A cycle across Moscow by moonlight

Red Square at 2am.

Last night I cycled around Moscow from dusk until dawn, and it was a fantastic way to see the city. Masha has two bikes, kept in her father's garage the other side of the city, so we went to pick them up and set off about 8pm. It's been quite a few years since I've ridden a bike, I don't think I've really cycled since I've been able to drive, about 9 years, but the saying about 'once you learn' is true, it just took me a couple of miles to get my confidence back. I didn't know which direction we were heading in or through which neighbourhoods we rode, but as an experience it is probably my highlight from Moscow, despite my legs and arse feeling sorry for themselves today.

A couple sit in one of Moscow's many green spaces at dusk.

The sun doesn't set in Moscow at this time of year until around 10pm, and it stays light enough for another hour, before the final breath of day sinks into night around 12am. We had a few hours cycling in sunshine, the low sun casting nice long shadows with a warm golden light draping itself across the city. We cycled through many parks, Moscow seems to be abundant with well kept green spaces, and past the Novodevichy Convent, before hitting the river and following it westwards.

Novodevichy Convent

 We sped along the banks of the Moscow River, before weaving through a sports park, full of cyclists, joggers, roller bladers and many others taking part in outdoor pursuits, and past two huge stadiums, built during the days of the USSR for showcasing their sports. We continued along the river, before crossing a bridge, and climbing the steep banks the other side to bring us out near Moscow State University in a sweat. Moscow State University is a mightily impressive building, and I could've have gazed upon it for hours. It's like a slightly gothic Senate House in London, but three times as big, and as a building it really makes a statement, and can be seen from pretty much any viewpoint in the city.

When we started building polytechnics, Stalin had already finished this: Moscow State University.

Just at the end of the mall from the university, was a large open space where many young people were gathered. There was music from car stereos, people gathered drinking and many more swirling by, with a really good atmosphere. We stopped to take in the panorama of Moscow which can be viewed from the hill the university sits on above the river, before watching some break dancers entertain the gathered crowds.

The view across Moscow, with the river on the left, and the sports stadiums we cycled past on the right.

11pm and still some light hangs in the sky.

We cycled east, back along the south bank of the river, through more parks and along promenades, past an old Russian space shuttle, sat overlooking the river. We crossed a bridge to head back to the northern side of the city, before heading through the city centre, towards the Kremlin and Red Square.

One of the many bridges for cars and trains that cross the river.

The Kremlin sleeps while traffic continues to stream by.

We rode into Red Square at about 2am, feeling victorious. It was pretty much deserted apart from in one corner a group of teenage girls were singing a pop song whilst someone recorded it on video. Red Square has witnessed many harrowing scenes in it's history, this was just one of them. I then wanted to head back towards the river to get a few last shots. I was conscious that I didn't want to make Masha hang around too long whilst I indulged myself, and was already incredibly grateful for this opportunity. At this time of night, I was taking 30 second exposures, so each frame takes over a minute as the camera takes a while to process the image afterwards, meaning I couldn't just snap away.

The Kremlin (left) and St Basil's

Looking along the Moscow River, past the Kremlin towards the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour (left).

Moscow by moonlight.

The ride home from Red Square took an hour. The city was deserted, save for the people of the night. I always love this time of day (or night) in big cities, when everything is quiet and still, it all feels very soft. The road sweepers and pavement people are out, preparing the city for another day of hustle and bustle, wear and tear. Late night kiosks are open with lonely looking individuals, snoozing inside or others milling around on the periphery, unthreatening but I'm always unsure of their purpose. We rode along deserted freeways, through underpasses, huge intersections and sleepy neighbourhoods. We quietly drifted by a humming powerstation, and industrial areas that smelt like the barrel of a rifle. Just as we entered our own neighbourhood, a husky laugh rang out from the darkness, and two men, similar age to myself, came running towards us stark bollock naked, arms and dicks flailing. I interpreted it as more of a drunken dare and prank by some harmless men, than a sexual offence, if it's possible to judge a naked strangers character in the dark streets at 3am. 

