What do most visitors do on a bitterly cold day in a Moscow winter when the very marrow of your cheekbones aches? Probably find a Soviet style bar and imbibe copious amounts of vodka, steeling themselves for the next foray on the way back to their hotel.
Not these visitors.
Having glimpsed the wonders of the Metro on the previous day it seemed logical to go underground and we tromped across the frozen snow to Smolenskaya , the start of an Art Deco journey, a glimpse into Soviet pride and a palliative to the Russian population after the horrors leading up to and beyond WW II.
Justifiably proud of their stations, they are revered and kept clean and free of graffiti. No chewing gum or spitting here. The varied marbles brought from all parts of the old Soviet Union gleam in their pink, black, grey and striated glory. Famous artists contributed to the collection of sculptures, mosaics and paintings.
As my neck cricked up once again to look at the fabulous ceilings with my vision partly obscured by the fur around my hat I fervently wished for a mirrored
Hammer and sickle
trolley or at the very least the extra neck massages to enable me to gawp to my heart's (and neck's) content!
We sat down on a marble bench, unwrapped our biscuits and leftover Chinese sweeties poured ourselves a cup of green tea from our red and white striped flask and wondered if anyone was taking a photo of us?
Tot: 0.286s; Tpl: 0.011s; cc: 14; qc: 89; dbt: 0.1072s; 89; m:apollo w:www (18.104.22.168); sld: 1;
; mem: 6.6mb