Random Observations on Russia

I've said it before, but it bears repeating: so much happens every day that I feel like I need to live for a day, then take a day off just to gather my thoughts and blog. Of course that's not going to happen, but I have been trying to note down little things. It's hard to tie them all together into a coherent post, so I'm just going to throw them down here completely randomly.

- The faces really are different. I notice it in men mostly - the high, wide Slavic cheekbones and very little facial hair. And it feels like every man in Russia has the same haircut. Also, Russian women seem tall to me. I'm used to being unusually tall, and I'm not here. Or maybe it's just that they always wear high heels.

- Riding the bus for 3 hours from Moscow to Vladimir was like being in northern Canada - lots of trees, a mix of conifers and deciduous - punctuated by high tension power lines. We passed small towns that seem as forgotten as any on the road to Waskesiu, except that the churches have an onion domes and the cottagey houses on the sides of the road have distinctly eastern touches around the windows and gables.

House through the trees

- Public toilets often charge for use, usually about R20 in Moscow and larger centres, R10 in small towns. Toilet paper is sometimes provided with payment, sometimes in a big roll outside the stalls, sometimes missing entirely. Toilet seats are apparently optional. There are also usually lines of porta-potties in parks and public areas, and they're tended by someone who collects payment for them. These attendants always have one of the units set up as a sort of office, where they can shelter if it rains, and keep cleaning supplies and useful items on hand. It's funny to think about someone using a porta-potty as an office, but the whole system works pretty well and the attendant keeps the other units from getting horrible.

The usual configuration, this one is outside Mikhailovsky Castle

- Most of the big buildings here are painted in bright colours instead of being left bare like I'm used to seeing. They're not actually stone - mostly they're brick covered in stucco, but the effect is still striking, especially in St. Petersburg, where they are every colour of the rainbow.

The Winter Palace (home of part of the Hermitage), a lovely shade of green

- It turns out that there isn't just one Kremlin. "Kremlin" actually means fortress, so most cities and towns have a kremlin. In fact, asking someone who's been to Russia if they've seen The Kremlin is a bit like asking someone who's been to England if they've seen The Castle.

The outer walls of the Novgorod Kremlin

- After spending the last two months in the UK and Ireland, where almost every square inch of the tiny islands is inhabited and manicured, Russia feels vast and sort of unkempt. It's not dirty, but I guess there's just so much of it that there's no way you could cover the whole place with wrought iron fences and hedgerows and such. In fact, it's more like home in that respect.

- I haven't seen many people walking dogs. Most of the dogs I've seen look like they're feral and only half a step from wolfishness. Also, it's popular to have wild animals on display. Here's a shot of one of two bear cubs being handled by a couple of guys outside the Hermitage. There were also two monkeys and an eagle nearby.

Aw... cute. At least for another few months, after which there will probably be a story in the St. Petersburg Times-Chronicle about how this guy was mauled to death because he fell asleep with a Mars Bar in his pocket.

- In some ways Cyrillic is actually easier than English because each character only makes one sound, and you pronounce every letter. I'm getting the hang of it, and even managed to order a whole meal by myself after reading the menu in Russian! It was CYШИ, one of my favourites. "ДВА СУШИ ТУНЕЦИ, ПОЖАЛУЙСТА". Still, I really have to concentrate to get my brain to say "R" when it sees "P". Or "V" when it sees "B". My favourite characters are the Җ (the zh sound in "leisure") and the Ц ("ts") and the Ш ("sh") and the Ф ("f"). It's way easier to remember letters for which you have no previous preconceptions.

- There are these little kiosks everywhere (in fact, I think "kiosk" may be a Russian word). They're self-contained shops that sit on the sidewalk, and they have stuff plastered in the windows to show what's for sale. Some of them have so much crap in the windows that you have to peer into a tiny opening to tell the person what you want. This means you can't just point, which means you have to know how to pronounce what you want, which is annoying. Luckily "Kit Kat" sounds the same in Russian.

A kiosk, with empty window space - a rarity.

- We've seen approximately 7 squillion bridal parties having pictures taken at the sights we've been to. On the Saturday we arrived in St. Petersburg we did a walking tour and once we got to the touristy areas you could hardly move for the brides everywhere. I have to believe that jockeying for space with 14 other brides at the castle / statue / bridge / monument to Lenin makes the day seem slightly less special. Then again the lax open-container liquor laws make the whole thing a lot more jolly.

