Wanderlust Heaven!

“Drinking is in our blood.” – An early ruler of the Russian state, explaining why he rejected Islam as the state religion

It was raining as the train pulled into Yaroslavsky Station in Moscow.  I was fried from the 100-hour ride from Ulaan Bataar…I also felt the heavy weight of the Russian state all round me.  Mongolia had felt like a country in the making, with its administrators and security types all play-acting.  Russia already felt nothing like that, from the moment when the border police pulled cabinmate Thomas off the train to the various train stations en route, where there were no shortage of uniformed heavies.

I had learned a few words of Russia, primarily to ensure that I could 1) reach my hostel without undue hardship, and 2) get myself a couple of drinks to clear my head.  I found the metro station Komsomolskaya by asking a local, who pointed to the entrance 8 meters away.  So far, so good – I hadn’t grossly mispronounced the word ‘prastitye,’ which means ‘excuse me’ but which sounds a bit like ‘prostitute?’  I recalled a trip with some old friends to Quebec years ago, when we all fell in love with the local snack poutine, a mix of fries, cheese churds, and gravy.  One of the gang kept calling it ‘poutin,’ slang for whore, and we had to scramble to keep him out of trouble the entire time.  Russia felt darker than Quebec and I promised myself I’d be more mindful and better behaved than usual…

I got to my hostel fairly painlessly…only to find that they had no booking for me.  As feared.  While in Mongolia I had tried to finalize things via email, a process that went cold; I therefore had called owner Tania just before hopping on my train, and while we did speak, I never felt confident that things were in place.  Russia is a hard place to get things done.  The reception fellow scored me a single room right off the lobby – but quoted me 2,500 rubles for it.  A bit over US$100, for a very basic room that might not look out of place in your local penitentiary.  Still, I got the room, at least for a few nights.  I handed over a wad of rubles and went right to the shower to wash off the grime of the 4-day train ride.  I was in Moscow, and was somewhat relieved (and a bit proud) that I’d navigated all the pitfalls en route – Chinese visa, Russian visa, train ticket, not getting murdered in Ulaan Bataar, etc.  It seemed like only yesterday that I’d gotten the notion to take the Trans-Sib to Moscow…but I’d been in the Philippines back then and it had taken some time to get everything together.  I do have a way of landing on my feet, but the process often is not pretty.

I also felt a bit in the dark – Moscow is a massive city with 10+ million soul, and I didn’t know much about it.  I’d tried to do my homework, but not much had really stuck and I just decided to take things one day at a time and not get too crazy about sight-seeing and checking out every little odd aspect of the city.

My hostel, Lenin Hostel/Suharevkha Mini-Hotel, was actually very good fun.  It’s on the 4^th floor of an anonymous building, but once you’re inside there’s a good vibe and many of the guests are sociable.  I immediately met a cohort of Irish/North Irish twenty-somethings, led by Robert who had only been in town for a few days but already seemed an authority on which gate you should use to enter Red Square and other assorted minutiae.  A good fellow to know.  And they were getting on the Trans-Sib the next night to go to UB – I wound up selling them my new Mongolia Lonely Planet book for half-price, a nice little deal for me.  I’m in sell-off mode right now, as I’m desperate to lighten my load – I think my pack is about 20 kilos and I can feel the weight if I have to walk more than a few minutes with it.  I think the French sleeping bag and the Mongolian yak hair sweater will have to go soon, along with as many Lonely Planet and other books I can get rid of…

It was mid-afternoon – I decided to head to a local travel agent to get started on applying for my Uzbekistan visa.  I had a bad feeling about this visa – you need a ‘letter of invitation,’ as with Russia, but I was less confident about the competence of the travel agents in Moscow.  In UB I’d gone with Legend Tours, which is in bed with the Russian Embassy there, so that’s nearly a slam-dunk – but in Moscow I had no idea what would be entailed.

Got to the agent – in my guidebook this agent, Infinity, was described as ‘on the ball,’ but I found that 1) they had changed their name to Unifest Travel (I didn’t know what that might augur), and 2) they don’t help foreigners do things like get 3^rd-country visas.  I’d have to do it myself.  That set off a wave of anxiety…there was only one more travel agency listed in my guidebook, and that seemed like more of a train and air ticket specialist.  I started thinking I’d need to visit the Uzbeki Embassy here and undergo various forms of torture.  Incredibly, I’ve never actually gone to an embassy myself to apply for a visa – in Southeast Asia and in other regions, travel agents take care of this crap for a reasonable fee and they save you boatloads of time and stress.  No such luck in Moscow…

I walked around the surrounding streets for an hour or so.  Saw Gorky Park – lots of kiddie rides and ice cream vendors.  Saw a huge statue in the distance, it’s of Peter the Great and is quite controversial.  The sculptor/artist who created it is known for his weird stuff, and is not that popular, but is good mates with the mayor and that’s all you need over here.

Had a snack at a cafeteria-style place – a couple meatballs, rice, and potato salad with a beer, it was close to US$15.  Yikes.  Clearly I was no longer in cheapo Ulaan Bataar…

Was spent by now – went back to the hostel to crash.  Was getting fairly adept at figuring out the Moscow Metro – which is impressive in its scale and occasional grandeur.  Stalin called the stations ‘people’s palaces’ and he wasn’t wrong about that.  The stations themselves are incredibly deep down, far deeper than London, NYC, etc., and some of them have impressive sculptures, paintings, and frescos.  I did find that the system is not high-tech – sometimes you have no idea which station you’re coming into, there’s no electronic signage or even clear indicators on the station walls.  I listened to the train announcer closely and picked up some spoken Russian to be sure I understood where I was.  Apparently 7-8 million people ride the subway every day, a figure that exceeds ridership of London plus NYC.  Wow.

