5/4/97

The Moscow express sleeper is jam-packed, and I'm in a compartment with three other blokes. Two barely spoke, but the other, a white-haired bloke in his early fifties, was happy to chat (and share coffee!). It turns out he was born in Missouri of all places (his parents were students). Given that this was Stalin's day, I'm amazed, but go to sleep anyway.

Moscow at 8 am, and a taxi ride to the Aeroflot hotel. After dumping the gear and having a shower and nap I walk down a motorway to the Dinanmo stadium; and I'm five minutes too late to get a ticket for the match. As I walk past, a Chris Chatten lookalike runs past. Literally, same height, build, clothes, everything. The only difference was the scarf! Sadly, I didn't have a camera with me; sorry Chris. Walked back to the hotel with a cold, so decided to spend the evening in watching TV. The first thing I heard was the Birdy Song; hardly encouraging! The rest of the evening consisted largely of American films and miniseries dubbed into Russian by a solitary man; very amusing during romantic scenes! After midnight they showed the Playboy channel, but it appears that they barely employed one scriptwriter for all the programs, and he had all the erotic imagination of a herd of rabbits. The actors managed to look like they were choosing between brands of washing powder at the supermarket even while having earth shattering orgasms; it all sent me straight to sleep.

6/4/97

The major sights of Moscow are concentrated in the area around the Kremlin. I took the metro there, and started with Lenin's tomb. The man looked exactly like a waxwork; presumably the genuine article is roasting in hell. Walking around the corner from Red Square, I ran into a communist demonstration; well, fifty OAP's and a megaphone, with an interesting cartoon of Yeltsin with a boot up his backside. Whilst I'm admiring this stirring example of the proletariat, a youngish Russian woman says hello, and asks me if I speak English. "Yes, I'm British" I reply. "Would you like a tour of the Kremlin?". I tell her no thanks, but within two minutes this exchange is repeated with another girl. When I'm asked for the fourth time if I speak English I replied "Yes. Would you like a tour of the Kremlin?". The poor girl looked so confused, I felt guilty!

The Kremlin was impressive, though the Polytechnic type administration building spoilt the impression. The inside was divided into permitted and no-go areas divided by a single white line; rumour says you're shot if you step over.

GUM department store was full of western brand names at western prices, with gloomy looking Russians window-shopping. The staff are extremely security conscious; perhaps the Mafia want to bomb the place. I retired to the nearest bar, to be ambushed by a bunch of students who wanted to know everything about me down to my shoe size. I tried to enlighten them about what I did for a living, but I suspect they think I'm some sort of steelworker! Got back to the hotel in time to catch the end of a Dinamo game; my luck isn't improving, but if the number of armed policemen outside is any guide, I get the impression that Russian football hooligans are worse than ours!

I decide that, for a change, I should try to find something else to eat other than fast food, or foreign run cafes, so I spend a couple of hours walking from the Dinamo stadium towards the centre of Moscow. After passing horrendously expensive Greek and Italian restaurants, and more casino's than you could shake a stick at, opposite the next metro station down the line from Dinamo (I've forgotten the name), was a smart looking cafe, that seemed to be run by people around the ages of 20-25. They were probably a little expensive by Russian standards, but the pickled fish and black bread was good and was at least a taste of real Russia.

Anti-Yeltsin demo	Kremlin

7/4/97

Last day in Moscow, and as I'm now off to the deep East it's time to summarize western Russia. Towns are a bit scruffy, but improving. Shops are well up to our standards, and opening hours seem to be 9 till 9 in most places. Uniforms much in evidence on the streets, both police (militia) and riot police (OMON), and people are friendly and honest. The young are surprisingly optimistic, the elderly the rather less so. Dollar exchanges are everywhere, but they don't usually ask for dollars when you pay for anything. Oh yes, if you see the sign for cafe, it usually means booze, not food!

The hotel is very close to Frunze airfield (where MIG and Sukhoi are based), and there's an open air museum. It costs two dollars to get in, but the amount of stuff there which would have been top secret two years ago is amazing; prototypes of MIG29's and SU27's, plus others like the AS3, an antiship missile so large it looks like a fighter plane. Others I had never seen before, and I'm speaking as someone who used to know them all. Perhaps MI6 will pay to develop my photos.

From there I went to Dzerzinsky square, no doubt to get my photo taken; I'm sure the KGB haven't really disappeared! I stepped a metre into E Germany as a fifteen year old Army cadet for a dare, so they'll probably find a matching photo of me eventually. Then it was back to the hotel to get my luggage and then down to Dinamo metro station for the last time on the way to Yaroslavl station.

My train leaves the station at 10 PM, and I arrive at about 8-30. The best way to imagine it is to think of an open air market on a railway platform; loads of booze and simple food (sausage, pickles, bread etc) on sale. The train will take four days to get to Irkutsk so I buy a little sausage and vodka, and present myself to the train attendant standing outside my carriage. My Russian accent has apparently not improved, judging by the grin she gave me when I said hello. I hadn't been in the compartment for five minutes before two Armenians arrive. Erik and Vladik seem to think I'm either an Iranian or Azerbaijani, though once we get going, a extended drinking trip to the restaurant persuades them otherwise! They're going to Sverdlovsk (which they interestingly refer to as Ekaterinberg), arriving just over 24 hours from now, but there's always time to teach a foreigner Russian and Armenian, and I'm grateful for all the lessons I can get.

GUM; very ornate	AS3, I think.