- Some stations in the St. Petersburg Metro have walls that separate the platform from the tracks, and sets of doors in the walls that line up with the doors of the train. Waiting on the platform makes it feel a bit like you're waiting for one of 40 different elevators to arrive. (No pictures of this, because one of our group took a picture in the Metro and was chastised by a Metro Cop with a large hat.*)

- Every room in every museum has some kind of attendant in it (Seriously - every room. And I don't know if you know this, but the Hermitage is BIG. And there was someone in every room). I'm not sure if this is for security or just to give people jobs or what, but there's always a chair sitting in a corner (usually with a sweater over it) and a bored looking babushka type waiting to pounce on you if you get too close to anything. They are kind of intimidating and make me feel a bit like they think I'm going to pee on the carpet. Then again, sometimes they turn out to be really nice, and tell you all about the exhibits, like in the Museum of the Seige of Leningrad. The woman there really tried to give me the low-down but it mostly was like this: "Russian Russian Russian... blockade... Russian Russian Russian Russian ... road of life... Russian Russian Russian Leningrad Russian Russian ... small bread... Russian Russian".

A typical specimen, shown in her natural habitat

- The Russians have done a really tricky thing with the words for "entrance" and "exit". There's only one character different between the two, and the pronunciation is very similar. ВXOД is entrance, pronounced "vkhod"**. ВblXOД is exit, pronounced "veekhod". That's a bit like saying "exit" for exit and "ext" for entrance. Bastards. It's like they're deliberately trying to make things confusing. All in all, I've just about had it with Cyrillic. Right now I feel like saying, "Ok, you've had your fun. Can you get out the proper letters now please?"

- I mentioned it above, but Hermitage is really big, and overwhelming, and the place is positively lousy with tourists, most of whom seem to blast through as part of big tour groups led by a harreid guide waving some kind of distinguishing flag, fan, flower or other notable item. Still, it's got a posh room or two, and a few paintings by some people you may have heard of (Da Vinci, Raphael, Cezanne, Monet, Picasso blah blah blah.) It's all way too much to take in, and I had a two-day ticket***, which helped some, since I didn't feel like I had to see all at once. Even so, after the 4th or 5th gilded stateroom, or the 20th Picasso, it's like things are going in one eye and out the other. I was happy to leave this afternoon to go see the freak show at the Museum of Anthropology and Ethnography.

Like I said... lousy with tourists

Then again, there are some pretty impressive rooms. I don't even remember what this one was called, except I know it wasn't the Gold Room, because the Gold Room had WAY more gold.

- And really, it's nice to be back on the right side of the road.

And that was Russia. I'm off to Denmark tomorrow, where I get my alphabet back, even if it will be sprinkled liberally with extraneous slashes and dots and things. And I fear my days of 60 cent beer are over for a long long time.



* There seem to be a lot of people in uniform around and it's impossible to tell which ones have the authority to shoot you and which ones might be the equivalent of a mall cop. However, any hats that go with the uniforms are usually the size of a hubcap.)

** The kh is the throat-clearing sound in the Scottish pronunciation of "loch". Or the sound of having something furry stuck in your throat, as I have mentioned before.

*** Big big big tip for anyone who is thinking of going to the Hermitage: BUY YOUR TICKET ONLINE BEFORE YOU GET THERE. The lineup to get in can be beyond horrendous. On Tuesday it wound, two or three people wide, through the central courtyard and out into Dvortsovaya Square, and it was not moving much. People must have been standing there for hours. If you order online they send you a PDF to print that lets you jump that queue, swan in through the Exit doors and present your voucher at the information desk. It's brilliant. No, wait. It's VITAL.

The Banya

Ah, the banya - a Russian bathhouse. This is definitely another one of those things I'd never had done if I wasn't with a group and accompanied by a native guide. To quote the trusty LP:

"The main element of the banya is the parilka (steam room), which can get so hot it makes Finnish saunas seem wussy by comparison*. Here, rocks are heated by a furnace, with water poured onto them using a long-handled ladle... After this... people stand up, grab hold of a venik (a tied bundle of birch branches) and lightly beat themselves, or each other, with it."

Yup. I went to a Russian bathhouse and beat myself with sticks while standing naked in a steam room so hot that it felt like I was trying to breath scalding hot chocolate pudding. It was surprisingly refreshing, and we all agreed that it's easy to understand why this is a weekly ritual for many Russians.

