Louise In Your Pocket

07/04/2011 - The Epoch of Optimism

2011-04-07T12:38:00.002+04:00

Here’s an exciting exhibition for you. The Epoch of Optimism at St. Petersburg’s Rosfoto gallery, the opening of which I visited yesterday. This extensive exhibition in the newly enlarged photography gallery covers Soviet photography in all its constructivist and futuristic magnificence – was right up my street. Alexander Rodchenko of course sits proud amongst an illustrious bunch of photographers including Ivan Schagin and Boris Ignatovich active in the scene in the early 1920s up until World War II. Literally every photograph on display here is a sheer masterpiece of composition, light and shadow and unrivalled imagination and also documents every day life and the optimistic mood of the era.

Arkadi Shaikhet - Express

The story of Russian constructivism is a sad one. The proponents of constructivism and its surrounding optimistic excitement for a future to be filled with progress, technology and a complete change in the very foundations of society - all met a swift end starting at the beginning of those dark dark 1930s. Well that’s not to say they were necessarily all sent to Gulags (although some, like Alexander Grindberg for example, were) but more that this new wave of exciting art that had arisen specifically in Russia and more importantly inspired by the first communist revolution, was mercilessly crushed by state enforced Socialist Realism.

Rodchenko - Stolovaya

I can’t say some pictures inspired me more than others – they all spring to mind again and again and remind various different ideas, themes and motifs. Today I got thinking of the man as machine (inspired by this picture – Worker operating a paper manufacturing machine – possibly my favourite of the whole exhibit). I had just read a fantastic article about the factory (of 400,000 people!) where ipads are made in China – it makes a chilling read, painting an almost Orwellian picture. The idea of an army of drab workers monotonously working night and day to manufacture a product which will surely go down in history as one of the culturally most significant inventions of our consumerist and information hungry time. And also one of the most overpriced. Ooof, well this article just showed what progress, science and the global economy has brought us. While the picture standing in the gallery depicting the strength and magnifcence of a future built on techonology, seemed almost tragic in its naivety yet also stunning in its composition.

Shaikhet - worker operating a paper manufacturing machine(1920s)

I also found I was drawn to the wild imagination and aesthetic agility of the depictions of Constructivist architecture. Especially this Rodchenko picture of the Shukhov Tower (also known as Shabolvka 37) in Moscow.

Rodchenko - Shukhov tower

Incidentally Shukhov’s tower is still there, but like so many things in Russia, it is endangered as the city’s ruthless property developers want the land and couldn’t give a damn about the history. This tower is frequently compared to Tatlin’s model for the Monument to the Third International, a reworking of which I saw in Moscow recently, which funnily enough was made from giant iphones (read Electroboutique art collective's thought-provoking explanation of their piece here).

Electroboutique - The Monument to 3G

Tatlin - The Monument to the Third International

Imagine if you will what Tatlin’s dream building was to look like. A huge spiraling tower with different levels revolving at varying speeds, the size of - the Empire State building (!). Atop the great tower would be loud speakers and radio transmitters, a giant screen churning out the news of the day and projectors flashing inspiring mottos onto the sky, not to mention some special lifts and moving walkways swirling around the structure and transporting people up its many levels. Sounds straight out of a science fiction film.

Tatlin's vision was more than optimistic, it was utopian and I think was an inspiration to all the photographers on display at this exhibition. Pure construction, used for the greater good - Indeed the epoch of optimism.

The exhibition is on at Rosfoto, Ulitsa Bolshaya Morskaya 35 until 31.05.2011.

29/03/2011 Cafe 59 - the secret sushi joint in Moscow City Federation Tower

2011-03-29T18:45:00.004+04:00

Sorry folks for having neglected the blog for so many months. Did I mention that I had some visa troubles? No. Well most of Russia must know about that now, the amount I moaned about it. But no fear I'm back in Russia on the hunt for unusual places and some randomness from the country I love dearly but which doesn't always love me. Oh and I also got engaged, so can't say I haven't been busy...

And so let's start the new blogging year with the tale of Cafe 59, which I found through the labyrinthine Russian Livejounal blogosphere.

Some background. There's a super flashy gotham city area of Moscow which goes by the name of Moscow-City. This area was designed to be a super cluster of mega skyscrapers which would stand as an emblem of Moscow's status as an 'international financial capital'.

Moscow City

Fast forward to post-crisis Moscow and you arrive at this glassy fantasy place which is immaculately clean but for the most part empty. Apparently new investment has arrived and the skyscrapers will be completed, but who cares about economics - what about the secret sushi??!

As I mentioned Cafe 59 is on the 59th floor of the Federation tower, which will one day soon house the fabulous Hyatt Moscow amongst other delights. Right now it is home to VTB Bank which is where you need to start the hunt.

Federation Tower as it should look, one day...

Working my way through various checkpoints trying to look my best like a VTB employee and then on through a car park, I found my way to the reception of the Bashnya Federatsia (HINT: turn right when you come out of metro Vystavochnaya and look for a sign pointing to VTB). After wondering around the minus-1 floor of the building where I entered for what felt eons looking for a lift, I gave in and consulted the suspicious receptionist for help.

'Do you have a reservation for this cafe?" she asked me.
'No' I replied. 'I was at a meeting here in the building and someone recommended I visit.' I lied.
'Ok, use the internal phone, call 2298 and ask for Cafe 59. Someone will come to collect you.' She told me.

So I made the call, had a brief discussion and within 5 minutes a beautiful Prada clad woman came to look me over and then escort me to the secret sushi place.

That stomach-churning view from my table

Why I was being escorted? Well first we had to take a special lift into the heart of the tower, for which you require a special card. Then we passed through the offices of Hyatt International and on into a plush marble lobby which I presume will one day be less like an empty movie set and more like an exclusive Doha style 6 star hotel. One day. Another key card and another lift whisks us up 59 floors in what I think was about 20 seconds. Through a black corridor, my coat is taken and finally I came out at a very posh but empty glass-walled restaurant with the massive sprawl of Moscow spread before me as far as the eye could see.

Now obviously I didn't really belong there and they knew it, so I was given a seat right next to the window overlooking the building site, rather than one in the VIP area which stares right over the centre of Moscow (you could see the Kremlin, it look about the size of gold dust). I also couldn't help but feel that the waitress had specifically given me this table because it is seriously up close to the window and thoroughly turns the stomach.

The main view that I got, hills and river in distance

About the food. It's mostly sushi for around 500Rbl for a set of maki (very good though) and 1200Rbl for a steak. Sea bass is there too of course and some other Russian favourites like borsch and olivier salad. I actually though the food was great, but please - why does the Swissotel only serve cocktails up on the 39th floor? Because you feel sick eating at this height I am afraid.

I waited for some more clients to arrive and duly a couple of classic biznessmen turned up to quaff champagne at 3pm - finally all boxes ticked for what I was expecting of the secret place.

Staring right into a currently empty tower

But all too soon it was over. As soon as I had finished eating I was handed the bill and asked when I wanted to leave (bearing in mind I coulnd't get out by myself). I gracefully admitted I should probably 'go back to work' (presumably at VTB Bank) and furitvely snapped some pictures on my camera on the way out. And then before I knew it I was back in the Federation tower maze, trying to bring my body and head back to earth.

Cafe 59 are open 12:00 - 24:00, so if you have some hours to spare of an afternoon for some adventure I would highly recommend it. If you want to come in the evening though and see the light show of Moscow by night (which having seen a similar thing in Shanghai's Jimao tower I can imagine is amazing), you really need some wits about you. Apparently in the evening the only way in is via a phone situated in a lift somewhere in the underground car park...Now that is truly secret.

To make a reservation (and guarantee yourself entry) you can call them on +7 495 645 97 10.
Just please don't tell them I told you about it!

20/10/2010 Taste Russia cooking lessons

2010-10-27T22:23:00.001+04:00

Funnily enough just as I finally landed as a full-time Moscow resident, lots of unusual and fun invitations started finding their way into my inbox this week - everything going according to my cunning plan.

The first of them was the offer to join an English language cookery club where Russian chefs teach you how to make traditional dishes organised by some people called Taste Russia. The event was planned for about 6 to 7 travel/food writers resident in Moscow but as the invitation only landed at the last minute, as it turned out we were the sole guests of honour. All the more grub for me then.

Well that would have been true if it hadn’t been for the TV crew who also turned up. Obviously they had been invited too, but we of course weren’t aware of it. Carry on regardless we had too and hey, how fun to be on that Russian TV channel that is made for expats in Russia, that as an expat of 4 years in Russia I’ve actually never seen?! To be fair I hate TV anyway so I’ll not be too scathing.

The dishes we made were a blini/cream/fruit tower, pumpkin soup and potato pancakes with wild mushroom sauce. The blini came first as they were the quickest to make for the TV crew and we then bumbled our way through the savoury dishes. The chef Pavel, who is a chefing consultant and has opened tons of popular restaurants here, was a great fun guy, cracking some sound jokes and of course keeping our glasses filled with booze to keep the spirits up as we went along.

At some point of course the TV guys got bored so they were like ‘get that blini tower ready now, make a toast with some wine and then let us out of here! We have an Irish dancing troupe to shoot’ We got together this whole cheesy shot and then myself and my director gave identical interviews to the news girl who asked inspired questions like ‘ Have you made Russian food before?’ and ‘Do you like it?’.

Of course I had to lie on both counts and give a no and yes. Ok I like some Russian foods, but I'm sorry I don’t love it in general. I like spice and ultimately I really want to learn how to make khachapuri with an egg on it.

And yes I have made Russian food before. Lots of times. And usually it was bliny. And the fabulous Olivier salad. I’ve even made plov, but Russia Today expects certain answers.

Anyway, we ate up, enjoyed some excellent beef slices on our yummy creamy soup and headed on our way half excited half cringing that yes, at least 50 people might watch us on TV on Monday wearing ridiculous chef hats.

But alas in the end our segment got axed in favour of some Russian sumo wrestling kids. No kidding.

In return I proved my worth by beating half the Russia Today presenters at Singstar karaoke for the Playstation 2 the following weekend But no they didn’t show that on Prime Time either. Sigh.

Road trip: Part 3 - Home run

2010-10-20T14:14:00.000+04:00

We got up and at it by noon, grabbed a cheap lunch in a Russian/Uzbek joint and strolled the walking street of the town, which is your standard small, pleasant but lacking in any tourist sights at all kind of average Russian place. The road from Tver to Moscow is a shorter stretch and a much better road – hence the high number of traffic police. We managed to pass at least 20 without incidence and were smoothly on our way. We passed by the picturesque XXX lake, but declined to stop at the village road sides selling smoked eels, before hitting the part of the road that positively terrified me – even though it was broad daylight.

This is how they repair roads in Russia. One side has tarmac, the other side has pre-tarmac surface. You wind in and out of road works taking it in turns with the oncoming traffic to get your turn on the nice tarmac before panning out on what will one day be a four lane road, but is now a one lane road with NO ROAD MARKINGS. This really unnerved me – surely here it is, the opportunity for the Russian drivers to go wild and overtake and speed wherever they like! As it turned out they didn’t but the sight of one huge wide tarmac road, really freaked me out.

