By Fionn Rogan
(Seen wearing a Moscow Metro t-shirt in Galway, Limerick & Dublin)
Our plane touched down, bumped a bit, loudly braked and slowly taxied up to the terminal of Sheremetyevo airport. Aeroflot had safely delivered its passengers into the airport. Next came an extended hour of baggage reclaim, long airport corridors and a tension filled visa control port. It was wearisome. We came out of the arrivals gate tired and exhausted. Fortunately Marks father Dennis was collecting us. This meant we could sidestep the eager army of taxi drivers targeting city centre bound passengers.
As we drove across town, I watched the land outside. Every physical surface was white and showing off the cold. Gardens were packed deep in snow, the roads were thick with slush, Mockva River was heavily frozen over and any building edges had advanced formations of icicles hanging from them. Dennis warned me of the perils of standing close to any high rise buildings. Every year, around 10 people are killed after being speared by falling icicles. We passed a stern, grey office block where a city employee abseiled from sill to sill hacking down and removing these dangerous constructions.
Our destination was Kolomenskoye. It was a neighbourhood with a broad series of tall towers, each giving the impression of having experienced much for their age - towers of the world. The extreme cold was kept at a distance by three huge, thick slabs disguised as doors. The warm welcome we received inside was an instant remedy to the quickly forgotten cold outside. The apartment was small, neat and cosy and decorated in 80's époque décor. It was where I would spend the next twelve days.
We curled out of our many, many layers of clothes like mummies slowly unwrapping themselves from thousands of years of heavy bandages. Getting ready to go inside and arriving back in was to become ceremonial in how long it took to wrap up suitably. Diligent planning was required to determine what clothes to where and equally important was putting them on in the correct order so as to maximise heat preservation. It wasn't funny to emerge outside to discover a draught coming in through a poorly tucked in shirt out or a scarf unravelling prematurely.
After unpacking, sleeping off jetlag and having a tasty Russian meal of bread and gherkins we pulled ourselves together and journeyed into town. This was to meet some friends in a late night club. A metal detector on the door confirmed we weren't carrying firearms and we were let inside. There was a "business as usual" atmosphere to how the locals were enjoying themselves. We boogied to the African tribal drumming but couldn't a beat to tap along to in the Japanese-Russian music experience. An on-stage clothes swapping contest followed. The diversity was harsh. We left and the conversation outside became very interesting.
Marsha, a geography student, told me how Russia was equal in size to fifty-two Germanys, spans eleven time zones (nearly half a day) and at its most eastern point is farther east than Australia. The cumulative shock I experienced at each statement stopped me in my steps. And while stopped in -10°, I bought an ice-cream from the street vendor selling them. It was perfect, the effect being just like drinking hot tea on a sunny day to cool.
Travelling up from the deeply dug metro
We completed the journey home by "catching a car". This Moscow custom developed after the taxi industry was de-regulated in an instant sometime during the 90's with the taxi licensing system being dropped. From that point any car could function as a taxi, and they often do. Now Muscovites travel around by flagging down any car that will stop, haggle and agree a price with driver re the destination and proceed there. We were transported that night in a battered old Lada. Once inside the freezing car I fumbled around for a seatbelt, the roads were extremely icy you see. Mark advised me quietly that wearing a seatbelt is taken as an insult by the driver as it reveals you dis-trust his driving skills. I did, but kept it to myself and rode belt less. An Ibiza party tune played on the radio. The appeal of a warm lifestyle was very understandable to me then, and I also pondered my choice of climate and holiday. But not for long - after paying our man we bundled ourselves out of the car, bundled ourselves through doors and up stairs to the apartment and unbundled ourselves with great demonstration on the coach.
The following night was New Years Eve. The legacy of communist Russia still holds onto some of the calendar and the celebrations on 31st December are a throw back to this era. In the Oliounina household there were industrious preparations for the main meal that left this guest in a helpless state. In all, eight people sat down at the table. In turn, each person was invited to toast the previous year at length with a shot of vodka (and a quick snack afterwards to curb the horrible taste). Then we were invited to toast the coming year, at length and in similar style involving vodka and a solution. Not speaking Russian meant that I bumbled my way through the evening and the speeches. I'm sure I had as much fun as everybody else.
