Last time we looked at why Alexei Navalny is making headlines across the world for taking chunks out of Putin's legitimacy. Now it seems like everyone is getting in on the act, especially in the wake of the latest affront to the Russian president's manhood...
You may have read or heard about this story (http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-23861707) in which a Russian artist has fled the country when his paintings of Putin in drag were seized by authorities. It's all very 19th century isn't it? Someone scribbling something dirty about the Tsar on a blackboard...
The context for this latest Russian oddity is the horrendous "anti-gay law" that has been on the fringes of the world news agenda over the last few months. The law works by effectively banning all instances of what the Russian state calls"homosexual propaganda" (not a gay, indie, club night) which constitutes anything from open displays of same-sex affection to simply wearing a rainbow flag pin button badge.
(1)
Arguments in favour of the law centre around hackneyed stances on "traditional values and "protecting youth" from being "made gay". It's very sad to see homophobia given legal legitimacy. You can probably tell by all the inverted commas in my text that many of the terms being banded by the lawmakers have no fixed meaning or definition. It is this flexibility that has allowed St Petersburg authorities to raid the artist's collection with, as the BBC article states, "no formal warrant or explanation." AS ALWAYS with this blog I intend to be respectful to Russian opinion and tradition but this one issue makes this a personal, moral conundrum. I'm really struggling. I want to say that Russia has some kind of right to do this kind of thing - it is not Europe, nor Asia, it really is its own master - but this goes beyond my ability to empathise. Many Russian people themselves are gay and no longer safe in their own country. Instances of anti-gay violence are reported as being on the increase.
Part of the reason why Russia has such a negative view of LGBT issues is to do with religion. This is, in all honesty, something that cannot be surmounted easily. If the bible, according to orthodox readings, calls homosexuality a sin, then this is an enormous obstacle that complicates the issue for many believers. This is not a uniquely Russian problem, Catholics who are gay would reach the same religious/personal crisis, but it's taking the next step to actually arresting people that is so worrying. Once again, it is a mixture of nationalism and religious fervour that has lead to a situation where people grow up to believe gays are some kind of threat. It's a cliche and an offense to call Russia "backwards" and I hate myself for doing it, but the whole affair just reeks of Britain in the mid 20th century.
Nikolay Alexeyev - a prominant Russian lawyer and LGBT activist (2)
The Sochi Winter Olympics offers the best chance for the international community to intervene with this law in a meaningful way. As we have seen with the pro-LGBT performances in St Petersburg of artists like Lady Gaga and Madonna, foreign nationals with a high-profile are able to defeat the Russian government's attempts to curb their expressions of gay freedom. Sports stars are not that different and the media spotlight will be on Russia's cultural and social sides for the first time in years.
An Olympic boycott won't happen but going and being openly gay in Russia is becoming increasingly dangerous. Whatever happens Russia is going to be confronted with something that it didn't want to see, something that will hopefully be very glittery, noisy and fabulous.
The only middle-aged Russian that most people in the West would recognise on TV used to be Vladimir Putin, yet, thanks to the proliferation of social media, Alexei Navalny is fast superseding the Russian President's place.
"Just who is Alexei Navalny and why should I care?" - a fair question. Russian politics, a lot of the time, seems very far from our own. Defence is a constant issue in their discourse, nationalism is not treated with the same suspicion as it is here and a topless man riding a horse in a stetson and bad sunglasses is not political suicide. Yet Alexei Navalny is a name that has kept cropping up over the last two years of political protest in Russia and is a name that will surely keep cropping up with every passing controversy.
Action Man? (photo taken under creative commons fromJedimentat44)
In the eyes of Russia's new(ish) middle class Alexei Navalny is the figurehead of legitimate, pro-democratic opposition. A lot of factors have worked in his favour. He's neither a member of the aged Communist Party nor of one of the older, mustier, democratic parties like Yabloko from the days of Yeltsin. His understanding of the power of blogging and clever use of language has earned him a popularity with tech-savvy youth that no Western politician short of Obama, Tom Watson or, perhaps, David Lammy could rival.
In the eyes of the state he is a loud-mouthed, serial-tweeter with a very threatening agenda. For many political cynics his recent sentencing to 5 years in prison for embezzlement seems a little too well-timed and out of character for a man who has been looking to uproot the very same kind of self-serving abuse of power. (http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-europe-23348735)
Alexei Navalny (photo taken under creative commons)
I've written many times on this blog about the image problem faced by the Russian state with regard to its legal matters (1). The feeling that Pussy Riot were the first internationally recognised victims of a new series of show trials is one that has been a constant subtext of Western coverage of Navalny's trial. Yet, as always, reality is far too complex to neatly fit a familiar narrative. We should never fully denounce any court case simply because a political motive can be linked in to its proceedings. That kind of support leads to good people being prepared to make hideous denials of crimes like the controversy surrounding Assange not standing up to accusations of rape because it was assumed to be a set-up.
If all these aforementioned things are part of what defines Alexei Navalny and shapes his context in our world then I have still yet to answer why we should care.
Simply put he is a figurehead for change in a country that is once again showing its significance on the world stage. He is a man who has the potential to push Russian democracy in a new direction and to take steps to outlaw the corruption that seems to have seeped into Putin's Russia. Whether or not Alexei Navalny will make a transition to a position of power he is living proof that Russia is establishing a new class of protest citizen for the digital age, that is, at least, in Moscow where free broadband is readily available and Russians live in relative affluence.