Back at the hostel, things were gearing up.  I haven’t spent much time at hostels during this long journey of mine – in fact, I think the only time I stayed in these places was in Oz in mid-2006.  They’re noisy, not that clean, very hectic, and offer zero privacy.  They only offer two clear benefits – price (but in countries like Oz and Russia, they’re still not cheap), and comradeship.  I had already spent a bit of time that day with the Irish contingent, and despite my severe need for rest that night, I pulled out my single remaining bottle of Chinggis vodka and passed it around.  The boys had some mixers and beer, which they shared, and by 10 p.m. or so we were well on our way.  Sarmat, the affable front-desk guy, joined us now and then – but after a while he had to tell us to keep it down, as one of the dorm rooms is right off the commons room and the sound carries.  We decided to take the party downstairs, onto the street in front of the hostel.  And we carried on there, joined by a few French guests, till around 3 a.m.

We were risking things a bit.  In Russia foreigners need to register their visa, i.e. get a stamp or piece of paper from the local authorities saying that you spent a certain stretch in a certain place.  It takes a day or so to get this, and in the meantime if you get stopped by the cops and lack it, it can be a pain.  Cops are legally allowed to stop anyone on the street and ask to see their papers – locals and foreigners must carry their ID at all times.  The cops are looking mostly for Central Asian migrants who might be there working illegally…they are also sometimes looking to shake down foreign tourists who don’t have their paperwork in order.  It’s a very annoying situation – and the hostel had signs on the exit door saying ‘Do you have your paperwork in hand?  Passport, visa, registration, tickets.’  It’s best if you can account for every single day you spend in-country – with hotel paperwork, train and air tix, etc.  Crazy, and more than a bit heavy.  During my entire time in the country, I was mindful of where I was with visa registrations, with keeping all my tickets, and so forth.

On a couple of later occasions I noticed the cops hanging around the outside of the hostel – they had to know that foreigners were staying there.  Legally, of course, but an easy place for them to stir the pot and perhaps get a bribe.  In countries like Russia, the police and other officials usually create more problems than they solve – I was aware of that going in.

Woke up in ferocious shape the next morning.  Of course, my room had no blinds or shades, so the sun got me up around 8.  Was starving – walked over to a McDonald’s next to the metro station. Hadn’t had McD’s in several months, and Russia is the type of country (pricey) in which I have no issues eating this crap.  At least the tab wouldn’t come to $15…

Called the one person I know in Moscow, he’s a former colleague from Johannesburg who moved to Moscow years ago.  He’s in the process of changing jobs now, but I managed to track him down and after getting a local SIM card I rang him up.  He seemed crazy busy but we decided to try to meet a few days hence, on my birthday as it turned out.  I would have preferred to have him show me around town earlier, but he had to travel to Korea right away for work.  Lucky him.

People love flowers here – possibly because there aren’t any for most of the year.  Many women were walking around with flowers, I imagine their beaus gave ‘em.  Nice touch – not something you tend to see in the West.

Went to another travel agency to get a train ticket to St. Petersburg, and to see if they might help with my Uzbeki problem.   The train ticket was relatively straightforward – although more expensive than my ticket from UB-Moscow.  Unreal.  The agent, Ekaterina, also tried to call the Uzbeki Embassy but no one picked up, despite numerous attempts.  Uzbekistan was not looking kind.  I left and got some lunch – a glass of kvas (drink made from fermented black bread – better than it sounds), and a shashlik (Central Asian kebab roll).  Then back to the hostel.

I spent some time chatting with Jeff, a friendly Nova Scotian from Halifax who had been involved in the previous night’s festivities.  He gave me some pointers on Russia, and we also discussed travelling to the Ukraine – he was heading there that night, and I was interested.  That may happen in a couple months…

Night was falling – I walked Jeff and his wife to the metro station, from where they were heading to the train station and onward to Kiev.  I walked another 20 minutes over to Red Square, which I hadn’t seen yet.  All my travel plans were hogging my time and I was already getting sick of it.  Got to Red Square and it was really quite something – I’d seen all those photos from guidebooks and from the annual military exercises they hold there, but seeing it in person was terrific.  It’s bounded by four structures – the Kremlin, the State Historical Museum, St. Basil’s Cathedral (the onion dome, natch), and GUM, the state department store.  Next to the Kremlin wall is the tomb of Lenin, which I wanted to see the next morning.

There’s a fast-food vendor here in Russia that’s ubiquitous – they have carts everywhere.  The name in English appears to be ‘crapdoss’ or ‘crapdogs’, but in Cyrilic it’s actually ‘stardogs.’  Weird, and pretty funny – here it is:

I then went to the bar ‘Hot Dog’s’, while we’re on the topic of pig fat.  This place used to be the infamous Hungry Duck, and then it had 1-2 other incarnations, but now it’s Hot Dog’s and I think little has changed.  There are at least 50 working girls in there, 95% with peroxide blond hair, and lots of ‘bizness’ types gawking at them.  Watched the Germany-Turkey Euro Cup match, had a couple beers, then took off.  I was still exhausted…the long train ride had taken its toll, plus I’d done a lot of hoofing around Moscow already, and the odd mood of Russia as well was probably contributing to my slight malaise.

Got up and visited Lenin’s mausoleum the next morning.  Amazing he’s still in there, preserved since 1924.  The guards are stone-faced and not particularly helpful – when I asked one if the bag storage facility was nearby, I think he responded in Russian that I should shove it up my ass.  Charming.  I found it myself, by the way – the storage facility, I mean.  Don’t ever ask guards/cops in Russia for directions or any help whatsoever – they rarely speak anything but Russian, even if they do they prefer being nasty, and if they’re real cops they can ask you for your papers and then you might be screwed.  All over the world I’m happy to ask these sorts of people for directions – not here.

Old Lenin looked mighty waxy – not surprising since the process they used was invented 80+ years ago, on the fly.  Now they’ve patented it and created a company that embalms people for a cool million a pop.  Russians are capitalists too.

Very dark in the tomb – but you get a good glimpse of the man/mummy.  They move you right along, even if it’s not that crowded.  I thought back to my visit to Ho Chi Minh’s mausoleum, which was far more crowded.  HCM looked better than Lenin, I thought – the Russians had improved their technique between 1924 and 1969.  And the Russians work on HCM’s body each year, too – when I was in Hanoi I was only a few days ahead of his annual touch-up ‘trip’ to Russia.

