g&k

We only had the morning left in Moscow and having been denied yesterday today we were determined to see the it's showpiece. So like Napoleon before us we were staged for a lightening attack on the Kremlin, a blitzkrieg of Hitler's dreams. We set our targets, synchronised watches and then, like any famous military assault, we bought our tickets from the little booth out the front. This seemingly straight-forward step was made slightly more baffling by the ticketing instructions.


The tickets for the armoury, holding all the treasures of Russia, were sold in "Séances". We presumed this meant 'sessions', not 'communications with the dead'. The first 'séance' was at 10:00 am and tickets must be purchased 45 minutes before. The booth selling the tickets opened at 10:00am. So perhaps we were indeed meant to take out our Ouija boards and communicate with people from the past in order to buy tickets 45 minutes before they're available. In the end we bought tickets and went straight for the queue at the entry point.

The queuing was divided along racial lines. A 20 metre long 'blob' of Chinese tourist being corralled by Kremlin staff to keep out of the way and a thin queue of everybody else. On arrival of the surprisingly youthful and disinterested Chinese tour guides they tried to force their large group sideways into the 'others' queue. Finally we had Russian brusqueness on our side as the Kremlin staff chastised them and forced them to the 'groups' entry to queue properly. They moved off in matching beige resort wear and overtly branded cameras. We shuffled past the stern looking guards - they seemed positively annoyed that the Cold War was over and we outsiders were entering the inner sanctum of their Soviet World. Too bad, Comrade.


The Armoury contains the 'treasures of Russia'. This turns out to be quite an interesting array of homewares, clothing, weapons and transport of the extinguished Russian Imperial household. I have always wondered what 18th & 19th century monarchs wore on their feet and here I could see. The comprehensive clothing section revealed just how tiny Royal women were and just how fat the clergy could be. The weapons display included several examples of what to get the King that has everything - pistols for ceremonial shootings, guns for large slow animals, gold plated spikes. The gilded carriages attracted only slightly less attention than Gavin did when he set off the alarms for pointing too close to one of them. An irritated museum woman arrived to tell him off with a stern glare and a gold-plated spike. Upstairs were solid gold gravy boats the size of birdbaths and intricate chocolate fountains that looked like miniature water slides. There was even a genuine Faberge Egg complete with tiny, jewel encrusted model Trans-Siberian Railway train inside! Like a very up-market Kinder Surprise. All in all a good visit. Unless, of course, you already have lots of gold everything in which case it could drag.


It turned out that our tickets to the Armoury did not get us into 'the rest' of the Kremlin. So we ducked by the ticket booth for another séance. We then headed up the distinctive big red walls - walls so well known they were used by German bombers as a navigation aide, so the Russians painted them white. And so we entered the world's most famous kremlin, "kremlin" meaning fortress, the Kremlin (of Moscow). Surprisingly for the nucleus of a formerly brutal regime based on a philosophy of ardent atheism the grounds are full of churches. I suppose that's why they kept them hidden behind walls. Most were topped with distinctive golden onion-tops in varying numbers.


The Lonely Planet told us that one of these churches contained the original wooden throne of Ivan the Terrible. Of course it didn't. As a tour (rather than travel) guide the LP was perpetuating the Russian stereotype of 'figure it out for yourself, I'm not helping'. The church was however a startling introduction into the dazzlingly colourful interiors of Orthodox Russian churches. Unlike Roman Catholic or Protestant churches, which can impress with their scale or architecture but are generally pretty dour & dull, Orthodox churches hit you full in the face with a riot of colourful icons and tableaus on every surface.


Like kaleidoscopic religious wallpaper. In order to protect this technicolour ecclesiastic wonderland fortress the Russians have installed the world's biggest cannon, complete with world's even-bigger cannon balls. So big they don't even fit in the cannon. Probably just as well as it faces inwards towards the barracks. Finally, in order to guard the masses against all this religious ardour, the Communists have stamped their own serious mark inside the Kremlin. A huge concrete block known as the Palace of Congresses. Nothing provides better relief from colourful artistry than big solid concrete.


We continued our lightening attack of central Moscow with a return to Red Square with the intention of seeing the big dead man himself. Lenin. We arrived at the mausoleum where his body is, prepared for the protocols of visiting, having read-up last night. Unfortunately, however, the father of Soviet Russia wasn't available. The mausoleum was closed. It would seem Lenin was having a lie in. He was dead tired. He was confined to bed. He's being doing this for years and he's stuffed. He simply couldn't get up. After all the Lenin puns we could think of we decided to Let It Be.


