport is Pulkovo Airport. It is What are the check-in and check-out times at ForRestMix Club? Does ForRestMix Club provide airport transfer services? What amenities and services does ForRestMix Club have? Previous month Next month. Done Save changes and close the date picker. Check St. Petersburg and vicinity hotel prices. May 28 - May Tomorrow night. May 29 - May Next weekend. View in a map. Filter by Popular filters. Popular filters. All-inclusive plan available.

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