No road markings - Louise freaks out

Finally approaching 6pm we were driving down Leningradsky prospekt and up to the door of the flat. Mission accomplished! Now only to drive around for another two hours in Moscow rush hour – or as John prefers to call it ‘Moscow cluster fuck’ - looking for somewhere to fill the tank.

That done we dropped off the car with 985kms on the clock, only for the rental guy to say – ‘how would you like to pay for the extra mileage?’

‘Extra mileage?’

‘You can only drive 200kms a day on our cars’ he says.

Me: ‘Erm I think it’s well known that the distance between Moscow and St. Petersburg requires quite a bit more than 200kms per day – surely it’s included in the one-way fee - That is actually just ridiculous’.

Rental guy thinks about my logical input for a few seconds and responds.

‘Yes, fair enough, that is logical – ok, I accept’ and it’s a high five for team bowker-whitworth and a rewarding feast at the nearby Chinese restaurant to celebrate.

Next up – one long road trip east in the new lada Kalina inspired by Putins adventures in Siberia. Or maybe not…

Road Trip: Part 2 - Novgorod to Tver

2010-10-20T14:07:00.001+04:00

Obviously on the back of a mild hangover and general exhaustion after an all-round tough evening, we slept all the way through breakfast and skipped straight to snacks from the mini-bar and a trip to the wellness centre at lunch time. Tired limbs eased out by a swim and couple of turns in the banya we were then ready to get back into the car. Now In Your Pocket has been in Veliky Novgorod many a time, but still, every visit must be greeted by a trip to the Kremlin and the obligatory photo next to the Volkov river. Done and done we enjoyed late lunch in the best restaurant in town (by far), the newly opened ‘Nice People’ just opposite the Kremlin and headed back out on to the highway.

I had been asking everyone before we set off on the road trip what to expect of the Rossiya highway and all the responses I got centred around, ‘don’t drive too fast on the good bits, that’s were all the traffic police are’. For most of the 700kms I would say, there aren’t really any good bits. The best highway in Russia, for the most part is a three lane road (the middle lane swops every kilometer or so between an overtaking place for one side of the road or the other) filled with trucks.

There are things to see along the way though and it seems there’s definitely a system to the stop offs you can make along the road. Here’s a run down of where to stop and what to do there:

About an hour out of Novgorod you get to Kreststy. This is your tea stop and there’s a nice pink church and of course the usual birch forest and cute wooden houses. The whole road side is dotted with ladies selling tea coming straight from real samovars and I’m pretty sure I saw honey under all that smoke too. I’d never seen a real wood burning samovar in action before and we decided this place was possibly therefore the best small Russian town ever – the tea cost 20Rbl and we even got to shower a small child with dirty water after we dipped into a huge water filled pothole. Unintentionally cruel but between watching for trucks through the smoke clouds whilst juggling a hot cup of tea, it was difficult to avoid.

About another two hours on you meet the villages of giant cuddly toys. Here the roadside is filled with stalls selling giant pink teddy bears and samovars. But be sure to buy here, as you sure as hell will not be able to pick one up later on – and of course, those bears… You need them!

Next up is a very long stretch of opasny (dangerous) road filled with potholes and with the overtaking areas only being 400 metres long and visibility over the hills and around the forested bends very poor. Actually thinking about it, I’m quite sure the whole road was marked with opasny road signs and potholes, but the lack of traffic police here, is an obvious sign that this is the really crap bit of road.

Pass by the lovely lake town of Valday, then on through a huge traffic clog up at the halfway marker of Vyshny Volochok and you head on down through yet more forests filled with deer up and roads filled with trucks and speeding mercedes until Torzhok. Torzhok I had heard is probably a lovely place to visit, but not at 9pm so we pushed on to Tver.

We finally rolled into Tver and smoothly found our way to the cheap hotel I had pre-booked online and carried our bags up two flights of stairs to the check in. We then were turned away by the SELIGER HOTEL, because we were foreign. But wait – surely this is no longer the USSR and foreigners can stay where they want? No. Unfortunately for us, there was no room at the inn, as the receptionist literally couldn’t be bothered to register us at 11pm – as hey, probably she was tired after a long day of doing nothing. Unlike us who had only driven almost 400kms of Russian road.

In the end we parked up at the Volga Hotel and I ran in to desperately ask – ‘please will you take two tired foreigners in your hotel?’ The woman just smiled and said of course and I started in a pleading tone on a round of – ‘but are you sure, in the other place they said….’ and nice lady just nodded and said, ‘yes of course it is easy, in that other place they are just lazy – velkom!’ And we were checked in.

So let’s review this hotel quickly – no breakfast, but you can eat at the 24hr self service next door for 200Rbl (beer 40Rbl), rooms have huge bathrooms with baths that can fit two and the view if you remember to look is over a nice lake – not the Volga as you may expect. 24hr supermarket on the corner and large double bed for 3,500Rbl, which for anywhere else but Russia you’d have a room in a 4 star, but here it is completely normalno for a 3 star venue and the price some would even consider to be cheap.

Road Trip: Part 1 - St. Petersburg to Veliky Novgorod

2010-10-20T14:00:00.001+04:00

Well this blog hasn’t been updated in quite some time… We’ll not dwell too much on that but leave it suffice to say that the last few months have been a bit of a tornado for Louise In Your Pocket, but with the new start fully now underway, it’s back to blog for me – as I’m now permanently resident in Moscow town.

Everyone will tell you moving house is a stressful thing. Who can forget last year’s chaos for example when I attempted to move flat by throwing all my things into an oka (the Soviet mini), whilst also dealing with the new tenants moving into my old place (complete with half their family), at exactly the same time and on a hangover, which was interceded by having to bribe the cops and meet an American couch surfing friend?

Moving to Moscow, is in terms of logistics quite a more complex task – but this time I had planned it perfectly – starting with moving everything in one go by car.

The distance as the map would have it is 712kms. You can add straight onto that another 30kms at least either side for driving through the city, plus all the extra mileage accrued visiting the towns along the way and let’s not get started even with the long distance you can travel before realizing you are on the wrong road with no chance to turn around for miles. And so begins the great St.Petersburg – Moscow road trip.

That's our car - parked in the middle of the road...n/b the ice on the nearby car, it was COLD that night

First off we had to collect the hire car. If you are hiring a car in Russia, bear in mind filling out the initial documents at the rental office will take at least an hour. Then drive the car through the city to the wee flat on Kanal Griboedeva and load it up with boxes of books and winter clothes – that’s at least another hour and half.

That done we were all ready to set off. My sole task during this journey was to be navigator and I was quite pleased with myself at the thought that this task should be very easy. One long straight road all the way to Moscow – piece of cake.

Only a few kilometers out of the city and I realized I had completely failed and we were heading out on the other one long road which in fact goes all the way to Kiev. FAIL. We then back tracked and took another road just as a giant hail storm started to batter us. A second fail by navigator and we were heading into the huge residential area of Kupchino – which is home to one of the world’s most dangerous junctions and the last place I wanted to be.

Finally we figured it out, after some phone calls to my back up navigator and we set off on the Rossiya highway. In the dark and in a snow/hail storm. Yes it was more than a bit scary.

Yup a picture of the hotel - that first drive in the snow was so stressful I completely forgot I had a camera

A hard drive was carefully and commendably driven by my boyfriend despite my constant yelps of – oh my god someone is crossing the highway in the dark! And jesus that car looks like it will fall right of the back of that transporter – oh I can’t cope!! and sometime after 23:00 we arrived at our hotel in Veliky Novgorod. Our friends Sebastian and Lizette were there waiting for us and were visibly relieved to see we had finally arrived safely – I had after all told them to expect us at 20:00.

In celebration of the various happy events; our safe arrival, visitors from the big city in sleepy little Novgorod on a Saturday night, my move to Moscow, the opening of the Park Inn Novgorod and of course our engagement and then the usual further toasts towards a happy future, safe road on Sunday, the world cup in south Africa (!) and so on, we drank a steady succession of vodka shots. Add to that a few beers and plates of chicken wings and other yummy meaty snacks and when we finally crawled into bed we could do nothing but praise the king size bed and heavenly tranquility of Park Inn Novgorod.

17/08/2010 Russia's heat wave

2010-08-17T12:06:00.000+04:00

Yes, it does seem a bit out of date now to be blogging about the heat wave, given that it has been running for at least 6 weeks now, but alas Louise IYP has been on holiday and today for the first time in months the temperature has dropped below twenty and I’m freezing and wondering, why was I complaining, warmth in some ways is actually quite good! Wait do I actually mean this…?

Nizhny Novgorod in the height of the heat wave

It’s difficult to say exactly when the great burn started, but as my memory serves me it was something like June 20th. Back then we couldn’t believe the weather forecast when it was claiming it would be 35 degrees at the weekend, but after weeks spent sweating into our office chairs and taking it in turns to bask in the breeze of our one and only fan, we started to think it would never end. As one friend eloquently put it at the peak of the heat; ‘I went outside just now and it was like wading through a thickening omelette.’ Yup, we didn’t expect it as, c’mon ‘this is the arctic circle it’s supposed to be cold!’

Putin was apparently telling everyone to drink tea (ever the pure-blooded Russian), drunks were drowning in the country’s rivers, ponds and even fountains, while my friends had such keeping cool solutions as i) ‘taking freezing cold showers, sometimes four in one day’, ii) ’crashing on the floor at work where they have an air-conditioning unit’ iii) ‘leaving the office to sit in the car on the lunch break with the aircon flat out’ and iv) ‘going to Namibia where it's comparatively freezing.’

I also saw some odd solutions in action myself. Clearly too hot in the mini-bus (mashrutka) on the route to work, what does the driver do? Just drives his route with the doors wide open of course.

Can’t even get on the two week waiting list for a fan or air-conditioning unit? Just use the logics of circulation and stick your feet in a bucket of cold water under you desk while at work and shroud yourself in a wet sheet when you go to bed (I actually did that one – I can confirm it works, to an extent).

And of course the absolute classic was just to stop working altogether, just like the girl in my local shop. The lights in the shop were on and even the fridges were unlocked. The serially unfriendly girl, who once ripped my flatmate off something rotten was sitting outside (which is fair enough) texting. As I approached her and attempted to enter for a nice cold one, she flat out barred my entry, saying the shop was ‘closed’. She’s at work, but not at work. Why did she bother turning up at all? It is one of those unfathomable questions that you just don’t bother asking anymore when you live in Russia.

View from office window, central Moscow. TSUM in the distance.

Up in St. Petersburg, the locals like to claim that the high humidity actually makes it feel hotter than in Moscow, but as we soon realised we hadn’t really seen anything compared to the 40 degree swelter of the capital. As things began to get worse and wild fires started grabbing hold of the outskirts of Moscow and covering the city in an all encompassing apocalyptic smoke cloud, my facebook news feed began to look like this:

Jessica Bachman sporting new office dress code

‘HELP! My eyes!!!!’,
‘It has passed the threshold, its unbearable’,
‘This is like living in hell's back garden!’
and many were ‘mentally preparing themselves’ to go outside of their houses.

