i_love_ tapochki

Go to Udelnaya in the winter. The guidebooks don’t tell you this. They say Udelnaya is simply a flea market to buy kitschy Soviet souvenirs. Other tips they forget: Sundays are the best day to go. If you’ve got the Russian, haggle. Bring cash. Don’t get distracted by the made-in-China junk by the metro stop. Wear boots because the field gets muddy. And you haven’t spent enough time at Udlenaya unless your feet have gone numb.
Udelnaya in the summer is one thing––it’s sunny and people out of the woodwork to sell junk found in their attic from the Stalin era. The winter, though, is for the hardcore sellers––those committed to skate over frozen mud, hock their goods in a blizzard.
The slipper lady is one such vendor. Slippers are a big deal in Russia. They’re called tapochki and every household has an abundance––it is a mortal sin to wear outside shoes inside. As soon as you arrive, remove your snowy wet footwear and your host will offer a pair of slippers. Never walk around in your socks––grandmothers will tell you you’ll get sick.
I first noticed the slipper lady in late fall. I had been to the market before but was distracted by the 1980 Olympics pins and Soviet cameras. That out of my system, my eyes focused on one older woman. She didn’t display her wares on a blanket, she simply held them: three pairs of crocheted slippers. They collapsed in on themselves to form flat diamonds, knit with thick, soft red, blue, green yarn. They were flexible, cozy, and I knew I would love them. Shyly, not comfortable with my Russian, I approached her and bought a pair. As predicted, back at my apartment, the slippers never left my feet. I thought about how much my mom, aunt, and sisters would love them; I returned to Udelnaya many Sundays to find the slipper lady but didn’t see her. But a couple months later, at Udelnaya with a friend, there she was: the slipper lady. I ran to her and my friend and I bought all three pairs. Feeling more confident, I talked to her. She told me that she comes to Udelnaya every Sunday with three pairs of slippers she made that week. As soon as she sells them, she leaves. All those other Sundays, she told me, she must have already sold her slippers. I know a lot of people who’d love these slippers, I said. Come back next week, she said. I’ll be here.