Recently I've noticed a lot of reposts of a 2011 VICE documentary on Russia. It's called "Russia's Deadliest Drug" and looks into how Krokodil, a moon-shined heroin substitute made from over-the-counter drugs and household items, is destroying many lives in Russia's east. The documentary is a kind of follow-up to an investigation the magazine launched into the teenage heroin epidemic in general with a reporter, Alison Severs, being sent to Novokuznetsk in Siberia. (Please be aware this documentary is NSFW and could be considered to show disturbing footage. I have reposted it below, but please be advised it depicts scenes of drug abuse.)
VICE does a pretty good job to raise awareness of the shocking epidemic of krokodil and its effects on Russia as a whole. The human angle on the story is touching and bravely shown with the VICE team being unafraid to approach addicts, follow dealers round an out-of-town market, and enter the premises of the evangelical Christian groups who try and resolve the situation. VICE works most effectively when dealing with these kind of stories. Alison Severs was a great choice of host as, unlike the documentaries hosted by VICE co-founder Shane Smith, (which I must add I am also a fan of - they're well-made and humorous) there was less danger of a big, gonzo-journalistic personality getting in the way of the object. She was a good interpreter for a Western audience. Her stylish clothes contrast interestingly with the decrepit tower blocks and discarded syringes of her surroundings and there is a real sense of her being out of place which added a degree of tension.
As a student of the Russian language I especially appreciated the little things like not dubbing over the interviewees in English. The subtitling and translations seemed fine and the camera-work and editing were intelligent. Especially for the online documentary format a good sense of plotting is highly important. The documentary was logically structured and had great pace.
Only at a few points did the documentary become problematic. A scene in which the camera crew, packed into a tiny LADA, were supposedly followed by Kazakh drug dealers was exciting albeit short in actual evidence. I understand how frightening that must have been for all involved, and am pleased it was left in the final cut, but making accusations of drug-trafficking and linking them to a country is pretty serious. This could almost do with another investigation but VICE seemed more concerned with building a mid-documentary set piece to construct for the trailer. This must be the limit of a magazine like VICE. It is able to produce a short documentary aimed at a young audience and keep it engaging and relateable, but it is ultimately unable to raise awareness of an issue in a fully mature manner. This is where a full BBC or Al-Jazeera investigation would be preferable, picking up where VICE left off or over-simplified.
Still, I like the level of risk taking by VICE reporters. It reminded me of the equally brilliant expose of North Korean labour camps in Russia's Far East that saw Shane Smith and crew having to strike deals with local gangsters to get in and out of forbidden sections of Siberia. (link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=awQDLoOnkdI)
Derelict Building photo: creative commons Denis Defreyne
The conclusions the documentary draws are pretty smart. It shows not only the direct effects of the drugs on users (the famous rotting of the skin that the drug takes its name from) but also on their families and friends. It also shows other social problems that begin to appear around cases of extreme substance abuse. Prostitution, at one point intimated as child prostitution, is supposedly stumbled upon by the filmmakers.
The terrifying reality for many Russians living outside of the relatively privileged "Okrugs" of European Russia is that the government seems to be doing very little to combat this epidemic and these social issues. The Kremlin often seems more wrapped up in pushing bizarre anti-gay laws and hosting competitions and sporting events than improving the lives of its citizens. Russians in the documentary blame corruption but there is a sense of neutrality and the documentary goes some way to show how hard it is for the Russian authorities. Not only do they have to fight the influx of opiates from an unpoliceable southern border but they also have to vie for power with the myriad of strange religious groups that take in addicts in the guise of rehab clinics. It is sad from both an Athiest or Christian background that the only way out seems to be through a cult.
With times still tough for foreign charities and aid to get into Russia to offer help, this is an often ignored and serious issue that some of our media's mainstream papers and TV stations simply have no time or space on the news agenda to cover.
(thanks to Fiona Potter for bringing this to my attention. Read more of Fiona at her blog: http://thulefiona.blogspot.co.uk/)
Apologies for not logging in for a while; life has been
hectic to say the least. I’m back and studying at Oxford, interning in the
media and trying to get my head around how darn cold its getting. You’d have
though after a year in Russia I’d be a boss at dealing with this now, but I’m
as red-cheeked and blustered as ever…
All has been quiet on the Eastern Front, or at least that’s
how it seems in the British Press. In the wake of all the shouting about Pussy
Riot the only people still making noise seem to be Anti Flag frontman Justin
Sane on twitter (@justinsanesolo) and occasional yelps from NME. My Russian
room-mate informs me that things are pretty quiet opposition-wise and pieces
about “no show revolutions” are appearing in the papers. With the first of the
protests beginning about a year ago today, it’s a wonder where all the rage has
gone.
News today that the still-incarcerated Maria Alyokinha faces
further punishment for “failing to wake up” reads like bad Russian
stereotyping: http://www.themoscowtimes.com/news/article/jailed-pussy-riot-rocker-faces-punishment-for-failing-to-wake-up/472541.html.
Even sadder are the sporadic and continued reports of the homophobic and
disgusting laws against “homosexual propaganda” being brought against people as
well-known as Madonna. Just think about it, a law is being manipulated to
include talking openly about homosexuality as a criminal offence, all under the
guise of patriotism and protecting the next generation.
