My obsession with the Moscow metro does not seem to decrease with time – and I must say that it does not come as a surprise to me, since my life here is centred on the metro – the times when it opens and closes, the location of the stations, the intervals with which the trains depart. Moscow metro is an institution in itself, the most important means of transport, a major meeting point, a witness of history, a tourist attraction.
After two long months spent on a sofa back at home with a leg in a cast (which did have its good sides), I am back to Moscow – with a new batch of enthusiasm and a new batch of ideas. I left a dark, gloomy city in the middle of winter, I came back to a city of blooming spring, with people in love kissing in the sunshine. Despite still not being able to walk normally, I enjoy the sunshine as much as possible. Tuesday brought me to VDNKH, my favourite park in Moscow, where the old and the new come together in the most unexpected ways. Here is what I saw and heard there:
I lost my migration card before Christmas. It’s a small, thin slip of paper the size of your passport which you receive when you enter the country and you’re supposed to give back when you’re leaving. Everybody is very serious about not losing it, but no-one really knows why, since these days the border control fills in the form for you and keeps an electronic copy. In any case, the office was in a panic. I was in a panic. Other teachers whom I told about my loss were in a panic too.
Some time ago I was passing – as I usually do on Mondays – near the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour. It was just before eight a.m., every scrap of concentration that was available to be me at that early hour was concentrated on keeping me up right and preventing me from dancing a sliding dance on the very slippery metro stairs and pavements covered with snow. It was dark. Around me I could only hear the even steps of other dawn ghosts, going to work for the way-too-early shift. Suddenly, right above my head, the bells started ringing at that bitter, grey hour. It wasn’t just one, deep, rumbling bell, but a conglomerate of all sorts of bells, small and big, the chaotic sounds of which gathered together in one, uniform melody:
Moscow has sucked me in and isn’t letting me go. Recently I’ve been leaving the house at 7 am and coming back at 9 pm. I barely even noticed that the festive season has begun. I don’t write, but I keep my eyes open an take out the camera more frequently than it would seem. There’s a lot of work in progress that hopefully I will soon share with the Readers, and, for now, let me present you with yet another instalment of The Metro Chronicles.
Long walks around Moscow are like a treasure hunt. In a city so big you can always find something extraordinary. Your chances grow exponentially after dusk – little pieces of Moscow gold twinkle in the dark. Many of the treasures you find are of musical kind, as Russians are a very musical nation. One October evening, on the steps to the Historical Museum, I saw these two ladies:
My metro people-watching continues. Here is yet another instalment of the Metro Chronicles.
Sounds are of extreme importance in Russia. The country’s public space is populated with sounds that do no allow you to confuse it with any other place. Many spots look as if they could be located anywhere in the world, but they sound distinctively Russian (and not only because of the language). I would like the Readers to see Moscow as I see it and, paradoxically, I see Moscow through its sounds. Therefore, I will be sending the Readers a sound postcard every now and then.
The metro plays an absolutely crucial role in Moscow. Millions of people spend long hours there every day – and now I am one of them. Multiple rides constitute perfect circumstances in which to indulge in of my favourite hobbies – people watching. In this newly established series of articles, I will share with the dearest readers whatever I happen to notice and deem worth sharing.
I will remember my first week in Moscow as a crazy sequence of random streets, metro stations, hippie post-soviet apartments to-share-maybe-with-me, and running around from one hotel to another. Now, however, all my problems have been solved and I can truly say that I live in Moscow. Here you have a couple of first impressions of the city.