Izmaylovo market

This afternoon I took the Metro across to the north-eastern side of Moscow, to an area called Partizanskaya to a huge sprawling market the size of a village. I've found navigating the Metro and interpreting the cyrillic much easier now, after I've developed my own system for reading it. For example, something like Школа becomes Willy Wonka station. It's a little childish but it gets me from A to B. 

Crowds flow through Moscow's Metro.

The market I went to was predominantly filled with tourist tat and bygone Soviet militarism, as well as arts and crafts, books and bric-a-brac. It was an open air museum-meets-jumble sale, housed in a strange Russian wooden Disney prototype, of fairytale towers and Grimm Brothers cottages. There were lots of old Soviet cameras, as well as various communist paraphernalia and military items, and had I only been here on a short holiday, I'm sure I would've bought a few things to take back home. There were even grenades, machine guns and mortar rounds, I assume all decommissioned and no longer live, but I wouldn't fancy bringing any of them through customs. 

Walking to the entrance of Izmaylovo market. 

Russian dolls

Old vendors playing chess

Old books for sale

Most of the dusty, moustachioed traders were more preoccupied with dozing, or doing their own thing, rather than any hard sell. You had to pester them if you wanted to buy something. The only thing I bought was a small pin badge, that actually only has the pin for a hat, not a jacket. I wanted a trinket of some kind, but nothing too big I would have to carry for the rest of Asia. I didn't buy the stereotypical dolls, I couldn't imagine having them on my shelf when I get back home anyway.

The market was a mixture of tourists and Russians, and reminded me a little of Camden Market in London. It's as much an attraction as it is a functioning market. There were quite a few Americans milling about, as well as a mixture of Europeans. I heard my first few British accents, both cases were middle aged couples rowing about something - I thought it sounded familiar.

More dolls. I didn't buy any.

Kebab lads - 'Hello Boss, mixed doner and chips?' Not quite, but the patter was almost the same.

Lunch.

Partizanskaya Metro station.

Moving back through the Metro to my couch-surfing home.

My local neighbourhood.

Midnight in Moscow

After 35 hours of gentle swaying through eastern Europe, the train finally arrived at midnight in Moscow, and there was still a murmur of daylight in the sky. I wandered out through the station to look for the things I needed: money and the Metro. I found the Metro straight away, but it took a little longer of exploring different avenues to find an ATM, and my card worked at the nervous second attempt. I then lugged my rucksack back to the Metro station, and indicated I wanted one ticket to the woman at the counter. My couch-surfing host had texted me the name of the station I needed to find so I thought this would be simple enough. The difficulty lay in that I really cannot read cyrillic text. Half of the letters are familiar, but then I'm thrown off course by the mutated other letters, leaving me to look for patterns rather than sounds. I'd imagine perhaps it's like a heavily dyslexic person learning to read, or the effects of something like ketamine giving the user a wobbly brain, where the sights are vaguely recognisable, but you are unable to make sense of it: an alphaket. Anyway, despite my difficulties I managed to negotiate my way under the streets of Moscow without mistake, and emerged into the night at my intended location. I still didn't really know where to go. I called my host but I didn't really understand her directions as I had no reference point, I couldn't read the signs and the road names were too dark and high up to read without my glasses, buried in the belly of my bag. I wandered down the street a little, when I heard my name called from the other side of the road: it was Masha, my host.

We made our way to her apartment block, an old building set in a series of tree filled courtyards. We drank some green tea and chatted a little, before bed called, and I was fortunate that I had my own room  as one of her housemates was away in Italy.

The next day, after breakfast of coffee and pastries, which were sweet but had a slight earthy taste, Masha took me on a tour of central Moscow. We took the Metro into town, and then walked the rest of the day. I'd ran out of tobacco, and although I am full of intentions to quit whilst I am on this trip, I'm not quite ready yet, so we popped into a store along the way.

Food store in central Moscow.