Campaigns are beginning to attempt to boycott the upcoming
Sochi 2014 Winter Olympics because of issues like this. Whether they will
succeed or not looks doubtful.
Some positive news from Russia is that Putin has signed a
new law to ease Visa processes for foreign workers heading to help out in the
games. Russia’s condemnation of North Korea’s missile programme is also a
welcome sign that Russian defence policy is not always obsessed with looking westwards.
That’s all for now folks. The blog is still running,
although in conjunction with many, many other projects.
Rob attempts an appraisal of issues surrounding the modern Russian Orthodox Church...
There is something gleefully Father Ted about the story of the intoxicated Russian priest
crashing an ambassadorial BMW in Moscow the other day. (http://www.themoscowtimes.com/news/article/clergyman-crashes-sports-car-with-maltese-diplomatic-plates/466547.html)
While the official story of what happened is pending an internal investigation,
there is a sense of supreme irony hanging in the air, especially with the news
that Russian deputy Prime Minister, Vladislav Surkov, has just been appointed
the Orthodox church’s new PR man.
It’s not been a great year for the Orthodox Church in
general. A few months ago Patriarch Kirill, the spiritual head of the church,
was caught up in a row involving a disappearing watch from one of his press
shots. The watch, a lavish Breguet costing between 28 and 36 thousand euros, was
edited off of his holy wrist, but was caught reflecting in the polished surface
of a table to the embarrassment of his press department.
(1)Moscow's Cathedral of Christ the Saviour - scene of the "Pussy Riot"
A distinctly less funny episode in the church’s recent
history is the on-going trial of Pussy Riot – the Russian punk band/
feminist-political art group. Their performance, a warning to the church not to
get too comfortably in bed with current government, has been portrayed as a
near satanic act. Kremlin spin doctors are attempting to enrage Russia’s huge
Christian population and cast the band as enemies of Christianity. The
trumped-up charges of religious hatred are an obscenity and can only damage the
Church’s reputation under western eyes.
(2)Patriarch Kirill (right)
The appointment of Surkov, to sort out the Church’s dreadful
image, is itself indicative that the Russian government is worried about this.
The Orthodox Church has always been closely linked to Russian patriotic feeling,
after all, it’s a uniquely Russian faith. Thus, chaining it closely to a
government is to essentially put Christian voters into a difficult position.
Russian Christians are right to be outraged at religious hatred, but with Pussy
Riot this is clearly not the case. Russian Christians need to understand that
spirituality exists beyond earthly politics and should equally abhor any
attempt to lock their faith to a regime. Pussy Riot don’t hate Jesus and aren’t sluts from the pit. Their performance inside the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour was pure
provocation and probably pretty insulting but it was not an act of arson or vandalism – it should be
forgiven and not result in a jail sentence. Surely religion should only be used as a force for good?
Oh dear, well if there is one other religious organisation that knows a
lot about bad PR, it’s the Catholic Church. This week, although seeing a
scandal involving a Papal butler, sees the current Pope making significant
motions towards reforming policy on birth control. Surkov is not facing a
particularly easy job, especially in the wake of Father Jack’s drunken joy
ride, but the problems he faces are surely not as large as those that the
Vatican has been dealing with. The good that needs to come from this should not
only be justice for Pussy Riot but also justice for Russia’s Christians who, at
the moment, are being cast in the same unfortunately negative light as their church – old
fashioned, choking on wealth and at the disposal of a controversial government.
IMAGES: (1) Courtesy of Argenberg, taken under creative commons (2) Courtesy of acor-cannes, taken under creative commons
“Put your hands up!” said the
large, naked man to my right.
“Good!’ he said and began
pummelling me from behind with a birch branch.
I was, of course, in the “banya”
or Russian bathhouse - a tradition as old as the hills and a true test for any
traveller. Upon paying the chain smoking old man at the door for a two hour
time slot, my Russian flatmate instructed me that now was the time for full
frontal nudity. You can’t wear swimming shorts in the banya. Well you can but
then everyone will paradoxically laugh at you.
It is somewhat similar to a
Finnish sauna although far warmer. After toasting yourself for several minutes
(I think I managed no more than 7 or 8 at a time) you either leap into a
freezing pool of water or roll in the snow. The birch or oak branch beating is
optional. I chose to do this partly out of my adventurous spirit and partly out
of fear that the burly men around me would call me a coward. My being English
was a subject of discussion and much amusement. There was nothing sinister about
it; it is simply rare for the banya regulars to meet a foreigner this far off
the Moscow tourist trail.
Once I had overcome the
conservative attitude towards nudity that we seem to have in Britain I found my
time there to be quite enjoyable. As well as the birch beating you get treated
to two other Russian sauna oddities – felt hats, used to keep the heat away
from your head, and large gulps of a drink called Kvass: a kind of lightly
fermented beer that tasted like life itself in my dehydrated state.
You see some pretty grizzly
stuff in the banya and end up feeling pretty weak from the constant hot-cold,
hot-cold cycle, but you leave the banya feeling completely reborn. My roommate
claims that a trip once a week will keep cold and flu away for life and to an extent
I believe him.
