Moscow was cold. Somewhere in the low '40's I'd say. I found the Metro without much effort. I even managed to get on the train going in the right direction, and get off at the right stop. Then the problems began. I asked two policemen where the street in question was. They had never heard of it. I wandered around in likely directions and didn't find anything. Then I pulled out my guidebook to see if it offered any clues.
It said walk north from the station. Great. All I needed was a compass. The sky was completely overcast, so the sun was no help. I finally walked into a park to see which side of the trees moss was growing on. (Really) Working on that information, I started walking. I saw an ambulance on the side of the road and figured if anyone knew where the street was, the driver would. He did, and confirmed the moss was right, and I was going in the right direction. When I took the pack off at the hostel, 1 1/2 hours after putting it on, it seemed much heavier.
I'm in a dorm with 4 other people. They're charging $15/night, an outrageous price for this type of accommodation, especially in this country. Especially with no hot water.
I went right to McDonald's, as I knew I would. It's something of a tradition upon arriving in a strange new place. With everything else different, at least I don't have to fight the food. There was a line outside, but things moved quickly. It was quite the madhouse behind the counter. It was very American looking, except for the Cyrillic menus. The faces behind the counter could have fit in at any McDonald's in the US.
I went back to the hostel and retired early.
I woke up early this morning and read some of The Brother's Karamazov. At 8 I got up to see about getting the train to St. Petersburg tomorrow. The lady who buys the tickets is off today, but it's supposed to be no problem to get the ticket on the day of departure. I told the receptionist I was going to have to go change money to pay for tonight, and the woman said checkout time is 11 AM. Nothing like flexibility.
I went to cash traveler's checks at the Olympic Penta Hotel, a monstrosity that I took to be Intourist. It was built for the '80 Olympics, and the stadiums are right across the street. There's a phone booth, where they charge $6/minute! for calls to the U S. There's also a 2% charge for cashing traveler's checks.
The only thing I had to do today was go to the Am Ex office. That I did and got an assortment of dollars, checks and Russian play money. Then I went looking for the telephone/telegraph office to make calls home and to Irkutsk. For ever so long I watched and tried to figure out how the system worked. I tried to ask some questions. That didn't help much, but I did finally get into a phone booth. The connection wouldn't go through. I went to McDonald's again to recover from the trauma. Afterwards I walked around Red Square. It's smaller than I had imagined.
I got back to the hostel fairly early and started writing letters and talking to an American woman. She said she had gone to see Lenin for advice.
"Are you a communist?" I asked jokingly.
"Yes."
"You're not serious are you?"
"Certainly, communism is a beautiful ideal," she said.
"Why?" is what I said. How can you be so stupid is what I thought. Even the dullest person, surveying the devastation of what might be a great country, would have to conclude that communism is an idea utterly failed.
Her devotion was so utterly ridiculous that I had to find out more about it. She fell back on the soon to be classic refrain that Soviet communism wasn't true to the ideal. It would be amusing if not so infuriating to hear people extol the value of a system without any hope of functionality. Communism is an academic theory unrelated to human nature or the natural order. Even worse, it fosters an evil duplicity that completely corrupts any society it is applied to. Ronald Regan once labeled the Soviet Union the Evil Empire, much to the amusement of the press. I was inclined to believe the President rather than the media, but I didn't truly understand. Now that I have seen a communist society in action in China, and a failed one in Russia, I believe quite firmly that, if anything, Mr. Reagan's proclamation was understated.
"What do you do?" I finally asked the woman.
"I'm a junior high school teacher in St. Louis," she said.
Is there any hope?
We talked for about an hour or so before others came into the discussion and it got out of hand. I took on the role of defender of Western Civilization against a Korean from California who claimed we've wreaked havoc on the environment etc., etc. He's worried about what's going to happen as the third world industrializes. He says we can't stop them, but insists that the process will doom the planet. I can't stand it when people indict everything, yet offer no alternatives or solutions to the problems they invent.