Walked outside – a short path takes you by the Kremlin wall gravesites of USSR heavyweights like Stalin and Brezhnev.  I recalled all my history classes at university, and how I watched, amazed, in 1991, as the USSR collapsed on the television before me as I started my classes at business school in Virginia.  I had had a tough time focusing on schoolwork back then, and I felt a real connection to my past as I now walked past figures who were presented to me as bogeymen decades ago.  In some cases, i.e. Stalin’s, what I learned was pretty much on the money.

The Kremlin itself was closed that day – which was fine, as I checked out St. Basil’s and the State Historical Museum.  Lots in the latter – Russian museums tend to be huge and overwhelming.  I sped through and learned a bit.

Loads of Reese Witherspoon ads all over Moscow – not sure why, there are plenty of cute blondes here…

Got back to the hostel – they had received my visa registration form back from the cops, but the end date was wrong.  I’d be leaving Moscow on June 30, but my form said June 28, leaving a 2-day gap that I might have to explain later on.  Ugh.  I decided not to drive myself crazy over this, and invented a cover story about a side trip to Suzdal in the Golden Ring route.  Good enough cover.  If the cops bothered me, I’d use this story, speak in NYC-speed English, and drop the name of the US Ambassador.

Chatted with front-desk guy Sarmat for a while.  His brother came in – they look like twins.  Sarmat just got his brother a gig at the hostel too, so it’s a brother act.  They’re from the (occasionally volatile) southern region of Ossetia, near/in the country of Georgia, and they look slightly exotic – enough so that they get shit from ‘ordinary Russians,’ who are scarily xenophobic (this is not fresh news for Jews, of course).  I was slightly concerned my tan complexion would get me in trouble, but so far it hasn’t.

Also talked with owner Tania for a while – she’s pretty cool.  Not the most organized person – which explains why she lost my booking, even though we emailed and spoke live.  I didn’t hold it against her, as I got a private room and that was now in the past.  Or so I thought.  More on this in a bit.

Went out to Arbat Street that night to watch the Russia-Spain soccer match.  This was the semifinal of the Euro 2008 Cup, and Russia had shocked everyone with their great play.  The streets were full of revelers waving Russian flags – and there were a few roving gangs of teenage boys with beers and flags who had a menacing look.  One walked by and flicked his cigarette butt at me.  It missed – I considered laughing at him, but just shot him an angry look and he walked on.  I wasn’t heartened by the show of patriotism – sure, the streets of Boston are full of drunken lunatics when we win sports championships, but there’s something about a) nationalism, as opposed to ‘city-alism,’ and 2) countries like Russia and Germany, which have plenty of fascist redneck skinheads looking for an excuse to go out and pound some darkies.  I think my point is clear, no?

Got a call from Ken in London.  As we chatted I scouted bars and found a good one that wasn’t mobbed (yet).  Ken’s third daughter is on the way and he already sounds about as busy as a human can possibly be…but at the same time I think it suits him.  Or maybe not…anyway, I enjoy our chats and Ken is always good about reaching out and giving me a holler in far outposts like Mongolia and Russia.

Russia lost the match – played a good first half, a bad second, and the streets were decidedly gloomy late at night, as I went home.  I wasn’t that unhappy about the result – see my earlier bit above for the logic.

Next day, went to Victory Park and the ‘Museum of the Great Patriotic War.’  Decent museum, but not much in English and the usual massive heap of photos, grenades, paintings, and uniforms.  I’d have preferred a more succinct, clean exhibit, but it’s not my country.  In the bathroom I noticed perhaps the most interesting and certainly ironic aspect of the entire museum – Siemens handdryers, I imagine straight from Germany.

Got back to the hostel, feet aching mightily.  An older gentlemen was sitting in the common area, chatting with Sarmat.  I’d seen him around the hostel, but as he doesn’t speak English and I am similarly handicapped in Russian, we hadn’t gotten to know each other.  He was talking about his new startup, which uses a process he invented to allow for more efficient mining removal of certain elements and metals.  Turned out he had spent a bit of time in Joburg recently, forging a small deal with a South African company.  I mentioned that I spent a year down there…he asked me some questions through Sarmat…and Sarmat eventually told me that this fellow might be interested in hiring me to take care of his business development and negotiations.  A bit startling…I said let’s discuss it the following day.  Random.  Well, as long as it doesn’t involve weekend flights to Korea…

Banged out my Trans-Sib slog entry…got an email and then a call from brother-in-law Dave, with the news from Stateside.  We reveled in Celtics glory.  Bought some food and beer from a nearby store and went to prepare it in the kitchen…Sarmat was in there too, along with a longterm guest, Danila (who’s Jewish), and Max, another employee.  They invited me to join them…I shared my beers…they shared vodka shots and cake…we wound up staying there for a couple hours, discussing politics, racism (a recurring topic here), and sports (Sarmat is a boxer and is very solid).  I had noticed Russian police stopping ‘exotic-looking’ people in a metro station that day – seemed they let everyone go, but still the sight spooked (and depressed) me a bit.  Russia still seems stuck between its communist past with all the elements of total control, and a bizarre form of capitalism in which everyone has his hand out.  Still in transition, still unsure of its eventual, true identity.  And that uncertainty made me wonder what was around every corner…

At the same time, the underlying friendliness of regular Russian folks was reassuring.  The clerks and other service workers (and guards/cops) couldn’t have been less pleasant, but people whom I got to know were invariably warm and welcoming.

After a while decided to go out and check out some local bars.  It was already pretty late, but found one called Bobby Dazzler which was English pub redux.  Had a couple beers in there, they were showing a replay of the Russia-Spain match and I commiserated with a middle-aged guy (I’m just early middle-age, of course) sitting next to me.  I didn’t mention that I was pleased that Spain had won…later on, I got an email from friend Alan, he and Janine were in Barcelona that very night and had a wild time celebrating the Spanish victory.  Talk about good timing!