Donning scary looking dust masks, the brave colleagues and friends worked on, but positively terrified me with their evident brink of collapse mental states. I offered my room out to those in Moscow who may have been given time off work, but alas, the smog came to St. Petersburg too and so the heat continued.

Hot on the Russian blogosphere were screen shots from the forest fire ministry showing half of Western Russian in flames and a terrifying video of some guys who drove out to help villagers escape before their wooden houses went up in flames. They arrived, realized the situation was far worse than they had thought and sought to get out of there by the quickest route possible, which led them straight into the hellish fire. The guys luckily drove out to safety and some elaborate (and understandably so) Russian profanity saw them on their way.

Another popular video also saw Putin proving his holy skills by dropping some water in action man mode onto a burning forest and making a direct hit. One day later, the smoke cloud left Moscow…

And the big news stories? Putin’s administration comes under fire for cutting forestry management numbers back in 2008, Russia bans grain exports (the wield may be down some 40% this Autumn), Moscow’s mayor ignores the crisis and kicks back on the black sea and according to my boyfriend we are all going to be very concerned about fertilizer in the next coming months.

Finally on Thursday, the smog cleared and the prayers were answered as rain hit Moscow and everyone celebrated having come through Dante’s Inferno with a semblance of sanity left over. Now I of course at this point was somewhere in a karaoke bar in London’s Soho area, but I can still imagine it now; the tears streaming down the office worker’s faces, men in suits dancing around under black clouds waiting impatiently to be drenched and an almighty applause and chorus of ‘ura!’ as the first clap of thunder cracks on the horizon.

It has of course already left a bit of a gap given man’s natural desire to hear stories about how the earth is giving us the hottest/snowiest/wettest days ‘Since Records Began!’ and, as a pal at Reuters put it: Colleague sitting next to me: "Guys, it's finally going to rain, at 6 PM!"
Reporter with a worried look in his eyes peaks up from behind his computer: "Rain? Really? What are we going write about then?"

But fear not, Russia’s apocalyptic year of unseen amounts of snow, deadly ice storms, sub zero temperatures, wild fires, droughts and then crushing heat waves is now apparently going to be very soon followed up by hurricane-like gales sweeping in from the north. They are arriving just in time for the weekend and their warm-up act, which we saw this weekend in St. Petersburg, rattled the feeble windows of my city centre flat no end, damaged the balustrades of the Pavolvsk palace and rather sadly set fire to part of the Oreshek fortress at lake Ladoga.

I for my part am 100% British and can’t help but be honest and put it out there – I do love talking about the weather. Even when it actually is as bad as you say it is.

17/07/2010 Summer Bars in St. Petersburg

2010-07-20T17:58:00.004+04:00

St. Petersburg finally woke up this summer. Forced by an incredible heatwave that left all of the city’s bars empty and instead the streets and alleys of the centre swarming with people enjoying shop bought beer under hot summer nights – they finally realized something had to be done. St. Petersburg has had the same ramshackle collection of bars for years. And although they may seem very atmospheric and friendly on a winter night when the temperature on the street is minus 32... when it’s plus 34 and you’re melting of course you don’t want to be trapped in a dark cave under some guys arm pit. So the bare minimum of roubles was spent and here’s what we now have.

Tantsy
First of the bunch to turn something (anything!) into a ‘letny proekt’ (summer bar), was Tantsy. Poor old Tantsy is a live music venue that despite its friendly staff and good taste in music, is just devoid of any semblance of atmosphere. The entrance looks like a business centre, the large club room itself is reminiscent of a village hall and more often than not the only people dancing there in the morning are the staff. Their summer project is a derelict old courtyard with the floor covered in sand and dust. The yard itself is quite exciting in the pack of stray dogs, post-apocalyptic industrial waste-land way – Budapest this is not. Sounds bad, looks worse, but actually considering they clearly only put the place together in the space of a few days, it’s a fair effort – and I personally love a bit of rough having seen more than enough stylishly gentrified crumbling buildings. This place is actually still an original bomb site, and so gets Kudos from me. One or two plastic tables and chairs have been dotted around (no you cannot sit on the sand, even a Chinese mine would be cleaner) and slabs of mdf have been put on to the thin layer of browny-yellow grime to allow for basketball games to take place - making you wish that a couple of Bronx ghetto boys would turn up to complete the scene. Music? Reggae, hip-hop and ragga of course.
Score: 6 out of ten, because it’s close to my house.
Address: ul. Gorokhovaya 49, metro sennaya pl.
Kuturny Klub Tantsy Facebook

Mod Roof
Mod Roof is the summer version of the now defunct Mod Club. As many people know I actually hated Mod and I wasn’t the only one. Why did this place inspire such passionate loathing?

Emos. Hundreds of them. Emos are the same everywhere of course and I’m not suggesting they should be eliminated from the earth because of their depressive attitude and self-conscious moodiness…It’s just that emos usually are teenagers and I am not. Mod went within a year from a cool opening, with great rock music and plenty of space to becoming a notorious hang out for disillusioned kids who’d just got pissed up to their eyeballs in the street on cheap vodka and needed to get inside to wipe the puke off their faces in the toilets.

The new incarnation seemed to be trying to bury the memory of those dark times. Basically just the long concrete roof of a nearby building, the soundtrack was reggae/raga/hip-hop (that means summer in Russian) and the punters were young professionals on the edgier afisha style of the local scene. This was when we arrived on a Wednesday night. Their owner was in attendance so I put some of the pleasantly cool atmosphere down to his influence and also to the fact that Bob Marley and Rastafarianism just doesn’t relate to emo culture.

We later went down on a Saturday morning (eta 3am) and Mod roof was absolutely ram packed. It felt a bit like arriving at a house party that had just been gate crashed by half of the neighbourhood, but things were still hitting off reasonably well in spite of the cirumstances, even if it did seem to us a bit off to be playing Smack my Bitch up in the same set as Aretha Franklin. There’s definitely a cheap druggy scene going on here at the weekends which gives the place that uncomfortable edge and which is not totally to my tastes, but I’m willing to give it a chance, if only for the fact that you get to be outside without getting your feet scuzzed up by disgusting dust filled sand.

Score: 7.5 so long as they keep out the emos.
Address: Kanal Griboedeva 7, entrance in courtyard, metro Nevsky pr.
MODCLUB Facebook

Barack Obama Bar

Yes, nobody really knows what the ridiculous name is about, but that doesn’t really matter much in a country where even the word pub is quite often spelled pap. Located in a so-far secret far off hidden courtyard in the place where disconcertingly enough the drop toilets of the sorely-missed Dyuny used to be, Obama keeps with the fashion of the sprinkling of dirty sand, but has installed some more permanent looking features like a covered deck with chairs and a toilet (yes only one) inside the adjacent ruined building. It looks like something will happen inside that building at some point soon enough and although they were playing a constant 1970s disco beat for about 4 hours running, I have a feeling the music will get more varied and OBB will become a place I’d like to dance in. For the time being we were liking the fact that we didn’t know anyone there (oh those tired old conversations), there was no table football to lose your friends to and our friends saw some pulling opportunities, which appeared to be within the legal age.

Score: 8.5 if they sort out the music.
Address: Konyushennaya pl. 2, enter through the blue gates just after the church of spilled blood, head through to the second yard and follow your ear to the far right corner
They only have a vkontakte page, not even a website, but anyway

Dickens Beer Garden

Ok, it’s not new and it hasn’t changed much in the last ten years, but hey, if it ain’t broke, why fix it? Nice large garden with music coming from the inside of the pub (aside from on last week’s birthday party when we were deafened by a troop of bagpipers), I have a discount card, owners and staff are friends for years, close to my house and it always gives me that comfort feeling of, this is almost a real British pub so surely I am not going to have to get into a nasty fight with more neo-nazi bearded bikers. Solid and reliable, Dickens is always a winner.

Score: 10 because someone has to get top marks and in five years of patronage Dickens has never let me down.
Address: Nab. reky Fontaky 108, metro Sennaya pl.

Night wolves

This windowless biker bar with a bench outside is located somewhere near the business centre in which the IYP brains toil away. I made a joke once about going there for an after work drink which turned out not very funny at all. Scary as f*** hells angels hang out here drinking very strong beer before taking off on their Harleys to go and terrorise grannies. And if you are like me and always just think talking to any old random for a few minutes will widen your horizons and give yourself something to write about later. Think again. It’s just scary. Scary.

Score: couldn’t possibly give them marks, I’m too scared of them.

25/06/2010 Cirque du Soleil

2010-07-01T16:19:00.002+04:00

It’s the show that everyone is taking about, made by the troop that became a synonym for ‘I can’t believe my eyes’ and headed by the last regular non-cosmonaut to travel into space with the Russian crew. Yes, I really do have the best job in the world (or at least this side of Moscow) as I was one of those lucky dozens who was invited to the premiere of the new show Corteo.

I don’t want to rant on about this forever though (as I have been doing that all week) but I just have to say, even if you think 4,000Rbl is major expensive for a front row seat, you can take it from me, it’s all probably worth it. The show is even actually based around clowns (who usually either frighten or bore me) and still I thought it was the best staged event I’d ever seen.

No there are not animals, but then can animals do somersaults through chandeliers that are swinging 10 metres of the ground? No they cannot. That’s what the best acrobats in the world do instead (although I did think last year’s guitar playing chimps on motorbikes on the Fontanka circus was quite good too). There are also world famous Russian midgets flying around the big top attached to some huge balloons, a giant, the best jugglers in the world (fact), a woman tightrope walking on a unicycle whilst hula-hooping with six huge silver rings and this weird bit where 6 guys become human cartwheels and roll around the stage which is itself turning. My god! How cool it was, I just can not put it into words.

I was feeling buzzed about this event for at least a few days after and now am going to have to wait a whole year, until the next show Kooza comes to Russia. You don’t have to wait that long though. Just do yourself a favour and buy a ticket. They will be in St. Petersburg, Moscow and Kazan this year and you can get the tickets here www.cirquedusoleil.com

24/06/2010 Luzhaika

2010-06-30T17:53:00.001+04:00

Turned up completely out of place at the opening of a ‘summer project’ called Luzhaika one of the Ginza Project’s chain of middle-class restaurants of a summer evening this week. This place at first glance rather reminded me of a garden centre. Tucked off the road in an old industrial part of the Petrograd island, it has a huge garden with freshly turfed on grass, an artificial pond and various gazebo looking things dotted around at different intervals (these are the VIP tables of course) and a small petting zoo for the brats. Over in the covered area was a barbeque (yummy) and a huge slab of kebab meat being twisted around in front of a grill (not so much), while behind that was bar proper with (no prizes for guessing) a Asian-looking sushi chef. There was of course also a stage where in the beginning of the night a guy on a saxophone was playing along to some dance tunes (quite cool actually) before some old Soviet crooner got on stage to get to work on the Italian chanson and a few numbers by Tom Jones (massive cringe fest).