One of the participants in the discussion was a 15 year old guest in the hostel. He has quite a story. His father is Ukrainian and his mother Canadian, although she's living in Egypt. They boy is a Canadian citizen, but has been living in Los Angeles. His father took him back to the Ukraine, but has been beating him to the point of unconsciousness. The father told him that if he ever ran away, he would kill him. Gaspar did run away. He wanted to get into a shelter for abused boys in LA, where he has stayed before. He checked into the Intourist Hotel here in Moscow. At 3:30 in the morning they were going through his documents, discovered his age, and turned him out. Outside of the hotel, he was robbed of his suitcase and $1500. He went to the Canadian Embassy for help, but they just advised he go back to his parents. His father has advised officials that he's been abducted, so it could be difficult to get out of the country. Henry, a Tasmanian, has assumed the role of protector. The drama is of course the talk of the hostel.
I was looking for someone to translate a letter for me this afternoon and Gaspar volunteered. He's very capable for a 15 year old. I wrote to Lyuba. I have him 10,000 R ($5) and took him to dinner for payment.
After ordering my ticket to St. Petersburg this morning, I went to mail the letters I wrote; one to Lyuba and another for Larissa. I don't know how I want to proceed with them. I think now I'll write, and maybe later see if one wants to come for a visit. Larissa is easier due to the language, but I'm very attracted to Lyuba.
The post office was run down. It didn't look much like a post office either, except for the people behind glass windows. Otherwise it was just a big, run down, mostly empty room. In addition to normal post office functions, they had romance novels for sale. One of the girls at the hostel had written instructions on a piece of paper, so it was just a matter of handing that over and paying. I hope the letters get there.
That out of the way, I had nothing to do for the rest of the day other than exist. It was beautiful - and warm- so I walked around taking pictures, sat in the parks, etc. Except for the park beside the Kremlin, they are in a bad state of repair. They're overgrown and have few flowers.
This afternoon I went to the market at Lenin Stadium, but the crowd was breaking up when I got there. I was swimming against a river of people that became even worse when the police, who can't control organized crime, decided to work more pliable targets. They came through in vans and cars spread across the road, with bull horns blaring. As the line of merchants lining the street was broken up, it was reforming at the other end; like a sliding gauntlet that eventually make it to the Metro station. The crowd pushed its way into the station with cartloads of bags and carpets. It looked like hardly anyone came to pick up just a few things, they were all on major expeditions.
There were several hours of wait at the hostel before the train, which left at 23:59. While there, I ran into the Chicagoian from Irkutsk. Turns out her name is Nancy. She's going to St. Petersburg tonight too, on the train that leaves 4 minutes before mine. She was talking with an American woman named Sue who had been kicked out of a friend's house after two days residence. The stay was supposed to be indefinite. Even though Sue's been to Russia four time before with tour groups, she's completely helpless. She acted like finding the Metro was a major travel event. The only thing group travel must teach you is to depend on someone else.
As per norm, my carriage was at the other end of the station. I'm in a compartment with an uninteresting older couple and another older lady. The couple acted like they wanted to stay up talking, but I dove for the bed at the first opportunity, and that was that.
I didn't sleep well last night. I woke up around 4- close to sunrise, and didn't get good and back to sleep after that. Everyone had claimed it was a 7 hour trip, and I kept expecting to be roused from the bed. It actually took 9 hours. Why do people always underestimate how long trips take?
A map took me right to the hostel from the station. It's amazing how much a difference having the right information can make. They had room, but I couldn't check in till 11, so I dropped my pack and started walking.
I walked down Nevski Prospect thinking that would be the place most likely to find the McDonald's. There was some good architecture along the way. I like the way Russians will actually paint their buildings a color. I made it all the way to the Winter Palace and started back when I ran into a guy wanting to change money (where was he on the train from Irkutsk?). I didn't change, but he was able to tell me there's not a McD's in town. Bummer. I got an ice cream to hold me till I found something. Something turned out to be a hot dog at a sidewalk cafe. Probably one of the only ones in Russia. This is a difficult place to eat.
