In the museum of the Russian Revolution (metro: Tverskaya), a leaflet in English tells the visitor to be sure not to miss the tea-set presented to Brezhnev (or Kruschev?) that features a portrait of a communist leader on each cup. Two cups have black smudges where the faces of out-of-favour leaders have been rubbed out.
It has been pointed out to me that my posts about Russia have been less than positive. Some people who have visited Moscow may think being less than positive is the same as being fair, but, on reflection, I don't. I have rubbed out the teacups too much. So here are some things I do like about Moscow:
1. The Metro.
2. Star City. Though, if Googled, “Star City” will be revealed to be an “Entertainment complex, including a cinema, restaurants, and fitness facilities,” it is in fact a restricted military complex where cosmonauts live and get trained. It has big buildings, cheesy decor and many space-related things. I liked the boots. I also like the sterness of our guide Alexander, who tolerated the insistent and almost rude questioning of our Asian toilet colleagues with serenity. The reasons for the video recorders, by the way, which are placed near the underwater training tank (which simulates weightlessness) and the centrifuge (which whizzes round to supersonic speeds), is that 6000 tourists come to Star City every year. Our hosts did not tell us that. They said, “You are very privileged to come here. The only reason you are coming here is because the director of the Cosmonaut Training Centre uses the Director of the Russian Toilet Association's sauna.”
3. The underpasses. Crossing a Moscow street is lunacy, so underpasses are everywhere. They're good for getting out of the cold in winter as well, I presume. They're little shopping malls and people happily hang out in them. One day, as we headed from the Manege exhibition centre to the little street with the tourist restaurants where they make good pizza and where we ate too much good pizza, we descended the urine-smelling steps to the underpass and found an eight-piece string orchestra. They were excellent, and they were still there six hours later, still earning a packet.
4. The Metro
5. The Metro
6. The Professor of Hydraulics in Voronezh, who speaks fluent French and who bought me a coffee from Macdonalds one morning at 8am. He arrived for the 8am appointment with a can of beer in his pocket. Later, after a boozy lunch with many speeches and toasts - which I survived because I have now abandoned the “I must drink for fear of offending cultural sensibilities” theory, which only leads to vomiting behind wood-piles and trouble - the professor got back on the coach bearing a bottle of vodka and several plastic cups. I don't think he had any takers.
7. The Moscow Conservatory, which gives free concerts. I went to a free concert given by some talented young women dressed in black, in the Rachmaninov Hall. It was cheaper than the Bolshoi. The music - Brahms - was excellent, though I left halfway through because I get sleepy in concerts. There's only so much interest you can get from watching someone play music. They should have a video playing behind them for restless philistines like me. The Rachmaninov Hall, though, was full of rapt Russians. My companion, an Australian automated toilet manager, was rapt by the rapt Russians. He had been saying for days that he wanted to see “the real Russia.” I kept pointing out that “the real Russia” slammed you in the face, literally, when you reach the door of the Metro. What's with those lethal doors? They swing with horrible force, and people rarely hold them open for the next person. Instead, there is a careful calculation that anticipates the death-swing. Anyway, the Australian thought the Conservatory was The Real Russia. I thought the man vomiting into a trash-can at a bus stop at 11am was also the real Russia. In the Economist this week, it says that Russia's population is diminishing disastrously, partly because of alcohol-related deaths. The average lifespan is down to 59. In Irkutsk, where I was during my Siberian trip, it's 53.
I've just found my diary from the Siberian trip. Description of the first project site: “5 tents by the banks of a clear-running stream, a mozzie heaven with a shitpit equipped with bog roll, vacant/engaged sign and empty tin can to shovel earth into steaming pit. It is truly amazing what you can get used to, I thought as I combed through my hair inspecting for ticks in the afternoon sunshine.”
And an entry about the Russian national pastime:
“We went to help out at the clinic in Nova-lenina. The clinic is a small blue building in a small town full of small blue buildings next to the Bratsk reservoir. The houses are made of thick timber, there are dirt roads, farmers and children on horseback and on motorbikes. Everything seems dirty because there is no snow. Life seems hard - and if they smell, it's because of a lack of showers and washing machines. But most of the children who came in were clean. One brother and sister were brought in by their teacher. Their father is a drunk who stole the children from their mothr (also a drunk) in Irkutsk. They have only their father and a mad uncle (also a drunkard). When the father drinks in the evening, he disappears and the children have to sleep on the street.”
7. Russian military hats:
8. It's in Russia