Meanwhile for us out of place ones (head-to-toe second hand versus head-to-toe Versace – not to mention windswept after an afternoon spent on an ice-breaker) we were kept busy with the free cocktails and hilarious Russian bitch watching opportunities. Seems literally none of the other female guests had actually come here to eat anything or listen to the ‘concert’ at all. They instead had turned up purely in the hope of getting their pictures taken. Photographers took up about 30% of the guests and were chuckling just as much as we were at the Russian Paris Hilton’s shameless flaunting of the boobs, legs, blue steel and pouty lips. Once the flash bulbs were away they usually went back to filing their nails, checking themselves out on their camera phones and then sulking again, before stalking around to find a good position on the ornamental bridge to flick their long hair back and stare seductively into the distance in the most natural and unstaged way possible.

So here we have it, just a handful of the results of an opening event populated only by vain young Russian women, photographers and a handful of old businessmen to pay for them. There were also mini-pigs (actually they may have just been very small pigs…) but unfortunately you couldn’t touch them so that incredible photo-op was squandered. Pity

These two girls were really desperate for photo ops.Unfortunately one of them looks like a young Wildenstein's bride...

Boyfriends. Always disturbing the photo op by trying to be romantic.

Not an ipod4 - FAIL

These pseudo-lesbians were clearly professionals. Check out the lighting - the Twilight look is so hot right now and they know it

Shame about the Tequila sunrise - looks almost as dated as the pose

22/06/2010 Shostakovich's Leningrad symphony

2010-06-23T18:38:00.005+04:00

June 22 is a very special day in Russian history, as it was on this day in 1941 that the people of the Soviet Union were told, by an eerily nervous sounding Stalin, that the German Nazi army had invaded Russia. Right on the back of the student graduation holiday of aliye parusa and in the midst of the white nights, the people of Leningrad heard that Hitler and his operation Barbarossa had its eyes and tanks firmly set on bombing the city into the ground. Every year, to mark the anniversary, the local theatres try to do something special and of course in former Leningrad, the most popular event was the performance of Shostakovich’s Leningrad Symphony.

I won’t repeat the long story of this piece (you can just read my feature about it instead), but in brief, Shostakovich wrote the symphony in the midst of the 900 day siege of Leningrad. It was finally performed in the besieged city in 1942 by a massive orchestra of painfully starved musicians. It was one of the most famous concerts in Russian history and possibly a turning point in the siege (there’s even a whole museum dedicated to it), not to mention a huge morale builder for the famished survivors of ‘Russia’s cultural capital’. Given that background, the Grand Philharmonic (where the original premiere was performed) was absolutely packed to the rafters with blockade survivors and eager Shostakovich fans like me.

What else can I say about this performance aside from that it was probably the most emotional musical experience of my life! The first movement (with its famous ‘invasion theme’) starts slowly and quietly, marching snare drum, loud interjections of heavy brass, rising and falling pizzicato scales from the strings, and then it just keeps going getting louder and louder for minutes on end, more powerful and overwhelming until you are suddenly thrust into the inescapable all-encompassing chaotic final advance of the Germany army.

Incredible percussion, blaring brass and frenetic strings, with huge booming interjections from the bass and the piercing sounds of bombs and planes whining out of the higher strings and woodwind. I actually felt terrified for a moment it was so loud and so vividly had me imagining the terror of the imminent siege. Without my noticing a tear had dropped out of my eye and I was half-way off my seat, red-faced and heart beating like crazy. Then for a second I blinked away and saw the babushkas who were surrounding me sobbing into their handkerchiefs and of course it just completely set me off and face was streaming with tears.

By the end of the piece though I had got it together (it’s actually an incredibly long and complex piece of music, so the outpouring of emotion usually comes right at the beginning) and was just feeling so emotionally overwhelmed and excited, that I was already prepared to stand up and start applauding before the final crescendo of the last movement had actually sounded out. It did finally come to an end and we all rushed to our feet in a roar of clapping, smiling, crying and catharsis. For me, hearing the symphony performed live for the first here in St. Petersburg, surrounded by survivors of the siege, was just like as it has been described in one of my favourite war time memoirs from 1942 ‘a storm cloud bursting with music’.Beautiful.

On my walk home, I also came across the most incredibly fiery rain-soaked white nights sunset. I tried to capture it on film (just like I tried to capture that concert in words), but there are some things that you have to experience first hand

Just unforgettable.

19/06/2010 Alie Parussa

2010-06-21T19:34:00.002+04:00

Translated into English Alie Parussa means ‘Crimson Sails’. Still has no meaning for you? Then you should read the book by Alexander Grin, or just get yourself to St. Petersburg for the third weekend in June. This city-wide celebration is the biggest day for St. Petersburg’s Vypuskniks, or high school graduates and is just another classic example of how crazy St. Petersburg gets once the White Nights and Midnight Sun really kick in.

In Alexander Grin’s novel the hero is a young girl finishing school and looking brightly into the future. She longs to see one day during the white nights, tall ships with red sails passing through the city’s open bridges, and somehow it actually happens that just as she finishes school and comes of age, the red ships float down the Neva and her dreams come true. Now I haven’t actually read the book (obviously), so I can’t say what the metaphors are exactly, but in any case the holiday really strikes a cord with the local student population.

As markets guy was still in town for the forum I suggested we try and check out the show for this crazy holiday because despite being here for four years, I’ve never actually had ‘my dreams come true’ and seen the ships sailing down the river. As it transpired the atmosphere of the whole event is somewhat like New Year, only it’s the summer and you are not expected to have the best night of your life and then follow it up with the best year of your life. Thank god! You can simply drink all night alongside tens of thousands of enthusiastic youngsters at a huge street party and enjoy a nice fireworks display when the ships arrive at about 1.30am.

All of which things we did and saw. After the ships had passed and the fireworks had gone off, most people went off to chill out and drink on the grassy field of Mars nearby, play guitars, Frisbee etc. This is where the atmosphere becomes more like a friendly summer festival (minus the music), and as usual with festivals, getting to a toilet is a problem. Leading to the rather disgusting (but what other options are there?!) prospect of having to just piss in the street, leading to rivers of urine running across Piter’s beautiful stones. Shit happens I guess.

On the hunt for beer we passed through Dumskaya, which had by this point become a river of broken glass and made it back out again on to the quiet canals, before the long awaited storm came and everyone got rained out and had to go home (with their body clocks well and truly screwed).

Now you may notice this description of the event doesn’t really a) go into many really specific details about the beautiful boats or awesome concert and b) sound like an event that would not really be anything drastically different from the millions of other street party holidays like City Day or Victory Day. Well, that is mostly due to the amount of people and my very short stature - I couldn’t really see very much at all. I later went on youtube and as you can see, the event IS as spectacular as everyone likes to make out. And that’s without me even mentioning Dima Bilan (whose backing dancer was once Yevgeniy Plushenko) performing in front of the hermitage with the Cirque du Soleil.

The White Nights doesn’t get much better than this!

18/06/2010 Picasso in the Hermitage

2010-06-21T19:17:00.001+04:00

The ‘exhibition of the year’, finally arrived in St. Petersburg this Friday. Compromising hundreds of works brought over especially from all of France’s major art museums, Picassso has been the art discussion of the year. The opening was attended by virtually every player in the local art world, plus dozens of delegates of the economic forum and us. Before they cut the ribbon we were all forced into the huge Throne Room of the palace to listen to numerous speeches, repeating the same things that were in the press releases and again talking endlessly about the year of France in Russia. The usual deal, only this lasted a whopping 45 minutes, in a room that was pushing past 30 degrees C. Quite the sweat fest.

Eventually they cut the ribbon and we were released into the exhibition. I have to say it was simply spectacular, one of the best I’ve ever seen in that museum. Incredible lighting, full of pictures and sculptures that most of us had never seen before, it was actually rammed with masterpieces, rather than just a few random works bearing the great man’s signature. Just stunning. And I'll say now, it was not the Blue Period focused exhibit of the press release, more than anything this was just one big classic Picasso sex fest. Raunchy as hell.

The second half of the exhibition was up on the top floor, so we had to trace our way through more rooms of the after hours Hermitage (which is very quickly becoming my favourite museum in the whole world). For about 5 minutes my dreams came true when we found ourselves on route and alone in the Gauguin room at about 19.30 in the evening. I once read about how Piotrovsky loves to wander round the Hermitage at night by himself - for those five minutes I realised that as director of the museum he has one of the best jobs in the entire world. Not sure if he wears his pyjamas during the tour (I think that might have been a joke in the article I read…), but I certainly would. Ah the Hermitage has seduced me yet again!

07/06/2010 Faithless

2010-06-21T19:04:00.001+04:00

The World Economic Forum (or is it the International Economic Forum…?) came to St. Petersburg this week and as usual, in efforts to impress the best, they organized a free concert on Palace Square. Over the last few years famous names who have played the square included Duran Duran and that guy from Pink Floyd. This year, according to rumour factory.ru the organisers wanted to get Lady Gaga to play. She was of course way too expensive so they ended up with Faithless instead. Faithless obviously had known about this for a while (got to get those visa applications in early) but still there was a serious lack of organization going on and nobody else was aware of their upcoming visit until about a week ago. Then suddenly one or two poorly positioned adverts turned up and the event was promoted with ticket prices of 1,700Rbl.

Of course upon hearing that the usual free concert was actually now very expensive, most people lost interest. Then three days before the event, new info was being pumped out to the press that the event was indeed, as originally hoped for free. Tickets were being sold for the notorious ‘VIP zone’ which was directly in front of the stage and anyone else who didn’t mind not having a nice view could go for free. Now there was no money to be forked out, I regained my interest in going down to have a look and swiftly informed visiting Reuters markets guy of the updated info so we could meet and I could return the favour of suggesting something interesting to do in St. Petersburg after last week’s adventures in Moscow.

What can be said about the concert then? A bit boring if I will be perfectly honest. The sound was poor, the view to the stage was blocked by a large stand of seats for the VIP area (which incidentally was empty) and Faithless themselves seemed pretty put off by the whole lack of organisation. Most of the people who had turned up were of the curious by-stander variety and aside from those catchy tunes from decades ago such as Insomnia, the rest of the set didn’t interest anyone. The situation was so cringeworthy in fact that nobody even bothered asking for an encore, meaning within about 20 seconds of leaving the stage, the group had already returned for their last hit, to save the poor VIP ticket holders the humiliation for having paid for a free concert that lasted little more than an hour.

Fail.

14/06/2010 In case you didn’t notice – World Cup!

2010-06-18T14:56:00.000+04:00

The World Cup, in case you haven’t noticed the incessant buzzing of vuvuzelas in your ears driving you half insane, started last Friday. Saturday evening of course England played the USA and it was all pretty much as boring as the rest of the weekend’s games (with the exception of Germany, efficient brutes). I was looking at two venues and two crowds, none of which seemed to consist of any English people, but that’s beside the point. As we were at dinner near Taganskaya, I went with the Chisty Prudy option offered up by some Reuters friends.

As I said the game was all pretty boring, but things were of course spiced up by the fact that I had not paid any attention at all to how much Czech beer I had already consumed with the meal and it was all continuing to go down like water at the pub where Reuters were watching the game. After the anti-climatic finish we left the pub and passed an unsuccessful round of other bars that were closing, were face controlling us and finally a nasty student place that wouldn’t let me in because I had no ID (I’m impressed, I still look like I’m 17? I should really be working the Lolita angle more…). Then there was some shockingly rude service thrown in our faces (kafe bilingual you are going down!) and confusion of heading off to meet guys for kalyan in the wrong location of a large chain called Sherbet. Humph.