Russian Banya (Not my photo. Unsurprisingly, I did not take my camera into the banya. Ours was much more dimly lit, and had no men in it.)

Here's how it goes, or at least how it went for us. We arrived at the banya and Katherine, our leader, gave the boys instructions, since they'd be on their own in the men's side of the banya while the rest of of would be in the women's side. She handed them 100 rubles and said, "That's to buy the whips", at which point their eyes got quite large. In fact, the whips - veniks - are bundles of thin birch branches with the leaves still on them, about 18" - 24" long and around an inch in diameter where they're all bundled together.

RuA venik (also not my photo, but they looked just like this)

So off the boys went, somewhat apprehensively, I think. The rest of us headed to the women's side and into a sort of communal change area where women were hanging around, all naked except for sandals. They were chatting, and changing into and out of clothing, sitting around drinking beer, and generally being completely uninhibited. We were not so uninhibited, but managed to make it into the steam rooms in various states of undress.

I cannot describe to you how hot it was in that dimly lit room. I was covered in sweat and condensation about 3 seconds after entering; it took quite a bit longer before I was able to breath. The floors were all wood, and there were benches around the edges, and stray leaves from the birch branches stuck to the floor. The whole place smelled vaguely woodsy. We spent 3 or 4 minutes in there before coming out to cool off. During this time, our birch branches were soaking in a pan of water, I suppose to soften them up. We took them in with us when we went back in a Katherine administered the whipping, one bundle in each hand. Basically you just get smacked all over your back, butt and legs. It doesn't hurt at all, as the LP says, " ...the effect is pleasant and cleansing: apparently, the birch leaves and their secretions help rid the skin of toxins." After a good whipping, you go out again and stand under a cold shower for a few minutes. They also had one shower stall with a big wooden bucket full of cold water that you could tip down on top of your head. That was fantastic.

And then you go in again for more steam and whipping.** It looked like a very social thing - lots of women were lying down on the benches while friends whipped them. Some whipped themselves. Some just sat around sweating. And after a time you go back out for another cold shower, and repeat the cycle as often as you like. I think I did it 4 times before soaping up in the communal cleaning area to get rid of all the sweat and banya leaves.*** There were showers there too, and lots of stone benches with big shallow pans where you could soap up. I particularly liked filling the pan with cold water and dumping the whole thing on top of me. By the time we dried off and got dressed and met the boys outside I was pleasantly knackered - sort of like you feel after a long run and a shower. Or maybe like after a massage. Satisfyingly noodle-like.****

And then we went for supper, where I had caviar blini and two large Heinikens. It was a good day.

* Steve, Lisa... have at 'er. But I'm here to tell you, that place was HOT. You could probably do booming business cooking soft-boiled eggs in the parilka.

* *Ok, I just have to say here that I cannot begin to imagine what the comments are going to be like on this post, so please keep it clean. And yes, yes I do appreciate the extreme absurdity of the whole thing. But I'm telling you, we all agreed it was really nice.

*** Katherine says there's a phrase in Russian used to describe someone annoying who won't go away. You say they "stick to you like a banya leaf".

**** This might also be partly due to the fact that it was a VERY long day. We'd arrived in Novgorod after getting an overnight train from Moscow, which was very cool. I slept quite well on the train, but train sleep only goes so far. Once at the hotel I waited for the cafe to open so I could have breakfast, then went back to bed for 2 more hours that morning. The group reconvened at noon for a walking tour around Novgorod, then I found an internet cafe for a while, bought some breakfast supplies, went for an 8km run and had a beer and a bag of chips before we finally met up again to get the taxis to the banya. It's no wonder I was feeling a bit done in.

Bonus Gratuitous Photo of Random Lenin Monument: Because I've been in Russia for a week now, and haven't posted any Lenin monument photos yet, so I'm surprised I haven't been officially reprimanded. This is the weirdest one I've encountered - tucked into the woods on the side of the road, next to a path I ran along in Moscow. Nothing nearby, no indication as to why it might be there. Actually, there may have been an indication, but it was likely in Russian. Regardless, it was odd, and not, at the same time.

