50); this is THE best way to get around Moscow!
The pickup point for the tour was the Intourist Hotel on Gorky Street. We had about 30 minutes to kill, so I stood outside and filmed up and down the street while Betty chatted with the others. Half way through a long slow pan I felt a tickle in my nether regions... this could mean two things... I swooped the camera down and caught a small dark boy on film. He had his hand in my jeans pocket and was helping himself to some pocket lint. A gypsy! The Australian tourist came up and gave him some gum, and he took it silently. Soon a whole pack of them arrived. They swooped on the tour group as it left the hotel. They were everywhere, pulling on our clothes loudly demanding 'Goom!' or 'Dohlar!'. Someone even copped a punch in the face. The tour guide scattered them with a few choice words and then we all marched off towards the Kremlin.
The Kremlin is full of churches, curiosities, and history. The world's largest bell (which has a large crack and has never been rung), the world`s largest gauge cannon (which has never been fired), about 100 small cannons captured from Napoleon, and magnificent churches with gold plated domes.
Russian Orthodox churches are already strikingly ornate on the outside, with their tightly packed towers and golden domes, but the inside is even better. Intricate centuries-old mosaics cover every square inch of the walls, and the insides of the golden domes are decorated with heavenly scenes. In fact, the function of those domes is to represent heaven to the upward-gazing churchgoer. Sunlight falls in from various angles during the day and lights up different details within the dome. Beautiful. It matches anything I saw in the Vatican.
Of course, these particular churches were for the private use of the Czars, so no doubt they were inordinately ornate. The tour guide told us that the largest church was used by Napoleon as a horse stable during his brief holiday here.
Every now and then as we were gawking around a guard would blow his whistle and sinister black sedans would snake their way through the inner compound. I always looked up to see if I could spot Gorby or Chevy, but the black curtains were always drawn in the back seat.
After the Kremlin tour we had a complimentary bus ride around the city. We visited Novodevichy Convent, Lenin Hills, St Basil's, the monstrous university (it's all housed in one huge Gothic-style building), and the inevitable tourist shops. Betty had her photo taken with some jolly Russian soldiers, who contorted their faces into frowns as soon as I pointed a camera at them. Why do they always do this? It's bad for their image overseas.
That night we had a rare treat - dinner with a Russian family! My twin brother had met them when he was in Moscow two years before, and had maintained contact via letters and postcards. We didn't know what to expect, so Betty insisted we have dinner at the hotel first. In contrast to the first night, the food was disgusting. The chicken was old and greasy, and spouted up a fountain of oil when Betty dug her fork into it. Perhaps they were last night's leftovers. Bleh. Totally nauseated, we grabbed a cab to Voronzovskaya 30, in the south east of Moscow. This is supposed to be a good area, but the land around their apartment block was ugly dirt and scrub with liberal sprinklings of smelly garbage.
We took an unsteady elevator up 3 flights and knocked on the padded door. The door swung open, and we met Mascha, a teenage girl; Andrei, her boyfriend, who had just finished service as a ballet dancer (!) in the Red Army; Mascha's mother, an English teacher; and Mascha's father, the director of a boy's choir. Mascha and her Mum were the only ones who spoke English.
We were welcomed warmly and I think I even received a hug or two. After the usual preliminaries ('You look so much like your brother!') we brought out our Western gifts. Some good quality soap, shaving cream, Australian beer, Cosmopolitan Magazine, and some Pepsi. Apparently gift giving is an important ritual in the Russian culture. They ushered us inside to the dinner table.
Their flat was small and cluttered, but in a cosy kind of way. It only had 4 rooms, but each was jam-packed with bulging couches, decorations, shelves with knick knacks, tables, and chairs. It looked very homey, and a nice place to shelter from a cold winter. The lounge/dining room doubled as a bedroom. They had a large old-fashioned TV and, to my great surprise, a CD player! Was this your average Russian family?
We settled down to the feast they laid before us. Pink, undercooked chicken, dark bread, kvass, pickle & beetroot salad. Mm-mmh! After the meal they cracked out the vodka, pouring it into tiny shot glasses. I'm not much of a drinker (and neither is Betty - she's never been drunk), but we didn't think we'd have too much trouble with these. Bring on the firewater! We each slammed one down and then quickly gulped kvass as a chaser to quell the burning sensation. After two I'd had enough, but our hosts were just getting started.
Russians seem to take pride in drinking foreigners under the table. Each drink is preceded by a long-winded toast, and then everyone is expected to chug-a-lug in appreciation. We discussed Gorbachev, and the Baltic States, which had just unilaterally declared independence. They confidently predicted that the tanks would be sent in, and nodded approvingly (and they were right). When asked what I thought of Gorbachev, I said that I considered him a great man, but he will probably end up destroying the Soviet Empire (and I was right). They nodded in silent agreement.
