Milling Among the Muscovites

We farewelled Genya and Sasha our kupe compartment companions, in the early morning after a rocky sleep on our first Russian train. A grim driver holding our names drove us to the hotel without a fuss, or conversation. However, stumbling into the metro we were renewed with fresh interest; Moscow's underground metro stations were a little more than your average dull commuter tunnel, in fact they were works of art!

We followed the instructions back to our hotel, where we met up with Daniel, our local young Muscovite orientation guide, in the lobby. Sporting an unassuming beige jacket and black backpack, he also greets us without a smile, produces an envelope, and says "I have your documents" in such a stereotypical Russian accent, that I cannot help but grin. Would someone please drive these ridiculous James Bond images out of my head?! We thank him politely for providing us the tickets for our next train journey, and follow him out so he could show us around his home town.

He took us back to the metro station to catch a train to the city centre. We mentioned that Moscow's underground stations were rather fancy. "You like the metro?" He finally cracks a small smile, "You know some people like to tour just the metro, going around and around, and it only costs one Ruble! If you would like, I can show you some of my favourites." Sure why not! we chorused, and were subsequently treated to quick tour of Socialist art, checking out the stained glass colours of the Novoslobodskaya station, the funky molecular tribute to Dmitri Mendeleev (of periodic table fame) at Mendeleyevskaya station, and the famous Ploshchad Revolyutsii station, featuring 76 bronze statues depicting the ideal progression of the life of a true Soviet man or woman, from birth in a wheat field to an armed soldier fighting for the motherland. We rubbed the well-shined nose of the dog for good luck, like every other commuter that goes past on their way to work.



While ornamental metros dominated the underground, public squares reigned on Moscow's surface. We popped up at Ploshchad Revolyutsii (Revolutionary Square), and wandered across the road to Teatralnaya Ploshchad (Theatre Square) to view the historic Bolshoi Theatre, renown for it's ballet performances. Upon mentioning our recent appreciation of Russian dance arts, Daniel asked us what we thought of rival city, Saint Petersburg. Beautiful! we said. "It is very European," he replied matter-of-factly, "Not really Russian." I suspect the rivalry runs deep. We walked a few more blocks to Pushkinskaya Square featuring a statue of Pushkin, Russia's most celebrated poet. We were also introduced to classy shopping, from Moscow's own posh Eliseevsky supermarket to the glass-ceilinged opulence of TSUM and GUM department stores.


We eventually topped off the tour at the Krásnaya Plóshchaď (Red Square) - the seat of Russia's post-revolution power. Some multi-day military band festival had occupied the area, cutting off access to this famous landmark. Daniel appeared mildly perplexed, however he managed to keep his cool and find a side entrance through some shops that was still open, so in we went.


It felt pretty amazing to be standing here in the Red Square, viewing St Basil's Cathedral (which almost became a victim of the destruction of any non-Socialist art early last century) next to the seemingly impenetrable high walls of the Moscow Kremlin.


We were milling about the Alexandrovsky Gardens after watching the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, when Daniel asked "Do you need to go to the MacDonalds?" Huh? Ben had not eaten anything from MacDonalds for at least 12 years, and avidly avoided stepping foot into one, and so was rather concerned about where this was going. "Some teenagers go to MacDonalds for socialising," Daniel continued, "But most people go there because they have free toilets." Turns out public toilets are a rarity in Moscow, so Maccas helps fill the loo shortage.

We declined the toilet break offer, but did end up going through the Family Restaurant anyway to get to an outlet inside the adjacent shopping mall of a Russian homegrown fast-food chain competitor called Teremok, specialising in blinis (Russian crepes) which could be had with all manner of sweet and savoury fillings. I cannot say it was the best meal we have ever had, but it worked for typically cheap backpacker grub.

We did enjoy the cafeteria style of eating though, perhaps a remnant from a Socialist era turned into a buffet-like bounty of indulgence. In some of the popular establishments were freshly prepared offerings of soups (shchi and borsch well represented), salads, dumplings, roasts, stews, pastas, desserts and fully stocked bars offering soft and hard drink concoctions, including the ubiquitous range of Russian vodkas. Sampled as a matter of obligation.