I took a nice long nap before venturing out again this afternoon. I went towards the river hoping to find a nice area, but came upon the industrial sector instead. Out walking I ran into Nancy and Ashley. Ashley's from Jackson, Mississippi. I had seen her at the Moscow hostel. They were going to meet some people and go for dinner, so I went along. Tex Mex was the call. The spot was on top of the Olympia Hotel, which is a barge moored next to where the cruise ships dock. Just as on Nevski Prospect this morning, the place was overrun with Americans. These were part of Ted Turner's empire, here to broadcast the Goodwill Games which start in a couple of weeks.
It was warm sitting out on the dock in the evening sun. Eating Mexican and listening to American music, it felt like we could have been in Southern California. The hotel was in a funny place. It wasn't really marked, and you had to pass through what looked like a military gate to get there. Russians haven't quite grasped the notion that, in commerce, secrecy is rarely a good thing.
Not much going on at the hostel tonight. Boring as a matter of fact. I talked to my roommate Mike, who's a computer programmer from California. We come from different sides of the political spectrum, and it was interesting to talk to him. Didn't get to sleep till after 2. Mosquitoes make it necessary to close the windows, and that made it hot.
I thought it might be nice if Mike wanted to go to Peterhof with me today. It was a perfect day for being outdoors. I asked, and he said yes. He seemed to be taking a long time getting ready and then said he was going to a museum instead. Brainless move on such a day. I started talking with a French Canadian in the next bed this morning. He was in the navy for nine years too. He just got out and will be traveling for a year. We've piled up many similar experiences and impressions.
The hydrofoil to Peterhof left from in front of the Hermitage. It cost 10K $5) one way, expensive for a 1/2 hour ride.
I wandered around the lower gardens a bit before venturing up to the main palace. Like all Russian gardens I've seen, this one focused on the natural (it was unkempt). I faced a dilemma at the entrance to the palace. In order to get into the palace, I had to leave the park that I would have to go back through to catch the boat. Nothing indicated whether a return was permitted. To jump ahead a bit, I was permitted back in, twice. At one gate the old man simply waved me through. I ventured out again at another point. That time an old lady took my ticket completely, making that the last entry for sure. Later I talked with a couple who weren't permitted back in at all. They found a secluded section of fence and climbed it. It just goes to show how random everything here is.
I got the student price, which was about 10X what Russians pay, and half what typical foreigner are robbed. Thank goodness for the card. Membership has its privileges. Do I need to say again how unjust the policy it?
The palace is, paradoxically, in good shape because it was destroyed. The communist literature for once doesn't exaggerate when it bitterly says the nazis (sic) barbarously destroyed the palace. From what I gather, it was a senseless and unnecessary act of destruction. I heard some Germans in a tour and felt angry towards them. I wonder how the Russians tolerate them at all.
But the point was, the palace is in great condition because it was recently restored. The work is still going on in fact, many of the rooms are unfinished.
There are several palaces on the grounds, and each has its own admission charge. I went into one other and found a most remarkable room. It wasn't especially grand but the blue color of the walls really set it off. It's a conservatory, and I bet Kira would have loved it. I'd like to have a conservatory like that some day.
The fountains at Peterhof are justifiably famous. I also liked the gilt statues, some of which are in the fountains.
Another interesting sight is the English cottage. It's described during the 19th Century by a French nobleman whose book I've been reading. He didn't do justice to its size. From his descriptions of its intimate and unassuming nature, I was expecting something rather cozy. The building I was confronted with would be called big, even among mansions. Imperial Russians must have shared with Texans their concept of size.
Back at the ranch, I had to go in search of food. The only thing I came up with was one of the ubiquitous, poorly put together cafe hot dogs. The attendant was especially glum, even for a Russian.
The journal was originally written on an assortment of bound books.