Walked back to the hostel.  Noticed a cop cruiser – and a car behind it.  The car was probably 5 meters behind, looked like the driver didn’t want to get anywhere near the cruiser.  In the West we’re all pretty careful to give the cops their distance, but here it seemed pretty extreme…

Back at the hostel, in the kitchen, Sarmat and Max were still drinking, and were getting bleary-eyed.  They had a few more beers, and shared with me – we continued talking and I think this was one of my favorite times in Russia.  Russians seem to be more at home drinking/eating/chatting around a kitchen table or in the park than they do in a formal bar.  And I think that’s great – it’s certainly more economical, and a lot more cozy.  During my time in Russia I spent surprisingly little time in bars and restaurants – I did a lot more socializing at hostels and walking around the streets.  Saved me some cash, and it was also a nice change of pace from sitting at the bar…

And while I came in somewhat opposed to hostel living, I came to like Lenin Hostel and its staff.  Given my lack of contacts in Russia, if I had stayed in a regular hotel, I wouldn’t have met many people and would have had a cold experience.  Instead I had met and partied with a good group of people from various places and I started rethinking my impressions of hostels.

One night at the hostel, when I was sitting near the front desk, Tania and various staff were milling around.  We were all talking – at one point I was telling travel stories to the gang.  Tania remarked that I must be a special kind of person – I was surrounded by all of them, they were all listening to my tales.  I appreciated the compliment, but am not sure I agree – I consider myself a fairly private person and am often driven crazy when I lack space and privacy.  I think I do best when I can choose to come out of the shell of my room and hold forth – and I don’t do well when I have to share a room/bathroom with strangers (I know, strangers are just friends you haven’t met yet…).

Back to the Uzbeki visa story…found an agency in Kazakhstan called ‘Stan Tours’ which focuses on the ‘stan countries.’  Fittingly enough.  They can do a letter of invitation (LOI) and I got them started on that.  But when I tried to pay online, couldn’t do it.  My HKG bank account wasn’t properly set up for a wire transfer to a third party – and the online payment system they use didn’t work for me.  And they don’t use Paypal.  I eventually got friend Yuhin in HKG to do a wire for me, and I repaid him.  But this process took a few hours of my time and added to the work I’d already put in for this visa, I was getting annoyed.

My new plan was to avoid the Uzbeki Embassy in Moscow altogether, as it might take them 7-10 days to do the visa, with the LOI in hand.  That would require spending lots of time in Moscow – and my visa would expire before then.  Instead, I’d visit Kyrgzstan first, as I’d wanted to see that country and the Tien Shan Mountains on the Chinese border.  While in the capital, Bishkek, I’d go to the Uzbeki Embassy there, passport and LOI in hand, as I’d heard that you could get near-instant visa processing done in that location.  Not sure why – but I have learned that embassies of the same country operate very differently in different places.  Bonus:  Americans and EU citizens get visas on demand at Bishkek’s Manas Airport, so I didn’t need to do anything to enter Kyrgzstan.  Finally, a civilized system.

Ate street food for lunch that day.  They have something resembling a bagel, and also Jewish kugel – that’s like a brick of noodles stuck together with cheese.  This kugel-like thing was very tasty – not particularly good for the waistline, but Russian food is invariable heavy and I hadn’t planned on losing any weight there.

That said, I had gone running a few days straight, in the nearby park.  Suffice it to say that no one joined me – instead, I had to weave around drunks and endure the gaze of small groups of locals who gawked at me as I stumbled by.  That’s something I’ve experienced around the world (well, not so much the public drunks), but the added twist in Moscow is that there are always a few cops hanging around metro stations, and the ones here were checking me out.  I was actually carrying a copy of my passport, just in case.  It was very obvious that I, a runner, was not Russian, so a bribe opportunity might be at hand.  No one bothered me, at least as of this blog entry – but the possibility is always there.  Hurrah.

Other dark moments – got back late one night, got in the small elevator going up to my hostel.  A run-down looking dude sitting on the stairs followed me into the elevator – I let him get in first, so I could try to get out if something happened.  I seriously considered getting out – but stayed in.  I had my knife in my pocket, and got my fingers around that as I waited nervously for the doors to open onto the 4^th floor.  Eventually they did, I got out, he stayed in, and that was that.  Not a fun 60 seconds.

Another time, in the metro, 3 guys came up to me while I was reading my map.  Generally not a great idea to be seen reading a map – good indication you’re a foreigner, as locals seem to know the system intimately.  Seems they wanted a look at my map, too – but I sensed the old pickpocket maneuver of surrounding a victim and going through his pockets while distracting him.  I handed them the map, moved a meter or so away, looked very impatient, and they finally gave it back and took off.  They might have been legit, might have been on the make – not sure.

Visited Novodevichy Cemetery, at the Novodevichy Convent.  This cemetery is where luminaries (including a number of Russian mafia) are buried – luminaries who didn’t qualify for the Kremlin wall.  I wanted to see the graves of Boris Yelstin, Raisa Gorbachev, Nikita Krushchev, and Anton Chekhov.  Krushchev’s was the most poignant – see how the sculptor fused elements of black and white to depict the man’s ‘good’ and ‘bad’ sides.

And of course, I kept thinking back to the classes and TV programs I’d watched about the USSR years ago.  I suppose this was a reassuring link to my past and youth…not that the Cold War was so warm and cuddly, at the time or even now, in retrospect.

I didn’t visit some of the major Moscow attractions – the Pushkin and Tretyakov Art Galleries, for example.  I like art, certainly, but am much more interested in the historical elements of cities like Moscow.  I had to go see Lenin’s body, and the Kremlin wall graves…Novodevichy similarly…and later on I’d see a few more things that reinforced my sense of history.

It’s sort of funny…I’ve always considered myself a bookworm at heart, and I probably am one.  But at the same time, I really have a need to get out there and see things for myself, not just read about them.  Coming to Russia helped make many of my earlier lessons and impressions much more real and satisfying, even if many things had changed (i.e., communism gone).  I think that’s a major reason why I feel so compelled to travel.

Went looking for some Lonely Planet guidebooks for upcoming countries.  Found the latest Turkey guidebook and got that.  Made a note to conduct a similar hunt when in St. Petersburg, as finding these sorts of books in Central Asian ‘stan countries’ might be next to impossible.

Saw a guy walking on the Arbat road wearing a New England Patriots AFC Champions t-shirt.  I love it.

