Moscow is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. It’s the seventh country I’ve been to, and the first one that’s truly made me feel like an outsider. For the first time, it’s damn near impossible to find anyone who speaks english. All the street signs and train station names are written in Cyrillic (Russian) script, so getting lost is as easy as sneezing – which, in this weather, is pretty darned easy.
This is a whole different kind of cold. Ever go inside the walk-in freezer at your local BWS? That’s summertime here. I’m getting around in double socks, long johns (thermal underwear) and an industrial-grade overcoat, and when it’s not windy, the cold is fairly tolerable. But as soon as the wind kicks in, it’s hard to think of anything but the cold. Random body parts spontaneously go numb; at any given time, I may discover that I’ve lost feeling in my earlobes, or my nose, or my chin, and have to rub them furiously to avoid strange colours. Occasionally a gust of wind can come along and slap you in your face so hard it burns.
Because of the cold, there are a lot of differences in everyday practises; fashion is all about the fur and fuzz, drinks like cola and fruit juice are served at room temperature (bleuch, right?) and airlock-style entrances are common place in shopping centres and train stations. The hotel I’m staying in has the kind of heating you can’t adjust, and they really give it all it’s got. Consequently, the hotel room is so warm I actually have to sleep with the fan on. As I write this, I’m wearing barely anything (settle down, ladies) and I have the window open to let some cool air in. And also some snow. Yep, it’s snowing and I’m half naked. I love this country!
At least I’m starting to love it. When I got here, I was excited to see my friends, but also overwhelmed by the cold (no pun intended) reception I received from the rest of the country. Sitting on trains and busses, walking down the street, and waiting in queues, sometimes up to half the locals are literally staring at me. And it’s not that passive stare you get occasionally that vaporises as soon as you make eye contact; these stares just keep on going, as if I’m an animal they’ve stopped to inspect. Or judge. There’s a very strong “what the hell are YOU doing here?” vibe emanating from a lot of these characters – old and young alike. Unlike prague, the xenophobia transcends right through to the youngest generations.
Getting over that wasn’t too hard. It took about half a day. After that, as my friends eagerly showed me around the less crowded areas of the city, I gradually began to fall in love with both the natural and man-made charm of this great city. There’s more snow than I’ve ever seen, and it’s singularly beautiful; from the great white-capped mountains to slithers of ice clinging to berries on leafless trees. And yes, I ate one. An ice slither, that is, not a berry.
NOT a fairy tale, I swear!
Amidst the natural wonders of the region are an abundance of man-made spectacles. From grand towers to barely significant items like public garbage bins, everything has been crafted with just a little extra passion and care than we’re used to in Australia. Park benches have just a bit more curly bling. Statues and carvings are everywhere. The awnings on bus stations are fit for cozy country-side cottages. We came across a children’s play area which, although humble in size and location, was incredibly charming to look at. Even though it was modern, it was the kind of place that, compared to the bland pastel-plastic rubbish we give our kids back home, was warm and inviting and seemed intended to serve generation after generation of beanie-clad youngsters.
I think I saw this in a dream once.
Trains in Moscow range from ordinary London-style subway trains to ancient, deafening pre-WWII relics resembling shipping containers on wheels. The train stations, on the other hand, are really something. Even the most modest, insignificant stations are like palaces. Everything is marble and stone with countless statues, carvings and assorted artwork. There are even enclosed exhibits of various artefacts in the middle of some platforms, in places we’d expect to find ticket machines and public toilets.
Control is a strong part of my character. It’s important to me to always know what’s going on, how to get from A to B and how to respond to anything that may happen. Being in Moscow has taken all that away from me. I am at the complete mercy of the city, and if it weren’t for the wonderful companions I’ve had in my time here, I’m certain it would have chewed me up and spat me into the river for fish food. Or something equally unpleasant, perhaps involving gangs of children baring machetes. I’m experiencing a new kind of humility in which all my experience, intelligence and expertise are rendered useless, and I have to rely entirely on other people to order food for me, tell me when to get on and off trains, and even take me to my hotel (although I think I’ve just about got that one down-pat after a day and a half). I feel a bit like a five year old who, without his mother, could do nothing but stand and cry and suck his thumb. Which, once in a while, I almost feel like doing.
My hand is every bit as frozen as it looks.
Russians love their food. Obesity is rarer here than in Australia, which I can only attribute to the climate, because these guys eat like Italians with tape worms. Every meal has been an adventure here, from the hotel breakfast buffet to fancy restaurants with waiters in kitsch outfits. Even the little take away salad I ordered for dinner last night surprised me; what I thought were going to be annoying bits of crumbly feta cheese, turned out to be delicious cubes of something far creamier and more delicious.
We had sushi yesterday, but because fish is a little harder to obtain here, it wasn’t the pre-boxed fast food we’re used to; instead, it came served on an elongated plate with a stack of ginger, a fancy blob of wasabi and all the trimmings of a 50-bucks-a-head restaurant. In fact, 50 bucks covered three people, and the meal was immensely satisfying. We went elsewhere for coffee and (as I don’t drink coffee) a hot chocolate. I was warned that drinking a hot chocolate wouldn’t be good for me, which I quickly dismissed as diet humour. Oops. Hot chocolate here, like other places in Europe, is literally a cup of melted chocolate. Forget that boiled water with a spoon full of dissolved Milo; it’s as if they got a Mars Bar, microwaved it and put it in a cup. Delicious, but so exhausting to drink, they actually serve it with a glass of water to help ease the pain. I had mine with a slice of New York cheesecake, which I seriously doubt you’d be able to find in New York – it was THAT good.
Diabetes, anyone?
In spite of the warnings I’ve received about this city, I feel surprisingly safe here. There are armed police, guards and various other military personnel everywhere. Every train station, street corner and fancy building carries a detail of two or three tall, handsome looking uniformed characters looking all vigilant and mean. They’re not the boogeymen they seem to be though; they’re happy to give directions and help out wherever they can. Once, I think I even saw one smile – a rare thing for a Russian.
Red Square
I’m writing this offline because there’s no WiFi in my hotel room; just an RJ45 socket in the wall for connecting an ethernet port. I tried to buy an Airport Express yesterday so I could turn it into a wireless access point, but after tiresomely tracking down an Apple reseller, I found out they’re illegal here. That’d be right. It’s a strange, confusing, often backwards place, but I love it – it’s beautiful and full of character and I’m thrilled to be here.
