3rd January 2013
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| Russian Graffiti. Not easy in Cyrillic |
Welcome to Russia. The former USSR. Home of The Red Square,
vodka and emails from girls who are looking for husbands. We have decided on
nearly two weeks here, in the winter, to experience the country for ourselves,
and possible meet the authors of some of those emails.
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| The colourful onions were held in place by communist workers. Or they would die. |
Our first experience of Russians was on our Russian/Ukrainian airline to Moscow, from Prague, via Kiev. We watched as Russians overloaded with hand luggage and smothered in fur coats and hats downed whisky while waiting to board; this was at 6.50am in the morning. Then we stood back as every single passenger attacked the check in staff to be first on the plane as if it were going to depart without them or there was a limited number of seats. After an uneventful flight we again were humoured by the passengers eager to depart the aircraft before the plane actually landed. So they are very pushy and shovy. Who would have thought, especially after reading the week before that in a recent survey the Russians were considered the most unhappy and unhelpful and rudest people in the world.
We arrived into Moscow in peak hour, which is generally
between the hours of midnight and the following midnight, in this city of about
400 billion people. Moscow actually has about 18 million running about its
streets, most of them all at the same time and on the metro. We took the train
from the airport, a very comfortable express service, to a metro station in the
centre of the city. From there we had to transfer onto the actual metro subway
service to get to our hotel, or pay thousands of roubles for an overpriced Lada
taxi. So, backpacks on, we delved thirty metres into the underground, via the world’s
steepest escalator, to try and find our train. We were greeted with a lovely
Cyrillic sign, all backward R’s, number 3’s and 6’s with wavy tails, and an
assortment of upside down made up characters. We were punched in the fuckin face
by language. Finally we found a map in English but we still didn’t know which train
to get on, left or right, east or west, red or blue. Trains are zipping past
every minute, as are thousands upon thousands of Russians heading home from
work or from a vodka bar. I stopped commuters to ask for assistance, and they
were only too glad to refuse. Miraculously, one student accidentally got in our
way, and in apology he decided to show us where our train was, which wasn’t
actually in that station to begin with, we had to navigate four more flights of
stairs, sixteen more suburbs and fifty thousand more Russians. Eventually, we
made it to our hostel, but only after again getting lost on exit from the metro
station. We figured that by walking around in circles we are bound to find
where we need to be.
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| Russian soldiers. Unsmiling, like all Russians |
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| Boris would need to check his diet after these toilet results |
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| Red star on the christmas tree, of course. |
The metro became easy to get around after a few days
practice and a fuck load of patience. Once we memorized the Cyrillic Russian
alphabet (actually easier to remember than the periodic table and your
girlfriends birthday) and put characters to station names, we only got lost
perhaps sixty times a day, so a pretty good effort from us I think. On first
glance, the map looks like a ball of yarn with numbers on it, and with no cat
with us to untangle it, we had to guess. The great thing about getting lost on
the Moscow metro, is that as the trains run so regularly (every minute), if you
go too far you simply just turn back to other way. (Although we would then get
re-lost attempting this, and ended up in stations that don’t actually exist).
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| The Kremlin |
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| The drunk builder was quite proud of her replica Cathedral on the left. |
The Moscow Metro is a tourist sight and activity
itself. Many of the stations are
absolute gems and works of art. Over the years, the platforms and walls
surrounding them were given up to sculptors, painters and artists to spread
their talents with their chisels and brushes. At some stations you can see
gilded statues, painstakingly beautiful mosaics, and delicate strokes to create
perfect works. Most are communist themed, so you will see the CCCP Red
propaganda and the images of workers in fields looking happy with their baskets
of bread and fruit (actually, on these pictures it’s the only place in Russia
you will actually see anyone smiling) contributing to their nation. There are
of course portraits of Lenin everywhere. And because of these artworks, the
stations are spiffingly spotless; some of the cleanest train stations anywhere
in the world. We spent three or four hours one afternoon checking out these
amazing places. Admittedly, we were lost but we pretended that we had actually
meant to be there.
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| Red square . Duh. |
One of the most famed sights in Moscow, and in fact the
symbol of Russia is the Red Square. Proudly upon this sits the Kremlin and St
Basils Cathedral. Throughout Russia’s history, at times turbulent, Red Square
has been the focal point for changing tides, from executions under Ivan The
Terribles reign to military might parades to rock concerts and the famous New
Years Eve bells.