Having already dealt with the Red Square crowd during our orientation tour, and being slightly nerdy, we decided to check out the Memorial Museum of Cosmonautics. I was thoroughly fascinated browsing for English captions identifying taxidermied space dogs Belka and Strelka, a 1:1 replica of Sputnik, space race era Soviet and American space suits, chunks of moon rocks and meteorites, and an exhibition dedicated to the first man in space, Yuri Gagarin.


More fountains, monuments, and buildings dedicated to national achievements were found roaming through the VVC Exhibition Center (VDNKh).


A proud country indeed.

The Trans-Siberian Saga - Part 1

We have finally come to the crux of the Trans-Siberian Railway experience - the train journey! One of the reasons why we travel is to learn all the ways people do things, and every country does trains slightly differently - from rusty slow-moving engines with bench seats and open windows creeping to Cambodian borders, to super-slick Eurostar speedsters whizzing nonchalantly through European countryside. So how do the Russians do it?


Tonight we had tickets for Train 029, an overnight sleeper from St Petersburg to Moscow for our first leg on Russia's famous Trans-Siberian Railway. Getting aboard was easy enough; show our tickets and passport to the provodnitsa, the carriage attendant (or provodnik if male) and if you pass her stern scrutiny you jump on-board and find your compartment. In a second class kupe carriage, each compartment has four beds, two lower berths and two upper berths. Claiming one upper and one lower berth, we stowed our bags, sat down, and waited for the mystery of "Who will be our companions tonight?" to be solved.

Pretty soon, we heard heavy footfalls as two sweating middle-aged men dressed in full camouflage clothing dumped some large military-looking duffle bags onto the seat, acknowledged our presence with quick nods, and scoped out the compartment space. They left again as we warily eyed a couple of long sacks that appeared to house something hard, long and thin (are these guys seriously packing rifles?). We heard more scuffling as they came back with a trolley-load of two massive black cases, measuring roughly 1.5m x 1.5m x 0.5m each and looking extremely heavy. What on earth could they be shipping? my mind started to wonder, sifting through stereotypical spy-novel scenes wondering what a gun-toting ex-miliary Russian mafia crew would be doing in a second-class kupe. Some grunting effort followed, as they decided to stow their obviously heavy, large black cases above our heads in the upper storage area. At least half of the case stuck out from the shelf, just above where my feet would be, and I worried that it was poised perfectly in order to crush my legs should it fall out while I slept. Tia and I exchanged some skeptical looks.

All appearances and prejudices were cast aside as soon as the train started to move. We were treated to our first lesson in Russian train etiquette - the taking-turns-to-change-in-to-something-comfortable ritual. As there is no privacy in a four stranger compartment, it is polite to leave the room so that your companions can change into more comfortable clothing for the journey. With a mixture of hand signals and charades, we realised our companions were treating us to a "please, you first" when they stepped out and closed the door, before politely waiting for us to step out so they could do the same. Once this was done we all sat down again, massive black cases hanging over our heads, clapped our hands on our thighs saying "Ah", followed by awkward silence.

Ok, time to break out the "Language" section of the guidebook. Oh so your names are Genya and Sasha, you are from Moscow and you are just coming back from a holiday. A camping holiday in fact (explains the canvas and camo) where you did a whole heap of fly-fishing (explains the long thin sacks, not guns but fishing rods). Oh, and you carried your own boats? Ah, inflatable boats, hence the big black cases looming above us. Proving yet again that a picture tells a thousand words, we were treated to a bunch of fishing stories via photos of lakes, trees, and men proudly holding up fish, scrolled through the screen on the back of Sasha's camera. So, that explains it. When people go fishing here, they take public transport and carry a massive inflatable boat with them.

I slept pretty well after that knowing these were just a couple of good mates heading home after a successful fishing trip, only waking a few times to check that the big black boat had not moved.