My birthday was looming – at midnight I’d turn 41.  Took a nap around 7 or so.  Had briefly discussed going out to a few bars with a new guest at the hostel, a guy from the UK.  I was on the fence, and wanted to get in a few z’s.  Knock on the door.  Probably the Brit – I kept sleeping.  A few minutes later, another, louder knock.  I got up and opened my door – it was Sarmat, he said ‘bad news.’ I was getting booted from my room – a couple who had a booking had shown up, and the place was overbooked.  I had been in my room through his grace, but still was classified as a ‘non-booker.’  I silently cursed Tania for her screwup and started packing my things, which were by now all over the room.  Sarmat had assured me earlier in the day that I wouldn’t get booted – but a few days earlier Tania had warned me this was a possibility, and I was slightly concerned it would happen.  Now it was happening and I wasn’t pleased, particularly as my birthday was the next day – what a crap present!

Sarmat clearly felt awful, but could do nothing.  And I wound up getting stuck on an air mattress in the corner of the room off the commons area, an 8-bunk room with guests’ stuff flung all about.  Torture.  Still, I didn’t make a stink – the hostel and Sarmat had done me right up to then, and there was the chance I’d get into another private room soon.  I just made sure my valuables were stowed safely, then went into the kitchen and drank fairly heavily with Sarmat, Tania, Dan (her husband – an American Jew from Vermont), and a few others.  Turned into an impromptu birthday party for me, and pretty good fun.  Staying in a hostel really exposes you to extremes – on one hand I was about to crash on an air mattress in a room with 8 guys – on the other, I was having a randomly entertaining birthday bash with a few new friends.  Eventually went to sleep – was awoken around 4 a.m. by a few dormmates who had evidently found some good bars to visit.  The air mattress was hell on my body – I awoke very stiff (my back, that is) and cranky.

But then Sarmat came and told me that he had a birthday present for me – he had a single room, which I immediately nabbed.  I feared throughout the day that he’d have to renege – the hostel was still busy and lots of people showed up that day/night, but he kept the room for me and I was happy.  I owed him one.  Talk about a weird birthday – thrown onto the floor, then rescued and given an ounce of privacy again.  Might be a good topic for the Jewish holidays…the denunciation and salvation of Michael.

Spent my last full day in Moscow – my birthday – running around, literally.  First, a stint in Gorky Park, which, even though it was a Sunday, was not that busy or lively.  Lots of aging, depressing kiddie rides.  Next, a quick visit to the Sculture Park across the road – this place houses statues that have been displaced from more honorable spots.  Felix Dherzhinsky, the founder of the NKVD (the predecessor of the KGB), Stalin (nose seems to have been chiseled off – see below), and a few Lenins and Marxes are all there.  A fascinating trip through time – again, these are the sorts of places I get something out of.

Next, raced across town to the Tchaikofsky Concert Hall, the meeting place of the Moscow Hash House Harriers.  Met the gang there – and we got on the metro and headed north for a while, where we met some more hashers and started the event.  Good mix of people there – mostly expats, including Jerry, a Canadian who was the emcee of sorts, Anna, a local who held things together, and a few Marine guards from U.S. Embassy detail.  Also a U.S. Army guy named Adam based in Okinawa who does the hash down there.  The hash itself was pretty fun – it was raining hard, so the chalk and flour marks were hard to see, but the hare (Jerry) kept us on trail and we finished up at a beer tent in some park.  Lots of drinking ensured – the ‘down-downs’ were inventive and included plenty of group drinking, to the tune of ‘if one Japanese drinks, all Japanese drink’  Adam and I were classed as Japanese – he’s based there, I used to be, and Tokyo was my ‘home hash.’

Afterwards, a gang of hashers went to a bar a few metro stops away.  Adam, the Marines, and I stopped for a shashlik, and later on couldn’t find the bar.  Oh well.  Adam and I had a good chat – he’s an open-minded sort, unusual in the armed forces, and he hates W. and wants Obama to win.  Wow – I didn’t know there was any diversity of opinion, or open-minded thinking, amongst servicemen.  I wish we could clone Adam and spread him around.

I enjoy hashing in new countries – I’ve probably done it in 20-25 countries by now.  And I’ll look for local hashes in Kyrgzstan and Uzbekistan too.

Had a late dinner at the hostel – bread, cheese, kalbasa, beer.  Ideal catalysts for farting.  Chatted with Sarmat and his brother till late in the night, about war, racism, you name it.  A Chinese couple were in kitchen, preparing dinner – I decided to stir the pot a bit.  I mentioned that the Chinese lost their 1979 border war (17 days) with Vietnam.  That got them going – the fellow got worked up and pressed his view (China won, of course), but eventually we widened the discussion and talked about the Cold War and its many actors, and how China and the US had exerted pressure on the Soviet bloc in the 1970s and 80s.  Turned out this fellow was a good guy and had traveled quite a bit, including in the US – he’s not a communist drone.  We talked till pretty late at night, when I began drifting off and hit the sack.  All in all, a random and fun birthday.

Checked out of the hostel the next morning – it was raining and the morning felt slow and dark.  Decided to visit the Kremlin museums – hadn’t been inside yet.  Spent a couple hours touring the Kremlin Armory, which had a stunning collection of Faberge eggs, platters, goblets, thrones, etc.  Also visited the cathedral where the early Romanov tsars (including Ivan the Terrible) are buried.  I won’t get into detail or show photos here – you can find plenty on the web.  But it was an impressive showing, certainly – well worth a few hours.

Outside, I walked in the gardens a bit, and wouldn’t you know it, I ran into Ivo from the Trans-Sib train sitting on a bench, reading his Lonely Planet.  Very funny.  We had been in email contact earlier, planning to meet in St. Petersburg, but still finding him in Moscow, even at a touristy place like the Kremlin, was unexpected.  We talked for an hour, I gave him some tips on train tickets and hostels, then we parted, promising to meet in St P. in a couple days.  I was off on a train that very night, overnighting it to St. P.