This will be the last, and worst medium for the journal. I would have to write continuously in the time remaining to fill it. I'm already getting slack. The thought has even crossed my mind of letting the rest slide till I get home. But I've come too far for that. The goal is, when I step foot in the U. S., to have all but the preceding 10 min. recorded. I wish this pad was in a better state. Getting carried around in my daypack has been hard on it. I wonder how long it will last?
Yesterday on the way out of the hostel I met Willow, a perky American girl from Minnesota. She invited me, along with several others, to go to Pushkin, a palace 25 km or so out of town. Before going I had the hostel breakfast, which is included in the price. Served from 8-10; there is cereal, bread, cheese, a hard boiled egg, yogurt, tea or coffee. It's very popular. Some people make a sandwich of the bread and save it for lunch. At the very least it puts off the search for food till later in the day.
We met at 11 at the Peter statue in the Moscow train station. The station is, incidentally, is in good shape. It has just been cleaned up for the Goodwill Games. Neither Willow or her friend Bill were too clear on how to get to the palace, but Bill had a copy of the yellow pages, which is a tourist guide to the city, and we consulted that. Once the metro deposited us at he correct train station there only remained the matter of finding the correct ticket window, and then the right train after that. Both Willow and Bill have been studying Russian for 3 years, including several months in St. Petersburg, but it was of less help than I expected. I think it's more useful sometimes to know how to travel than to speak the language.
The train was a local with wooden seats. Seated right across from us was a babushka that could have been a matrioska doll. She was shaped just like one, and had the scarf and face to match.
A bit of asking around (by Willow) got us on a bus from the station. We each had a handful of the St. Petersburg bus tickets. We didn't know if they were valid, (they were we found out later) so we didn't validate one. I think apathy may have had something to do with the nondecision too. It was easier not to do it. It was a bad time to play that game. At the end of the route an inspector got on. As he was taking care of some Germans playing the same game we were, Willow and I slipped by. Bill wasn't so fourunate. He got nailed for 5000R. So, for not wanting to pay 7 cents, he had to fork over $2.50. It's a common thing travelers do, often just for the excitement I think.
More excitement came when I got into the palace for the Russian price. Bill flashed his student ID and got the 3 tickets. Usually they ask for all of the ID's, but we were lucky. I don't know if there's any length I wouldn't go to to subvert this vile system.
The palace was impressive as always. This one was obviously more feminine and covered with gilt work.
We went back to the hostel before going out for pizza. I got my laundry washed today and had to hang that out. It should be the last time this trip. I talked with Mike, the roommate. He's coming across as pretty pitiful now. He's taken up with one of the souvenir stand girls. She's 31, married, and has 2 kids. He was trying to convince me and himself that Russians don't take marriage as seriously, and it would be OK for him to indulge some- although he claimed he wouldn't do the same at home. I wouldn't let him get away with those gymnastics. It's remarkable what ideas people will come up with to justify what they want to do.
The pizza was outstanding. The view was too. There was a beautiful girl with long, shapely legs across from me at the next table over. We locked eyes at one point and started laughing. Just as I was getting the nerve to go over, she left. Stupid mistake.
From the cafe we went to see Sasha, a friend of theirs from when they were here studying. They had described him as bright, especially at picking up languages. He supposedly had a taxi business, but his partner wrecked the car. Now he's reduced to going through the garbage for food.
I wasn't prepared for what I saw. The apartment, a large one which he got from his mother (who married an American and took off) was covered with garbage he's reluctant to throw out for some reason. He doesn't look healthy- thin and pale. He talks constantly and his language is littered with four letter words. He says he' fucking crazy and I believe it. He's mentally unbalanced.