There is something very Classical
about the whole set up. Even in this “working man’s” banya it felt as much a
cultural ritual as a medical one. It was
even bordering on being a social event or rite of passage - a man inducted his
eight year old son to the tradition while I was there. As he withstood his
first minute of blazing heat, knees shaking under the sweaty intensity, a
rapturous applause erupted from everyone.
“He’ll be drinking his first
beer soon!” a man joked.
I left with the sense that I
have at last taken part in something truly Russian and something that I would
cautiously recommend any adventurous traveller or slavophile to do. Ideally go
with friends and go the whole hog the only thing you need to bring is a pair of
flip flops…
The protesters on the other side of the river threw another riot police helmet into the murky water. An enormous cheer rose up from the crowd and I found myself joining in. I covered my mouth immediately. Oh good lord!" I thought, "I, a foreigner, cannot possibly be seen to get involved in this!" This is not directly my fight, but nonetheless, Moscow, my home for the next 3 months, is a bit of a battleground at the moment and I am somewhat in the thick of it.
Communist Party and "Leftist Front" flags as the protest built up
In going to observe the so-called "March of Millions" protest against the inauguration of Vladimir Putin as the country's new president, I had accidentally ended up a part of the protest. I watched from behind the front row as Police dragged Udaltsov and Navalny (two "leaders" of the opposition movement) off of the stage literally seconds into their speeches. Having distanced myself to the other side of the river, where I considered myself to be a safe distance from the actual, political action, I was suddenly aware of the large column of riot police marching facelessly towards the crowd gathered around me.
They rounded the corner and bore down on us. Despite having been given the official go-ahead, this protest, and anyone simply watching from the sidelines, was being broken up forcefully. "The allotted time for this event has passed," a Police announcer spoke, "Kindly leave the streets by the nearest metro." Before I knew it a line of more vehement protesters had began to charge the police, batons were drawn and scraps broke out. A man was hit with a baton. A policeman stumbled over a dustbin. People around me started to run. The crowd was made up of many different people: the middle-aged, the middle-class, the elderly, parents with their children and a lot of youths who really didn't want to see any violence. It was a shame that anyone had to get hurt; protesters or police. The image portrayed by certain television stations of the protesters being violent yobs paid for by NATO is both ridiculous and uninformed. The image portrayed by the protesters of the police being bloodthirsty and mismanaged is equally askew at times.
Riot Police blocking off the Kremlin (St Basil's in the background)
Needless to say there was not bloodshed or rioting on an epic scale. Protesters, including one extremely enraged babushka, drummed and tore up some corrugated-iron scaffolding, but on the whole the conduct of the police and protesters was not disproportionately savage. Eventually the police herded us towards the metro and the crowd broke up. I left the area quickly not wanting to risk accidental arrest. There was an ugly rumour going around all day of the police being given an arrest quota to act as a fear tactic with officers simply picking up anyone they could lay a hand on easily. I hope this is untrue.
The impression I have now is that Moscow, backed by new protest movements from Astrakhan and St Petersburg, is a city given another shot at a Spring-time rebellion. Tonight, all over Moscow, people are desperately trying to occupy squares and boulevards to prolong the action. The warm weather is on their side. As a foreigner, I know better than to get involved directly, and, as always, my opinion on this blog is something to be kept veiled. All I can conclude is that there is a deep and mostly peaceful unrest here, but things are getting more and mores desperate as well, on both sides of the political line.
So there I was, falling asleep on top of my suitcase on the Aeroexpress train from Moscow Domodedevo Airport to Paveletsky Station. I'd been up since 2am. (British time) I needed either coffee or sleep. I had no idea what to do when the train journey ended. It was supposedly -19...
Outside the window was a rush of slush and snow and the snowy trees of a scraggy forest. The carriage was populated with several suntanned Russians returning from some far-off island holiday and heavily drinking the rum they'd bought as a souvenir. A little boy pretending to be a soldier kept opening and closing the carriage doors. Each time he did this the compartment was filled with icy blasts of air. Come to think of it he is probably the only reason I didn't fall asleep completely.
45 minutes later I dragged myself and my case up the platform and into the metro below the station. I took it all the way to the stop closest to my hostel and retraced my novemeber steps along Kuznetskaya Ulitsa. Soon I found myself collapsing in the reception of the hostel that i'd visited with Jaya, Marilyn and Alex last year. (See this post: http://fromrussiawithrob.blogspot.com/2011/11/episode-18-part-one-moscow-hostels.html )
This time, however, I wasn't inserted next to the builders in a bottom-floor room and instead found myself in a perfectly reasonable single on the upper floors of the hostel. Venturing to this previously unknown quarter of the building I found myself staring at endless pictures of Marilyn Monroe that adorned every wall and flat surface. At first I thought this was a symptom of my tiredness but it seems that, before the current overhaul, this part of the hostel was a separate hotel know as "Marilyn Hostel" It's almost borderline obsessive decor plasters images of the 50's superstar nearly everywhere. Their rigid adherence to their scheme stretches as far as the toilets which also don't escape her stare and cheeky smile - oi, what you looking at! Luckily the shower cubicles are her biggest blind spot so for a few minutes a day I can escape this bizarre big brother. After a night's sleep I got used to it and in fact find it a little disappointing that the staff aren't dressed like the cast of "Grease".