Last tourist bit – went to the largest/oldest Moscow synagogue, the Moscow Choral Synagogue, near Kitai-Gorod metro stop.  Nice design inside and out – lots of security, given the traditional love Russians have for the Jewish people.  Inside, met a tourist from Somerville, Mass.  Yet more randomness.

On the metro back to the hostel I saw the Chinese couple from the hostel, en route to the airport, about to fly back to Beijing.  I was now feeling a bit more in tune with Moscow – running into friends and acquaintances in various places.  We said our goodbyes and I headed to the hostel to relax for a few hours before my midnight train.

Tania and the staff were having cup noodles, they offered me one and I accepted.  Reminded me of my last days on the Trans-Sib, when I was pretty much stuck wolfing down these things.  Had beers with Max, Nadia the cute new summer front-desk girl joined us too.  She was provocative and asked me whether I believed in fate – Russians like these philosophical talks, and I do too.  I replied that I didn’t really believe in fate, but I do believe strongly in karma – not the religious sort, but simply that your good (or bad) words and deeds come back to you at some point.  We spent some time on that topic and I thought I made a bit of sense when all was said and done.

Another guest, Lina from Stockholm, was also going to Leningradsky Train Station late that night, and seemed slightly nervous about going on her own.  I told her she could go over with me, and that seemed to calm her down.  I finished my beer, said bye to Sarmat, Max and Nadia, then Lina and I went to the Sukharevskaya metro station to work out way to the train station.  I was realizing how heavy and bulky my backpack has become – I think some hard choices need to get made soon.

Got to the train station – there are actually 3 major stations crammed together, so it took a few minutes to find ours.  Said bye to Lina, who was on another train…bought a massive bottle of water…squeezed my way onto the train.  Found my compartment and berth, a few minutes later a Russian family of 3 joined me.  We talked for a bit – language was an issue, but we got a few points across.  The daughter was rather cute and I thought we had a connection of sorts.  Later that night, when her parents were asleep, she noticed me watching a movie on my laptop.  She said something – I took off my earphones and looked over.  She wanted to know if she could climb over and join me.  I looked down to make sure her parents were out cold – they seemed to be.  I motioned her over…we watched the movie for a bit but then put that aside.  We didn’t get much sleep, and in the morning my neck was killing me because I was constantly craning it to get a look at her parents below.  But I really couldn’t complain…

Got into Moscow Station in St. Petersburg at 8 a.m.  We poured out of the train, onto the platform.  I winked at the lass and she winked back.  Her parents seemed happy and clueless – excellent.  Then we parted and went into the vastness of the station.  I later saw them wandering around the main drag, Nevsky Prospekt, as lost as I was.

I had meant to read about St. P and do my homework before arrival, but that obviously did not happen.  Now I wasn’t at all well-informed about how to get to my hostel, Nord Hostel, I just knew it was near #18 Nevsky Prospekt, and the train station was also on/near the same road.  I walked out of the station – opened my guidebook and consulted a map.  Looked like a healthy but doable walk, so I got going.  Unfortunately, I started down the wrong road, but soon reversed course…then it turned out that Nevsky Prospekt is very long.  The manager of the hostel had just told me that the train station and the hostel were both on Nevsky, so I assumed semi-nearness.  Plus I disdained the metro for some strange reason – probably because it was 8 a.m. and it would be madness down there, me with my big pack and all the commuters.  So walking I would be…

Turned out to be a bad decision and a hellwalk, perhaps the hardest of my long journey.  My pack was too heavy…the streets were fairly crowded (but at least I was on the shady side of the street)…and the station and the hostel were at opposite ends of the avenue.  I was sweating ferociously, I must have stopped 5 times to rest and cool down…what should have taken 15-20 minutes took well over an hour.  I wasn’t that tortured, as I had a private room booked, confirmed, and already paid for online…but I was still exhausted from the no-sleep train ride and the heavy load.  The steet numbers declined way too slowly, from around 118 (train station) to 18 (near hostel).  I eventually got there, had a bit of difficulty locating the hostel, found it, went upstairs, and was told that my room wouldn’t be ready till 6 p.m.  Uh-huh.  I was too tired to vent, I just put my bags in the hallway, my valuables behind the desk, used the bathroom, and went out to sight-see and spend the day productively.  Lemons into lemonade.

I had them copy my passport to get the annoying visa registration process going.  Seems more relaxed in St. P., but I still want to avoid any hassles on the street or when I leave Russia.

Went to the State Hermitage first.  Long lines, but got in after waiting 40 minutes.  Huge place – covers the Winter Palace, the Large Hermitage and Little Hermitage, as well as some adjunct buildings, and a bunch of stuff in storage that you can arrange to see.  Absolutely awesome treasures, and completely daunting.  It’s probably the largest museum in the world – after a few rooms, I put down the map and just wandered around.  There was an entire room of Titian’s paintings, another of ancient Egyptian sarcophagi, stunning sculptures and goldwork, etc.  I probably spent 3 hours strolling around, and enjoyed it, but still felt a tad suffocated by the vastness.  Russia is vast, and her possessions and treasures are too.  It’s hard to know where to start, but I gave it a go and was impressed, to say the least.

Next, walked over the bridge over the Neva River to the Peter & Paul Fortress (no, it’s not a candy bar).  This place was where Tsar Peter the Great built his fortress, and the city grew from here.  Had a couple Baltika beers en route…the server at the beer tent was cute and I just felt like sitting there relaxing.  It had already been a demanding day and I didn’t feel the need to do that much more…

A pensioner on a cane entered and ordered a beer. He sat across from me…took his first sip…and let out a huge sigh of satisfaction.  I smiled over at him, and he smiled back.  Two boys sitting at a table having a beer – priceless and timeless.

I eventually made my way to the fortress.  The views across the Neva are excellent, the Hermitage is right across the way.  Also, there are some sandy areas that serve as beaches in the summer – roasting Russians were there in force, soaking in the rays.  But my favorite part was the cathedral where the Romanov tsars starting with Peter were buried – Catherine the Great, Alexander II, and the recently re-interred remains of Nicholas II and his family, who were murdered by the Bolsheviks after the revolution.  Very cool to see all of that.

