S-Klasse and G-Klasse, a Family in Moscow

If you're the type who spends their vacation in Europe or exotic places, then you'll definitely recognize the character who has recently attracted me: beautiful blonde woman, with a full mouth and big breasts – like two coconuts. She's casually wearing Gucci sandals on a beach in the Maldives or during breakfast in the Viennese coffee shop where she's resting between two snacks.

I saw a very beautiful one like this once, supple like gazelle and dressed in an impeccably tight black suit while eating a whole duck. And yes, not a drop of fat on her. You will be surprised to know that she also has a child. The boy is connected to her husband's hand. Over six foot three looking like a rectangle which sports a beer belly and – although appearing to say much – only asking one thing: scolco? In fact, he's bargaining! That is his mission.

Anyone would have something to say about a couple like this, who hasn't at least read about Russian oligarchs and their women? They ruin state-owned businesses and then build Chinese blocks on the fields left behind them, resort to shooting to take care of conflicts, possess their own neighborhoods, eat caviar by the pound and absolutely shine at Cartier receptions.

I don't know how true are the things I'm telling you now, but one thing is certain: he has a G-Klasse, while she has an S-Klasse. With a driver. Both of them. Drivers who wear the family coat of arms on their uniforms. Between the communist two-bedroom apartment situated in Moscow's outskirts to the Mediterranean villa with baroque windows, the handkerchief embroiled with the couple's initials transforms in an industrial-sized wardrobe. Yes, the personnel caring for the two is that numerous. Even the masseuse has a custom uniform.

He has a young driver, always ready to jump in front of the warning shot. He is his family and his neighborhood's pride, because after dropping off his master he returns home in a Brabus-tuned G V12 S, the most stylish and powerful car the automotive industry can manufacture. It has a twin-turbocharged V12 engine, bi-xenon headlights, hand-stitched Alcantara everywhere and individual rear seats with both heating and cooling features via the perforated leather.

With no less than 690 horsepower, an electronically-limited torque – or the beefed-up transmission might break, albeit it will never do – and three completely lockable differentials, The G V12 S gets driven between corporate offices engulfed in rare wood, leaving elegant ditches into the asphalt thanks to its two and a half tonne weight.

Black and shiny, the car is everything. The "to be or not to be" phrase in the modern world is inherently connected to a G-Klasse. Men go hunting in these things, bringing industrial trophies or even real ones back at home, because Russians are men who praise tradition and are elite shooters. The G he's driving is also bullet proof. It contains expensive vodka, on-board phone and a rare perfume. It's almost as stylish as a man in a suit with seamless stitches, custom made in London.

His wife, because otherwise we wouldn't even be talking about her S-Klasse, is a fine food taster, using large plates artistically-decorated with colonial condiments. She drinks tea and Martini. She owns a Turkish bath and is a target for the world's greatest designers. She wears Chanel, has a poodle which she dyes the same color as her dress with Wella until he gets dandruff and cannot be held in her lap anymore.

She doesn't smoke and her driver is a 30-year old bisexual girl with a gun permit. She sits on the rear right seat building dreams, making plans for her parents – two honorable people, whom she spoils with trips to spas in Austria or Turkey. She takes care of her car and she demands it to be washed and waxed almost daily. The metallic black color has to shine in the club spotlights at midnight or on the freshly-washed streets in the morning, parked in the coffee-shop area of the city.

The white and soft Designo leather has to remain spotless, even if sometimes a girl friend will pathologically cry or spill champagne on it, wetting the very same spot where her freshly-styled hairdo will gently sit for a nice sleep. But wait a minute, Russian tradition clearly states that "tears don't help with anything."

This woman has a very voluntary mind, she doesn't wait for the door to be opened for her and the driver has to be technology-friendly. Depending on her mood, the Harman Kardon audio system has to be set either on radio or on CD, louder or quieter, with a large amount of bass or without any, from song to song.

It's very important for the driver to guess her master's mood, because she doesn't have to be disturbed while she's being caressed by the optional massage system built into the seat. When she's getting bored she's nervously playing with the DVD remote while thinking that she spent almost three thousand euros on a feature she hardly uses.

But this is how it's done. And if she gets really bored she just drops off her driver and jumps behind the wheel herself. Puts the racing gloves on and pushes the accelerator pedal with the tip of her diamond encrusted sandals after giving a lift to one of her girl friends. She's impressed by the in-dash screen which is configured to show two different images at the same time depending on the angle it's being viewed.

For example, the driver can have a look at the map from the navigation system while the passenger on the right can relax by watching a movie concomitantly. Both girls are probably wondering what use could they have for the pedestrian-sensing Night Vision system, the Pre-Safe system and what if their car would instantly crash into the vehicle in front. They begin to laugh and then they ask the car to change the radio station – what the heck, their S-Klasse is equipped with the Linguatronic voice-recognition system.

Still, the car doesn't quite understand from the first take, their Russian-accent English makes the Linguatronic system stutter and they laugh again. They're getting hungry so they park elegantly outside a sumptuous restaurant. A Russian millionaire woman has perfect parking skills and their cars are their most prized possessions – just like a flag you wash and iron to wear it proudly. The woman's S-Klasse accelerates and brakes gently while swerving by itself, describing a perfect parallel parking job.

A perfect couple with two perfect cars. A car with the body and chassis left almost unchanged since 1979 – the longest running Mercedes-Benz model ever – which was initially designed for the army. This is the latest version of the G-Klasse and it's hand built in Austria. Its pair is known for setting the tone in the automotive industry by featuring technology which will be available for other cars in the future decade. The S-Klasse is the only trend-setter good enough for the rich Moscow woman.

You'll probably contradict me, but deep inside you'll admit the fact that this pair knows how to pick the best in life. Nothing much is too much since a Russian millionaire woman lives only for 35 years like this, after which she starts doing business. She's not a top model, she has art and psychology degrees, has contact with the masses through the personnel she runs and has an extraordinary ability in doing commerce.

From a certain age her behind starts widening from eating too much ice cream and she transforms herself into a happy old woman. The first generation of happy old women in Moscow, this is how they were called in a book. I don't know for how many years the Russian millionaire man live will live like this, but as long as he does he will be seen accompanying his woman at the opera or at the Balsoi Teatr, while posing in the family painting that's filled with Russian culture.