In Moscow, failure to pay a traffic bribe has its price
The baton comes down. It always starts like that. The traffic cop looms in the hard summer sunlight, in the semblance of a breakdown lane that runs in the middle of screaming traffic.
The stick -- and here we curse -- is pointing straight at us. "Now you'll see the real Russia," I mutter bitterly to my visiting mother. To the Russian driver, I wail: "Why? What did we do?"
"Bastards," he replies.
My husband frowns; we are almost to the airport to pick up his mother. They always get you on the way to the airport, when you are most likely to be desperate. You are about to miss a flight, or rushing to greet a visitor. Your job, your domestic peace, your nonrefundable plane ticket hang in the balance.
For Russia's army of crooked traffic cops, highways to the city airports are an excellent hunting ground. [...]
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Pensar que estos tipos tienen el segundo arsenal nuclear del mundo. Mamita querida.
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