Moscow

Story by Karen Walker
Photos by Mikhail Gherman

Arriving in Moscow at night, the most noticeable thing is that the streets are awash with billboards advertising every one of Russia’s newly embraced status symbols - Motorola, Bentley, Louis Vuitton and, opposite Red Square, a block long: the new Rolex Ice. I wonder aloud to Mikhail how strange it must be for Muscovites to be smothered with this avalanche of imagery where only a decade and a half ago there would have been empty space. Wrong. Mikhail, who grew up in the Soviet Union, tells me that pre-perestroika there was just as much advertising but instead of Porsche billboards, there were billboards telling you how lucky you were to be living in a socialist paradise.

A socialist paradise it may have been, but, almost overnight, it has become a capitalist’s paradise. The communist propaganda has been replaced with this other kind of propaganda, the KGB replaced by the mafia and the real Lenin and Stalin replaced by their doppelgangers who roam Red Square and for a handful of rubles will have their photo taken with you. Between exchanges, Lenin can often be seen talking on his cell phone or checking something on his laptop. Behind him the real Lenin lies coated in wax to keep from decaying and, after all these years, is still working for the state. What would he think if he could rise from his tomb and step out into the centre of Red Square? The Kremlin towers behind him. The gorgeous St Basil is to his right. The State History Museum to his left, and opposite him the communist department store GUM, which for decades sold to lucky comrades all sorts of products they didn’t want and not much of what they desired. Judging from how busy GUM is now, it seems to be full of things Muscovites want - Christian Dior, Louis Vuitton, and M.A.C. All of these stores have decadent Western window displays facing Lenin’s tomb and the Kremlin.

Muscovites have certainly embraced fashion, big time, which explains why we’ve been flown over to present a fashion show along with French designer Gaspard Yurkovich. With the inevitable exception of a few cool looks, generally Russian fashion is appalling. They seem to take all their leads from M.T.V. For girls, the most noticeable trends at present are very short skirts worn with thick tan ice skaters’ tights and pointy-toed stilettos, along with thick coatings of dark brown makeup to give, overall, the look and feel of a cheap hooker. The guys are making up for the lack of denim during Soviet times by matching novelty denim jeans and jackets both with lot’s of screen printing, embroidery and distressing (very distressing to me anyway). To calm my nerves after a morning of seeing these outfits everywhere on the street we lunch at the fancy Bosco Cafe which is smack bang between all the luxury stores on Red Square. Sitting in the window seat here is a treat: it’s cold, drizzly and grim out, not even the multi colored domes of St Basil’s can change that. But inside it’s cozy and warm, the lighting is golden pink, the service attentive, the food incredible. We treat ourselves to a long lunch of Russian delicacies: vodka, bellinis, pelmenis, and caviar. At the table to our right are six big business guys with what I call ‘lunch faces’ are all bloated and jowly. They’re cutting some deal. Even without knowing any Russian I can tell that. Mikhail eavesdrops. It’s handy having a 24 hours a day translator for the eavesdropping alone. He says he can’t hear much because they’re speaking quietly. All he can pick up is ‘two million, five million, ten million.’ Welcome to the new Russia comrade Lenin.

All this change doesn’t mean you don’t still get glimpses of the old Soviet state though. There’s something about those grey Moscow skies and the Bauhaus-gone-bad concrete block buildings that dominate much of the cityscape that absolutely reeks of old Bond films. The gargantuan Moscow Hotel is Stalin’s horrific masterpiece - 3500 rooms and every one of them bugged. It is being dismantled at the moment and this process is going to take three years and cost US $800 million. A friend of mine visited there just before it shut and said the enormous lobby smelt of cabbage.

Step out into the street and despite the imposing presence of Bentleys, Benzes and Porsches there are still thousands and thousands of Ladas (Russian made cars), though generally they’re more rust than Lada. There’s nothing like the sight of a Lada to make you feel Soviet all over. Wandering past a particularly grim and vibey Soviet concrete block one afternoon Mikhail realizes it’s the infamous Lubyanka: the headquarters, holding cells and torture chambers of the KGB. ‘He’s gone to Lubyanka’ became part of Russian vernacular’ throughout the Soviet Union is slang for ‘The K.G.B. have sent him to a gulag and you’re not going to be seeing him for a while…if at all.’ The other Soviet hangover is the service. Sure, in some spots it’s exceptionally charming and friendly but just as often it’s surly, perfunctory and slightly suspicious. The customs officials are so dour that I fear they’re stamping our passports ‘to be sent straight to Siberia.’

There are stunning remnants of Soviet times though. Most notably: the Metro. The Metro system in most metropolises is fast and effective but I don’t think anyone would ever call the New York Subway or the London Underground beautiful. The Moscow Metro is beyond beautiful. It’s a masterpiece and one of the most incredible things in the city. It was a great symbol of the Communist concept and, since it’s opening in 1935 it’s functioned in all sorts of ways beyond just as a means of transport, though it does this better than any other Metro I’ve been on. It’s the beauty here that’s exceptional though. Imagine a palace with a couple of trains running through it and you have station after station after station in Moscow. Every one of them is dedicated to a socialist ideal or ally and the vast platforms with the gold leaf mosaics, marble busts, bronze statues, mammoth crystal chandeliers or enormous murals are all awe inspiring. They are vast, cavernous and temperate enough that, even though they accommodate 9 million passengers a day, they never feel crowded or hot. They’re spotless - free of advertising, graffiti and rubbish. Plus, during the rush hours, you never wait more than a minute and a half for a train. This is the exact opposite to how things are above ground.