After the meal and present swapping we put on our warm clothes and made haste for Red Square. We wanted to be there in time for midnight. The mood en-route was positively buoyant. Warmed up Russians chortled loudly and heckled "Snovum Godum" at each other.
My first impression of Red Square was of it being red but not very square. It was rectangular, large and crowded. Despite the significance of the centre of Moscow (and Russia) on New Years night, there was very little police presence. It added to the ambience of cold revellery. Fireworks buzzed overhead and lit up the Square. Spontaneous clearings of people occurred whenever a banger was abandoned and spun around on the ground before exploding horizontally. It was a suitably anarchic mood.
Fireworks exploding on Red Square amongst cheering revellers
The cold gives a different tone to public drinking and there seemed to be less of it. It's dangerous to stay outside drinking when the temperatures are -20 and the only people who were completely committed to it were homeless. We had a fine time larking about in the snow and on statues and throwing snowballs at Red Square. I felt I was sharing in something with much more significance for Russians than me. Even after the fall of Communism the Russian government remained strategic in how it prevented the youth being exposed to the Russian Orthodox Church. One of their techniques was to only televise western pop music once a year, at Easter time. This was to keep anybody away from attending Russian Orthodox ceremonies.
Because of late nights and very short hours of daylight (five hours daylight) it took us two days to get back to daylight and get outside. We broke back into this anti-nocturnal routine with an insurmountable task of arising at nine o clock to see mummified Lenin's body. Lenin has been preserved for nearly 80 years. He now lies in a mausoleum in a prime position on Red Square. I paid my quite respects from my position in the moving queue that was ushered in, around and past the state tomb. Later on while exploring my curiosity was rewarded with finding the name Arthur McManus engraved on a plaque on the Kremlin wall. He was vying for space with many other famous Russian leaders and warriors. I pondered on this man and his Irish or Scottish roots and how the devil he came to be celebrated on the Kremlin's wall.
Inside the Kremlin were many huge historic cathedrals and many modern ugly government buildings. There were nine cathedrals in total. We visited them each one in turn and learnt fascinating stories about the origin and history of each one. Ivan the Terrible was buried inside one of them, he is known in Russia as Ivan the Great. We also witnessed the original black baby Jesus before his Michael Jackson like change to the pale white figure in Western Christian churches everywhere.
Fionn beside world’s biggest and broken bell
Outside we then happened upon a very bizarre event. A very large circle of adults were formed on the outside of a fence. A tall Christmas tree was inside this circle. There was a heavy atmosphere of anticipation, something significant was about to take place. Then, a steady procession of children emerged and started circling on the inside of the circle looking out. There were calls, shouts of recognition and fantastic commotion amongst the adult section of the crowd as they looked in and amongst the procession of children. The kids continued around in a circle. Occasionally one of them was recognised and plucked from their place in the line. We joked that perhaps this was the Russian equivalent of the European myth where newly born babies were found under a cabbage patch. Perhaps Putin was inside, manufacturing the kids of Russia's future by squeezing them out through an assembly line to where they are later paraded around for selection and auction. This wasn't the case. We later learnt that it was an annual tradition called “Yolka” for the President to meet many children at Christmas time and give them each an identical lunchbox of sweets as a present.
The children's procession inside the Kremlin
Later on we went into McDonalds. It was humbling and demeaning to be in a situation where such fast food is the best food option available. There were simply no suitable restaurants open. Inside McDonalds was manic. The queues in front of the tills were pushy and overlapping. There was a crush of people all in huge fur coats skidding around in ice rink type manoeuvres. This was on the slush that had been brought in from the outside on peoples shoes. There were also queues for the few seats. When we got to sit down it wasn't for so long as there many stern faces hovering around waiting to put their bums on our seats as soon as we were finished. We gobbled our grub and got the hell out of there.
Later that night while back at the apartment I was teaching Lera how to play a Nirvana song on the guitar. It was a simple and suitable song since both of us were familiar with it. I was enjoying the role of cultural teacher until I realised how I was aiding the Americanisation of the world with the choice of song I was passing on. It put a curious spin on the concept of globalisation. President Richard Nixon himself would have been proud of my imperialism.
