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?

Audioguides - Blessing or Curse?

Perhaps I have been out of the sight-seeing game for a while (admittedly, the last time I was a somewhat full-time tourist was on a 4-month work exchange program in London, in the summer of, er... 1988). But I was still surprised at the proliferation of this new (to me) technology. For the uninitiated, an audioguide (or audio guide... whatever) is a small digital audio device that plays pre-recorded information about some point of interest at whatever sight you're touring. They're usually available in many different languages (happily, one of these is always English). Around the sight are placards telling you what number to enter into your device to hear commentary appropriate to that particular location. So far I've seen or used audioguides at: Westminster Abbey, The Cabinet War Rooms and Churchill Museum, the British Museum, The National Gallery, Deal Castle, Edinburgh Castle, the Royal Yacht Britannia, The Palace of Holyroodhouse, the National Museum of Scotland, the Falkirk Wheel, and Stirling Castle. And I'm just getting started.

I've encountered two types of guides. There are small ones into which you plug headphones, like this one from Stirling Castle:

There are also long skinny ones that are designed to be held up to your ear like a phone receiver, and look like a cross between a 1980s "brick" cell phone and a billy club. Both varieties come with a lanyard which enables you to hang them around your neck, which is convenient and allows you to look like a kind of low-rent proto-Borg in the process.

Audioguides have advantages. They let you wander through a sight at your own pace and by your own route. You can linger where you want, and take breaks when it pleases you. Often there are opportunities to hear more about something that interests you, and, more importantly, you can skip bits that are unutterably boring ("This 18th century snuffbox is thought to have belonged to The Reverend Major Sir Clarence Billingsley-Crapslump, CBE, 11th Earl of Snorkington-on-the-Whiffey... blah blah...noted amateur phrenologist... blah blah blah... East India campaigns... blah blah... His Majesty's Own Highland blah blah... 97th Brigade Fusilier and Pea-shooter Corps blah blah blah..."). It's all pretty handy, and I'm sure it saves places loads of money not having to keep actual people around to elaborate on this sort of thing.

But audioguides have disadvantage too. I noticed the first when I spent the afternoon at Edinburgh Castle. Maybe it's just my naturally orderly (read: Type A) personality, but I really felt compelled to seek out every little placard and listen to every second of commentary that was on offer. This made for a long day, and led to a certain tourist-fatigue with which I am becoming increasingly familiar.

The other disadvantage was one I noticed when I toured the Royal Yacht Britannia in Edinburgh. The yacht was great - you get to wander all over and see everything from the Royal apartments to the officer's and enlisted men's quarters to the kitchens and engine room. The admission fee included the inevitable audioguide, which was actually quite good, and not as overwhelming as the one at the castle. What bugged me was that I was touring the boat with a lot of other people, but I might as well have been completely alone. In every room I entered there would be two or five or nine people, all listening intently to their audioguides, but not interacting at all with each other. There were even staff members hanging about, but no one talked to them either. It was all a bit eerie, especially since you could tell what bit of commentary each person was listening to by how they moved around the room ("Look to your left at the cabinet of silver in the corner..." was accompanied by a constant tide of people dutifully drifting towards the cabinet on the left.). It was like we were all on a very slow, perfectly silent, and somewhat funereal Royal Yacht Britannia carnival ride.

Me, on the yacht

Happily, a lot of major sights still offer personally guided tours conducted by actual sentient, responsive beings who, besides commenting on the exhibits in great depth, will also attempt to answer quirky questions not covered in pre-recorded snippets, and laugh at my jokes, and point the way to bathrooms and nearby pubs. I make it a policy to take guided tours whenever they're available, and I haven't been disappointed by one yet. (Though the guy at Stirling Castle was a bit odd. He had an anecdote to relate about the home town of any person in the group. I'm not kidding, there were people from Vienna, Wisconsin, all over. His anecdote about Manitoba had something to do with getting honey from Winnipeg during winters when he was a child. Also he had a strange, almost caricaturish manner of speech that is impossible to convey in print, but reminded me a bit of John Cleese, though in a disquieting rather than a funny way.)

I suppose I'm in favour of audioguides overall, as long as they're used with discretion. It seems they're inevitable anyways, so I'll keep on using them, as long as I can still flag down the occasional living human to point the way to the exit closest to a convivial pub.

Pick of Pics: Textures of Kilmainham

A few more pictures from my textural trip through Kilmainham Jail

A cell wall in the "new" block

Close-up of a cell door in the old block

Another look at an excellent door