Beside and behind the mausoleum we saw the bust of Lenin's former tomb-mate, Stalin. He was kicked out in 1961 by Khrushchev as they tried, sensibly, to distance themselves from Stalin's legacy. It is understandable that communists would want to preserve the recognition of a former leader and deny any real wrong-doing by their system of government. As such a bust might seem explicable. However the current "democratic" maintains it is interesting.


I don't know of any Mussolini or Pol Pot monuments. (Although Indians or Irish might point to British monuments of Victoria). What was also interesting was to see the reactions of several veterans, presumably of WWII, who were filing past the busts that make up the Kremlin Wall Necropolis. A few stopped and gestured to Stalin and talked amongst themselves. I would love to know what they were saying. We watched and studied their responses. Then we considered our own response. We gave him the finger and left for the metro.

We were now heading for St. Petersburg via our hotel. Along the way we were passing through some of Russia's most impressive railway efforts. Firstly at Revolutionary Square Metro station where the stirring soviet murals really made you understand the grandeur and awe that the soviets were aiming to imbue into the people. Marble walls, gold raised relief lettering and militaristic coat of arms. It looked as much a headquarters as a tube stop.



Next was train number seven of our transplanetary rail route. The 200km/hr Sapsan (meaning falcon) express from Moscow to St. Petersburg. Like in China, this new, sleek high speed train was a vast contrast to the almost antiquated looking long distance trains across Siberia. Now we felt back in the 21st century. Part of the reason may be explained (if Wikipedia is to be believed) by the fact that this is Russia's only profitable passenger train route.


The trip was generally comfortable taking 3.5 hours to cover the 650kms. I say 'generally' as Kathryn had a silent breakdown as she was driven berserk by the two women talking across from us. One nattered non-stop while the other kept a relentless series of "Mmm...uh-hmm...mm...uh-hmm..." grunts in reply. If you ever want to make Kathryn really mad then reply with a loud "MM, uh-hmm" to something she says. You are warned.

We arrived to stirring music being played over the platform at St. Petersburg. We don't know if this is a new thing for the Sapsan train or has being going on ever since the railway was installed (or if even it was for us). But it made the trip seem all the more significant. Our hotel was right next to the station so after dropping our bags and a quick check that CNN and BBC are still saying the same things on the hour, every hour we headed out for dinner. St. Petersburg felt another step further into 'proper' Europe. Attractive buildings, wide boulevards, impressive monuments. We passed quickly up the main street, Nevsky Prospekt, to our dinner venue, Terrassa.


On entering the restaurant it was apparent it was somewhat more 'la-di-da' than we are. But to her credit the cosmetically enhanced greeter that greeted us at the lift doors smiled broadly and spoke very good English and showed us to a table on the terrace at a suitably large distance from the more important, rich & beautiful people. The restaurant was impressive with a very nice dusk view over the town centre and menus printed to make them look like glossy newspapers. The menu itself contained a great variety of international fare- tapas, sushi, rabbit pie, pizza, anything.


As the sun sunk lower it got decidedly cooler and we wrapped ourselves in our jackets and scarves in a step wise manner and finally cocooned ourselves in the blankets that were offered to all outside. We enjoyed our food as the sun set changed the colours of Kazan Cathedral.

Today was the day of our walking tour followed by a visit to the Kremlin, tomorrow we're off to St. Petersburg.

Prompt and on time, as ever, we made our way to the meeting point via the venerable & friendly metro system. As it turned out we were early when we met our diminutive young Muscovite guide and two fellow tourists from Malaysia. A few minutes later another ‘tourer’ arrived, a New Zealander who said he was from Australia. So which was it? Melbourne, was his reply. But he said it "Mulburne". New Zealander. Then it seemed we were ready to go. Then thirty Dutch tourists from the same hostel arrived. Perfect. The guide also then reminded us that we couldn't go into the Kremlin today, it was closed. Because it's Thursday. What the hell does that mean? After being brutishly battered on the metro and swamped by lowlands tourists we weren't in the mood for this bad news.


