Red Dawn in Moscow and St Petersburg
The world continued to pass by the windows of my eyes as I took those first few steps into Moscow central station. Only, instead of the rolling green countryside, here was the bustling capital city of the largest country on the planet, as different from Siberia as Russian roulette is from Blackjack. A heavy rainstorm had just passed, adding a shimmer to the streets and the feeling of discovering civilization anew. Says Ed, “It looks like one giant council estate!” The brick-shaped concrete boxes of soviet social housing did give that impression, and with hundreds of hammer and sickles imprinting themselves into old buildings, signs and monuments, one might think that this was still communist Russia, the other empire. But to answer Sting, the Russians do love their children, and now those children have mobile phones and wear designer jeans.
It is hard to believe that those shambled Siberian wooden villages in the countryside lie inside the same country that once gave the Americans a run for their Cadillacs. How could they ever compete with blonde condo-dwelling cheerleaders on pickup trucks outside their strip malls? Yet in Moscow, the full glory of Mother Russia is on display - a city that cannot help but leave the individual feeling awed at the power of the State. Hence the monuments, statues, and fierce, practical architecture. It feels like you’re living in a powerful empire, an age where anything is possible. At least, these are the things you ponder when you’re drinking too much vodka.
The inner city Metro stations are a good place to start. There is no other major city in the world that can hope to compete. Sure, London’s Jubilee line is the definition of modernity, and Tokyo ticks with punctual slick, but here you have giant chandeliers, mosaic, glass windows, enormous statues, and hand-carved ceilings. Moscow’s subway stations are as opulent as ballrooms, almost distracting from the fact that you’re getting on an underground train to funnel yourself from A to Cyrillic B. Fast-moving industrial elevators descend as far as you can see, with trains braking and accelerating with such force tourists are constantly grabbing onto unimpressed locals to steady themselves. Being high season, tour groups follow their flag-holding leader; train hopping to see each uniquely styled station. Some guy tries to pickpocket Ed, but it’s so obvious he’s better off targeting the Japanese walking around with their hidden money pouches on top of their trousers. Our Honcho, a 19-year-old English student named Natasha (just about every girl I’ve met in Russia is named Natasha) exits us on a main shopping artery. Every brand you can think of here. I remember when Russia got its first McDonalds. It made world news. Today, Moscow resembles any other western European city, which, globalization aside, is preferable to eight-hour lineups for potatoes. Buskers are playing classical music as we walk towards Red Square. It’s just past 10:30pm, but there is still a soft light in the navy sky. I feel the prick of travel buzz. Red Square got its name from the old red stones that used to lie here when it was Moscow’s market square. Long since removed, that fit snuggly with the red-or-dead communists in power. Click-clack, two beautiful girls are wearing high heels, walking up towards the entrance. Click clack click clack and what the hell is that? St Basil’s Cathedral beams ahead like giant ice cream sundaes, striped with raspberry and blueberry swirls. The old state department store is illuminated on the left; Lenin’s squat ruddy-colored mausoleum sits outside the enormous walls of the Kremlin on the right. It’s quite a sight. Some of the historical churches that surround the square were only built in the 1990’s, as Stalin burnt them to down in his purge against religion. Much like I would discover later in St Petersburg, Moscow today looks better than it ever has.
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