The rest of the evening is a blur. They presented me with a Red Army peaked cap and belt, and I paraded through the loungeroom mimicking any Russian phrase they threw at me. Betty got drunk for the first time in her life and threw up on her shoes. Someone played 'Streets of London' on the piano and we all sang along.... we drank toast after toast after toast, and the distinction between English and Russian seemed to fade... at one point I found myself in Mascha's bedroom; we were both laughing hysterically at her map of the USSR.
I barely remember being helped into a taxi and dragged to the hotel entrance. Once we got inside I threw up everywhere. We fell asleep at about 2am, drunk and miserable. What a night.
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Woke up nauseous as hell. My usual trick to avoid hangovers is to stay up until I'm sober, but last night I was outta control. We struggled out of bed and met up with Mascha, who promised to show us around a bit of Moscow and find us some Soviet T-Shirts (which were a hot item in the West).
After travelling for ages on the metro we ended up at a suburban market full of crowds and open stalls. Was this the infamous 'Black' Market? There was a cornucopia of goods and the prices seemed a lot higher than in the downtown stores (there's a change from the West!) The T-Shirts were reasonably expensive, even though we were able to pay in roubles.
Next we sauntered down the road to the VDNKh, or the 'Exhibition of Economic Achievements of the Glorious Peoples of the Heroic Union of Soviet Socialist Republics' for short. It's a collection of triumphal arches, pompous fountains and heroic statues (with titles like 'Peasant Boy and Collective-Farm Girl') surrounding dour pavilions with flea-bitten exhibits. Most were closed. We had to sneak through a backdoor to see the Computer Exhibit, which consisted solely of two IBM clones displaying a spreadsheet. The keyboards weren't even in Cyrillic. What a disappointment. Mascha had warned us: 'Don't be surprised - Rossya is vaery backword'.
We had a bit of photo session around the fountains while Mascha told us about herself. She is very interested in Russian history, especially the life of the last czar, Nicholas I. She dreams of one day travelling abroad to the U.S. or Australia, to see how other people live. Her parents have already been to England, and came back deeply impressed. And no wonder; by Russian standards even the English live in fairytale surroundings. Although I was warned to expect poverty here, I was still shocked by the dirt and destitution. Even Eastern Europe looks wealthy in comparison to Moscow, which in turn is supposed to be the most affluent part of the Soviet Union. What must the rest be like? I felt sorry for Mascha.
Our pills began to wear off, and I could feel larger and larger waves of nausea starting to break over me. We said goodbye to Mascha and fled back to the hotel. Once there, we collapsed into bed feeling as sick as hell. I ended up sleeping the rest of the day and night. What a senseless waste of a good holiday........
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Woke up late, so we missed breakfast. By this point, I hadn't kept anything down for 36 hours, but I felt surprisingly good. Perhaps it was the just the buzz of being here, in Moscow, 20000km from home at the start of a 10 week holiday. We dropped by Mascha's house again to receive some presents and eat a light breakfast. Then we bade them all farewell and took off to do some serious sightseeing. Five minutes later we were back because I'd left my camera behind. Before we were allowed to leave again, they insisted we all sit by the door for two minutes. This is apparently an old Russian custom; everyone must sit and reflect before someone starts on a long journey. Even their dog was forced onto his haunches.
We walked off down the street and descended by escalator into the Metro network. In a city of contrasts, the METPO is one of the most bizarre. Who would expect to find, beneath one of the world's most chaotic and mismanaged cities, the most impressive, efficient, and convenient mass transit system in the world? A train is guaranteed to arrive within 90 seconds, or you can ask for your money back. Not that you'd bother; at 15 kopecks (about US$0.01) for unlimited travel, it has to be one of the cheapest systems in the world too. And that's not all. Many metro stations have been fashioned into enthralling works of art. Some are done up like palaces, others are adorned with sculptures and impressive mosaics. But to me the most incredible thing about the metro is that it was built in the 30's, under communist direction. The fire must have still been in their bellies then, before the inertia and despondency inherent in the system set in. Oops, better not get too political here.
Our first (above-ground) stop was Dzherzhinsky Square, site of KGB Headquarters. When we passed this building previously on a bus tour, the guide sardonically noted that this was the Moscow landmark Westerners were most interested in. And I was too. I whipped out the video camera and filmed the square in front of the building, and all around the sides, trying to goad some reaction out of the KGB'ers ensconsced inside. No luck. Then suddenly...a huddled figure approached us. It was a babushka (I think) and she seemed to be asking us directions in Russian. I sent her packing with a polite 'Nye Russki'. It was nice to be mistaken for a Russian for once; the younger generation sure don't have any trouble picking you in a crowd.
We then walked back down to Red Square to do some time in a queue and glimpse Lenin. Unfortunately, it just happened to be his 120th birthday, and out the front of his tomb there snaked the most enormous line I have ever seen. Even on their day off, Russians like to queue.... |
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