The train to Moscow was very comfortable, though I caught a bit of a sore throat. We had our compartment mostly to ourselves and the journey was just a bit more than overnight. In keeping with the general Russian theme we arrived around sunrise and braced ourselves.
I had studied Russian language and culture for a while, and something I had seen over and over was that Moscow was not a fun place. From the man at the embassy to our hostel mate in Yekaterinburg, I had been told I would have no fun. But Moscow was beginning to shine in the morning sunlight. As a capital city it was enormous, and just getting to the hostel brought us past three or four incredibly large buildings. Architecture ranged from 1940s New York to big wide Soviet glass and concrete blocks.
Our hostel was right next to Red Square and even closer to the Lenin Library. But the staff seemed not to be feeling the communal spirit and wouldn't let us occupy our room until later. This didn't change the general plan much, so we dropped off our bags and walked. Adding on to our head start from sunrise, we walked another 30 miles or so that day from corner to corner of the city and back. What we saw was far from the dismal description I had been given, rather, the city was clean, full of art installations, and vibrant. There was even a whole section of skyscrapers, cordoned off on their own little island of high-powered business deals. Unfortunately the Russians were less welcoming than the Chinese and we weren't allowed to the tops of any of them.
During the day of walking we went back to the train station and bought a ticket to Riga, Latvia - for the wrong day. Upon discovering this in the evening we decided to kick our habit of wandering around and throw regular tourism into high gear. That night we made a list of museums and attractions that would please even my dad, noted trip-planning enthusiast.
We aimed for Red Square first. It was easy enough to find, and then by joining a group of Chinese tourists we got in line for something unknown. Within a minute or so it became clear: we were accidentally visiting Lenin's mausoleum. The Chinese tourists bowed to the body three times out of respect, but I was more transfixed with how small he looked. The line was kept moving constantly and soon we were out in the sunlight again, laughing after noticing the big sign we had been standing under that read "to the mausoleum."
Next was the museum of Soviet arcade machines, which was just what it sounds like. All the machines were in working order, though that didn't mean it was easy to win. The ingenious yet clumsy analog controls combined with a general habit of older games being difficult meant every game was diabolically hard. I enjoyed the two player games: strange foosball variations of basketball and hockey. There was a little library on the second floor with dusty Soviet magazines, a sort of parallel to old Analog issues.
We kept going on the pedestrian street Arbat until a small bookstore caught my eye. Inside I browsed art books until sufficiently rested and inspired, then crossed the street to a small gallery. The receptionist noticed that we cheapskates were wrestling with the idea of paying any admission at all, so with a wink she let us in for free. It was a wide and open space whose main exhibit was a series on typography and logo design. Much of it reminded me of things I had seen back at school, in the library or in the school's gallery.
We set out for Gorky Park, and once there played a brief bit of outdoor chess (Western this time instead of Chinese) on the type of jumbo board for which I have always had a weakness. Then we went to the Garage, a new and trendy modern art museum that would not look out of place in Amsterdam or San Francisco. The number of exhibits was pretty low but they had a lot of critique and interpretation about each piece, as well as all relevant text in Russian Sign Language on a monitor. Auberon chatted to one of the docents as I lost myself in huge and expensive coffee-table books on photography.
Since the train to Riga didn't leave until the evening and we had accidentally booked a day extra at the hostel, the following day was another excellent one where we didn't have to carry our bags. It rained on and off, and I went off on my own as Auberon explored with his new friend from the museum. I popped into the very large gold-domed church (I've got to start remembering these names) and then to an excellent little photography gallery. By way of return I went to the Lenin library, which I wholly misunderstood. It seemed to be entirely reading rooms and no actual books, though it was enormous. Plus the entrance was under construction, so I had to do a lap around the block to find it. But in the end I got another cool ID card.
I met back with Auberon and we headed off to the train station, hoping that I had correctly used the ticket machine and our expensive new tickets were for the right place.
Pictured: Moscow sunrise, a tasty brunch, the church, and chess in the park.
No comments:
Post a Comment