Pick of Pics: Suzdal

I'm trying to concentrate on making my photos more interesting. Here's one I thought turned out quite nicely:

Suzdal, vodka and a much needed nap

What a different thing it is to be in a group. For about two months now I've been mostly on my own. Sure I've met people and I've been with family and I've hung around with single-serving friends in hostels and I've had runs and drinks with hashers. But I've always been essentially on my own a lot of the time. Now I'm with this tour group and it's been a complete change, and one that's been mostly great so far.

The gang, at the Novgorod Kremlin

Having a guide all the time is really good too. It's a nice break not having to worry about finding a room for the night, or figuring out how to get from point A to point B, or arranging tours. We've got a group leader - Katherine - and she shepherds us around and translates things and answers questions and tries to keep all eleven of us in line. And she does it all wearing strappy high heels, which is frankly astonishing, but not at all unusual over here.

Being with a group also makes it easier to try new things. For instance, I probably would never have interacted with this fantastic woman in Suzdal who was selling berries and pickles by the side of the path if I hadn't been with other people who dove right in. So I had a nice homemade pickle for a mere 10 Rubles.

The pickle-selling babushka

Seeing Suzdal was nice, and we did the traditional touristy things - mostly looking at Russian Orthodox churches, which I'm sure I could do on my own, but is more fun with a guide and a group.

Painted icons at one of the churches in Suzdal. Russian Orthodox church walls are completely covered in paintings like this, and I mean completely. (Sorry about the flare from the window, but my tiny camera, or possibly my tiny brain, is not able to compensate for this kind of thing. Helpful hints are welcome.)

Being on an organized tour also means I can get to places and see and do things that I would never be able to do on my own. For instance, in Suzdal we went for a dinner at a real Russian house, cooked by a real Russian woman, assisted by her daughter, sitting at a big table in the kitchen.

Here's the gang, on the second course (a creamy fish stew served in a clay pot).

And here's the main course, a potato casserole-ish thing and a big meatball

Our hostess was Lena, who poured the first round of vodka shots almost as soon as we sat down, so really it was all her fault. I guess it's downright rude to have people over and not offer them vodka. We had ours chased by a slice of lemon sprinkled with pepper, which is apparently traditional and kind of helped it go down better. And kept it going down better because before the meal was over there were three more rounds of shots, some of which were done by balancing the shot glass on the back of the hand (I was only partially successful at this technique, at least on my fourth shot, but it's vaguely possible I may not have been at the top of my game at that point). We left dinner and staggered back to our beautiful guest house where we had the whole place to ourselves. On the way we stopped to stock up on more vodka and beer and chips and chocolate and bags of little dried fish, which are beer snacks.

Steve's weird food for Russia - dried kalimari. There were also tiny dried anchovies.

Things deteriorated quickly when we got back*, though I did manage to completely dominate at Bananagrams, a sort of free-form speed Scrabble game, despite being somewhat hammered. (Funny, no one's asked me to play again since...) I believe I staggered to bed around 1:00 am or 2:00 am. I do know that when I woke up the next morning I was in a state of, er... significant discomfort. Let's just say that it turns out that vodka in lavish amounts does nothing for my stomach. We had breakfast back with Lena, who plied the boys with a hair-of-the-dog shot of vodka along with the omelets and blini, but I was definitely not interested in that. In fact, I was silently praying for death.

The mini-bus trip from Suzdal back to the city of Vladimir was also not great for my stomach, so by the time we arrived I was ready to skip the mandatory tour of more Russian Orthodox churches and pay any amount of money to secure a bed for a few hours. Luckily one of my colleagues, an Australian guy who was feeling approximately as fragile as I was, headed off to the park across the street for a nap on the grass under a tree. I jumped at that chance, and spent a couple of hours snoozing, which helped matters immensely. When we woke up we found a MacDonald's / Burger King knock-off (in fact, is was actually called MakKing) that had burgers and fries and coke and free wifi. So, when we rejoined the group for the bus back into Moscow I was feeling approximately human again.

And you know something? I haven't had a shot of vodka since.

* Karen - the mix of 40th birthday party music in my iTunes was a hit with most everyone in the group, except for Sam, who spent quite a bit of time scrolling through my library declaring, "You have the worst music collection ever". Luckily, it was done in a diverting Aussie accent. Also, he's the one who ended up dancing with a guitar not long after, and who remembers virtually nothing of the night. We have many excellent photos of Sam, so if he gets snippy about my music again, Facebook awaits.

