Москва

Moscow

Tuesday, July 26^th

Disclaimer: another long and rambly post. I didn’t have my computer in Moscow, so couldn’t break up the five days very easily. But I’ll date them to break them up a bit.

Thursday, July 21^st

We met at Moskovsky train station at 11:00 p.m. to catch the night train to Moscow. The train was scheduled to leave at 12:30 and arrive in Moscow at 9:00 a.m. It was hot (28 Celsius. So…80 something Fahrenheit? I’m learning Celsius, but I still can’t convert it to Fahrenheit very easily) in SPB that day, and because of that the train station and the train were sweaty boiler rooms… However, once the train started moving, the air conditioning turned on. We had some wine, which Scott opened with his teeth (ballin’), simply because falling asleep on that train was difficult enough sober. But by three a.m. I finally managed to pass out.

Friday, July 22^nd

We arrived at the Leningradsky train station in Moscow at 9 as scheduled, and were hurried off of the train. That early in the morning it wasn’t blisteringly hot quite yet, but I was tired enough to just stand around like a zombie waiting for the bus. It arrived and we were shuttled to our hotel, where we just had time for breakfast before a bus tour around Moscow. The hotel, a Holiday Inn, was absolutely gorgeous. We’re fairly certain it’s mainly used by international business people. All of the staff spoke at least English, and there were all sorts of languages being spoken by the guests. But let me return to this breakfast…it was BOMB. Full buffet of delicious American-esque breakfast food. My favorite part was the freshly cooked eggs, made by a man named Vladimir. I got into a huddle-line with some Indian guests, and I got to cut in front because of my ability to order in Russian. Therefore, Vlad and I were best friends. Miss that guy.

So after a breakfast of eggs, toast, potatoes, yogurt, cheese, fruit, and cucumbers (oh yeah I stuffed the crap out of my face), we were ushered back on the bus. Where I promptly fell into a food/exhaustion coma until we reached Red Square. Honestly, I didn’t feel like I missed much. Moscow is 400 square miles and resembles New York, only more sprawling. There are a few points of interest, but for the most part it’s filled with old soviet buildings and nondescript facades, unlike St. Petersburg, where you can look in any direction and spot something fascinating. Add on the fact that Moscow’s vying for the title of most expensive city in the world…meh.

But Red Square was, of course, beautiful. There’s St. Basil’s (that church that looks like Candyland), the Kremlin (giant red fortress where the president and head of the Russian Federation work), ГУМ (giant department store/mall) and the Moscow State Historical Museum (the other red building opposite St. Basil’s), that all border the giant square. But the square itself isn’t red. This is because in old Russian, the word for red (красный) used to mean beautiful (now красивый). So, when it was originally constructed, Red Square was known as Beautiful Square.

Then we went back on the bus and saw Moscow State University, which was one of the buildings dedicated to Stalin’s glorious butthole-ness, and then a convent on a lovely pond. There were statues of ducks there, a gift from Barbara Bush…apparently the same ones are in Boston. Amirite, Kfinn? Also, all the benches were labeled with “Bench.” As if us visiting Americans would get confused.

The bus tour was our only plan for the day, so we returned to the hotel, where I promptly passed out for a bit longer. That bed was so comfortable that I was considering asking the staff if I could bring it with me when I left. On the way, Nathan predicted that “Moscow’s when everyone’s going to start killing each other. Five days in heat and in close proximity…shit’s going to go down.” He was pretty correct, but as much as I want to go into the drunken fights and drama that happened all weekend…I don’t. Just know I avoided most of altercations other than failing to calm some drunkards down.

I woke up and went across the street to grab some McDonalds. A man cut me in line, then turned and asked me if there was a problem when I looked disgruntled. That was my first experience with the rudeness of Moscovites. I now appreciate how patient Russians in SPB are…because unless they were working in a service job…people there were total assholes. Oh well.

Then, I splurged for one coffee at the Starbucks across the street. It was outrageously expensive, so I only got one the whole trip…but it was so completely worth it. Coffee in SPB sucks, and the tea is pretty caffeine-less, so I’m sure you all can imagine how excited I was to have a soy mocha. Joe, Sam, and Spencer were making fun of my “coffee-gasm,” but I really didn’t care. I had my coffee, and I was damned if anyone was going to take that joy from me.