As soon the tour set off the thirty-something year old NZ tourist set to spading (remember that term?) a 19 year old girl from the Dutch contingent. From shameless eavesdropping it transpired that the Dutch were all on the verge of graduating from a communications degree. Despite this most of their communication seemed to consist of MTV catch phrases and utterly stupid comments or questions. For example, when we stopped at a statue to commemorate the Russian general hailed as the hero who halted the German advance towards Moscow, one of the more extroverted Dutch boys, sporting a blue cast on his wrist which I can only imagine was earned whilst trying to put both legs of his trousers on at once, asked earnestly “Can you climb it?". What? This was a 25 foot high statue of a man on a horse on a concrete block, why would you want to climb it? The tour guide was obviously confused by the question so the Dutch guy repeated it several times, being a communications peri-graduate after all, "Can you climb it?". "Is it possible or is it allowed?" asked the guide trying to clarify. "Allowed?" said blue-wrist. "I don't know, No-one in Russia has ever wanted or tried to climb it so we don't have a rule" replied the guide. Honestly. Only this Dutch idiot could make the Russians public behaviour seem sensible and demure by comparison. Good grief.

The tour wound past St. Basil's, the GUM and Red Square that we had seen yesterday. Today, though, there were a lot more seats and markers in the blue, red and white of the Russian flag to be seen in Red Square. Our guide explained that the decorations were being installed for the 9 May celebrations when Russia commemorates the repulsion of the German forces in WWII or as the Russians call it 'The Great Patriotic War'.


It had been evident from the beginning of the tour that our guide, a twenty-something female Muscovite uni student, was quite nationalistic and it sounded as though history was taught with Russia always assuming the moral high-ground - ever the valiant resistor of oppression and invasion. Sometimes this sounded quite conservative, especially when describing how no-one likes illegal immigrants cos they are ruining Russia and Russians can't get rich enough because of them (I think Tony Abbot would like it here). This single -sided nationalism was more evident when describing 'The Great Patriotic War'. According to 21st century Russia, the war began in 1941 when Germany invaded the USSR. Not in 1939 when Stalin allied with Hitler & invaded Poland. There were many Russians, from Siberia to Moscow, wearing orange & black striped ribbons of St. George in commemoration of those who died in the War, just like us with our poppies on Remembrance Day. But it seemed odd that they should have such a different idea on the same events. It makes you wonder how distorted the West's view of the war, and the world, might be. After all, history is written by the victors. And we've put a Starbucks at the Kremlin, the Forbidden City and the Reichstag.

We gathered next to watch the changing of the guard at the eternal flame. This was a small parade of just 5 troops but was complete with all the goose-stepping we'd been hoping for. The highlight, however, was the moment of change over. Both soldiers cocked their heads to the side and regarded each other sideways. It was like two pigeons sizing each other up. Completely hilarious.


Only the children could get away with laughing though, everyone else feared the gulag. After this we filed past a metro stop and some museums with requisite explanations of how Russians are better than most at anything. We then arrived at the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour. This stood on the site that it had before it was blown up 80 years before in order to be replaced by the Palace of the Supreme Soviet, the 8th of Stalin's Seven Sisters. To explain - the cathedral had existed since 1883. It was demolished by the Soviets to be replaced by the Lenin-topped tower described previously. During the war the 'Big Lenin' was abandoned and a big swimming pool built instead (it's easy to dig a hole after all). After the fall of communism the cathedral was precisely rebuilt to the actual 19th century designs. So we all stood and duly photographed the 20 year old cathedral from 1883.


The cathedral was the end of our little tour and we tried to quickly avoid being asked to go lunch by the New Zealander. It is perhaps a bit unfriendly but the guy basically brought the whole Southern Hemisphere into dispute. He tried so many poor jokes typified by his performance outside Basil's Church. The guide had been trying to explain that Vasiliy was mentally affected. She had been saying 'mentally sick', 'disordered', 'diseased'. "Retarded!" exclaimed Mr. NZ. Even the Dutch looked shocked.


Fortunately we escaped and headed off to the metro to go out to a flea market that the book says is perfect for good souvenirs, etc. Typically the map wasn't great. The directions were worse. Get off the metro and "follow the crowd". The four other people who got off at this metro stop, deep into the Moscow burbs, went in four different directions. Using a compass we headed in the direction suggested on the map. There were both fleas and markets but nothing resembling what we were hoping for. There was a huge empty plot that may have been where it once stood.