Some thoughts on Moscow

Moscow felt different right from the start. For one thing, it's huge. London is huge too, but there's an oft-repeated saying that London is just a big collection of small towns, and to a certain extent that feels true. That is not the case with Moscow, or at least not with the 0.0001% of Moscow I've seen. If London is a collection of towns, then in my experience Moscow is a collection of imposing buildings, impossibly wide streets, massive public spaces, and oddly wistful amusement parks, all linked by the most magnificently designed metro system I've ever descended into. As the trusty LP says:

"The Moscow metro is justly famous for the art and design of many of its stations. Many feature marble, bas-relief, stucco, mosaics and chandeliers. Diversity of theme is not their strongest point - generally, it's history, war, the happy life of the Soviet people, or all of the above."

I thought the different designs of the Metro stations in Montreal were quite nice - different tile work, a bit of mosaic tossed in here and there, certainly respectable. And you already know how I feel about the wall tiles in Baker Street Station. Love 'em. Well the Moscow Metro stations makes it look like those designs were inspired by a cinderblock. Seriously, the main interchange station (Arbatskya - Borovitskaya - Alexandrovsy Sad - Biblioteka imeni Lenina) has freaking chandeliers hanging over the tracks. It's like the train is driving through an opera house.

The chandeliers, hanging over the tracks at Arbutskaya

And the corridor between platforms at the same station. Are you kidding me?

There's white marble all over, and stone and bronze statues of idealized workers, and lots of carvings celebrating farming and engineering and good, solid, socially-responsible pursuits. "My" metro stop - Partizanskaya - has what the trusty LP guide describes as "floral bas-reliefs decorated with AK-47 machine guns". (My shot of the AK-47s is over at Flickr, but woefully out of focus. Sorry.)

The happy, or at least sturdy, Soviet citizens at the top of the escalators at Partizanskaya

So the metro is just wonderful. If I had more time here I'd spend a day just riding the metro, and hopping on and off to see all the fantastic designs. Two days is a ridiculously inadequate amount of time for the city, but it's also an exhausting place to be - physically and mentally, so I'm not entirely devastated at the thought of moving on.

As for the above-ground bits of Moscow, they are big and intimidating. The Kremlin has 2 kilometres of walls. Red Square is 1100 x 230 feet. And on my way to meet some friendly Moscow hashers* after dinner on Monday I ran up against a street I had to cross that was about 10 lanes wide, and all those lanes were going in the same direction. It would have been like trying to cross a football field of cars. Luckily I realized there are pedestrian underpasses for this kind of thing, and it only took me about ten minutes to navigate to where I was going, since I had to keep popping up, gopher-like, to orient myself.

Red Square, featuring St. Basil's Cathedral on the left (the one that looks like a cartoon), and the Kremlin on the right.

So it's a tiring place to look around. Unlike London, where the scale was so small I kept overshooting the mark by blocks (sometimes miles) , there's none of that in Moscow. If it looks like it's going to be a long way, you better pack a lunch, because you're in for a trek.

Russia is also a tiring place to be mentally. I mentioned it in my first post about Moscow, but it bears repeating. It is really difficult functioning in a world where you can't read or speak the language. My Cyrillic is coming on a treat, I have to say, and a lot of the time I enjoy puzzling out what the words say, and feel a rush of triumph whenever I'm successful.

The first Russian word I read without assistance. I know, it's pretty obvious, but it's not like it's displayed inside a big red octagon...

I can now actually noodle out what most signs say, but the problem is that unless the words turn out to be similar to English, I'm still screwed. It does me no good to know that "бутерброд с сыром" says "bootyerbrod s siram" when that could mean "motor oil" or "next Wednesday" or "Whatever the hell you do, don't even think about coming in here." (In fact, it means cheese sandwich). So you can see how this kind of thing, repeated hundreds of times a day, could begin to wear very quickly. I start the day all fired up to go out and conquer the language, the city, and the world and by lunch time I just wish I could remember the words for cheese sandwich.