I of course was feeling like I needed to get ever closer to home (beer, so much beer…), so I began suggesting the bar at the corner of my house. Perhaps I had consummed slightly less beer than the company, but my wishes were granted and a long and bizarre conversation ensued at zero o’clock in the morning in the neighbourhood bar, which we managed to laugh about the next day, despite the fact that really it was long, bizarre and I still have no idea why we were having it in the first place. The next day fortunately there were many more interesting things to do than watch football and my mean hangover was slowly killed by being taken on a long walk by the nice Reuters markets guy in late evening Moscow sunshine.

Funnily enough when I arrived back in St. Petersburg the next day though, despite my numerous alternative suggestions of nice ways to spend a day, all my friends were doing was watching darned football.In fact every day since I've been back, they have mostly been doing the same.

There is no escape.

11/06/2010 Moscow Flea Markets

2010-06-15T17:11:00.000+04:00

As is probably noticeable from my own personal ‘style’ and regular disappearances to unusual parts of the city, I am a major fan of flea markets and searching for second hand stuff. For those of you in Moscow here is a run down of the flea market bargain hunting opportunities:

Bloshiny Rynok – yes smarty pants that means flea market in Russian. There is an official Художественный проект (artistic project) called flea market that organizes a big market/exhibition every three months or so. If you are antique hunting this is a great place as a lot of the collectors here display pre-revolutionary stuff that you will find almost nowhere else. Same goes for clothes and shoes (tend to date back to the earlier part of the century) and generally there’s a really nice atmosphere complimented by music coming straight out of gramophones. Entrance costs 100Rbl but the price is worth it even if you are just coming to have a look around. Their next market will be held 23 -26 September, Check their site www.bloxa.ru for more.

The Sunday upmarket – this is not really a flea market as such as most of the people here are displaying their own designs and crafty overpriced jewellery type stuff. There are still some genuine second-handers usually hidden in there though. Look out for the lady who sells vintage European handbags and then bargain with her – seems like at the upmarket you can’t bargain, but as usual in Russia no-body has any change so in that situation, you almost certainly can. The market usually takes place every month or two, check their site www.sundayupmarket.ru for details.

Art Bazaar at Winzavod – again not really a flea market as most of the people here are the same guys who you will find at the Sunday upmarket, but there usually are at least two stalls of people selling the more unusual soviet era stuff. Again bargaining with these guys is hard and actually their stuff is quite expensive (you don’t want to know how much I almost paid for a can of fanta from the 1980 olympics…) but if you are looking for jewellery there are usually good picks and more than anything the atmosphere is calm and unclaustraphobic. Again the market happens once every couple of weeks, check www.winzavod.com for dates of the next event.

Lianozovo – this is the real deal. Hundreds of babushkas and other dodgy looking blokes with their wares spread out along the ground right next to a railway track. The flow of people selling all kinds of crap (one old black shoe anyone?) seems to go on for miles and the tat on display is going for pennies. If you are looking for creepy looking Soviet stuff for a handful of roubles this is the place. Just be careful to watch your bag, they are not all the most honest people up here. You need to get up here on a Saturday morning as everyone gets cleared off by the authorities later on in the day. As you can imagine getting there is a bit of a mission, you need to get an elektrichka from savylovskaya and get off at a place called Mark. Cross over the railway lines and you should soon see it.

Retro magazinchik – This place gets more and more expensive every time I visit and is still mostly full of weird looking Soviet era clothing that would look cool on Kate Moss, but will obviously look offensive on you if you are not careful. They do have great bags though and beautiful (if pricey) antique jewellery. First time I was here I got a bag for 1,000Rbl, now their minimum is almost 2,000Rbls. But if you must be different...Address and open hours can be found here.

In St. Petersburg the second hand/vintage situation is much better. There is now a charity shop filled with nice stuff that never reaches more than 500Rbl, one of the most famous markets in Russia, the ever entertaining Udelnaya market where alongside machetes and bad porn/ninja films you can also get great Soviet era crockery, that left shoe that babushkas are always trying to ply and badges galore. The retro magazine OFF is also expensive like in Moscow, but has more wearable finds and the art centre Loft Project Etagi has a garage sale every two months where local hipsters offload their junk for prices starting at around 100Rbl for a t-shirt..

10/06/2010 World Press Photo and a Cocktail Marathon

2010-06-15T16:36:00.000+04:00

Dmitri Sokolov is a guy with a vision and a household name amongst drinkers in Moscow. Why? Because he knows how to make cocktails, what should be in them and doesn’t then rinse 800Rbl out of you for the pleasure. He now owns six cocktail bars in Moscow, as well as a pub (serving cocktails) and invited some press friends down to one of his bars to show off some special new summer creations, which all go for around a reasonable 250Rbl. What of course was funny about this situation is that the press drinks started at 17:00 on a Thursday and we were served no less than eight cocktails – evidently Moscow seems to be under the impression that journalists do little more than get boozed up on free drinks during their weekday evenings... Highlights of the new menu included the grapefruit julep and watermelon doused in vodka and highlights of the conversation were all the moments when Dmitri was asked a stupid question and replied (cigarette in hand) with a cutting description and cunning insight that usually went something like ‘if you think the 1,000Rbl cocktails in that highly pretentious bar are tastier because someone put a drop of Hennessey XO in it, you are a bit of a tool’. Go Dmitri!

As we wanted to get away to see the opening of the World Press Photo exhibition, we made it only to six cocktails and then hopped in a car to get to the Red October Chocolate Factory. To quote Zoolander, that factory is so hot right now. Full of exciting exhibition spaces, a new open-air concert area, dozens of roof terraces, the Rolling Stone Bar and a great Asian restaurant called Mao, it is really showing up its poorer (and now controversy stained) competitor Winzavod. The opening of the exhibition of course also featured plenty of alcohol but no snacks and was in itself an enjoyable display, even if it did feel slightly smaller in scale and variety of subjects to me, than previous years. After a few hours we were of course understandably hungry and went off to chow on some noodles. There then followed a rather enlightening discussion with my new element friend, whose result was that I really think I am one of only five single expat women left in this country – we counted them up and realized half the ones we knew had gone insane and left already. Just think what sex and the city would have been like if you took out all the good-looking local men, beautiful clothes and unreal abundance of free time and money – what you are left with is getting chatted up by the mashrutka driver on your way to work. Must try harder.

09/06/2010 HSBC Wine tasting

2010-06-15T16:33:00.000+04:00

The world’s local bank arrived in Moscow this spring and really started working its magic on the local expat and business community. To really get themselves in the loop and have us all talking about them, HSBC teamed up with the South African embassy to organise a wine tasting evening for who knows how many hundred guests. What I enjoyed most about this event was the unlimited free wine of course, but also the great and easy networking opportunities that were provided by making the event very light (loosen those tongues with gallons of wine please) and filling it with a remarkable number of people who I actually might have something in common with. So many such people in fact that we bumped into our old editor Jessica quaffing away as well as the lovely editor of a fellow foreigner orientated city guide who writes a great product that IYP respects for its elemental (geddit..?) dedication to honest reviews – great minds think alike. I also somehow wangled myself a lift home with some guy’s chauffeur and drunkenly told everyone to read this blog, who knows if they did, but if you are reading – thanks for the time!

The only downsides to this event were a) I didn’t win any prizes and b) as was pointed out by everyone on twitter/facebook the next day, there was very little in the way of food. Leaving all the guests feeling totally hammered at their desks the next morning. Me included.

05/06/2010 Usadba Jazz Festival

2010-06-15T16:28:00.001+04:00

Spread across the idyllic rural palace splendour of the Arkhangelskoe Park estate, the Usadba jazz festival is always a highlight of the Moscow summer festival calendar. This year’s festival was the first that I’ve actually managed to visit and I am more than glad I bothered to make the effort to travel all the way out to the end of Moscow and spend one hour looking for somewhere to park the car.

The first day was marked by the wafts of meaty aroma coming from the many shashlik stands dotted around the park. Well, actually both days were marked by the porky air but the first day was particularly memorable for it as I unwisely spent an hour queuing for the meat. Bear in mind it takes about 20 minutes to cook a kebab and you start to think – maybe they could have just done hot dogs instead? On the second day of the festival I of course realized you could just bring your own grub and so lacking in inspiration, a kilo of strawberries from the market got us through the day.

What makes this festival really special is that it is open-air (which with the imperial estate being way out of the smog of Moscow is a good thing) and full of lively funky stuff, but the people who are in attendance are all so pleasant, friendly and well-behaved you start to wonder if they really live in Moscow at all. Nobody was throwing rubbish around or stripping off and shouting how much they love Russia whilst spilling beer on you, instead most of the festival goers were enjoying picnics, dancing and soaking up the sun. How very European.

As regards the music, the Michael Jackson tribute was completely over-hyped and my friends from St. Petersburg Uniquetunes suffered from bad sound and lack of confidence amongst other problems. On the other hand Zap Mama from Belgium completely blew us away on the Parterre stage, Giulia y los tellarini was very spiritedly getting the crowd interested early on in the fist day and the strange disco/funk/soul Finnish guy in a kaftan with a flute called Jimi Tenor and Kabu Kabu totally had me hooked even though when he first turned up, all that could be said was what the..?! Basically to put it quite simply, there was something for everyone and the heat sun and fresh air only heightened the experience. If only these things could happen every weekend.

20/05/2010 Pavlovsk in barefeet

2010-06-01T18:31:00.000+04:00

Funny things happen to you during St. Petersburg’s white nights – and especially odd things happen to you when you get a day off to relax after working all hours on trying to finish up guides in a super quick time so they can be sent off to far away Estonia to get printed.

My day off to relax started after lunch when I went to meet our trainee for a post-deadline chat. As I wanted the meeting to be informal and a bit un-work like, I arranged to meet him in a beer garden. Many hours later, ever the pocketeers, we were on a pub crawl, writing up listings for new bars and having friendly drinks with our favourite expat entrepreneurs. Many hours after that we were in a club and then some time later I was passed out in my bed, having almost forgotten that I was leaving town the next morning to visit a press conference in Pavlovsk.

Of course the arrangements for getting to said beautiful Pavlovsk got a bit skewed in the morning and my colleague had already headed off and was there – albeit with no batteries left on her phone – while I was wandering around the train station looking for ice tea.

Found my ice tea and clutching it close to me, as the elixir that would bring me back to life for the press conference, I hopped on the local train and landed in Pavlovsk. Of course with Pavlovsk park being the biggest in the St. Petersburg area (1,500 acres people!), I got a little lost and unfortunately missed the whole press conference. Meanwhile my colleague was still also somewhere in Pavlovsk, but uncontactable, so I decided to make good use of the time and give the park a full pocket covering – walking to every single pavilion, monument and ice-tea stand I could find. This was tiring so I then followed a crowd of youngsters towards a lake to lie in the sun and relax for a few minutes...