Hostel manager Marsha eventually got me into my room.  It was located a bit away from the hostel itself, it’s basically a floor of apartments owned by Nord Hostel.  At first I was a bit unhappy to be isolated so…but the place is very close to Nevsky Prospekt and I came to like it.  Unpacked a bit, then crashed hard – I hadn’t slept in 2 days and had a lot of miles on my feet.  Intended, kind of, to get up around 9 p.m. and get in some nightlife, but next thing I knew it was 2 a.m.  The sky was still light – it’s now White Nights up here and there’s really just a couple hours of quasi-darkness at night.  Watched a movie on my laptop, then went back to sleep till 9 a.m.  That did the trick.

Went to the market to get some water and food…made a bit of breakfast.  Then left the apartment and went outside, right then my mobile rang, it was Ivo who had just reached the city.  He was in his dorm room and wanted to meet and check out the city.  I went over to the main hostel and got him, then we went out.   First the Trans-Sib, then Moscow, now St. Petersburg – Ivo and I seemed to be blood brothers for the duration of our time in Russia.  I was glad to have a sidekick.

Went out for coffee – which was fine, but the waitress disappeared and we didn’t get the change for our bill for 30 minutes.  Russian service.  Then we walked around the Hermitage, over the bridge for a while, sat and had a beer at the place I’d visited the previous day (cutie wasn’t there, though), and finally we went over to the Finland (Train) Station, where Lenin had returned to Russia in 1917, preaching revolution – major league history for those interested.  The Germans had put Lenin in a sealed car in Switzerland and sent him on to St. Petersburg, to the Finland Station, and their plan worked – within 8 or so months the Bolsheviks seized power and took Russia out of WWI.

Outside the station there’s a giant Lenin statue, pointing the way.

Then we went to the Blockade Museum, which was created to memorialize the nearly 900-day siege of the city by the Germans.  The city held out, incredibly, by moving supplies across frozen Lake Ladoga.  The suffering was immense – people were restricted to eating tiny pieces of sawdust-flecked bread each day.  There was also some cannibalism.

The museum turned out to be closed, so we called it an afternoon and went home.  Walked through the Summer Palace Gardens en route – very nice.

I felt sore and stiff so did some yoga – first time in weeks.  Took a short nap.  Met up with Ivo later that night – while we were walking around trying to find a good place to drink, we ran into 2 Germans who were on the same Trans-Sib car as us, weeks earlier.  Funny, such a small world.  Sat down at a café table with them and had a few beers – this place was fairly mod and was the meeting place of the city’s motorcycle enthusiasts.  There were some superb models outside on the sidewalk – BMWs, Harleys, Hondas, and a few custom bikes.  I gawked and drank.

Ivo and I peeled off and tried out a place called Office Bar, meant to be like an office but it’s a bar (you probably already figured that out, huh?).  Tokyo has one of these, and I think other cities do too.  Boston has (or had) a bar called Home – no explanation required.  This bar wasn’t that great – no real office furniture, just a collection of ties hanging above the bar.  Had a couple there, then moved on.

The two Germans had told us that at 1 a.m. the nearby Neva River bridge would go up, and that there’d be a good amount of partying by the bridge.  Ivo and I walked up there, and soon ran into the Germans.  They were staying in a commune-type place across the river, and their flatmates were doing a fire show now, tossing around lit batons and all that.  Pretty entertaining.  We bought beers, drank, and watched.  Stefan, one of the Germans, picked up a Russian tourist and soon we all decided to go for a walk.  Went by the famous Astoria Hotel, where Hitler wanted to have a celebration upon seizing the city (which never happened, of course).  There was an impressive statue of a horseman, can’t recall who it was.  Then we piled into taxis to go to a club, unfortunately our cab couldn’t find the club and Ivo and I were stuck with a random Russian dude, but no girls.  We were out of luck, out of time (it was past 5 a.m.), and the sky was bright, as it had been most of the night.  Quite unlike going out all night in NYC or HKG, the bright sky here was normal, you couldn’t make out the time just from that.  We went home and crashed –it might have been for the best.

Woke up with a very ugly hangover.  This was becoming a bad habit.  Got up noonish, had breakfast at McD’s, and then embarked on a slew of errands.  Warning:  crankiness approaching.

Found a decent travel agent and got train tickets south, first to the old capital of Novgorod, and later on to Moscow.  That took some time.  Next, spent a couple hours working on hotel booking for Novgorod – eventually, I got a room there, but it was too close for comfort – this is a very busy time of year here.  Hit a few bookstores and managed to find a copy of Lonely Planet Ukraine.  Did some laundry.  By now my head was pounding a bit less, but I was spent.  Ivo texted me – he had gone to the Russian Museum, but also felt like crap.  We both decided to take it easy that night.

Friend Bryan emailed me a link to a compelling website, which is:  http://www.aldenteblog.com/2008/07/almost-inedible.html.  That should work.  It shows a Krispy Kreme bacon cheeseburger which may be the world’s single most disgusting, and caloric, food product.  Check it out.

Got an email from a friend in Ulaan Bataar, they just had elections and apparently things got a little ugly.  There were demonstrations, and the President issued a proclamation prohibiting gatherings and the consumption of alcohol for several days.  Wow – that will make a mark on UB.  The city might completely shut down without alcohol.  But it’s weird – right before I left I recall thinking that Mongolia has so few people, and they’re generally so mellow, that political violence would be unlikely.  I guess it can happen anywhere…

Spent the night in the hostel – the one dorm room on my floor was full of frumpy Chinese women who spent all their time preparing and eating food, and in the bathroom.  I can understand the joys and rewards of cooking, but come on, go out and let your hair down.  I think I was starting to tire of hostel living – even with a private room, there are so many people in such a small space, all sharing kitchen and bathrooms, that only the most sociable and good-natured thrive.  And that’s generally not me…