But the map was on a scale of kilometers so it was next to useless. So we asked for help. Big mistake. To ask for help is to scream out loud that you have a horribly contagious disease. People could move quick enough to avoid us. Russian's indifference to polite behaviour moved to outright bastardry. "I can't read English!" exclaimed one businessman as he rushed away from us, "It's written in Russian!" we implored. He could only answer in meaningless vowels as he dashed for his life. Defeated we headed back to the hotel. Bumped into, cut off and pushed past all the way home. Then just as we were traipsing back we saw a bus crash into a police car. Ha! You guys are going to suffer. Probably the last car you want to crash into in Russia. At least we get to leave. You guys have to deal with Russians for the rest of your lives. Thanks for having us though (see? Manners).

It is hard to know where to begin in Moscow if you're not going straight to the Kremlin. We had booked a walking tour for the nest day that would include the Kremlin area and after we would go inside. So today was for the 'the rest'. Being right here in the heart of the former communist beast from which the Cold War was fought against the West there was obviously only one place to go. Shopping. Because capitalism won, pinkos.

More correctly, and politely, we were going to the Arbat, Moscow's famous pedestrian arcade. To get there we would take the Metro. The Moscow Metro is a tourist attraction in its own right, according to the guides anyway. This means either Moscow is very boring or the Metro is very good. Certainly the stations in formerly Communist Budapest, the second oldest metro in the world and a world Heritage site, were very impressive. Stalin had said 'that before palaces had been built for kings, he was going to build palaces for the people'. Underground. With trains in them. So with a degree of expectation we descended into Komsomolskaya Metro. There certainly was an older world grandeur to the entry and ticket halls with attractively decorated lights and fittings. On entering the platforms, though, things were distinctly different. Tiled walls, brass balconies and a mezzanine level over-looking the trains.


This unusual, open space was repeated at other stops with small bridges rising off the platform and over the tracks. There certainly was a sense of grandeur that contrasts with the usual functionality particularly of the London Tube. And the people liked their palaces and packed into them. The stairs were so full that the crowd would often come to a complete halt at choke points which were numerous due to the puzzling Russian habit of only opening one half of every set of double doors. So we joined the slow shuffle and enjoyed the carefree local customs of never holding a door open, never allowing anyone else on first and never apologising for anything.


At the Arbat we moseyed up and down a very tourist orientated strip of souvenir shops and alfresco cafes. There were human billboards/touts along the way doing a bare minimum to attract you inside. When we did stop at one to ask for information he had none. What’s the advantage of these guys over a plank of wood with the sign nailed to it?


To complete the historical absurdity, or poignance, of visiting a commercial hotbed in a formerly anti-capitalist capital we decided to really rub the Soviets noses in by going to the most American Western place we could - the Hard Rock Cafe. But even here there was a picture of Lenin on the wall.

After lunch we headed towards the centre of town that is the Kremlin. Circling onto the north eastern side we came to Krasnaya Ploschad, Red Square. A long square with dark cobblestones bounded by the dark red Kremlin wall. It was recognisable from all those reels of footage of Soviet troops parading past Stalin, or Kruschev, or whoever the baddie in the movie was.


We half expected to see missile trucks rounding the corner at any time. It was from this spot that the Soviets rattled their sabre at the West. It seemed so implausible for a free Westerner to be stood now in the centre of this parade ground. More incongruous was what the Soviet hierarchy would have seen behind the marching troops, charged with an aggressively defending the Communist motherland. The GUM. A shopping centre. Apparently Stalin had wanted it destroyed but the wives of the party bosses complained bitterly that there was nowhere else good to shop. So it stayed. It would seem the KGB was not utterly efficient in ensuring the hearts and minds of every comrade were steeled to eliminating the bourgeoisie.


At the far end of the square is another Russian postcard moment. St. Basil's Cathedral. Named for Vasiliy (Basil) the Idiot, the only man who could speak to the Tsar because he wasn't afraid of him. Certainly one would presume that only an idiot would have suggested the technicolour palate used on this, an orthodox church (think black cloaks and beards). But the result is stunning. So good that apparently Napoleon burnt out the inside and turned it into a stable. Them horses must have been trippin'. On the cobbled approach to St. Basils there was the predictable population of happy-snappers taking photos, us included. However there was a particular penchant of what we think were local Russians, to have their photo taken sitting in the ground in any sort of glamour-esque pose. More disturbing were the forced dance/pose routines of a few small groups of children and cheering ringmasters, I mean parents. The dancing consisted of very MTV pelvis thrusting mixed with traditional Russian Cossack moves. The results seemed utterly unlikely for an 11 year old boy to be doing by choice. Most unappealing though, were the fully grown adult tourists who laughed at, danced amongst and posed next to the kids. Like a happy bunch of pedophiles in some sort of depraved petting zoo. Just because you're on holidays doesn't mean the Russian girls Under 13's gymnastic team is a tourist attraction you can touch.