Over the next five days Mark and I took it turns to enduring the flu. Just like adding the prefix Russian to any card game will make it sound more adult the same applies for illnesses. We each suffered with the Russian flu for three days. The extremes of -20°C outside and constant nuclear heat inside were taking their toll. Nearly everyone in the household came down with a bout. Olga who had had a flu vaccine escaped and we suspected she was the carrier responsible for taking nearly everybody living in the apartment. Everybody nurtured everybody else in turn with a range of mostly natural remedies - hot milk and honey, hot cranberry juice, hot tea and lemon and Vitamin C supplements. We declined the offer of vodka and pepper. All the time in bed ailing and recuperating meant we had to cancel a planned trip to St. Petersburg.
We were nursed back to full health in time for my third Christmas celebration of the year. The Russian Orthodox Church celebrates 6th January as its main festival and we paid witness to an extraordinary ceremony in Christ the Saviour cathedral in the centre of Moscow. It was a very involved, completely sung mass. Lera told me of a fascinating cultural difference between the Russian Orthodox Church and the Roman Catholic Church as regards celibacy. In Rome, priest must stay devoid of all such partnership relationships. Russian priests however must be married. And, they can get married during the five days after finishing priest school and before graduation. Their relationship to God and success as a priest depends on their successfully consummating their priesthood.
We went cross-country skiing in a large snow covered park. It's an exhausting activity at the best of times. Being a beginner compounds this. While learning the basics we kept meeting the same family who were out walking their gigantic Dobermans. These 'pets' were kept off their leads and the animals were encouraged to roam free, far and wide. But the empty tracks also had some cross-country skiing novices. Trying to escape was useless, on each occasion the curious Dobermans were recalled just as they came within biting distance.
Cross country-skiing
The following day we had a very Russian experience - a run in with red tape and the law. While walking into the Kremlin grounds hoping to visit the crown jewels, Mark and I were stopped by a Kremlin guard. He asked to see our passports. We produced them. He frowned when he noticed mine didn't have a police stamp on. This is required for all visits to Moscow which exceed three days. I had been advised that this stamp was rarely enforced and never asked for but nonetheless it was written in some rule book somewhere. And this was a rulebook that our guard was going to enforce. Mark managed to translate enough to understand he wouldn't return my passport without a $100 fine being paid. This was to be after we had waited for three hours to be taken to a prison and signed the necessary paperwork there. The -15° cold and the extreme reluctance of the guard to communicate any further made our bad situation worse. He was saying very little to us and there was very little that we could do. His tone changed when Lera, our Muscovite friend turned up. He was most communicative to her and behind closed doors they settled the transaction for a nominal amount of roubles. I was a free man !
On the next day we visited the University. We were delivered to its perimeter by a frozen windowed bus. All the insides of buses in Russia freeze permanently during the winter. This is due to the combination of a lack of ventilation and extreme cold. The breath of passengers vaporises but rapidly turns to ice upon reaching the window. Moscow State University is very big. Its highest point is 250 metres high, almost competing with the Eiffel tower in vertical prowess. It has 30,000 students. Despite our gallantly successfully trick of getting into the University building without any ID, there was little to see. All of the students had gone home for the winter. The place was bigger than the entire UL campus but quieter than DCU on a Sunday. The grounds had once hosted a concert for 3 million people and there was also an excellent view of the Olympic park where the Olympics was hosted by Russia in 1980.
The result of facing the wrong way in a blizzard
The last few days of the trip were spent doing shopping and gaining wonderful bargains amongst some of the massive markets. It’s the truth that most of the locals do their shopping out at these markets and that all of the over-priced shops in the centre are just for the purpose of emptying tourist's pockets. The weather became more pleasant as well. The temperature jumped up to 0° from -20° in a single night. The feeling of relative warmth that day was extraordinary, but it was still safe enough to saunter across a frozen river.
On the last day Mark accompanied me to the airport. We took the tube all the way there. All my paperwork was in order and I was let through and onto the plane. A few hours later Aeroflot touched down on Irish soil. To get off, to see grass and to stand on iceless land was marvellous. And I travelled home on a bus where the windows weren’t frozen on the inside due to condensation.
Russian bus – frozen window