A cool bookshelf for guests to swap literature (and, of course, Marilyn pics)
The next afternoon (I slept til 2pm) I took a walk out in the freezing temperatures towards Red Square and the Kremlin. I bought a brunch in a coffee house and began to relax and acclimatize. It only feels truly cold here when you're walking into a breeze or taking your gloves off to use a phone or fumble for change. By far the biggest annoyance is slush. This muddy matter clings to boot tread and delights in coating the ends of your trousers or flicking up the legs as your walk. Muscovites, as far as I can tell, have some inert ability to wear whatever they like and pass through it unsoiled and composed. The day I stop walking round the city looking at my feet will probably be the day I finally blend in.
Home base for the next few days
So much still to do over the next few days! I need to get registered with the paper, view apartments and hopefully prolong my stay in the hotel until I am able to move in somewhere. It's been months of frantic organising to even get myself this far and with the end just about in sight i'm unsure whether it's frustration or excitement that I feel. Nonetheless, the boy is back in town.
final part of my travels chaps, thanks for reading all the way!
We confused the hell out of the compartment conductor by doing an Andrei impression when he asked us if we were British:
“Dah! Koneshhnoh!” we groaned in unison causing the poor man to stare perplexingly at us.
After face-palming our idiocy, we settled down for the night train from Moscow to Veliki Novgorod and tried to get some sleep. We were on our way to one of the major, ancient cities of Russia and a place of learning and religious mysticism. We slept not really knowing what to expect. The strangely negative Lonely Planet section described it as “a bit of a backwater” and out initial impressions upon arrival at pitch-black 6am were equally as frosty.
The Old Kremlin of Novgorod
We didn’t know if we should check-in at our hostel or hit a cafe and turn up in daylight. We stumbled, sleepily and weighed-down into the 24 hour cafe at the station and immediately froze in terror. Despite the bizarre hour, the place was packed and stacked with kebab-eating, drunk Russian men who, with gaping jaws looked at us through the sizzling heat of a grill. Silence descended menacingly over the plastic table tops. The smell of greasy meat seemed to be say “ooh foreign tourists, maybe we could relieve these good people of their bags and wallets.” We backed out sharpish and tumbled into a taxi.
Arriving at our hotel, we were confronted by another drunken group of men, this time arguing with the reception staff. After attracting a lot of attention from them with our accents we eventually procured our key and locked ourselves in for a four hour nap, finally safe from the drunken denizens of Novgorod.
We awoke and realised how small the town was instantly: we could walk to the historical centre in 10 minutes. After fortifying ourselves in a cafe that played some awesome 80’s music (well I like Laura Brannigan – google “self control” TUNE!) we stood awe struck looking at the beautiful kremlin that is the main attraction of the town. It easily gives the red Kremlin of Moscow a run for its money and houses the beautiful Cathedrals and churches of the ancient city. We wondered around inside a few of these and received an impromptu religious lecture from a very friendly, slightly crazy curator. Our Russian-university, student cards were incredibly handy in this town as they guaranteed us free entry to everything. We then visited the
Cathedral of St Sophia and saw the monument to one thousand years of the Russian people – a beautiful giant, ceremonial bell (see right) with intricate carvings of scenes from Russian history.
After taking in our fill of culture we collapsed in a local bakery/cafe where we sampled some of the most affordable and tasty Russian pastries of all time. We loved it so much that we figured we’d use it as a base for the next and final day, when we would have to be up until 2am to catch our final train. The rest of the day was spent looking for places near the train station that were open long enough to crash in until we could board the train. We discovered a brilliant little restaurant and the local cinema which, to our blessing, had an odd 11 30 pm showing of the new “Tin Tin” film that ended 30 mins before our train was due to leave!
Me on the river
We think there was a rodent in our room, but nonetheless slept well. On our last day we wondered the lovely, clean and cultured town once more and went to see the famous “birch-wood manuscripts” – some of the earliest examples of Russian writing. Reading the modern Russian translations we inferred that several of them were cooking recipes and many were humorous letters from different people to one another. They all began with the same phrase “Poklon ot” which roughly translates as something like “With bows of respect from...” so we figured they were kind of like a greetings cards from medieval Russia!
Staring madly at my Grape Gateaux
Eventually the evening came and we had a slap-up meal in the same restaurant as the first night as it was near the cinema and we had all of our heavy luggage with us. As a treat, we hit a really pricey cafe for last-night desserts (see picture) and found that we had a whole cinema to ourselves to enjoy “Tin Tin”. This was the best, most eccentric way to end the trip and after boarding the train at 2am we soon drifted off and woke up again in Petrozavodsk, refreshed from the road and reminded of how much we love studying this wonderful, diverse country and rich culture.
“Nyet!” said the scary Russian police lady. “You need to leave all bags and cameras in the museum before queuing up here!” We shuffled off heads bowed in shame. Of course it was high time to visit Lenin in his mausoleum on Red Square and I got everybody out of bed with a rousing speech about the joys of visiting a dead communist! Jovial tone aside, the tomb and embalmed body of Lenin is surely a candidate for one of the wonders of the world, especially to an amateur history buff like me, so let me explain a moment...Not only is it a testament to human achievement (the mummification of a body to a level in which it can be viewed) but also the architecture and eerie atmosphere of the place gives a real sense that “here lies one of the most significant shapers of the modern world, don’t stare, keep quiet, pay your respects and move on.”