They (Bill and Willow) were supposed to stay with him on their return, but he had had his phone shut off for not paying, and they couldn't reach him. His main concern seemed to be to gather the $30 required to get the phone turned back on. Regardless of his financial problems, he'd found enough money to buy some language books, which seems to be his obsession. Willow left money for him to buy food, but despite her warning, she expects he will use the money for books. Much of the time was spent with him asking if Willow couldn't get the money back for the apartment she's taken so she could move in with him. He wants the money and the company. Bill ended up saying he would leave the hostel and move in. I wouldn't. Despite their expressed support, they must have reservations too, for they weren't giving him the full story of what was going on.
Every morning I threaten to move to the other hostel. Other things being equal, they at least have hot water. I should check it out before I jump, but each morning I'm too lazy to go over there. This morning I had the additional excuse of having damp clothes still drying- how could I move?
I went to American Express to change this morning and encountered a 25 minute line. Dozens of people waiting to fork over their 2% commission to get money at a not so good rate. Every transaction in Russia associated with tourism is excessive. Am Ex should do better for us than that.
Everyone said you have to go to St. Issaics, so I did. Almost better than seeing it was getting in for the Russian price. I just stuck the right amount of money through the window without a word, out came a ticket.
The cathedral was of course big, lavish and beautiful. Some of the interior columns were of malachite. The communists had turned the place into a museum. It seems a shame to use it for that.
I didn't realize that there were two separate tickets for the interior and the colonnade around the dome. When I went back to get my colonnade ticket, the woman was wise to me and wouldn't give me a ticket. I had to go in and get one at the student price. That made up for the $7 I saved on the interior. The view from the top was the best in Petersburg. It was enhanced by a young auburn-haired German girl I remember seeing yesterday at the palace.
Tonight I went to eat with John and Trish, an Australian "couple" at the hostel. We asked the girl at the desk for dining recommendations. Her advice was to walk along Nevski Prospect. How helpful. We found a cafe, but it wasn't very good.
When we got back to the hostel we sat out on he steps. Even though it was around 11 in the evening, it seemed too early to go in. A decrepit looking man struggled along the street looking ready to die at any moment. He looked to me like he had AIDS.
I gave up the idea of moving hostels today as it would be too much trouble.
I decided to get my train ticket myself rather that giving the hostel my money. At the station the quoted price of 42,000R seemed too high so I walked away.
I finally broke down and went to the Hermitage. I've been putting it off for days since the weather's been good and museums are for bad weather days. But it looks like I'm going to be cursed with beautiful weather the whole time here, so there's nothing else I could do. It must be the best housed museum in the world. The building itself is a sight, and it's in good condition too due to ongoing restoration. There was grand room after grand room. Just when you thought one couldn't be equaled for splendor, the next one surpassed it. It did seem excessive. How many ballrooms and receiving rooms are necessary?
I especially liked one of white, gilt, and crystal. It was dazzling despite its moderate size. I would like to have a similarly inspired room someday.
The art was fine, but not of what I would consider to be the absolute best.
On one of the grand staircases I met Maggie. I'd seen her large male companion a couple of times as we separately toured the palace. Recognizing each other from the hostel we had acknowledged each other at each crossing. I had wondered what Maggie, a slender, talkative and intelligent girl was doing with such a silent football player type of guy. It turns out he was her brother and they were traveling together. We stopped our museum tour and talked for a long while in one of the staircases. She was wearing a short skirt and loose fitting shirt with no bra. The way she moved her legs around sitting on those steps was exciting. She claims to be a playwright, with one work performed, and is now in the Peace Corps in Odessa. We agreed to meet for dinner.
I had had enough of the museum and went back to the train station again in the time before dinner. I had pondered on the price of the ticket and decided it was about right after comparing prices with some other people. This time the price from the window was 1000 less, for the same ticket. One can only wonder.
I believe Maggie and I shared an attraction. She's full of multi-cultural mush but her economics have been altered by seeing communism in action. After dinner at a Georgian restaurant we sat on a park bench; me, Maggie, and her brother. I got touchy but it only added frustration to the equation. Her brother did eventually start reading a book, but his presence did place a limit on the activities. Oh well, they were leaving tonight for Talin anyway.