St Basil's

We continued onto Red Square, walking past the walls to the Kremlin, the physical heart of Russian power, Lenin's mausoleum (which was closed at that time of day), and down towards St Basil the Blessed's, the famous onion domed cathedral, which looked a little like a gypsy wedding cake decorated with iced gems. Maybe it was just because it was a Saturday, but there were dozens of newlyweds in Red Square and further along by the river, in white wedding dresses and suits, having their photographs taken. Having photographed many weddings myself recently, I found this quite interesting and was curious about the Russian traditions. One such tradition as that couples place a padlock with their names inscribed on one of the bridges, and there were thousands on seemingly specially designated spots.

We walked over a bridge across the Moscow River, which afforded great views down into the city. I always like bridges in big cities, as you usually get great uninterrupted views and there's always interesting sights on river banks. We went into an art gallery for an hour, housing some of the finest pre-revolutionary Russian art, dating from early medieval religious paintings to early 20th century stuff. I enjoyed it and there were some really great pieces in there, but there's some pavlovian response in me that I can't help but begin to yawn in galleries. Book shops always make me need a piss. Explain that one.

We walked back through the city centre, stopping for some green tea and for Masha to run an errand, before walking back out of the city centre, through a series of parks, to take the Metro back to where I was staying.

View from the bridge.

A bride on the bridge.

The wedding padlocks.

Moscow city centre felt very safe, with lots of tourists and police constantly smoking cigarettes on duty, something you never see at home. I only heard English being spoken, by an American, once all day, and I think the majority of the tourists were Russians. It's a very white city, ethnically it doesn't seem to be very diverse; I only saw one black person all day, and I wasn't counting but this one lady's presence was more notable due to her ethnic isolation and the general absence of apparent diversity. Moscow does have lots of people who look like they originate from the central Asian countries, the 'stans', and they mostly seemed to be working in the lower end jobs and service industries. Every capital needs it's migrant work force for the jobs that a lot of the locals consider to be beneath them. Moscow does have more than it's fair share of really beautiful women. The kind that make your heart groan when they float by; their delicate faces and pornographic figures make you utter an internal 'Jesus Christ' every time. You'd become rigid with lust were they not as frequent on the street as the rag-and-soot pigeons which litter the pavement. Many seemed to be with boyfriends far their genetic inferior, wearing bad t-shirts tucked into bad jeans, with bad haircuts on their heads and bad shoes on their feet.

Back at the apartment Masha's flatmate cooked a really nice Uzbeki dish of chicken, rice and salad. The hospitality extended to me has been fantastic and I hope to someday repay the favour. The neighbourhood seems to be really nice, with old apartment buildings set in a series of courtyards with nice big trees and parks with play areas in the centre. It has a strong community feel, something you rarely find in the UK. One thing that did remind me of home however, was the modern, more expensive looking apartment buildings nestled in between the old ones, which had fenced off courtyards with better play equipment, protected by security guards so that the poorer children could not play there or interact with the wealthier kids. This sight always annoys me.

The two sides of Russian women.

City centre fountain complex.

A cigarette kiosk in central Moscow.

Life aboard the Trans-European Express

The train just before departing Paris.

With a clunking of pistons my train jolted its way out of Paris; and I began to fill with a little excitement, thinking of the coming journeys and experiences of the months ahead. I was all alone, and rolling out east like I had been planning for months, no, years. My compartment had three forward facing seats, a little table in the corner, a fold down seat, a cupboard with what looked like a whiskey decanter set inside, and a luggage rack. The carriage attendant shortly came along and dropped down one of the bunk-beds hidden in the wall above the row of seats and said something to me in Russian, at which I nodded but did not understand. The train seemed empty, I only saw a couple of people boarding when I did, and they were much further along the platform. I wasn't aware of anyone else in my carriage, apart from the attendant, and thought it unviable for a train to run across Europe with only a handful of passengers on board.

My compartment on the Paris - Moscow
sleeper train.