Lenin's Mausoleum on Red Square
Sure enough, the guards inside the tomb quickly moved us through with snaps of their fingers and hisses for disrespectful, noisy tourists to be. Apart from the charge of leaving your bag (roughly 60 roubles) this is a free attraction and also includes a walk around the back of the tomb, under the Kremlin walls, where many other famous heroes of the revolution lie. Someone still puts flowers on these graves, someone still puts flowers on Stalin’s...
The grave of Anton Chekhov
Not quite having our fill of death for one weekend, we took a metro trip to ‘Novodechivy Cemetary‘ (the Moscow equivalent of the ‘Père Lachaise Cemetary’ in Paris) where many famous Russians are buried. We managed to find the grave of Chekhov, Mayakovsky, Khrushchev and Yeltsin yet were disappointed by the poor map of the graveyard which did not lead us to where Gogol and Bulgakov are supposed to lie. Nevermind! Have to come back when i’m living there in January! This cemetery was again a free attraction and certainly should be on the list of things to do for literary and history fans visiting the city.
Our final major visit was to the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour which, after being destroyed and turned into an open-air swimming pool by Stalin, now dominates the skyline as a national icon of the Orthodox Church. It is truly lavish and a contrast to the grim, candlelit interior of St Basils. It reminded me of the Vatican and was awe-inspiring.
We had plenty of time left to kill before our 9 o clock train to Veliki Novgorod so we chilled out in a cafe on the beloved Arbat and passed a pleasant afternoon in high-spirited debate about pretty much everything:corporate greed (ironic as we were sat in a McKafe), pro-wrestling, Beyonce vs Rihanna, the state of the UK, the state of Russia, the upcoming elections and the American education system. ..
This leads me to say a simple thank you to Alex, Jaya and Marilyn who made a good trip great. Travelling with you was a joy and I really hope we can the chance to reunite one day for other adventures.
Alex and I kicking back in Mckafe
Concluding episode on Veliki Novgorod will be out soon! (I will eventually have this all written up!)
The next day we rose late and seriously enjoyed the lie in. I mercifully leant on the snooze button with all my might until eventually we decided it was high time to crawl our way to Moscow’s biggest souvenir and Soviet Kitsch market at Lamailovo. Arriving at our destination we were somewhat dismayed by the very few stores that are open at this time of year. The market is vast, and I assume that at a weekend during peak season it must be atmospheric and buzzing. However, the traders on that particular day could not really be bothered...
Hunting for the perfect Matroshka...
They smoked and shuffled their feet. They didn’t chase sales. They didn’t push their goods. They didn’t rush after us screaming and yelling about roubles and kopecks. In hindsight this may have been a good thing, but at the time, the long metro journey seemed a little empty. Still, we got stuck in and did our best to barter our way to lower prices for the things we wanted. It was great to know that after researching, we were buying cheaper and smarter than in the Arbat shops from the night before.
Bear in mind this is not always the case and if you are travelling with no idea of prices or no knowledge of Russian you may want to stick to souvenir shops. I toyed with the idea of buying a smallish banner of Lenin from the market and was told it cost 3000 roubles (about £60). I had no idea of the price but being familiar with what things should be worth I told the man he was obviously joking and walked off. I would have bartered but he didn’t follow me. Later in the day I found the same lanyard in a shop on the Arbat for 900 roubles (still too much for what it was) and then felt rather smug...Nonetheless, we all left the market with shorter Christmas lists and heavier rucksacks...
State History Museum
Finally we were able to get into the state history museum on Red Square! Today it was open and sidling in we took full advantage of the student discount with our Russian student cards. This museum was a joy to walk around, especially the upper floors which chart Russian history from Ivan the Terrible to the Revolution. The lower floors contain an average exhibition on Russian pre-history and ancient tribes that is quite dull except for an amazingly old boat that was found in a river. Much better exhibitions on this can be found in Karelia and Veliki Novgorod, but those are other stories...
Tired after another day’s adventuring we frequented our favourite subterranean supermarket for nibbles and I got it into my head to buy a bottle of vodka for the road. I felt that i’d like to sip a little each day to keep off the cold and picked a brand that i’d heard good things about “Putinka” (correct me if i’m wrong). Everything seemed fine until we got back to the room and popped the cap... Turns out that, instead of having a screw-top this was a single-use bottle of vodka. Oh the disappointment was written across my face as I realised that i’d either have to down the lot or pour it away... still it only cost me £2-50 so it wasn’t a major loss. In conclusion, in Russia everything that is good for you costs and lot and everything that is bad for you is very cheap! Gosh!
hats off to anyone who gets the movie reference, boo and go watch it to those who don't
Thus continue Rob's adventures in Moscow:
GUM department store on Red Square
We rose after a long hibernation and crawled our way to Red Square again. We tried to get into the State History Museum but fell foul to bizarre Russian opening times and had to make do with exploring GUM and looking for a part of Moscow known as “Kitai Gorod” (which means "China Town" although is actually a mistranslation) According to Lonely Planet this is the GREATEST PLACE ON EARTH full of narrow streets, a gripping atmosphere and a vibrant cultural mix. We either failed miserably at navigation or found a string of unhelpful Muscovites to ask for directions from as when we finally entered the supposed area we were madly unimpressed. The supposed “narrow streets” must only have been narrow by Moscow standards (e.g. two lanes of traffic not eight) and in truth we never really felt the character of the place. It seemed like a string of restaurants offering Sushi or Arabic cuisine, a Mcdonalds and Starbucks. Very meh. Defeated, we ate in a Russian, fast-food cafe, drinking Kvass (Russian bread beer) and planning how to get to Sparrow Hills for a stroll above the city that would hopefully reinvigorate us.