St Basils Cathedral is the mighty onion domed church that is
synonymous with the city and with Russian architecture. The Kremlin is the
fortified complex that houses many museums and churches, and was residence to
the Tsars of Russia over the years. Well, it still is, as they are buried here
in one of the chapels. Even Ivan The Terrible is here, who with a name like
that suggests you don’t fuck with him. I’m not sure who gave him this name, but
I don’t think it was his mother. The Russian nomenclature is quite direct and
succinct. Apart from Ivan The Terrible, there was Peter The Great. He had his
son tortured and then executed. This will hardly win you Father of the Year
honours, let alone tag line of “Great” in your surname.
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| The rich and famous would even buy their snowflakes from GUM |
The GUM building, just off Red Square (which also houses a
McDonalds-unthinkable anywhere in Moscow 20 years ago, let alone just off Red
Square), used to be the place where Soviets lined up for their commie issued
food packs and bought all the bread and sausages, but now it’s the site of the
high priced and glitzy departments stores, and many an elite Russian can be
seen here, purchasing diamond cluttered rings or cliff hanging high heeled
shoes which are worn on Moscow’s icy streets and they do not fall over in them.
It’s also a good place to pop into one of the cafes and pay $10 for a hot
chocolate and $25 for a ham and cheese sandwich. We decided we would rather
keep the money to buy a small nation so instead we headed up the road to a
café, via that nations embassy, to what was actually the gift shop of a church,
and bought some tasty apple pies, but declined on the offer of a Bible to go
along with them.
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| After many emails professing her love, the sucker finally met his girl. |
We popped into a cool market on the outskirts, one that
sells good cheap stuff from the Commie era, such as propaganda posters,
babushka (matryoshka) dolls and weapons of mass destruction. Yes, this is the
place to pick that missing piece of cold war scourge that could potentially
wipe out a few US states. Rocket propelled grenades, hand grenades, or simple
big guns that even Chuck Norris would hide from. We settled on a babushka doll and a pack of playing cards.
The Red Arrow train is the pride and joy of Russian Rail,
and plies the Moscow-St Petersburg overnight route with pride and gusto. The
focus is on an experience rather than a method of getting from A to B, or
backward R to upside down 3 in Russian. To add to the enjoyment, the carriages
are sensationally decked out in kitschy red trim, and the attendants on board
are spray painted with communist make up and also dressed in Red Army attire.
We met a lovely young couple on the train who dispelled the
myth (semi fact) that every Muscovite is a miserable unfriendly unsmiling
git. It’s true, that most of the people
are sour faced with bad haircuts and drive cars very fast through puddles in
order to splash you, but Alex and Irina were a breath of fresh air, spoke
perfect English, and even took us out later in St Petersburg and showed us some
of the sights and shared breakfast with us.
You see, it seems to us that Muscovites will go out of their
way not to talk to you. It’s in their nature to be this way. But we were
pleasantly surprised with our newfound friends from the Red Arrow.
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| "Now surely there is a fucking map in here" |
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| Just look for the Red Arrow train. The name is written on the side. Easy peesy |
We arrived into St Petersburg on a chilly morning, not
abnormal for anywhere in Russia in December. It was 10am, and still dark. In
fact you could have told me it was midnight and I would have gone along with
it. In fact, a black bag over my head would have revealed more daylight than
mid morning on a St Petersburg street.
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| The friendliest Russians |
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| The reindeer froze to death waiting for someone to ride them |
The next challenge was the metro, and based on Moscow, we
were hopefully expecting to die in this one, to ease the pain just a little
bit. But alas, what a revelation! Signs are bilingual and entry and exit points
are actually humanly possible to, well, enter and exit. And there is some
normality and less homicidal abusiveness in the way the locals queue to get on
the trains. Within minutes we were at the doors of our hostel, without needing
to ask for directions and without getting lost. Honest. Mind you, getting lost
and not turning up to our hostel, a filthy little place that looks like it uses
pubes for tile grout, would not have been a bad idea. But that hasn’t stopped
them from charging top dollar and allowing an untalented idiot girl that
travels with a guitar to decide to entertain us all, without permission, with
her shitty out of tune harmonies and poor versions of songs I used to like. She
sounds like folk singer Edie Brickell without the Brick. The one you want to
put in her face. We are hoping they will
hose us down at the airport when we leave, like they used to do to the interns
headed Siberia way back in the day. It’s the only safe way of a shower these
days.