We hadn't got far when a shadow filled my door, and a mountain of a man grinned down at me, before settling himself on the seat next to me and introduced himself as Igor Voronov. He spoke almost no English, (but much more than I could Russian) but we communicated through a spattering of English mixed with German, but he mostly spoke Russian and nodded with an expectant smile that I would understand what he said. I gathered that he was a mechanic on the trains, and spent his life traveling across Europe on the railways, as he listed cities spanning the whole of the continent. I showed him the few photos I had on my laptop, some of my family taken in Peterborough before I left, and some of my work as I had my website files on my desktop. He showed me pictures of his family in Moscow, and played me a video of his disabled son being given a massage on a bed, which I found slightly unusual viewing at 8am with a stranger. I explained to him about my trip, and I think he understood the majority of it, and then he left as abruptly as he arrived. I settled down on my bunk and dozed off to the tapping and rattling of the fixtures and fittings, as the train gently rocked and rolled its way across France.

I'd started reading a book on the Eurostar that my dad had given me before I left, Don McCullin's autobiography, 'Unreasonable Behaviour', about his life and experiences as a war photographer. I'd finished the book by the time I was halfway across Germany; not because I had nothing else on the train to do, but because I couldn't put it down. I'd recommend it to almost anyone, as it's a really snappy and adrenaline filled read, and I plan to read it on my next journey, before perhaps trading it with someone for something new. 

A few more people boarded the train in Mannheim and Frankfurt, nearly all men, but still the carriage was very quiet. There were a few Deutsche Bahn staff aboard the train, and I made enough acquaintances with them for them to invite to invite me along for a cigarette in between the carriages, despite all the no smoking signs. I then sat alone in the restaurant car, and was served a spaghetti carbonara and a beer by a camp Russian waiter with a shy smile. In Hanover I got off the train for a few minutes, and the station was throbbing with expectantly jubilant German football fans, who would later that evening lose 2-0 to Italy in the Euro 2012 semi final. In Berlin the train really filled up, and an old Russian owl-woman scowled her way into my compartment, along with several large cases of luggage. There were many people from Belarus and Russia now aboard, and their unfamiliar language filled the air. Somewhere in Poland it became bed time, and a polite Belarusian lady climbed in the bunk above me, and the miserable old owl-woman snored and farted below me. 

I woke up just before entering Belarus, as shortly after the Polish passport control guards came along inspecting passports, and not long after the Belarusian guards collected mine for inspection and stamping. There wasn't much to see out of the window, the little civilisation I did see looked rickety and crumbly. Small 19th century looking cottages perforated the landscape, with old women in headscarves hunched over vegetable plots. Most of the way it was forested, lots of birch and pine flashing by the window with the odd meadow in a clearing. We stopped at one station, and I got out for a brief explore with Igor from the day before, but then dozed and listened to music the remainder of the way to Moscow.

A station in Belarus. I have no idea where it was, if you can read cyrillic you will know.

Inside the station in Belarus, with what I think was a painting of Lenin giving a speech hanging in the main foyer.

I couldn't pronounce this. 

One night in Paris

I left London with more lethargy than excitement. I was quite hungover having rolled in at dawn, after leaving drinks with my friends in Hackney turned into more serious boozing in a bar on Mare Street, before three of us ended up in a taxi heading to a flat in Islington with three women in their 30s whom we had only just met around the pool table. Waking up back at my friend's flat, all I wanted to do was sit around all day eating take away and watching shit television, but I had a Eurostar to Paris to catch.

I arrived at Gare du Nord at around 7pm, and directly outside a French film company were set up to shoot a scene which provided some mild interest whilst I gathered my bearings. I walked for 10 minutes to Gare de l'Est, where my train to Moscow would be departing from 12 hours later, so I wouldn't have to find it for the first time in the bleary eyed dawn. I then took the Metro a few stops and walked to my hostel to check in. I made some small talk with some Australian girls in my room, before heading out on foot to find some recognisable tourist landmark. I made it up to Montmartre, and the steps up to the top of the hill stank as it was more of a memorial fountain to public pissing than the staircase to a basilica. Still, the atmosphere at the top was really chilled, with street music and immigrants selling beers it was nice to sit and enjoy the scene, and I waited for the sun to set to take some photos as the hill gave a great panorama of Paris. 