I can't even count. I know one number: cto ("stoh") which means one hundred. And I only know that one because some guy charged me 100 rubles to take my picture standing next to his stupid camel, which was about 110 rubles more than it was worth (photo at Flickr, but not even remotely worth posting here),

God, there's so much more to tell. I went to Lenin's tomb. (He's still there, in case anyone was worried.) That was just bizarre. We** waited in line in the rain for about an hour to descend into the marble mausoleum, past impossibly young Russian soldiers with dinner-plate sized hats, and then shuffled around Lenin's preserved corpse, laid out under a canopy and lit with a very odd shade of pink (no talking, hands out of pockets, gentlemen please remove your hats...). The actual viewing lasted about 30 seconds. As I said: bizarre.

And we toured the Kremlin, which is vaguely analagous to the Tower of London I suppose, but covers a lot more area. It had 4 churches in it, and they're all Russian Orthodox, which are very different to the cathedrals I've seen so far. And I went to Gorky Park, which turns out to be an amusement park, though you wouldn't know it from the front gates, which look like they belong to some kind of re-education centre, but conceal the mandatory miniature train system, carnival rides and even a Whack-a-Mole game.

Gorky Park. I don't know about you, but this looks like fun fun fun to me.

And I wasn't kidding about the Whack-a-Mole.

Phew. Moscow. Enough said for now. Except I could really go for a cheese sandwich.


* Once again, the hash has come through for me. Even though I missed the run on Sunday, I got to go to a local bar and met some friendly Moscow hashers, two of whom ended up taking me on an impromptu driving tour of Moscow at night before dropping me off right at the hotel. I got to see a complete circuit of the innermost ring road, and saw loads of amazing Stalinist architecture and Moscow landmarks, which are all lit up very nicely at night. And I got some tips on Moscow in general (carry a copy of your passport instead of the real article, and if the cops stop you, act stupid and tell them the original is "being registered". They may get huffy, but they won't get your passport.) And I got some help in reading Cyrillic ("Which is that one that looks like a K in a mirror?" - "ZH" - "Oh right!". "What does Aptika mean" - "Drugstore" - "Ah!"). And so on. Thanks Don and Julia!

** I say "we" because I'm now on a pre-booked package tour with 10 other people (5 Aussies, 4 Americans, 1 Brit, and me). It's something I planned long ago, and I'm soooooo glad I did. It's really nice to have some backup in this country - I don't have to worry about booking hotels, or buying train tickets, or planning an itinerary. I just have to show up. And I've got a built-in social group which is positively intoxicating for someone who's be traveling alone for 2 months.

Pick of Pics: Matryoshka

The traditional style (and they are seriously EVERYWHERE. You practically have to wade through drifts of matryoshka at any tourist sight)

For the kiddies...

And for the more worldly shopper...

Spot the Calgary Flames Doll (alas, no Habs)

I have no words

I'm in Russia, and getting here was tough. It was like it was Day One all over again, except much much harder. I got to bed late after the Bog Hash and was already a bit defeated. The airport hotel in Dublin turned out to be tricky to find, and what I'd hoped would be an early night, a warm bath, and an evening of free wifi didn't really pan out (arrived late, no bathtub, wifi intermittent). Plus, I was exhausted and bore wounds from head to toe from nettles and other assorted prickly bog flora*, and I had to set the alarm for 4:15am to get the shuttle to the airport.

The wait at the airport in Dublin, and the flight from Dublin to Budapest and the layover in Budapest were all a grumpy, apprehensive, ill-tempered haze. I do recall sending out a few plaintiff text messages along the lines of "Right now I'd trade adventure for a pub, and give change in the bargain." Eventually though, I was on the flight to Moscow, so I just had to suck it up.

And then we landed and it was, to use the vernacular, time to get my game on. Luckily as we were in our final approach I started to get a bit excited. Some of the dread and melancholy shook away and I was able to hit the ground running, until I got to Passport Control, and then things ground to a halt. I stood in line for ages (the Russians could learn a thing or two from Brits about queuing), and finally got to the front only to discover that I was supposed to have filled out a key bit of paperwork on the plane. The flight attendants had been handing out papers, but not to everyone, so I assumed they knew who was supposed to get them. It turns out that was, er, incorrect. I stepped out of line, filled out the form (in duplicate) and the Russian Customs Official grudgingly let me in.

The train from the airport was easy - there were big English signs pointing the way, and the ticket office was obvious, and there was only one train, and it said "Moscow" right on it. (Actually, it said "Mockba", but that's what Moscow looks like in Cyrillic letters). Easy peasy. I settled in and consulted the guide book again to prep for the next phase - the metro. And that's when it really started to sink in - as I sped away from the airport and its bilingual signs. I watched the city unfold and everywhere I looked were these crazy symbols that looked sort of like words, but also really not.