Then whilst walking in the undergrowth my flip flops completely snapped – no mending them was possible. So now I was lost, shoeless, a little hungover, with my own phone batteries running out too in the middle of this huge park. Doh!

After desperate attempts to mend the crappy pieces of Chinese footware I gave up and walked a fair few kilometers back to the station barefoot. By this time it was getting close to 7pm and there was no way I could get back to the city with no shoes on. In fact I read once that it is illegal to barefoot in the metro! Never mind thoroughly embarrassing.

In desperation I flagged down a taxi and explained to the driver I wanted to be taken to a shoe shop. ‘kakoi magazin?’ which shop? – lyuboi! Any damned shop – I replied and pointed desperately at my black feet. He made some calls and then looked concerned, ‘we have to go to Pushkin – and fast!’ he told me, as if travelling 3 kilometres by car was actually something for me to worry about right now. Off we went with the lovely driver and me cruising around the small imperial town of Catherine the Great fame, eyes peeled for any shop that would still be open. Luckily we found one and the staff inside were typically impossibly rude to me but I found some cheap shoes and my footware problems were solved in the end. Now I was in Pushkin it seemed all the more reason to continue exploring, and so I had a small beer in a strange café, examined some monuments and made some notes before finally landing back in St. Petersburg many hours later.

Now why are the flip flops so important in this story? Because only two days later, the same damned thing happened again - Only somehow it was worse as the flip flops snapped in the middle of the street on a Friday night! To add to the situation, my friend’s friend had just been threatened by some horrible gopniks (chavs) and half of us were being given the Russian police witness statement procedure, while I was in the middle of one of the most petty arguments imaginable with someone who should know better.

My saviour in this situation, just by the sheer beauty of timing and Russian randomness that sometimes happens, was a sober friend who happened to be rounding the corner in his car at that exact moment. Seeing the whole chaotic melee and me standing arguing barefoot holding broken flip flops, he swerved round the corner, flipped open the door and simply said – davai Louise, get in!

Get in I did and home I went, didn’t pass go, didn’t collect 200 pounds. Did decide I probably should never where flip flops ever again.

And here's some more of lovely Pavlovsk - highly recomend a visit.

15/05/2010 Flying Kids at the Upsala Circus

2010-05-28T15:58:00.004+04:00

The long-running upsala circus is one of the most inspiring charity projects in St. Petersburg. Through the power of laughter and fun the volunteers of upsala try to bring back the joy of childhood to those neglected street kids of St. Petersburg. As they say themselves ‘We try to captivate children with this world, while accepting them as they are and respecting their life experience.’ As well as training them in the circus arts of clowning and acrobatics, Upsala also organises holidays for the kids, tries to help bridge the gaps in their education, offers social and psychological support for the children and the families that they may be becoming estranged from and make sure that they eat hot and healthy meals on a regular basis.

This year upsala celebrated its tenth birthday and organised a special festival of children’s circuses from across Europe and we went down on the Saturday to see what we had been told was potentially one of the best – the Chechen Children’s Troop. As you can imagine it panned out that these were some of the most inspiring little people you might ever see. They danced their national dances -complete with the mega back flips, the crazy foot drumming thing, jumps, floating ladies dance and just a million other stunning stuff. Their band that accompanied them almost made me want to cry – I had no idea Chechen music was so beautiful and the kid who was kind of the main star of the show and leading the acting in the tales that they danced out, I was later told was only 6 years old!

We were also told that the kids are kept under a crazy strict discipline and are completely dedicated to their dance – and hell yes it certainly showed. They got their standing applause and they deserved it.

The second part of the show was a clown act by some famous Swiss clown called Gardi Hueter (or something like that). I’m not that much into clowns so I found the whole experience a bit trying but as I understood she’s a big star in the clowning world. So big even that she was charging the Upsala charity for her appearance – why, why, why?! Apparently she had an entourage to pay for so she needed a high fee…I just hope at least there was still some profits left at the end for the two minders who were keeping the whole of the 30 strong Chechen troop in their seats during her show and something for spare for the kids to eat.

I uploaded a video of the kids doing their crazy dance - but I really need to apologise for the incredibly loud music - I didn't realise my camera was picking so much of it up! But in any case it still gives an impression of the show. Six years old! I still can't believe it...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vnCvoLDpS3s

10/05/2010 ...and then another Russian banya

2010-05-26T18:46:00.001+04:00

After the parade was over I went off to meet some Russian girlfriends in a dodgy basement somewhere that was housing a very cheapo banya. Now I have been to Russian banya a lot and yes it is hot in there, but even the Russians agreed that this was unbearable – being as it was a water boiling 113 degrees – CELCIUS! And I had better add at this point the idea of opening the door to let some hot air out was shot down because in Russia there is of course nothing worse than the deadly skvoznyak or draught. Go figure.

Needless to say we spent most of the time chilling out in the sitting room drinking beer and eating dried fish snacks. This of course was really well contrasted against the sadly totally uninspiring conversation (usually my single female friends in their late 20s discuss life, literature, psychology, sex and love etc, but this time I guess they didn’t care so much). It mostly revolved around homemade beauty remedies (yawn), new clothes someone had just bought (hmmm 113 degrees is it really that bad…?) and how someone’s friend has such gay mannerisms. It was ungodly frustrating, but as the banya was too hot and I was too tired and the only non-Russian there, I was hardly feeling like trying to initiate a discussion into the rise and demise of diplomacy in world war 2 etc.

What did come out of this though was that all my questions about why exactly Russian women spend soo f**king long in the bathroom all the damn time, where finally answered.

One hour before we were due to leave all the girls went to head to the showers.
They then commenced to use at least:
- 3 or 4 different skin products,
- followed by 3 different hair products
- and then of course mounds of slap,
- special instruments for dying eyelashes
- and the ubiquitous three hour blow dry.
Hence the average shower for one person took around 20 minutes, followed by another 30 minutes of just getting the make-up and hair styling sorted. And I would know as somehow I ended up second to last in line for both shower and hairdryer.

Please let us not forget we had already been in the banya a number of times (which is supposed to be already making us look more beautiful) and had used not only a ‘scrab’, but honey on the skin in the second round, an olive oil based product on the hair during the third and then some green stuff that someone had made at home in the last spin through the sauna - it think my skin has had enough looking after surely?

Maybe one or two products would suffice...? – No, of course not. In fact I am convinced Russian women will never be satisfied with their appearance, because how else can it be explained, that as soon as we came out of that building, every one of them checked themselves out again in the nearest car window.
Ah Russians!

09/05/2010 Victory Day

2010-05-26T18:35:00.003+04:00

Well it is of course a long time since this blog got updated. What might be the excuses for that? Well the usual lack of time and opportunity, due to immense amounts of other (paid for – that’s my job!) texts to complete instead.

All the great, juicy, random and crazy stories from my wonderful time away in Budapest including the roofs of the secret ruins of the city centre, the too-nice people of Vienna, the night of tequila in the burrito bar with one too many maths geniuses, an angry Hungarian/Mexican burrito man and the bearded blue grass guy from Tennessee; oh and then the last evening where I walked into a phone box, ate sandwiches in a secret bar (ring the bell to enter, one of the old ladies will let you in at 6am) where upstairs a blind man was playing piano and a drag queen was singing edith piaf and downstairs a drunken rabble of predatory sleaze was humping…will have to be saved for later...

So back to business. We had victory day recently of course, 65 years since the victory in world war two no less and everyone had been talking about it for ages – it was hyped almost as much as the millennium bug. Of course the big guns were out in Moscow, but for me victory day is usually just about seeing the old people of this country looking happy and respected for once, so I was not disappointed to miss out on the tanks this time. Which is fortunate because I missed the big military shindig in the morning anyway but was up in time for the afternoon’s festivities instead.

First off we decided to wander to the first stage we could find which happened to be on ploschad ostrovskogo. There we were treated to a surprisingly fun concert by some ‘recognized artist of the Soviet Union’ or whatever they get called these days, who sang old war classics and some (Soviet) 1960s stuff. This is my fourth victory day now so I actually knew a lot of the tunes and could blend well into the crowd (even downloaded a victory day ringtone for free the other day – check out how patriotic I am will you please?!) The veterans were dancing and their grandkids were being cute, all in all a happy family day out.

Then off to claim our spaces on some steps on Nevsky to watch the parade of veterans and blokadniki (blockade survivors) coming down the street. This is always my favourite part. They all look astoundingly proud, turned out in their best shiny medals and hats, kids run out to give them flowers, strangers give them hugs and we all shout hurrah! How many people have told me it is a token gesture I do not know, but I still maintain it makes me feel happy and I enjoy giving them hugs too. Could I just randomly hug a babushka on say April 07? Probably not. I love victory day!

02/05/2010 Sheremyetevo Hell

2010-05-04T19:16:00.002+04:00

I’ve been away from Russia for a few weeks and away from recording the joys of Russian life, so let’s start off where I left and back where I arrived – Moscow Sheremyetevo airport.

Could it possibly be the worst airport in Europe? I think so. Arriving there you feel like you’re in hell and the two hours spent going round and round in circles trying to get out is something akin to Purgatory.

So arriving you have a choice of Sheremyetevo 1, 2 or 3, or their dyslexic alternative names A, D and F. After figuring out which place you are supposed to be in, you then of course need to get there, which involves following the Russian handwritten signs directing you both inside and outside the building so that you can safely navigate the building site that constitutes half of the airport.

Finally you reach the terminal and you need to go through a metal detector, meaning you need to dump that handy trolley too. Once inside you have a choice of about three places to eat and drink (forget just sitting on a chair, there aren’t any) including an enticing sky lounge where you can watch the planes go off. To get to said view point cafe you probably need to understand Russian though as only the cleaners will actually explain to you that yes, it’s on the 5th floor as advertised, but actually you need to take the lift to the 6th and then go down a floor via the fire exit and through the staff canteen to find it. Thankfully it is cheap and not too nasty in there, which almost makes the effort worth it.

Maybe time to just check in then and check out opportunites on the other side? Oh wait you can’t access check-in desks until one and a half hours before the flight - Who cares if you came early?! You need to pass another security check first and it just wouldn’t be a shit airport without an unnecessarily long pop-up queue for the one check-in desk that opens only when someone feels like working after the unnecessarily long metal detector queue.

Once the bags are safely in proceed to passport control, then another metal detector (are you counting? that’s three already) plus a full body x-ray scanner and finally you are released into the shopping area! Hurrah, have a sit down and relax perhaps?

Haha, fool of course not - there are actually only on average six chairs per gate as really, who would ever manage to get through all that with a minute to spare to sit down anyway? Guess that explains why the Irish pub (one of only three cafes/bars in the whole narrow corridor of shops and gates) is the most popular place here. And by the way I will add at this point the photo you see here is old. Now the area where those tourists are reading their tickets is a a construction site for what might one day be a restaurant, at the moment it is just one more obstacle to navigate your way around... Anyway, finally at some point your flight will be called and you can relax from the safety of the little Irish enclave while watching the Russians pouring out of the duty free shop and inexplicably all eagerly joining a manic scrum on the doorstep-sized area that is the gate, trying for unknown important reasons to be the first on the plane.