We met up with Jaya’s hostess’s granddaughter (yet another Sasha to add to our collection) at Sparrow Hills metro station and took a long stroll around the imposing state university that dominates this part of the skyline. Built as one of Stalin’s “Seven Sisters”, the university is one of the best in Russia and is characteristic of Soviet neo-classical and “wedding cake” architecture. In my opinion it is also absolutely terrifying. Even more so than the gargoyles of Oxford colleges and St John’s porters....
We then took a long trip on the Moscow metro to get back into town. Sasha wished to take us to the Tretyakov Art Gallery – Moscow’s equivalent of the Hermitage in St Petersburg and a pilgrimage for lovers of Russian art and culture. We were not disappointed. Several hours were easily filled here looking at some of Russia’s most famous portraits and landscapes. Unfortunately the cloak-room staff and security guards were a little too self-important and snooty which somewhat soured our impression at first, yet overall, the majesty of the place and the calibre of the collection won us all over. My favourite works were probably those of Vrubel who I would now rank as one of my favourite artists (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mikhail_Vrubel) although I really enjoyed the portraits of famous Russian authors, a lot of which are reproduced on the backcovers of the editions of their works that I read at uni.
Taking a break in McCafe (don't judge us!)
It was with aching feet and sore eyes that we ended up deflated and in need of food, our brains swelling with stirring images from Russia’s cultural past. Sasha suggested we should try to eat at Moo Moo’s on the Arbat (Moscow’s most famous street) as not only was the food good, but the atmosphere of this part of town would make up for the Kitai Gorod disappointment.
Agreeing we parted ways and plummeted again through Moscow’s beautiful metro to the Arbat station – possibly one of the prettiest stops – and in no time we were queuing up for a mega buffet of Russian, edible goodness. I highly recommend Moo Moo as a stop for travellers and tourists wishing to eat things a la Russe and the two outlets on the Arbat are probably the most comfortable and convenient. After eating we strolled up and down researching souvenir prices in the obviously expensive stores that line the streets. The Arbat is something of a "Las Ramblas" for anyone who has been to Barcelona and also has its share of street entertainers. We easily killed another hour here and returned contented to our hostel for more sleep – we were still dead on our feet from the gallery.
Posing with the Moo Moo cow on the Arbat
More really soon, probably tomorrow as I need to get this all written up :)
Oh would that I had a smart phone so that I could have better kept my word and filled you in from the road dear reader! Or rather not, because I was having far too much fun to write blog-posts! So stop complaining! Jeez!
Bags all packed!
Of course we arrived a little heady and tired-eyed into Leningrad Station (also known by its old name Oktyabersky Vokzal as our confusing train tickets taught us) and dropped our bags underneath the giant Lenin head in the entrance hall. The train journey was pretty good. Alex took a fantastic photo of me cramming a bun into my mouth but unfortunately his camera went missing later in the trip...(that’s another story.) Spending the night in the platzkart (cheapest) carriage was pretty much ok. We were not robbed or murdered. We did not encounter “bizarre people” as one of our university teachers guaranteed. Our conductor was pleasant and once the large lady sat opposite us stopped snoring we were able to shut our eyes and drift away into sleep as the Karelian forests dwindled outside the window...
We knew we were in expensive, metropolitan Moscow because all of a sudden all the toilets cost 20 roubles a go and in every direction we were confronted by H&M and Zara advertising. The pavements were clean and unbroken. People from various ethnic groups cropped up all over the place. The tang of a nearby Mcdonalds drifted over the streets. Yes still Russia, but sadly a lot more like anywhere else in the world.
A gorgeous fountain in the 'Alexandrovsky Sad'
The Moscow metro was our first port of call and we easily navigated our way to “Okhotni Ryad” which was the station nearest our hostel. Our eyes opened wide as we emerged onto street level and came face to face with not only the newly-opened Bolshoi Theatre but also with the State Duma (parliament) and the red walls of the Kremlin. Who knew the main attractions were so close together! The sun was shining, we were in high spirits and I didn’t even need my mittens! Moscow grasped us immediately and the brief illusion that we were in any-old, global city was shattered by the red Russification of those searing onion domes.
"rising majestically" (ignore the manhole)
We found the hostel no problem, tucked in an alley near the Armenian Embassy annex. The friendly reception staff adored our fragrantly accented Russian and showed us the windy, confusing route to our room. Our four- bed dorm was nestled under several flights of stairs and the neighbouring rooms were being renovated by a gang of sketchy builders smoking, swearing and loitering in the hostel. Their sleazy sneers and loud protestations made our first trip to the showers a little tentative but hey we’re young and pretty aren’t we? Nothing to be ashamed of and no awkward towel slippages... So yes we felt a little uneasy at first but had a prime location near the communal kitchen and showers and our door had a decent double-lock so we soon settled in.