See what I mean?

I knew from the trusty LP** that the metro maps might include Cyrillic and Roman names for each stop, but the signs in the stations themselves are only in Cyrillic. As the LP also says:

"Russian grammar may be daunting, but your travels will be far more interesting if you are at least take the time to learn the Cyrillic alphabet so that you can read maps and street signs."

Ok, it turns out that it doesn't count as "learning the Cyrillic alphabet" if you only crack open your phrasebook on the flight from Budapest to Moscow, some time after an impromptu nap and the serving of an unidentifiable meat and cabbage offering provided as supper.

So there I was on the train, alone, and speeding towards downtown Moscow. And that's when it hit me: I have no words here. I think I'm a highly literate person, with a reasonably extensive vocabulary. I like words, and I like using them to express myself. Suddenly, I had no words and it dawned on me: "This is what it's like to be illiterate." Imagine trying to navigate through life "reading" billboards, street signs, menus, and safety instructions that look like they're written in wingdings. You know the symbols mean something to someone; in fact, they mean something to everyone except you. It was scary. I've got a new found respect for anyone who's pulled themselves out of that black hole.***

So I started to reach up out of my little mini black hole (beige indentation, maybe). I managed to make it to the correct interchange station, and I managed to find the right line to transfer to, and even the right platform .**** Luckily, the car I got on after changing lines was much newer than the one from the train station (which felt like it was from the 50s. Gratifyingly Soviet). The new car had an interactive map that lit an indicator under each station's name as the train passed through it. So I didn't have to crane my neck to try and spot the one place on the wall in each station where the name was displayed, I could just follow along in the display. This gave me a bit of time to relax, and study and listen. And after a few more stations went by I was actually able to start to pick out the station name in the announcement played as we arrived at each stop. And then I was even able to look at the Cyrillic on the signs and the Roman version in the guide book and hold the correct pronunciation in my head long enough that I could just start to see the Cyrillic letters as they are supposed to sound. It was like the clouds parted a very tiny bit, and it was hugely gratifying. I'm barely at the A-is-for-Apple stage, but it's a start. (Oh, and actually A is for Yablaka. Or possibly Yablakee.)

Finding the hotel from the metro was not hard because it's freakin' enormous (8,000 beds - Europe's biggest), so it was pretty easy to spot. And I even ventured into a small convenience store and picked up a beer and a bag of chips (R75 in total - cheap! In fact, the beer was cheaper than chips. R30 for beer, or about one Canadian dollar for 500ml.) I was stunned to see that it was almost 11:00pm by the time I was checked in, and the plane had landed on time at 7:30pm. But by the time I made it up to my room with beer, chips and a wifi internet card, I was pretty damned pleased with myself. I will admit there was some jumping up and down.

Beer and chips. The universal language.

And the room was nice, though a bit too warm (It's actually summer here. Ireland - are you listening?), but with a bathtub and shower and lots of convenient power plugs and really, I felt pretty damned good.

So I made it to Moscow. As I post this I've already bee here for almost two full days, so there's lots more to tell. But that night I felt like I'd climbed a fairly big mountain. And I'd like to personally thank every individual around the globe who's taken the time and put forth effort to learn my language, so I can jet around the world and still manage to buy a beer where I land. Thank you.

No, really. THANK YOU. In fact, can I buy you a beer?

* That has was madly fun, though. I was up to mid-thigh in black, peaty water a few times. More on the Bog Hash in a separate post, I hope, but just let me say that the guys who did that run in shorts are certifiable. I was lucky enough to be loaned a pair of tights and I still came out scarred. I wish I'd had some tall socks, or possibly a full haz-mat suit.

** Lonely Planet Guide Book. Alas, Rick Steves does not venture this far, or when he does, he doesn't write guidebooks about it. Besides, I can't find his stuff over here anyways, and all the cool kids carry the LP. Actually, the really cool kids travel with no guide book, but I think they spend a lot more time sleeping on park benches than they admit.

*** Jacques Demers, I'm talking to you. And thanks for the '93 Cup.

**** How did I manage to do that with no back-tracking, in a foreign language and alphabet, yet I could not manage to travel in even the vaguely correct direction at any time in Glasgow?