Next day Ivo and I took a hydrofoil up to Petrodvorets/Peterhof, Peter the Great’s palace (well, one of them) 29 km up the Gulf of Finland.  Nice ride, and good to escape the city.  Between Moscow and St. Petersburg, I was feeling a bit crushed by scale and space.  The trip was pretty good – but they really soak you on entrance fees.  The boat ride was pricey, and then you have multiple tickets you must buy to see everything at Peterhof.  Ivo and I just walked around the gardens and saw the famous fountains, which I believe are the major attraction.  They wanted 520 rubles to get into the main palace building, about US$22, and we both felt that was ridiculous, and balked.  You could easily drop US$150 or so if you paid for and saw all the sights there.  A bit too much, methinks…

Went back to the city.  Had a couple beers – went back to the Blockade Museum.  It was open this time…went in and checked it out.  Actually quite disappointing – very little in English or other languages, and more a war museum than a ‘blockade museum.’  Too many grenades and photos of generals, not much in way of things depicting the city’s great suffering.  Ivo opined that there might not be many photos from that period, which was a valid hypothesis, but I disagreed – the communists were always masters at using film and video to enhance their cause and I’m sure there were political commissars roaming the city doing work like that, even in the darkest days.

Walking on Nevsky Prospekt en route to a beer café, a sturdy guy suddenly stopped short right in front of me.  I went to go around him, but he blocked my way.  At the same time, a couple others surrounded me.  This was all in plain daylight, on the city’s busiest street.  Ivo was off on the right, with one of the guys between us.  I doped out the situation fairly quickly, and yelled for Ivo to watch his stuff.  These guys, I’m 95% sure, were playing the pickpocket game I mentioned early in this post – one guy blocks your way, the others come up behind and get into your pockets.  My pockets were clearly full, but they were zippered and velcroed, and I put my hands down there right away to prevent any theft.  After 8-10 seconds the scumbags realized I wasn’t giving up the goods and they disappeared into the crowd.  Brazen.

Went to my room and took a long nap.  Had planned to meet up with Ivo around 9 p.m., it was his last night in town.  He was flying back to Germany the next day, the end of a long trip, with a semester of study in Singapore, a few months of working there, and a few months of traveling round Asia and Russia.  I wanted to give him a proper send-off.

Woke up, had a bit to eat, tried to text Ivo but got an error message.  Turned out I was out of phone credits.  Torture.  It was almost 9 already, no word from Ivo.  Wasn’t sure if I could receive texts without credit remaining, but I was able to use the hostel computer to send a text via Skype – very useful feature.  Then Ivo replied and we made plans.  I would’ve been bummed if we couldn’t connect because of my phone screwup.

I bought a couple Baltika beers and we drank ‘em near a very nice cathedral (Savior on the Spilt Blood?) along one of the canals (St. P. is famous for these).  Had a good chat there, ogled a few scantily clad ladies.  Then got on the subway, intended to go to Dickens Bar.  But we walked by a place that was really hopping, I think it was called State Bar, went downstairs into the bar, which had a band playing.  Sat there and drank several beers, this was a real Russian place, no foreigners.  Guys were dancing around without shirts, everyone was smoking and pounding beers and shots, and it had a terrific vibe.  I’m not sure how we got started on it, but Ivo and I discussed theology and god for quite a while – I told him my old yarn about traveling in the Indian Himalaya and discussing this with our Gaddi guide, who told us that there are no Brahma temples because ‘Brahma created the world, then he went away.’  That’s my general doctrine about the presence of a deity and his/her/it’s level of involvement in our daily lives – I think that level of involvement is basically zilch.  Ivo found that line of argument interesting – he’s studying philosophy so I was a bit surprised he hadn’t considered it before.  But anyway, I only took one philosophy class about 100 years ago and what the hell do I know about what they cover in these classes?

Eventually we left and went to Dickens, which was a decent enough place but couldn’t hold a candle to the Russian place we’d just visited.  These Irish pubs are yin and yang – good to have ‘em in some cities which don’t have great watering holes, but I’d much rather go to a place with local flavor, even if it’s a rathole.  So we left after a couple beers.

It was getting late now – despite the bright night sky.  Ivo had to catch a flight the next day – I was a bit tired too.  Walked back towards Nevsky, we saw a place called Money Honey, which was mentioned in my guidebook.  We paid the cover and went it.  Turned out to be a live music place where they play American tunes from the 1950s/60s – I haven’t heard some of those songs in decades.  And the crowd was into it – the dance floor was full and people were raucous.  We didn’t manage to get any local talent, we just took it easy and had a few last drinks.  Then we left, and we said our goodbyes.  I had a lot of fun hanging out with Ivo and I hope our paths cross again sometime.

This post is pretty fucking long so I’ll wrap it up soon – I’m now finally caught up with my Russian adventures.  Did a few errands today – finally got a Russian phrasebook, which I might need in Central Asia as English might be spoken even less frequently than it is in Russia.  Went to Aeroflot’s office to reconfirm my Kyrgzstan flight.  Yes, I am flying on Aeroflot.  Fun fun fun.  Topped up my phone card, then noticed a text from Ivo saying goodbye.  Walked to Nord Hostel to check on my visa registration, which still hasn’t come in.  Fun fun fun.  I leave tomorrow night for Novgorod so it damn well better come in – sometimes I wonder if I’m missing something, I work hard to take care of all these matters and still sometimes it comes down to the wire and makes me anxious.  I suppose I need to stop being the custodian of other people’s incompetence, it’s simply that the backlash falls on me.  Only one solution – keep drinking, and trust but verify.

As I entered the building housing Nord Hostel, I saw at least 30 people waiting on the stairs, all waiting to deal with Marsha, the manager.  What a crowd…it really drove home to me that I need a break from hostel living, for a few weeks in Mongolia and Russia I’ve enjoyed the pros and dealt with the cons, but the lack of space is getting old.  In Novgorod I have my own room, not sure about bathroom, but in Kyrgzstan I booked a room with ensuite so there, finally, I’ll be able to walk around naked and take long showers.  I still hope for conviviality, but with the option for some space and privacy as well.

That’s it for now – a few more days in Mother Russia, then off to Kyrgzstan.  Just found out that the U.S. has an airbase at the Bishkek airport – didn’t know that.  I wonder what the locals think of that – might be time to brush up on my Quebecois accent.  Over and out.

Tags: Travel

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