After taking a short break to wash ourselves up and wipe the sleepydust from our eyes we hit Red Square – a candidate for the country's greatest icon- and were greeted by the stunning St Basil’s Cathedral rising majestically on the skyline. It was our very own Virginia Woolf "moment of being" but we couldn't shake the gruesome story that Ivan the Terrible, according to legend, blinded the architect who built it so that he could never design anything more awe-inspiring. As always I find myself returning to my philiosophy that no matter how beautiful or crazy Russia seems it will never, ever be boring!
More really really soon. (no, really. I’m not having you on anymore)
Oh so much to let you all know and so little time! Instead of writing up all my adventures now, hurriedly and without photos, I have decided to wait until I am back in PTZ (what the cool kids call it) where I can upload at my leisure and put my thoughts in order. For now, click the link on the right to find my twitter page where I'll be keeping you all updated, as usual, with weird thoughts from the road.
Basically get ready for one massive episode when I get back featuring waxwork communists, looking like Gogol, haggling with bored market traders, looking for a curry, taking "shocked face" photos in Red Square, giant cleaning ladies and the super rich...oh Moscow.
"So what is it that you wanted from me?" he asked earnestly after my inane and slurry introduction. "Oh nothing really," I replied "we've just had a few beers..."
I did not intend to write anything until I was within the walls of the Kremlin, but tonight, dear reader, I am compelled to share. On a celebratory binge with some good friends in "Kafe Kirvach", the conversation moved to the notion that the world is often far smaller than it seems. Little did we know how truly and completely we were going to illustrate this idiom.
Sasha began telling an anecdote about how, even in a city the size of Moscow two people can end up living in the buildings next to each other, as was the case for one of his friends, a British journalist. I took another sip of beer and then added my own story to the mix. I spoke of how the best friend of my dentist in sleepy little Devon presented a documentary about Karelia that I watched to prepare for my year abroad. I mentioned also that he was British journalist living in Moscow and that I had gotten to know him through e-mail while looking for an apartment in Moscow. Sasha's eyes lit up as the crushing irony hit. These people were somehow one and the same.
With this stunning and almost uncanny revelation the entire table burst out laughing to the point of tears and we were nigh unapproachable for over ten minutes. The staff looked askew at us, wondering how so many people could act so tipsy after so few beers. Never in my life has something so bizarrely coincidental occurred. It was, for those long minutes, as if all the stars were in alignment. As if god had suddenly found a sense of humour.
Naturally we did the sensible thing and drunk called said journalist in Moscow to tell him what had happened, blatantly interrupting whatever he was up to at the time. Suddenly the phone was thrust at me and in my own special awkward way, I spoke to "Mr Brown"( who found my politeness hilarious in hindsight) and tried not to let the beer get to me...somewhat unsuccessfully as the opening quotation will have you realise.
"Aha!"
said the security guard, reaching into my satchel and grasping my asthma inhaler. The smile of satisfaction at actually having done something soon left his face when I explained it was for my mild lung condition and not some fancy, foreign drug-taking paraphernalia or home-made, tear-gas canister. He then asked me to stand like a scarecrow and thoroughly patted me down for "sharp objects" that I might have been carrying. In all honesty I was a little bit miffed. Especially considering we were going to a low division football match between two relatively unknown teams. Especially considering it was bloody freezing, and especially considering how madly intimidating the huge police presence was.
Hopefully the only time I'll be behind bars in Russia
I don't know how much of a problem football hooliganism is in Russia. I can only assume it is considerable. I do know that, in this instance, there were more police than players on the pitch. They looked dead bored. They walked up and down kicking their heels, hands touching their batons in agitation. I wasn't sure if they were hoping something would kick-off (excuse the pun) or whether they just wanted to get off duty as fast as possible and into the bar. Needless to say this was a lot different from seeing Torquay United play at Plainmoor, which can be intimidating for a lot of other reasons.
The game itself was quite enjoyable. Smolensk dominated the first half and scored the only goal of the match. FC Karelia, despite losing half of their home audience at half-time, played a much stronger second half. More football-minded friends informed me that the level of football was nowhere near the level of the equivilent English league. "Fair play" I shivered, content simply with the novelty of watching a match in Northern Russia.
The game was free although I did treat myself to an FC Karelia football scarf for 250 roubles which makes a nice souvenir. They were being sold by a freezing cold, but very cheerful girl in a kind of tent outside the stadium. Why she couldn't have been inside one of the stadiums buildings I have no idea. The walk to this merch stand wasn't far but obviously meant another pat down session with Russian security. This time, my guard of choice took a particular disliking to my selection of pens and fumbled each one before deciding they weren't a threatening weapon and chose to pat me down again looking for "sharp things". I sighed and succumbed to the search, trying to make myself feel like a suave secret agent instead of an uncomfortable, twice-molested foreigner...
We awoke and realised how small the town was instantly: we could walk to the historical centre in 10 minutes. After fortifying ourselves in a cafe that played some awesome 80’s music (well I like Laura Brannigan – google “self control” TUNE!) we stood awe struck looking at the beautiful kremlin that is the main attraction of the town. It easily gives the red Kremlin of Moscow a run for its money and houses the beautiful Cathedrals and churches of the ancient city. We wondered around inside a few of these and received an impromptu religious lecture from a very friendly, slightly crazy curator. Our Russian-university, student cards were incredibly handy in this town as they guaranteed us free entry to everything. We then visited the 