Disenchanted with our fellow tourist kind we returned to our Stalin tower (he never hurt anyone). There were no good restaurants near us and we were not in the mood to travel across the city to a Lonely Planet recommendation that may not even exist anymore (our LP guide book was increasingly sending us to nonexistent locations). Instead we turned to our old favourite mode of eating in foreign European cities, the supermarket run.

With a 'Producti' around the corner we secured ourselves a collection of 'Zakoooska' to complement our modest vodka supply. With Kathryn only managing one shot Gavin had to press on alone in reducing the vodka weight load. It what you, our reading proletariat, would have wanted.

A town we rolled through today had been flooded, perhaps from the flow of melting snow upstream. And we arrived into Moscow. Beyond this nothing really happened. We got up late (cos there was nothing to do) and resumed our respective electronic pastimes.


We were visited briefly by the train's crazy cat lady, all dressed up in her flowy mu-mu, mad red hair and a very hirsute black cat with luminous eyes but a sedated stare. She chatted away happily in Russian, quite aware that we couldn't understand a single word she was saying. Eventually she returned to her nest.


After a few idle hours we were there. Moscow. We were relatively unceremoniously dumped onto what felt a bit like a side platform rather than the culmination of an epic rail journey. So we marched along behind the army recruits onto the street and faced the 8 1/2 lanes of mad traffic. Driving in Moscow seems like driving in the rest of Russia just more. And faster. It’s as though when cars were first invented the Government laid down a few basic rules- red is stop, drive mostly on the right- and then said "Off you go!"


Given this relatively free framework drivers aggressively make the most of it. The wider boulevards in Moscow allows more room for serious speed to be achieved. Routinely cars would accelerate, hard, down empty lanes of busy roads only to break just as hard at the other end. This was also the case if pedestrians were crossing. The preponderance of powerful European SUV's, especially Porsche Cayennes, made increasing sense. Nowhere else we've been could you truly make use of formidable acceleration and also require a good few inches of steel cocooning you. The end result of pedestrian accidents must be gruesome. Fortunately our hotel was easy to spot occupying one of Stalin's 'Seven Sisters' - grand skyscrapers that were designed to match, and surpass, those going up in New York in the first half of the 20th Century. The full set was supposed to include an eigth super-tower. The top was to be adorned with a massive statue of Lenin complete with a library in his outstretched hand and a conference hall in his head. This awesomeness was never realised. The site that was earmarked for it was occupied by a cathedral.


Such theistic ostentatiousness was an affront to the Soviets so it was promptly demolished and turned into a swimming pool. However it was after this that Stalin realised its 'special energy' derived from its astrological and numerological significance which made it the appropriate spot for his mega-structure. Obviously some super natural mumbo-jumbos are more acceptable to Communists than others.

Having filled up on the train we both just wanted a snack for dinner. A quick walk around the block yielded little but a familiar sign with unfamiliar letters. It was a Subway. The toppings were less familiar. Where we expected lettuce there appeared to be cabbage. There was also unidentified orange blobs. Nonetheless we dived in with our worst Russian. Puzzled by what we were trying to say the 'Sandwich Artist' asked "Chicken Sub?" in perfectly understandable English. Tis was a welcome surprise. As was the quality of our subs which we enjoyed back in our room. We turned on the telly whilst planning our assault on Moscow - Hitler & Napoleon did just the same thing. A scroll through the channels revealed the usual list of traveler friends - BBC world, CNBC, Bloomberg and CNN. CNN with Anderson Cooper. And CNN with Becky Anderson. Kathryn doesn't like Becky Anderson. Pausing mid-mouthful, "I can't stand Becky Anderson and her face. Her eyebrows dancing all over the place.", she exclaimed. Watch out Moscow, Kathryn's coming for you. Better keep those eyebrows where we can seem them.