That night we grabbed some beers and drank in the hotel. Some Americans went out to the bars…but over the whole weekend, only about one out of three bars would let anyone in. Moscow: everyone speaks English, but they’re rude buttholes to Americans. St. Petersburg: not many people speak English, but they at least let you come in and have a good time…

Saturday, July 23^rd

We had to be up and breakfasted by 9:30 for our excursion to the Kremlin. This time, we went by metro. The Moscow metro is much larger, extensive, and less deep underground than the SPB metro, so it wasn’t too difficult. Also, the metro wasn’t quite as sweltering considering we didn’t have to ride an escalator a mile under the swamp…Anyways. We got to the Kremlin and first stopped at the armory. The armory is also a museum of Russian state artifacts. SPB has the palaces, Moscow has what filled them. We saw satin and silk clothes, giant carriages, suits of armor, Faberge eggs made of diamonds and metal, diamond and emerald studded bibles and icon frames, golden samovars…and the like. The more I see of the decadence of imperial Russia, the more it honestly disgusts me. I am starting to understand why socialism was such a popular change, and why Russians today don’t see it as such a negative. It’s not like they were starving like they were under the tsars…all the gold and decadence, when you consider that 98% of the population lived in servitude or poverty, just makes me angry after a while.

Also. If you come to Russia and say the Soviet Union was communist, you’re going to be called stupid. Labeling socialism as communism was very much a result of McCarthyism, and the Russians don’t consider it as such. They see communism, the ideas of Lenin and Marx, as a separate idea that their socialism was based off of. We need to get our facts straight.

Another interesting point is that, despite all of the anti-American propaganda, there was never as much anti-American sentiment in Russia as there was anti-Soviet in America. This goes back to Leonid’s lecture in SMI; the Russians have never trusted their government, so they didn’t trust what they had to say about America either. Russians during the Cold War were quite indifferent to America in general.

Moving on, halfway through the tour Joe and I asked our coordinator Katya when we’d be able to see Lenin’s corpse. For those of you who don’t know, after his death Lenin was embalmed and his body is still on display outside of the Kremlin. It’s free to see him, but you have to check any sort of bag. No mobile devices of any form are allowed in, and strictly no pictures are allowed. He’s also only on display for 3 hours a day, and the sprawling line to see him is where the slogan for Leninade (a taste worth waiting in line for!) comes from. He’s also closed on Mondays and Thursdays. Apparently, his tomb is a little elevator and they just send him down to get re-waxed and…whatever else they do to keep him fresh.

Anyways, Katya told us that the way the schedule was set up, there wasn’t any way we’d be able to see Lenin. That wasn’t going to fly with me…Lenin was on the top of my list of things to see in Moscow. So we asked if there was any way to skip out on the rest of the Kremlin tour to go see him…it was still only 11:00 a.m. at the time, so we could still make it. Katya looked around and said “after this, you can slip out. But be quiet about it.” That’s why I love Katya.

So after the armory, Joe and I very stealthily went the wrong way towards Lenin, and passed by the group twice while “sneaking away.” However, after we found the line, Natalie, David, and Don joined us after the next part of the tour was over. Despite the length of the line, we only waited for a half hour and even got to strike up a conversation with the Americans behind us. Hearing English on the street was a weird phenomenon, and when I can actually understand people in the states I’m going to feel like a wizard.

So the boys put all their things in mine and Natalie’s bags, and they went in first while we waited to check them. Finally we went in, passing by guards with rifles and somber expressions. I was super excited, so trying to keep from smiling was more of a challenge than usual. We entered the black, cold tomb and followed the line into the main chamber. Lenin was lying in a pedestal surrounded by glass and covered in a black sheet. It was definitely him…I was half expecting him to open an eye and say “hello comrades! How do you like my glorious revolution of the proletariat?” But I was disappointed…Nonetheless, it was my favorite experience by far in Moscow.