Then get on the plane and forget the whole experience until a few weeks later when you have to arrive back.

This is when Sheremyetevo hell becomes Sheremyetevo purgatory. Only 2 passport control check points for all foreign nationals leads, as has long been famous but really needs to be seen to be believed, to queues to get out that average out at 1 hour and take up the whole of the roughly 100 square metre space. I queued for 1 hour and 15 minutes, that’s probably a good day.

Of course by the time you finally get to the baggage reclaim area, your plane load of bags are long gone as the baggage turnover is way quicker than the foreign passport turnover and nobody gives a shit about that fact. Yes, really ask at lost and found they will more or less shrug their shoulders and tell to get lost – like it’s their job to know what happens with bags? Err, no their job is to sit and watch holiday photos on Vkontakte.ru whilst texting their mates. C'mon! What are you expecting?!

Fortunately my bag is torn and battered looking enough that nobody wanted anything to do with it and my eagle eyes eventually located it unceremoniously dumped by itself in some far off corner.

At this point you just want the hell out of the airport and back on the train into Moscow. But as it turns out the signs that helpfully pointed my way between train and terminal last time were still there.

Yes, you guessed it! They were still there despite the fact that now you need to take a completely different route to get to the train. So I walked 10 minutes following the signs, then came to the end of the pointless trail, walked back again and then had to go back through the metal detector and dump my trolley so I could walk another 10 minutes through another part of the airport to finally reach the aeroexpress train, which I think is literally the ONLY good thing about Sheremyetevo airport.

Swiftly efficiently and for just 300Rbls, the aeroexpress gets you the hell out of there in just 35 minutes.

09/04/2010 'Acting your age' in St. Petersburg’s 'alternative' bars…

2010-04-13T16:08:00.001+04:00

This weekend we went to the opening of yet another ‘underground’ bar which has been opened by the same guys who used to run the now closed Achtung Baby club. There is very little to say about this bar aside from the fact that it very closely resembles all the other ‘underground’ bars in St. Petersburg. Cheap beer – check, bar staff who you recognise – check, exposed brick walls and old movies projected on the wall – check, fussball table –check and poor sound system – double check.

One thing I will say is that the music was more interesting than usual (they did not at any point play ‘smells like teen spirit’), it feels a lot less shitty and broken than most other places that the dreadlock boho set currently do the rounds of and the crowd didn’t make me feel like I should be at the post office collecting my pension. Unlike the bar Atelier which we later visited.

In Atelier it was average age 16 and beer in plastic cups. I find this place rather disappointing as I think it could actually really work out well if it weren’t for their retarded door policy. It has an interesting layout and surprisingly appealing grotty squat kind of feel to it, while the DJs spin out all kinds of different genres, and not all in the same ‘mega-mix’ set. When you get to the door however, you’ll be greeted by a clipboard guy (really? You must be joking…) who will try to give the impression that something exclusive is happening inside. When you do get inside however it feels like the dive bar version of Mcdonalds. Ten trendy teens sitting around 2 plastic cups of beer and a whole lot of tables that look like they will never be cleared. I’m trying to like this place, but until some more interesting people start being let inside to keep the place busy it’s just impossible to tolerate it for more than one beer.

Which is how of course (again!) we ended back up in the chaos of Fidel/Dacha. Sorely overcrowded and with every third beer getting knocked straight onto the floor, it actually makes you feel drunk, just by being pushed in there. On the upside, there was a slightly more mature crowd present, who were by no means perfect 10 and head-to-toe stunning (phew! I’m not the only one...), although on the downside some guy asked me my age and looked horrified when I told him what it was. How young do you have to be to drink with bohemians and students these days anyway?!

Oh and just to explain this last picture - it's from back in 2005 (me in red fresh out of Kindergarden with another pocket editor to the right) , but more than anything I think it speaks a thousand words about what happens to your mind and body after drinking in Dacha...

04/04/2010 In search of the top 5 Shashlik

2010-04-09T19:35:00.001+04:00

With Moscow already heating up and barbequed meat turning up everywhere, I decided to continue my carnivorous week with some shashlik testing. By my standards the pork Shashlik at the entrance to Izmailovo park is currently sitting at the top spot. Even if did cost 150Rbl (about 4 Euro) per 100grams. It is truly the stuff of dreams and if I could have I would have emptied my whole wallet for more than 3 chunks and a dab of special sauce (300grams exactly).

Special mention in the top 5 also has to go to Shashlik u Nikitskih vorota, a well hidden little corner that holds a big special place in my heart.

Tucked away just off Bolshaya Nikitskaya it is exactly the kind of place you would be terrified to enter if someone (like In Your Pocket) hadn’t already told you that it is a real hidden gem. No English menu of course, but that’s ok because there are only a hand full of things to chose from, a couple of salads, cheese bread and the shashlik. Oh and very cheap (but good beer). The interior is laughable. Fake plastic wood effect paneling, photographs of old Dutch still life masterpieces, cutlery, crockery and glasses straight out of the USSR and a standing only room followed on by a smoke clogged canteen style dining area – but please don’t judge the book by its cover!

My Russian friend was, to put it lightly, very skeptical about this place, but I insisted, pointing out to her that it has character and good food. ‘Louise, I’m sorry but I can never see a foreigner eating here’, she said. ‘Sigh’, replied I.

This situation was of course turning out to be the perfect example of why foreigners have to write city guides like In Your Pocket. A Russian person will tell you you’d better just stick to Swan Lake and a bowl of borsch in a Russian themed joint (also nice). But how to get that extra special and unique local experience that is really going to spice up your tales about your recent holiday in the ‘wild east’…?

The staff were all smiling and cracking jokes with each other, as we walked in and went to order at the counter. Behind us three local police had just turned up, put down their huge Russian hats and set to work on some meat. Young students from the nearby musical academy then began to turn up and flirt with everyone, while finally a far too inebriated old man was calmly and politely being told to take another walk around the block or he would be facing a visit to the local Drunk Tank. The guys clearing the tables and grilling the meat, treated the happy alien (me) with the same friendly banter and offered up such foreign language morsels as ‘das ist fantastisch (no I’m not German, but yes I appreciate your efforts!) and well, I think they were trying to make us feel at home…Ah Russian soul indeed!

By the end of our meal, my friend had finally agreed that the place was great and was congratulating me on promoting it to foreigners. Hurrah, another Russian is turned to enlightened tourism initiatives.

And as for the shashlik, I’d give it a 4 out of 5 and it comes in at 200Rbl for the whole skewer – Bargain.

03/04/2010 Tequila and mid-Taxi ride bribing

2010-04-08T20:34:00.002+04:00

After a great Friday night of pocketing and partying, Saturday brought the main event of my week, month and even this half of the year probably – the big leaving party of my good friend and colleague of many years, who was leaving for the sunny environs of Sochi.

Much to our joy a great crowd of old time friends and new faces (for me) had turned up for drinks in the French café Jean Jacque Rousseau. Even more exciting was the presence of the famous Kamchatka dudes, lead by my colleague’s cousin who grew up in the Russian Far East. The Kamchatka dudes are the hardest partiers I know in Moscow, although as they all also work hard I don’t often get the chance to drink with them. In classic Kamchatka style Roma soon suggested tequila. Yeah sure a shot to make a toast and say goodbye I thought. But of course they were talking at least a whole bottle (working out at, at least 5 shots each) and these guys do not take no for an answer.

Many shots and toasts later we found ourselves charging down the hill to go and dance in the Latino bar Pap Joe’s, where they usually have special shows and salsa on a Saturday. As it was Easter, and in Russia Easter is usually celebrated between the hours of 23:00 and 03:00, the place was unusually quiet – but no problem, all the more dancing space for us we thought! Tequilas were followed up by beer and cocktails, ‘follow the leader’, ‘macarena’ and other ridiculous group dancing, various unintelligible drunken Russian conversations and a limbo competition, as yet more friends turned up.

At some point my head was whirling and I lost track a bit of what was going on. My colleague and her boyfriend had snuck off home during the chaos, but Kamchatka dudes were still toasting her in her absence with yet more shots (all except one that is who was passed out on his stool) and some Indian dude kept hovering around poaching for a dance. As it was 3am and I couldn’t even try to dance badly anymore never mind swallow another toast, I suggested a taxi home.

Out on the street and blessedly in the fresh air, we soon picked up a funny cheap Taiwanese people carrier effort and agreed on 150Rbl. The idiot driver however did not bother to ask me how to get to my street and neither did he even to mention the fact that he had no idea where it was until we were already on the huge Garden Ring road. Half way up the road he eventually decided to stop and check his map. Realising his mistake he promptly u-turned right across the 4-lane highway. And as an already blatant tool, he did it right in front of a police car.

Of course we were immediately got stopped and the driver left the car to go and bribe the officer. We meanwhile sat in the back debating what to do. Stay in the car or jump out and leave him to it? As we were tired, slow and a bit confused to think it through we stayed on and in end the cops accepted some green notes, the driver returned and we got back on our way.

Eventually we reached the corner of our street and prepared to hand over the money when of course it all started to kick off. The man was now refusing our 150Rbl and was demanding at least 1,000Rbl as by his logic we should share the high cost of Moscow traffic police bribes.

No way!! We started arguing, threatening and getting stubborn. There was quite some strong language being thrown about, talk of cognac, cash machines and a lot of brandishing of ‘guilt’, when eventually (and much to my relief given the tension and amount of tequila squirming in my system), he took the 150 and told us to f- off. We gave him back the same abuse and made it home having learnt an important lesson:

If your taxi driver gets stopped by the cops because he doesn’t give a damn about the rules of the road, leave the car while he is bribing them and very swiftly leave the scene. Lest you face seeing the truly ugly side of the Moscow gypsy cab experience.

02/04/2010 Purga and conversation crisis in Kriziz

2010-04-07T15:08:00.001+04:00

After eating so much meat that we had to be rolled out of the neon-festoned revolving doors of a former casino, me and my friend felt it would be a good idea to go dancing somewhere and try to burn off some of the meat. Fortunately just over the road is a very fun club called where they celebrate New Year every night and so we ended up in purgatory, Purga. Arriving just before midnight we had enough time to get a drink, get some free head gear and party poppers and wish everyone a hearty ‘s novim godom!’ as the national anthem started playing and the bells started chiming.

What else can I say about Purga aside from the fact that it really felt like everyone in there had gone thoroughly insane. Indeed it has been a hard week in Moscow, stress levels and anxiety were high after the terrible events of Monday and so everyone really felt the need to go completely nuts dancing around to the 80s, 90s disco pop retro soundtrack getting totally wasted out of their minds and snogging everything moving, because hey – we are alive by the way!

Girls in boob tubes were getting pushed around in shopping trolleys, a mock marriage ceremony was taking place on stage, complete with toilet paper veil and a hilarious drunk guy was doing the conga up and down the room by himself. And that’s not even starting with the guys in suits and ties asleep at their beers, the bloke with his face painted like a zombie swaying along to Michael Jackson with a cigarette hanging from his lip, a John Candy sized man in an orange waistcoat with his arms around two Russian waifs and the waitresses dressed in pyjamas. A great, great place to get the weekend moving in an inimitably Russian atmosphere, even when due to an overladen stomach moving is a bit of a challenge...

