Top of the descent; sharp and sudden, flaps screaming the changes ahead. From the airplane's little windows the light-blue sunny earth I departed from became white, pale and frosted.
Officer K. walks us around the airport's exhausted backstage. Glacial cold. She walked fast and her legs were long. I was almost running to keep up.
The first thing that crossed my mind was: How am I going to get around the city if I can't even remember the name of the airport? (And if this lady, who apparently is fluent in English, is barely understandable! Judging by the profile of the passenger, lots of Dior and Gucci, golden and even black credit cards, but no English!)
Out of the blue, she opens a door and there is our entrance to Moscow! Our passports get quickly scanned and stamped. Waiting outside, the comfortable bus that would drive us through the country side for hours before we reached the city.
A countryside so remote and hidden under a sun that never got to lit the sky up, because the day was too short. This scenario of nothingness abruptly metamorphosed into a communist Russia. Concrete apartment blocks with the scabies of humidity attacking. A highway with more cars by the minute, fancy European brands mixing with classic old Ladas. Ritzy neighborhoods breezed in with the snow. We pass through the Moscow River and a city of contrasts: industrial, commercial, residential, communist and finally imperialist. Everything I had seen in the movies was there.
The hotel staff welcomes us in very professional manner. Twenty minutes is all I need to prepare myself an instant coffee in the bedroom whilst I take off my uniform, change into my civies, put on my hat, scarf, gloves, camera inside the backpack and off I go. It's already dark outside. I meet Svetlana, a Russian colleague and Alex, il capitano italiano. Svet will show us around. We head to Московский метрополитен, the moscowit Metro. Stupefaction is what better describes -I dare say anyone's- first reaction. People that know, call the Moscow Metro the Subterranean Palace, and no wonder why! It currently serves around 9.2 million passengers daily around 182 stations. But that's not so impressive when compared with others. Its lines run in a ring shape and the pre-recorded public announcements are done by a male's voice when the train runs clockwise and when it runs counterclockwise it is a lady's voice. Funny, huh? It could have taken me a lifetime to realize if they didn't tell me. It is the deepest transportation system, it goes as much as 84 meters under the earth. The outside is lit by streetlamps to brag about.
Short Pit stop: we ate at a traditional Russian village eatery, wooden and cozy. Simple menu: lots of potato in all shapes and cooked in every way. Some meat balls (but as a vegetarian this wasn’t my preferred choice) and SCHI: a popular year round soup that must have cabbage and some other sour component like cabbage pickle and pickle water, mine also had onions, celery, dill and pepper. It was actually awesome and spicy enough to heat up my body and lift up my mood. We accompanied our dishes with a Baltika No.7, a malty, clear local beer.
Back on our way Svetlana kept telling us stories about the Red Square, like it is the most famous and the center-point of Russia. From here are measured the distances in every direction, here is where streets are born, where public ceremonies, crownings, demonstrations and markets happen. It's named red not because of the color of the bricks or communism like most people thing but is actually a deformed old Russian word, krasnaya, which means beautiful, and it referred to St. Basil's Cathedral that stands right next to the square (Saint Basil was considered the beautiful saint). With time this word's meaning changed to red and hence the Red Square.
With blue feet and runny noses, street vendors with trolleys sponsored by Coca-Cola selling HOt Dogs make us travel back in time. Past and present merge in Russia's belly button.
We walked around the Kremlin, Lenin's Mausoleum, the huge GUM department store and around the St. Basil’s Cathedral to find out that the Red Square gates are closed! Bummer. We wander no longer and rush back to hotel and bed.
I woke up long before the sun. After a hot chocolate in my room, off I went into the city again. I have learnt my way by hard, I took pictures of the metro stations where I needed to connect and exit. Somehow I get my ticket and proudly hop on the packed train, nobody talked much, lots slept and others read the papers.
When I got to the outer world again, up 84meters, to my surprise the sky was so blue, got a glimpse of the sun, but not enough to get any heat. The Square was closed again! I tried talking to the guards, but they don’t do English, and I don’t Russian. I would try my luck later. Say no more. In the meantime I went for classic babushkas (Russian word for granny) and some post cards. It took me very little time to get the dolls, what took me hours to find were the post cards! I saw the tombs of Stalin and other popular guys of the days laying out al fresco around the Kremlin and by eleven I went back to talk to the guards. The Square is still closed. (And apparently was not going to open any time soon). I complained in every language I knew. All they did was redirect me to Lenin’s Mausoleum with a poker face. There I went to spend the creepiest fifteen minutes I spent in a touristic place ever: Lenin’s body was embalmed and in display since 1924. The Soviet Government received over ten thousand telegrams, says the story, asking for the body to be kept in better conditions, so future generations could admire it. This is why in 1929 the current building’s construction begun, using marble and granite replacing the old wooden construction (though it still smells funny). In 1973 sculptor Nikolai Tomsky designed the new sarcophagus. And only in between 1924 and 1972 over a million people had visited the site.
One hot shower to wash off the goulish feeling and get back in the character. Chicken or beef? Top of the descent; sharp and sudden, flaps screaming the changes ahead: sand, sun and heat, nothing like home.
