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Published: September 21st 2006
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The Unknown Soldier
We think... We didn't get a guide book and were reliant on what we could remember from an out of date Lonely Planet at the hostel. Typical tight wad Scottish folk I tells ya. Dear Diary,
The trip to Moscow was completely mis-sold. It would seem that the famous Warsaw to Moskva Express has lost much of its Expressiness. It's now more of a Warsaw to Moskva clatter and crawl. It takes 21 hours to complete the journey by which time the passengers who opted for the less conventional two-stop route have already been in Moskva for two hours.
Still, the border guard at the gateway to the Russian Federation was nice - no need to bribe him or offer him cigarettes as many people seem to experience. We even go a smile from him when he opened the cabin door and Vik banged her head on the bunk above as she leapt forward with her passport held infront of her like a priest brandishing a bible at an exorcism.
Much of the Russian countryside on the way to Moscow seemed inhabited by old women in unfeasibly large Wellington boots, bent over in fields, their earthy shawl covered heads barely visible past enormously heavy rumps which invariably are pointed in the direction of the train like some sort of snub to the modern age. And who can blame them? What's the modern
GUM
Not a clinic in the NHS Outpatient Unit but a rather fancy and impressive shopping mall full of western stuff and a HUGE Intersport. Useful. age and the advent of capitalism done for them. Not only do they appear as poor as they were before, but they now get the pleasure of having jumped up, pretentious tourists watching them from the train and then writing about them in blogs as if they were an exhibit in an agricultural show.
But Moskva's not about agriculture or tourism; it's about the black stuff baby: oil. On some of the streets you can virtually hear the fart and slap of sticky black tar bubbling up to the surface from under your feet, spewing forth another McDonalds, another Mercedes dealership (specialising in tinted windows) or another casino.
You can see the strain on the faces of the heavy grey Soviet buildings, like decorating your Grandad with tinsel at Christmas, they try their best to remain dignified as the Panasonic, Toyota or Nokia billboard is stretched across their facade.
Streets are like motorways - five, six, seven or eight lanes wide. Beer sold and drunk on every street corner as if it were juice. Police and soldiers menacing. At times it is like a chaotic realisation of a Judge Dredd future where on the one hand there
Basil's hoose
Walt Disney has ruined the world. When you see amazing stuff like this now all you can think is that it looks like something from his park and Mickey might pop round the corner at any given minute... is extreme wealth (there are more billionaires in this city than any other in the world) and on the other hand there is extreme poverty. But that's the same as any major city I hear you cry. That's true, but for me, the division here is more obvious than in any other city I've experienced because there seems so much less of a middle ground between the two extremes.
Anyway, I'm finding this serious conversation we're having a little dry, so let me turn your attention to a few of the photographs of the Kremlin, Red Square and St. Basil's cathederal - because that's why you come to Moscow, right?
The photographs look impressive, and why not, after all they were taken by a master of the art. But I think they deceive to flatter. Maybe it's just because I had built up such high expectations, but neither Vik nor I were very taken by any of these places. St Basil's was smaller that I expected and, to be honest, its colourful build gave it a toy-town feel. I wanted to like it and found the odd angle from which its colour and shapes became interesting, but I
Michael Finnagan
He grew whiskers on his chinnagan... couldn't find a wow-factor that held me. Having said that - from a distance (ie. from the river), both of us were more impressed by the view.
Inside St. Basil's it was a different story. Its small, tight, ornate rooms and the winding stoney passages were fascinating. Equally facinating is watching a Spanish tour group of twenty people squeeze into a room that was probably designed as a prayer sanctuary for two or three monks. A window into the room from an ajoining corridor allowed me to watch as Spanish noses and palms presseed up against the glass until the room was a soup of anonymous limbs with only the guides umbrella visible in the melee.
The Kremlin was interesting but also a little disappointing. This was probably due to the nature of the artwork as it contained early religious art adorned in gold and silver and precious stone encrusted Royal bric-a-brac which does little for me and generally fails to impress. If you like sparkly things though, this is the place for you!
Well, this appears to have been a blog which actually talked about the place we were in rather than rambling nonsense, so with
Do you have to...?
Take yet another photo of me... grrr. that I will bid you good day comrades.
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Dumplings in Moscow
How about a dumpling shop in Red Square.........