Москва!

 I've never been a huge fan of big cities, and as a result I'm not the most reliable source when it comes to describing them. Spending fourish days in Moscow was certainly an adventure, but how much of that adventure was from being in the Russian capital and how much was just “this is a big-a$$ed city” awe will be up to the reader to describe (I do have readers, right?).

The 14 hour train ride to the city was an adventure in itself. Biggest lesson learned: NEVER let a friend into your room. When you have four bodies, a heater, and an enclosed space, it's going to get uncomfortable. Factor in the fact that they turn that heater up as the night goes on, and all of a sudden one more heat source seems a lot less appealing, no matter how funny she may be. A close runner up in terms of life lessons is how far sound travels when you're in a giant tin can. I'm just as guilty as the rest, I hope I didn't give the rest of the car as much trouble sleeping as the girls two rooms down gave me.

Someone in a position of some degree of authority at some point in time exercised some good judgment, and we stayed in a hostel. Living in a hostel had been on the extensive list of things I've never done but pretend to know everything about to seem like a more interesting and sophisticated person. It was exactly what I'd hoped for. I -try- not to mention specific people in this blog, but every now and then some people are worth an honorable mention. First off, the Belgian staying in the bed below me the first night. Great fellow, great beard, great stories. While we were off touring the city, he departed for his next great adventure, which I believe he is still en route for. 84 hours of pluscart to Irkutsk. That's three and a half days stuck in a traincar with nothing separating you from 40+ other travelers. A true boy scout, he came prepared; one flask of whiskey and one of vodka, and this man meant to share. I'm sure he's still off having a great time, I hope his trip is as great as the ride there.

Next noteworthy fellow was Andrei, the Russian who also stayed below me but the next night. He was the embodiment of the friendly Russian (sadly there's no such stereotype yet). He loved talking with us, which I strongly regret being to shy to fully take advantage of. Just listening to everyone's conversations with him was great practice, and I had plenty of questions to ask. Anyone who talks slowly, simply, and avoids the genitive case is automatically my friend. The fact that he went with us to the train station to see us off is just icing on the cake. To drive the metaphor a little further, our morning bonding session will certainly give me a basis for big fish stories and hyperbole someday. The hostel had a problem with doorknobs. We had a little trouble with the front door, but the guys' room was the real problem. The Belgian had mentioned that you have to poke at the latch to get it to close, but anyone who's been in Montas's room knows this is perfectly normal. The first night it was a non-issue, the second night it was a significant issue. The sun set, we curled up for bed, and closed the door. It swung open. We closed it again. It opened again. Our burly sportsman declared that he would make it stay closed, and made it stay closed. All was well.

Come next morning. Andrei is the first one up, as he had to make it to work early. I still haven't figured out why he was staying in a hostel since he worked in the city, but to each their own. After getting out of bed, we walks up to the door and gives it a tug. True to our sportsman's promise, it stays closed. He turns the handle. It stays closed. He jiggles it. It stays closed. He yanks and twists. It stays closed. He bangs on the door until someone comes to open it from the outside, and it stays closed. All the rest of us continued to lie in bed and pretend it's not our problem too, but Andrei keeps at it. Eventually, some combination of pulling, turning the knob, and sliding things through the latch pops the door, and he makes it to work without being significantly late. I hope. To anyone staying at the HM Hostel Moscow, it's an amazing place that I strongly recommend, but be careful with the doors.

I could go on about the hostel for hours. There was Charles, as we called the drunk passed out on the couch. There were the Aussies. There was the Turkish/Belgian couple who collectively could converse in at least seven languages. And there was my beloved shower curtain, the first one I had used in four months. Ever want funny stories? Ask me about the hostel. I'll have them.

Our first full day started out with a quick visit to the embassy to meet people affiliated with the people who got us into Russia. Thanks folks, I'm loving it here. After our brief stint on US soil, it was onto the American Councils office, to do exactly the same thing.

Day two was tourist day. We hit museums. We saw red square in miserable weather. We paid Lenin a quick visit (he's still looking good, little thin though). We saw MGU in a snowstorm and got denied a chance to see the nice warm interior due to our lack of notes from the director and the embassy. We stopped by a Mexican-Italian restaurant called Pancho-Pizza. That was a busy day, we were all dead by the end, but I have to thank our RD for pushing us to trudge on.

Third day was the same thing, but in better weather. Awesome Russian storms are cool, but red square does look better when you can enjoy it in comfort. We got the tour of the Kremlin, and saw numerous pretty things, instruments of death, and dead famous people. Great day, I can give tourist stories all you want one-on-one.

This is Russia, and there are some good drunks here. The guy stumbling out of the Metro station mumbling then screaming “Rossia Champion!” clearly has something good going for him. It was his duty to let the world know; Russia is the champion. If we all label him as a drunk fool, clearly we haven't ascended to his level of understanding. I hope some day I understand, because he knew. He knew.

The two drunk Mongolians the second night were also amusing. I'm sure they thought they were great singers. Maybe their attempts at dancing hid it, but they must have had talent. Only a true savant would have the confidence to display her art to the whole world free of charge, right? Yeah, one of them fell, but everyone does now and then. I just hope when they wake up, there's someone there to tell them that Russia is indeed the champion. These people need to stick together, it's where wisdom comes from.

There were real artists there too by all means. The crowd standing outside the moo-moo cafe's cow reciting poetry actually had something going for them. We hit two art museums, so the area must have some sort of art history. I'm no artist, but if anyone is, I suggest they give Moscow a try.

I suppose I should wrap this story up with a little story about how in one way or another, anyone can fit in in Moscow. We were down in the metro station, and somehow a stray dog had made its way onto the platform. It stood by us for a few minutes waiting for the train, in plain sight of security and the police who took no notice. When the metro came, the dog realized it was going the wrong way, barked until it left, and then trotted over to the other rail, got on, and left. We may have needed a map and asked for directions a few times, but anyone can learn the metro, and you won't get harassed for waiting on the wrong side of the platform.

Even if you are just a puppy.