New York Archives - Fucking Moskau

Julia

Three months after the move I move in with Julia near Mayakovskaya. Pink lace curtains, a gas cooker from the eighties – none of it matters, I think I’ve found the woman of my dreams. Then her birthday comes and I learn how Russian parties work: a restaurant for a thousand euros, presents worth two to three hundred. That evening I’m still thinking I want to marry her. The next morning she picks a fight over nothing. From then on it goes downhill – all the way to the sentence that says everything: in Russia a man pays for his woman.

Leaving the Island

Six months later Julia is standing at Tenerife airport – and I realise I don’t actually know this woman at all. One week of glass walls, sea views and terrace, then the tears come at the gate. Afterwards I stand alone at Medano beach and watch her plane go. New York or Moscow? When the landlord calls in September, I answer without thinking. At the beginning of October I leave the island at 30 degrees, with 180 kilos of excess baggage and a snowboard going down the belt.

At the Garage Club

Krysha, the Russian roof: do business here and you pay the mafia or the FSB. A night at the Garage Club between mafia daughters and Bolshoi ballerinas.

Victor and Victoria

Victor explains Moscow to me: if you want to do business, you come here – timber from the forest, diamonds from the Far East, it all runs through this city. Out in the country people earn 200 euros a month; here it’s one to three thousand. In the evening two women are at the door, fur coats off, high heels out of the handbag. Victor talks about his girlfriend as if she weren’t in the room – she doesn’t speak English, after all. Meanwhile I’m on the couch with a gynaecologist who earns 200 euros and does abortions on the side. And later, in the kitchen, I learn who’s underestimating whom.

The First Time

Five days in Moscow and I already want out. Nobody smiles, the managers serve arrogance with the coffee, and every interview ends the same way: without Russian we can’t use you. Victor sees it differently. Every evening he drags me through the best restaurants in town, closes the deal with girls in three minutes flat and introduces me as a professional surfer. Then he slips the bouncer a thousand roubles and walks me into the Shambala – private party, Bentleys on the pavement, nobody inside older than nineteen, free drinks paid for by daddy. And above us, a dance floor made of glass.

Arrival

Victor picks me up from the airport. “Welcome to Moscow, the city of sin,” he says. For two hours, we drive through bleak suburbs full of concrete blocks. The closer we get to the center, the nicer the buildings, the flashier the cars—Ladas alongside luxury vehicles with flashing lights. When we hit traffic, our driver veers onto the sidewalk. A woman with a stroller jumps aside. I’m shocked. Victor just shrugs: “Time is money.” Welcome to a world that plays by its own rules.

Trage Dich für meine Newsletter ein, um keine neue Story zu verpassen.

Pink New York 1997 Polaroid

Back to New York

After years in Moscow, I return to New York, once my home, now a city that feels foreign. The Upper East Side, with its wealth and coldness, and the East Village, once wild and untamed, now tamed by yuppies—nothing is as it was. In conversations with a taxi driver, cultural bridges between Christianity and Islam emerge, while the city envelops me with memories of parties, encounters, and a different version of myself. New York remains a challenge: hard, loud, fascinating—a place you love and yet question.

Where Does Cheating Begin? The Model.

Where does cheating begin? In the mind, with a kiss, or only with sex? Maybe I’ve already met my dream woman. Stephanie, an Italian, came into my life by chance. After days of intense conversations, glances, and flirting, I was torn: Should I make the first move? I didn’t. Instead, we parted soberly as she got into a taxi—heading back to Rome. That evening, she left a message: “I’ve fallen in love with you!” I heard it, feeling both joy and sadness. Then my girlfriend called.

East Village New York

Foursome (or Threesome)

A wild New York night I’ll never forget: It started with drinks at “Beerland,” where we met a stunning Japanese woman. By 3 a.m., we found ourselves at her apartment after she joked about taking all three of us home. What followed was straight out of a fantasy—or a script for a risqué movie. Walter and I took turns, while Michael watched and eventually dozed off on a kitchen chair. It was surreal, awkward, and unforgettable. The night bonded Walter and me as lifelong friends, and I’m still left marveling at how certain fantasies sometimes, unexpectedly, become reality.

9/11 New York - Photo: Francois Portmann

How I Experienced 9/11: Caught in the Middle

On September 11, 2001, I experienced the most horrific hours of my life in New York. At first, everything seemed normal until an email from my ex-girlfriend mentioned a “catastrophe.” Initially, I thought it was an accident, but it soon became clear: it was a terrorist attack. I saw the Twin Towers consumed by smoke and later watched the North Tower collapse. The city stood still, filled with fear and shock. My friend Atsushi died in the North Tower, while another friend, Max, barely survived. That day changed my life forever.

Brooklyn Bridge

Raw Dog – Sex without a condom

During his first visit to New York, my friend Alex earned the nickname “Raw Dog.” A quiet Tuesday turned wild after bar-hopping led to Alex meeting a Russian woman. Sparks flew, but a missing condom derailed their plans. Undeterred, she took charge, leaving Alex stunned and worried. Later, my Cuban friends laughed and coined his nickname, a slang term for men who “go without.” The chaos of that night, from a trashed apartment to Alex’s panicked confessions, remains unforgettable. His promise: never to leave the house unprepared again.

Red Party Girl

Slut?!

Excerpt:

An art party in New York, a cuckolded boyfriend, and a loud bombshell: I’d planned a quiet movie night, but Irene dragged me along. The party, themed in red, seemed dull at first—until a flirtatious bartender struck up a conversation and led me into a dark kitchen corner. What started as an ordinary art opening quickly turned into a sensual adventure. Later, I spotted her dancing closely with her boyfriend, adding an unexpected twist to the night. What a tease! In the end, I wondered: Coyote Ugly or straight home?

Brooklyn

Brooklyn’s Gangster

An afternoon in Brooklyn’s rough streets: rundown houses, freestyle rhymes, and blunts in a makeshift studio. For an hour, I wasn’t an outsider but part of a subculture that thrives on both hope and hardship. Hip-hop is more than music—it’s a lifestyle born in the ghetto, reflecting a raw reality of struggle, unity, and dreams. Back in Manhattan, the experience stays with me, and Brooklyn’s beats now resonate as a piece of my world.

New York Uptown

40 Millionen Dollar Emily

Emily was the perfect contradiction: a millionaire heiress with a wild streak, offering me a deal straight out of a Hollywood movie—marriage, financial security, and a child on her terms. From champagne-filled nights at the Waldorf Astoria to awkward cultural clashes (like her screaming at the sight of my naked butt), our fling was anything but ordinary.

But when faced with the choice between a golden cage and freedom, I chose the latter. Emily’s world was tempting, but the price of living as someone else’s lapdog, no matter how glamorous, was too high. Sometimes, even 40 million dollars isn’t worth it.