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| Frosty wore the consequences of passing out in the snow |
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| Neva River. The boat will eventually escape in April |
New Years eve 2012 to 2013 was to be held in St Petersburg.
Formerly Leningrad, it is a city that has changed its name quite often like a
woman changes her mind. Nestled on the banks of the River Neva, it has often
been the capital of Russia depending on current political situation and favour.
It is a stunning city, even though in winter we cannot experience her natural
beauty in the blue rivers and canals that divide her boulevards and churches,
her palaces and forts. What we are left with is the skeletal remains of trees
gracing the parks and gardens of this Royal city, deciduous in the daily
flailing light of the season, but as ever inviting and enticing, as they stand
firm in the snow that blankets the city every December. The river is frozen,
with only the odd icebreaker forcing its way through its mini fjords to gather
access to the rest of the city. Within these surrounds, we are sharing the
limited daylight and winter opportunity with local people who see the beauty of
it all, and are only happy to share these fleeting moments with whoever is
wishing enough to spend some time here when most others head for and seek
warmer climes.
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| Russian prostitutes. Anywhere, anytime |
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| The homeless man would not share his bench with anyone |
The 31st December started innocently enough. A
fancy self prepared meal of pasta and rice, mainly due to the fact that this
was the only food product we recognised in the supermarket. On attempting to
purchase cream in Moscow, lost in translation, I came home with condensed milk
and threatened to sugar us all to kingdom come. Then at a few hours til
midnight, the crowd at the dirty hostel, all showered by now, came together to
share some Russian tradition. We tasted the traditional foods of Olivier (a
Russian take on a French salad), pickles, and of course, Vodka. We watched Vladimir
Putin, the oddly loved Russian President give hope to the masses as the Kremlin
Bells tolled in the New Year. We lit sparklers and ignored any obvious fire
danger inside, kissed on midnight, and shared mandarins, another odd Russian
tradition. At 2am, after far too many vodkas, we donned the winter gear and
headed outside onto the Nevsky Prospekt, the main thoroughfare of the city. It
heads from downtown to the magnificent Hermitage and Winter Palace. It is here
on New Years Eve, by the river, fireworks are let off in their thousands, at
2am, for the enjoyment o the locals, who reciprocate by letting of dozens of
crass firecrackers in the street, usually to the chagrin of others who feel
like one has shot up their ass. The light in the area at St Petersburg’s
darkest time is inspiring. The council has done a superb job with the
festivities here and you really feel welcome when strolling around the square.
The atmosphere is electric and encompassing, and we will remember it as the
best New Years Eve so far.
We might not have thought that at 3pm the next day when we
were still in bed cursing vodka through blinding headaches. You win this time
Russian vodka, but NYE 2013/14 is only 364 days away damn you!
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| Vodka shots. Instructions on the wall |
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| Sparklers inside. Not so safe |
Apart from avoiding vodka, one of the hardest things to do
in St Petersburg, is not to slip over when walking. Due to the sudden warmth in
temperatures, snow has stopped and the rain has started, and although the gauge
just passes zero, it’s enough to cause black ice on the ground, resulting in
many stacks and potential broken legs. I avoided the crutches, but still went
arse over tit on a slippery step (flat piece of road) with a bag of shopping in
hand and bottle of alcohol. The apples and milk went rolling down the street
past Kylie’s feet but I managed to save humanity by grasping hold of the vodka
and getting us both home for an excellent night.
Our final day in St Petersburg was probably out best,
visiting the world famous Hermitage Museum, housed in the striking Winter
Palace at the end of Nevksy Prospekt. Built by the Tsars and people who ran
Russia over the years, it is a genuine work of art. Also, it houses some
incredible worlds of art from Picasso, Van Gogh, Rembrandt, Matisse and loads
of others who are apparently quite important. The collection is staggering;
there is stuff in there from before the time Jesus was knocking about, from
ancient Greek statues and Roman. There’s also a collection of Ancient Egyptian
artefacts; the usual tombs, papyrus prints and shrivelled to bits mummies. Normally
it would excite us, but tomorrow we head off to Egypt, so we will experience
the best there.
Off course this being Russia, we would invariably join a
giant queue to get in, and because the first Thursday of every month allows
free entry into the grounds and museums, every Russian and his husky was there
lining up, and of course, this being Russia, most of them pushed into a spot
that wasn’t theirs (just like Eastern Europe) to gain ascendancy.
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