Back at the hostel I looked for Kristine and Karen, two of Bill's friends I met this morning. Karen, from Bethesda, had beautiful eyes and a pleasant face. I would like to see more of her.
Bastille Day. I had to move hostels in spite of myself this morning. They all of a sudden didn't have room because of a swarm of Japanese that had descended. It had never been a problem paying day by day before and this was completely unexpected. Several other people got caught in the squeeze as well. The most irritating thing was the waste of time in moving, especially since I'm leaving tomorrow.
In the Russian tradition of hiding everything, the new hostel was difficult to find. The L shaped building was on a corner, and the only small sign was on the corner, in the back of the building. I had heard other people complain about not being able to find the place even with a map, now I know why.
The new place is not as nice. It's older, less clean, and there are flies buzzing around the room. It looks as if I've traded them for the mosquitoes. They don't sell anything here other than beer and expensive water. Russians are slow to catch on to the idea of service, even that which would bring them an easy profit.
I walked up the river to the cruiser Aurora. It was the vessel that fired a shot that started the Revolution or something like that. I couldn't get the whole story because everything is in Russian. The ship is excellently maintained, and entrance is free. I think it's probably the best maintained ship of that era in the world.
Peter's cabin is housed in a house of it's own. It was the first museum to open after the siege. In this cabin he ordered a great city to arise from a marsh, and it did. There was one of his uniforms on display. I had always heard him described as tall and I had just assumed that meant big. But from the shape of his clothes he appeared tall and thin.
I went to the Peter and Paul fortress. The walls themselves are in good condition but the grounds are not. I didn't go into the church because I sick of paying foreign prices, especially for churches. I don't know of any other place in the world that charges entry to churches.
The grounds also serve as a poor beach to the city. It was a nice sunny day and a lot of people were out taking advantage of it. There were even a couple of topless girls around. Nothing remarkable though. Russian women are not remarkable sights in bathing suits. They are neither fashionable or flattering. Maybe the poor nature of their venue has something to do with it too.
I went to the Russian Naval Museum. I got the ticket at the Russian price but the old bitch who takes tickets wouldn't let me in. She felt compelled to test me with Russian conversation instead of just taking the ticket as most everyone else in the universe does. I actually enjoyed for a moment imagining her on the street begging or selling off her belongings with her contemporaries.
The long walk back along the river revealed palace after palace.
Got stood up for dinner and the pizza at the cafe I ate at the other night was nowhere as good as before.
Spent the day searching for souvenirs. I ended up with a couple of matrioskas and several lacquer boxed. The search started with a survey of popular areas for the stands and then some bargaining. The one time I didn't bargain was with a 25 year old girl named Marie who I liked. I gave her the asking price because of that and let her know that was the reason too. She claimed to be engaged to a Swede and has even lived there twice for 6 months at a time. The wedding doesn't seem to be certain. The said she still wants to be Russian.
I also spent some time in the parks writing, sleeping and girl watching. The women go there to sunbathe.
Back at the hostel I showered before going to the train station for another midnight departure. I also ditched my towel and toilet paper in favor of the souvenirs I got today. The pack is full.
On the train there was some confusion over which berth was mine. I deposited my things and then went to prowl the platform in search of food. When I came back I notice some extra things were on my bed. Not only that but there were five people in the compartment. The extra was a most unattractive English girl. I knew I had the right place and told her to go check it out with the attendant. We each make two trips to the woman separately and came back each time sure of our exclusive right to the berth. Finally I went with the girl to see what was going on. It turned out she was confusing her berth number which was six, for the number on our compartment which was VI. I don't know why she felt my berth was the one in compartment VI she had title to. Anyway I showed her where to go and she didn't show herself again, I think mostly from embarrassment.
There were four other Russians in my compartment, one being a little girl sharing the berth with her mother. I won the little girl over quickly with some cookies I had picked up on the platform. They made no attempt at conversation, which was a relief.
Next: Moscow, Again