The streets of Moscow are crammed with cars. Three years ago there were barely any. Then they introduced credit and everyone went out and bought a Benz. The traffic is stationary much of the time. It routinely takes an hour and half to get across the central city and every single car is so covered in thick brown grime it’s virtually impossible to see its true color. The grime is from the fumes, the dirt (which come spring, is dry for the first time in six months) and the hundreds of construction sites that dominate the city.

This is not the first building boom Moscow’s seen in the last century. When Stalin reigned, he knocked down anything slightly bourgeois which is why, in a city that’s 850 years old, apart from a few obvious exceptions like St Basil’s Cathedral, it’s remarkably hard to find an old building.

Subsequently, the new trend is for recreating an old look. Cafe Pushkin is a landmark everyone recommends as a cool dinner spot with that 18th century, Pushkin vibe. I have high hopes but it turns out to be little more like a Disneyland ride type recreation - all sponged walls, reproduction furniture and waiters in bad 18th Century costumes (brocade waistcoats and satin shirts).

It’s a shame because Pushkin is definitely one of my ‘10 People At Your Dream Dinner Party’ characters. After reading his biography last year, I’m almost obsessed with Russia’s greatest writer and feel quite blessed to be able to visit one of the homes in Moscow where he lived and stand in the room where he had his stag party and his wedding reception.

They certainly honor Pushkin in Russia along with their other great writers; Mayakovsky, Gorky, Gogol, Tolstoy and Bulgakov are all superstars here. One of my favorite discoveries, and the only truly old cafe we find, is The Club Restaurant of the House of Writers. A totally unfashionable hang out for Muscovites who are enjoying their new trendy cafes and novelty theme restaurants. The Club Restaurant of the House of Writers is in a 19th century mansion built for a Count who still watches over the dining room from the wooden pillar his face is carved into. Its closed door exterior only suggests its open to the public interior by the becaped doorman. Upon entering, the winding staircases, lush velvet draperies and numerous anterooms are barely visible in the ultra dim lighting. I love a dark restaurant but you almost need a torch to find your way through here. The dining room manages to be simultaneously grand and intimate. Its dark and woody walls, pillars and banisters are all covered in 19th Century carvings. There is a huge stained glass window and intimate tables on balconies overhead. After the revolution and a brief spell as a kindergarten, the house was bestowed to the Union’s great writers and Bulgakov wrote the masterpiece beloved by every Muscovite ‘The Master and Margarita’ in one of the balcony tables. The enormous chandelier overhead was, though initially intended for the Metro, gifted by Stalin to Gorky who then gifted it to the club.

It’s not just Stalin who appreciated the artists of Russia. Throughout Russia’s history, its people, from the common man to its leaders, have worshipped their artists and their artists have, in turn, given them great work. When Pushkin died, the Tsar wrote off the enormous debts he’d built up with his years of partying, gambling and general high living. The hundreds of monuments dedicated to Russian heroes that are scattered around Moscow are often in honor of artists and at every one of them you’ll find fresh carnations or lilies, always red, left there that day by ordinary people as a sign of their respect and thanks. The TV in Russia may give the viewer “Russian Idol�? but it also provides three arts channels that are genuinely interesting. On one of them, there is a two-hour debate by Russia’s top architects on the pros and cons on the current building boom and the destruction of Soviet buildings shows a genuine interest from the community in cultural issues. The wide reaching Russian appreciation for and knowledge of their country’s artists is something that’s seldom seen elsewhere. Poetry, painting, film, writing, are all ingrained in the Russian psyche and, with yet another U-turn in Russia’s politics, this one thing, at least, will stay in place.

5 Tips For Moscow

• There are no marked cabs. Just stick your hand out into oncoming traffic and wait for a Lada to stop. Negotiate the price in advance, as there are no meters along with no licenses, seat belts or English plus the driver’s quite possibly drunk.

• The days of the U.S. dollar being King are over. You can buy USD at any money changer on any corner in Moscow and one American dollar will no longer buy you quite as much as it used to. Likewise there’s no point trying to trade in Coca Cola or Levi’s jeans. Best to stick with rubles.

• Always have cash on you to pay off any pesky officials. No trip to Moscow is complete without some low ranking police officer trying it on because you took a photo somewhere you apparently weren’t meant to, jay walked or looked at someone sideways. Don’t panic. They don’t really want to arrest you. They just want some cash and a few hundred rubles will normally see them on their way.

• Eat Russian food. We only ate bellinis, borscht, caviar and dumplings for days and it was some of the best food of my life. Sure, the good spots are pricey but no more so than in any major city. Go on, treat yourself.

• Visit The Kremlin, especially The Armory and when you do, hire a guide. If you stand around the ticket office outside one will approach you within minutes. Sure you have to pay them a fee and probably a small markup on the ticket price but it’s worth it for the queue jumping they allow you let alone the one on one service you get once you’re actually inside. Watch out for President Putin driving through the gates to work. His is the black Merc with the number plate 007.