The view from Montmartre, looking south across Paris.

I walked back east across Paris to my hostel, getting in around midnight, before settling down in my dorm I shared with Australians and New Zealanders, all traveling around Europe for the summer on some bus tour. I woke up at 6am, quietly slipped out of my room, checked out and hopped on the Metro to my station. I could've had another half an hour in bed, but I had about 38 hours on the train so figured catching up on sleep would not be a problem. I bought some breakfast in Gare de l'Est, and was grunted at by a fierce looking Russian guard as he took my ticket and escorted me to my cabin on the train.

Early morning commuters in Gare de l'Est, Paris.

Visas and sofas.

One week from today I'll be on the train from Paris direct to Moscow, but currently I am surrounded by stacks of boxes as I pack everything up in my flat to move out. My passport has been returned to me today, with the Belarus, Russia and Mongolia visas completed, but I was unable to obtain a Chinese visa. At first I applied for a double entry visa, but this was reduced to a single entry visa on account of me foolishly putting my former employers details correctly on there; they really don't like journalists. I then received a second phone call saying the embassy would not process my visa, as I would not be entering China in the next 30 days, and to reapply closer to the time. I wish to enter China within the next 45 days give-or-take, and the information on their website stated you should apply within 3 months of arrival in China. I thought there might be a bump in the road somewhere along the line. Now all I can do is apply for the visa in Ulaanbaatar, which I've read is riddled with difficulties, but I've learnt some lessons from this first experience. For one I won't reference anything to do with my occupation or former employer, but instead tick unemployed, which will be true, and hopefully not considered too much of a threat to the Chinese authorities. I've also retained some false travel bookings, returned with my passport by the Real Russia travel agency who I was using. These will be very useful for the Chinese application, showing entry and exit ticket bookings, which don't actually exist, but are necessary to obtain the visa.

My train tickets, visas and other documents. I hope I don't forget anything. 

I'm also intending to couch surf whilst in Moscow, through the couchsurfing.org website. This will be a bit more of an adventure than staying in a hostel, I'll get insider local knowledge from a host who is happy to show me their city and hopefully a different perspective on the Russian capital, rather than through purely my tourist eyes. I sent a message out on the site the other day, and have had about 5 responses from different people offering me a place to stay or to show me around. I'll give it another day or two, to see if I receive any other invites, and then choose the most interesting one.

Planning Part 2

Two weeks from today, I depart on the Eurostar from London St Pancras to Paris Gare du Nord, the first of the three trains, which will take me from the UK, across eastern Europe and Russian Siberia to Mongolia, before continuing to Beijing, China. I'm only spending one brief night in Paris, for which I need to book a hostel, before taking the train from Gare de l'Est in Paris direct to Moscow, taking about 35 hours or so. This will be a warm up for the 5 day train journey from Moscow to Mongolia, I will be taking 3 days later. The Eurostar ticket was £56, the Paris to Moscow ticket was just over £300 and Moscow to Mongolia cost £280, and they have all been delivered so the only thing I am really waiting for now are my visas.

Typically, I left my visas until almost the last minute, and initially applied for Belarus transit visa (£77), a Russian two week tourist visa (£138) and a 30 day Mongolian visa (£94), through the visa services of RealRussia.co.uk. I chose to use a visa service as supporting documents were required for my Russian visa, which I did not have and they would be able to provide for me. Currently I am awaiting the Belarus visa, having had the Russian and Mongolian visas already processed. Since initially applying for the visas, I read that obtaining a Chinese visa from the embassy in Mongolia would not be as easy as I had first heard, and so have decided to quickly apply for my Chinese visa here in London, before I go. If all goes to plan, my passport should be ready a few days before I leave, so fingers crossed there's no fuck ups.

I still need to move all of my stuff out of my flat, cancel my standing orders, redirect my post, get a few things I need for the trip and stock up on medicines, which I imagine will be done next week, as this week I am busy from photographing weddings, with one more this coming Saturday.