Grønland, 19th of September 2020

Green land. That’s an english translation of Oslo’s emigrant district name - Grønland.

Grønland smells like turmeric and cumin, like freshly ground coriander and chili. Dense smells of Turkish and Pakistani food eat into apartment walls and street pavement.

Restaurants serve large plates overfilled with food. Bulgur and yogurt sauce, pickled vegetables and aromatic meats. Red, green and dark brown kebabs marinated in spices. Ayran and mango drinks.

Colorful, unknown fruits and vegetables sit in green boxes that form rows in-front of the store. It seems like you can find anything in those rows - dragon fruit, lychee, okra, sweet potatoes, and a lot of mysteries, that I don't even know the names for. Inside the store, shelves with food from different countries - olive oil from Greece and Italy, huge bags of rice, 10 and 20 kilograms. Freshly baked bread. Tea and spices. On the shelves next to Turkish delights there are “sushki” - a Russian crunchy sweet that I remember from childhood. You can easily spend 15 minutes in the section with different sauces.

Grønland is a true emigrant neighborhood. There are none like it in Moscow. In Russia, “Chinatowns” - areas in which communities from other countries live according to their own schedule and rules - did not take root.

I remember the first time I found myself in front of those rows with fruits, vegetables and herbs. These endless boxes instilled in me absolutely childish elation. Now I'm used to it, but in the beginning, the grocery trip to Grønland was somewhat of a party for me.

Once there, you find yourself as if in a parallel reality. Starbucks on the corner, which opened two years ago, still does not fit into a series of crazy shops with saris, shishas and golden lions.

This neighborhood is filled with colors, smells and judgment.

Try walking around the area in a tank top and shorts. Especially if you're a girl. Especially if you are a girl with big breasts. It's even better if you have short hair. It is best to take that walk on a Friday - the Islamic analog of Sunday, the day when believers go to the mosque.

Anytime, any day of the week, you will collect many looks. Concentrated, often angry, a crumpled phrase said in an irritated voice can fly into your trail. You will not know the meaning of this phrase, it will not be said in Norwegian. Sometimes, someone especially impressionable will look at you and spit on the asphalt in irritation.

Young boys, middle-aged and older men will stare intently and angrily. Women and girls will turn away or start talking and giggling.

This is not your usual Oslo, in which no one cares, and if you cross your eyes with someone, you will be met with a smile. A sense of security suddenly evaporates. Intellectually, you understand that you will not be grabbed and beaten or harassed in other way, but your heart is restless. The feeling of nor being welcome there creeps under your skin.

This feeling does not require any special action from the residents of Grønland. Those very glances and crumbled phrases that you do not understand are quite enough.

I would like Grønland to be famous only for the festive rows of spices and the smells of delicious food. I would like people to accept each other from both sides. But people are used to accepting only “their own”. Those with whom they share the same cultural code. Of course, I don’t mean all people, but I do mean a significant number. And for this significant number, the cultural code says that a woman should become an inconspicuous shadow, tightly packed in textile. As long as it’s that way it will be uncomfortable for me to walk home through Grønland.

On the other hand, every time I'm there, I try to walk confidently, with straight shoulders, looking right in the eye of those who stare. Smiling. I know what you guys are thinking and I don't give a shit. And my boobs in a summer top? A free gift for your boner, you asshole. You’re welcome.