Officer K. walks us around the airport's exhausted backstage. Glacial cold. She walked fast and her legs were long. I was almost running to keep up.
The first thing that crossed my mind was: How am I going to get around the city if I can't even remember the name of the airport? (And if this lady, who apparently is fluent in English, is barely understandable! Judging by the profile of the passenger, lots of Dior and Gucci, golden and even black credit cards, but no English!)
Out of the blue, she opens a door and there is our entrance to Moscow! Our passports get quickly scanned and stamped. Waiting outside, the comfortable bus that would drive us through the country side for hours before we reached the city.
A countryside so remote and hidden under a sun that never got to lit the sky up, because the day was too short. This scenario of nothingness abruptly metamorphosed into a communist Russia. Concrete apartment blocks with the scabies of humidity attacking. A highway with more cars by the minute, fancy European brands mixing with classic old Ladas. Ritzy neighborhoods breezed in with the snow. We pass through the Moscow River and a city of contrasts: industrial, commercial, residential, communist and finally imperialist. Everything I had seen in the movies was there.
The hotel staff welcomes us in very professional manner. Twenty minutes is all I need to prepare myself an instant coffee in the bedroom whilst I take off my uniform, change into my civies, put on my hat, scarf, gloves, camera inside the backpack and off I go. It's already dark outside. I meet Svetlana, a Russian colleague and Alex, il capitano italiano. Svet will show us around. We head to Московский метрополитен, the moscowit Metro. Stupefaction is what better describes -I dare say anyone's- first reaction. People that know, call the Moscow Metro the Subterranean Palace, and no wonder why! It currently serves around 9.2 million passengers daily around 182 stations. But that's not so impressive when compared with others. Its lines run in a ring shape and the pre-recorded public announcements are done by a male's voice when the train runs clockwise and when it runs counterclockwise it is a lady's voice. Funny, huh? It could have taken me a lifetime to realize if they didn't tell me. It is the deepest transportation system, it goes as much as 84 meters under the earth. The outside is lit by streetlamps to brag about.
Short Pit stop: we ate at a traditional Russian village eatery, wooden and cozy. Simple menu: lots of potato in all shapes and cooked in every way. Some meat balls (but as a vegetarian this wasn’t my preferred choice) and SCHI: a popular year round soup that must have cabbage and some other sour component like cabbage pickle and pickle water, mine also had onions, celery, dill and pepper. It was actually awesome and spicy enough to heat up my body and lift up my mood. We accompanied our dishes with a Baltika No.7, a malty, clear local beer.
Back on our way Svetlana kept telling us stories about the Red Square, like it is the most famous and the center-point of Russia. From here are measured the distances in every direction, here is where streets are born, where public ceremonies, crownings, demonstrations and markets happen. It's named red not because of the color of the bricks or communism like most people thing but is actually a deformed old Russian word, krasnaya, which means beautiful, and it referred to St. Basil's Cathedral that stands right next to the square (Saint Basil was considered the beautiful saint). With time this word's meaning changed to red and hence the Red Square.
With blue feet and runny noses, street vendors with trolleys sponsored by Coca-Cola selling HOt Dogs make us travel back in time. Past and present merge in Russia's belly button.
We walked around the Kremlin, Lenin's Mausoleum, the huge GUM department store and around the St. Basil’s Cathedral to find out that the Red Square gates are closed! Bummer. We wander no longer and rush back to hotel and bed.
I woke up long before the sun. After a hot chocolate in my room, off I went into the city again. I have learnt my way by hard, I took pictures of the metro stations where I needed to connect and exit. Somehow I get my ticket and proudly hop on the packed train, nobody talked much, lots slept and others read the papers.
When I got to the outer world again, up 84meters, to my surprise the sky was so blue, got a glimpse of the sun, but not enough to get any heat. The Square was closed again! I tried talking to the guards, but they don’t do English, and I don’t Russian. I would try my luck later. Say no more. In the meantime I went for classic babushkas (Russian word for granny) and some post cards. It took me very little time to get the dolls, what took me hours to find were the post cards! I saw the tombs of Stalin and other popular guys of the days laying out al fresco around the Kremlin and by eleven I went back to talk to the guards. The Square is still closed. (And apparently was not going to open any time soon). I complained in every language I knew. All they did was redirect me to Lenin’s Mausoleum with a poker face. There I went to spend the creepiest fifteen minutes I spent in a touristic place ever: Lenin’s body was embalmed and in display since 1924. The Soviet Government received over ten thousand telegrams, says the story, asking for the body to be kept in better conditions, so future generations could admire it. This is why in 1929 the current building’s construction begun, using marble and granite replacing the old wooden construction (though it still smells funny). In 1973 sculptor Nikolai Tomsky designed the new sarcophagus. And only in between 1924 and 1972 over a million people had visited the site.
One hot shower to wash off the goulish feeling and get back in the character. Chicken or beef? Top of the descent; sharp and sudden, flaps screaming the changes ahead: sand, sun and heat, nothing like home.
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