Afterwards, the boys were waiting outside…wearing our purses. Such gentlemen. We grabbed some food, warded off more incredibly rude Russians, and took an extraordinarily long metro ride to go to the souvenir market. We heard it was unbelievably expensive, but a giant market full of gypsies was irresistible. We made it, saw the colorful spires, and paid 10 rubles to get in. We spent several hours wandering around aisles filled with corny souvenirs, t-shirts, soviet propaganda posters, military items, paintings, colorful stones, old books and maps, and pretty much anything else you could ever want. Haggling was all part of the experience…and Joe somehow talked a knockoff Adidas merchant to give him a track suit for 1000 rubles (40 dollars). He hasn’t stopped wearing it either.

So then I went back to the hotel, passed out some more, swam in the pool, and took part in the beers for the night.

Sunday, July 24^th  

That day we had an excursion to the Tretyakov gallery. This museum of modern art has been competing with the Hermitage in SPB as the most prestigious art gallery in Russia. I’m a bit biased towards SPB…in case you haven’t noticed…but this museum was much more open and the art much more interesting than at the Hermitage. True, the Hermitage itself is a museum without being filled with priceless works…and after Thursday, when I return to see the Picassos and the Egyptian section, I have a feeling that my preference for the Hermitage will return. The other difference is that Tretyakov has exclusively Russian art, whereas the Hermitage has exclusively foreign art.

Anyways. After the tour, Nathan, Joe and I went venturing to find the Museum of the Revolution to quench our thirst for Soviet history. One student in our program gave us directions…which were incorrect. We went to the corner it was supposedly on, walking in the hot sun for half an hour when we could have gone to a much closer metro station, only to find a gaudy hotel instead of the museum. Frustrating. But we also wanted to go to Arbatskaya, a famous pedestrian street with a graffiti shrine to Viktor, the influential lead singer of the band Kino. We walked for a bit to find it, baking in the sun, but the Wendy’s we had on Arbatskaya was pretty worth it. The shrine was impressive, but other than that the street was just full of coffee shops and American fast food…so we went back to the hotel, passed out, and then took part in beers. Pretty typical.

That night, though, a few of us looked up where the supposed Panda Express was in Moscow. We’d heard rumors that it existed, which Google confirmed. It was only a few blocks up from Arbatskaya, so we planned to hike back up there the next day, our totally free day.

Monday, July 25^th

That morning, Vlad was missing from the omelette station. I was very sad not to see him, but I wrote on my room review card that they should give him a raise. Because he’s the bomb. But we packed our things and checked out of the hotel. We checked our bags into the luggage room and left for the day, returning at 11:00 p.m. to reclaim our luggage and head back to the train station.

Of course, the hottest, muggiest day was the one we couldn’t return to the hotel for a nap or a swim. Also, most museums in Moscow are closed on Mondays anyways. So we found a nice park for the first part of the day, lounging in the shade and trying to stay cool. After a few hours, we decided it was time for pot stickers, so we headed to the metro. An hour later, after checking the address several times and walking up and down the street…we learned that there was no Panda Express to be found. It was heartbreaking. I might have shed a tear over my lost chow mein…but we got Wendy’s again and went back to the park. We might’ve explored more if the weather wasn’t so ungodly awful and the city wasn’t such a sprawling poop factory. I was a little less than enchanted with Moscow, especially after that incident. We passed our time laying in the park, moaning about how much we missed SPB, and eventually started throwing things at one another to entertain ourselves. Yep. College students, responsible adults living in a foreign country to study…throwing orange peels at each other to pass the time.

Eventually though, 11 rolled around. We made it back to the hotel, grabbed our bags, and loaded back on the bus. From there we roasted in the train station, then in the train until the air conditioning turned on, had some more wine to sleep, and passed out until Katya knocked on our cabin door to usher us out. I was amazed at how relieved I was to make it back to my homestay. I slumped on the bed and passed out, dreaming of my homecooked breakfast and dinner. It really does feel like home here. And I’ll be leaving it for good in 17 days…

So, to sum all of this up. SPB is the bomb. Moscow sucks. That’s my conclusion.