After another drink and some more dancing I then suggested we drop back home so I could dump my work stuff and then head to a club nearby. My friend agreed with the plan and we headed out to find a car. This guy was the most impressive gypsy cab driver I have yet met in Moscow. He was driving a new Range Rover, knew where he was going, did not argue with our very reasonable price and even spoke English – to the extent of holding up a very intelligible conversation about foreign tourism in Russia! This day was going perfectly.

Then onward to Krizis zhanra a kind of rock club full of the mid-20s late 30s crowd who probably wish they were still students and are looking to pick up anything available whether it’s a drink, date or bruised eye from head banging. My friend was loving it and claimed this to be one of the best places she’s ever been to, albeit a bit smoky like everywhere else in Moscow.

We then soon got picked up by a couple of serial womanizing young Muscovites, who were a lot more charming than the wasted bunch of bum-pinching office workers we met in Purga. Good wing man that I am I kept my conversation going for quite a long time, before the young linguist who was just telling me how ‘London is the capital of Great Britain’ etc, declared

‘oh and I should tell you I am very racist’.
‘What? Don’t be ridiculous!’
‘Yeah, well the problem with our country is all these assholes from the Caucasus, I think maybe Hitler had some good ideas…’

Not in the mood for struggling against an ignorant and intolerant conversation I decided I was feeling way too impatient for this kind of crap at 4am on a Friday night and with a prompt ‘f**k you’ I walked off and went to have a look around and maybe keep working on that meat feast and dance a little bit.

Left alone on the summer terrace our young racist was soon back jumping around to some punk music in a tongue in cheek style though, also a lone and bored wingman I guess. I went along with the jokey dancing out of respect for the acknowledgment that we were both in the same situation (not interested in each other at all), before finally suggesting to him that our time as wingers was up and that we should go back and get our respective friends. He agreed, but ever the Russian man, still tried to charm me with a change of conversation – ‘which do you like better Moscow or St. Petersburg?’

Brrr, sorry mate, but I have just eaten half my own weight in grilled meat – the pressure on my stomach is insane at it’s almost 5 in the morning - Time for home - and alone! I eventually extracted my friend and we very slowly strolled the last few metres back home, where I promptly passed out like a stone. This is the stuff that Friday nights were invented for! But also the stuff that will destroy your plans for visiting the Tretyakov gallery the next day...

02/04 Macho grill, mega full

2010-04-06T11:18:00.000+04:00

I made an excellent start to my weekend in Moscow by visiting the wonderfully kitsch all you can eat Brazilian grill restaurant that has just opened on Pushkinskaya square in what used to be a wonderfully kitsch casino before gambling got banned in Moscow. They actually have a full Brazilian grill menu here to but most of the guests here are in it for the churrasco – 15 different kinds of meat, sawed of their skewers at your table until you tell them - no please stop I’m going to have a heart attack.

Rather foolishly me and my guests ordered one of the meat feasts each as well as a plate for the unlimited salad bar. They had no less then 30 salads, including (yup that’s Moscow for you) sushi rolls. For 350Rbl. That alone could have fed two if we were to try every salad, never mind the series of meats that soon started arriving at the table. Things started to get a bit ridiculous when the waiters got way ahead of our stomachs and we had luyla kebabs, lamb, spicy turkey, bacon, chicken wings and some odd fish stuff sitting ready to be eaten when two more servers queued up at our table to cut us off some shoulder beef and pork shashlik! Regardless we struggled on and then yet more was arriving – honey glazed pineapple – fantastic!

At some point we had to take a breather and fortunately at this point the show started. Brazilian samba dancers in full head gear and mega high heels, guys in colourful Aladdin pants doing caipoera back flips and a band dressed head to toe in white providing music for those who wanted to dance salsa (in Moscow salsa is the new sushi, everyone’s doing it).

Dedicated as I am to my job I then took a plate for the all you can eat dessert bar, which had at least 15 different cakes on it, although they were all rather similar so I decided to try a mere five.
At some point we tried to make a nice film of the goings on, but were told not to (we got rumbled for the fact that we have a ‘professional camera’) and so had to settle instead for a rendition of Macho Macho grill, at the front entrance surrounded by the casino neon. Will upload that comedy video soon…

29/03 Tragic day in Moscow

2010-03-29T18:29:00.000+04:00

I had been writing over the weekend a nice post about my wonderful and amusing experience on the Russian night train from St. Petersburg this weekend (it was a great classic journey, but I felt very tired and ahem, hungover when I arrived in Moscow at 9am, but maybe that story will be told another time…). But today has been quite an odd day in Moscow, so I felt I would mention this instead.

As is being blasted across the TV everywhere, terrorism has returned to Moscow. Back in December a night train from St Petersburg to Moscow was blown off the rails and dozens killed by a terrorist attack in the middle of the night. In retaliation the authorities apparently tracked them down and everyone carried on travelling by train as usual. Monday morning two suicide bombers struck right in downtown Moscow in the metro and talk was of the same thing.

Rather guiltily this morning I had my phone on silent and was considering a sore head after a late night chat on skype to friends in the US. Then a colleague phoned me (me finally noticing on the fourth try) to inform me that today was going to be a bit of a difficult work day as someone had just blown themselves up at the Lubyanka station, just a few blocks from the flat I‘m staying in, and a second bomb had gone off a few stops further. We mused on the shock of the event and had not much to say to each other apart from that probably we won’t be of much a work-minded brain today.

I then went outside to have a smoke and get some air and found myself standing next to two women doing just the same thing. They were on their phones and both looking relieved, one was wiping away tears, the other visibly shaking in a fur coat. Then I noticed I too was shaking. Quite a shocking start to Monday morning.

In any case as I soon saw, life in Moscow, the Russian capital and city of 15 million, has to go on. I was considering a long walk to arbatskaya (two stops from lubyanka or an hour on foot) when I noticed people going in the metro (the nearby station kitai gorod) and that traffic was completely insane gridlock. So I decided to nervously hop in the metro and change the route a bit to get to my appointment in arbatskaya.

Everyone was looking at each other, ever so slightly suspiciously but mostly with the Moscow metro steely face, which usually reveals nothing, although today there were glimpses of grey and sadness in the eyes just visible. Generally the station (one of the busiest in the city) was by no means empty but not insanely full either. By the time I arrived at my destination I was feeling a lot more confident and glad I hadn’t walked. The people of Moscow are a special bunch, they are tough and determined, keeping the Russian economy ticking and not succumbing easily to the fear that can be struck by terrorism.

I for my part felt the tragic icy touch of the randomness and cruelty of these things that happen all over the world - including in Chechnya - nearby and felt sad that it had come back to Moscow after so many quiet years. But I was also inspired to see people getting around and living a normal life. It’s a sad day in Moscow, but I will play my part and continue with my average 5 metro rides a day and thank god that I’m lucky to be alive and being paid to write and research all of the best aspects of this great city. Surrounded by such proud, strong and good people I think I now love Moscow even that little bit more.

13/03 The House on the Embankment

2010-03-13T19:52:00.003+03:00

I think I mentioned something before about inspirational babushkas running odd little museums. Before I forget I would like to bear witness to the babushkas I met working at the Dom na Naberezhnaya – Moscow’s famous House on the Embankment.

Built in 1931 by Boris Iofan, the house was intended as a luxurious and modernist dwelling for the Soviet elite. Populated by high ranking officers and party leaders, actors, writers and artists, the house became the epicenter of the disappearances during the terrible years of Stalin’s terror. On average the huge complex (with its own theatre, shops, post office, cafe and kindergarten) had about 2,500 people living in it (officially that is) and the apartments changed hands often. The women who work in the museum and have made it their life’s devotion to tracing the building’s former residents, say that more than 800 residents were killed or sent to gulags from here during the years of 1936 to 1939 (and those are just the ones they know about).

They are very proud of their museum, but when you first enter it’s very difficult to understand what they really are trying to do here, if it is to be thought of as a museum (the space is little more than 50sqmetres). On the wall is a mural of passport photos of the victims that they have already traced and a long list of names of residents who went missing. The second room is a lay out of the average 1930s bedroom, complete with austere boxy looking furniture and the odd portrait of Russia’s national poet Pushkin.

I was feeling a bit confused until one of the old ladies came to my rescue and started, with glassy eyes, shining magically like few people I have met and only ever seen in Russia, to tell her story.

She grew up in an apartment in the house as her family were prominent professors of the Russian language working at some of the most important institutes in Moscow. As intellectuals and especially lovers of books, they were of course constantly under close watch. Her father was taken away early one night in 1937 during the beginning of the purge and was never seen again. Her mother also was taken away a bit later and put in a gulag for 8 years and so her Aunt came to live with her.

In fact she was very lucky to have other family members to live with her because the house on the embankment left hundreds of orphans who came back from school or kindergarten one day to find their parents gone, who knows where. Sadly most of the younger orphans were taken away by authorities to orphanages and given new identities to protect them from the sins of their parents and as they grew older and forgot their old identities couldn’t be reunited with their parents after they returned from imprisonment. So as the lady says, she was indeed lucky. Especially that she was old enough to understand what was going on.

Now back to the Aunt. Shocked and frightened by the amount of books that she saw stacked up in the apartment kitchen, the Aunt insisted that they had to get rid of the books immediately, before the men in uniforms came round again to make more threats. She was just 15 at the time but smart enough to understand that books, any kinds of books, were indeed a danger for them and so they had to think of ways to remove them.

Simply dumping them in the street was unthinkable and they had it on good word that the rubbish chutes that were found on every floor were also observed and all of the resident's waste looked through. And so they began to rip up the books and flush them down the toilet.

She laughed as she told me this – as a young girl she thought the idea was very clever, but also felt a strong aversion to destroying books, which she had always thought was wrong. But she started anyway. As it turns out they got caught and the Aunt too was taken away, then she somehow for one reason or another also found herself in a forced labour camp for some years. She then eventually returned to Moscow and continued to devote her life to books and learning.

I really didn’t want to ask her about the gulags, so I kept my silence and let her talk. All she really told me was that it was terribly cold in Siberia and that although some prisoners missed the educated circles and modernity of Moscow, others chose to stay in the provinces after their release, which many of the prisoners such as herself found a strange idea. But then if you could be sure all your friends back home had been lost or had betrayed you, maybe not wanting to go back was understandable.

Not once did she look pained or traumatized, by the story, in fact I think she enjoyed telling the story, perhaps because of course no-one should forget that these things really did happen. To millions of people. Or perhaps years pass and further life experiences make you reflect differently and clearly with different emotions upon a hard past. She like the other women working here had a real kind of calm soulfulness, that’s difficult to describe and astonishing to meet.

I guess she saw that I was looking a bit overwhelmed during the whole story so she also gave me a little lesson on the furniture. The walls of the flats of course were hollow (‘in case you had the kind of neighbours who liked to listen’) but most people would talk under the sound of frying pork fat or similar kitchen noises. Furniture at that time was hard to come by so it was accepted by everyone that you could trade items with people and be treated without suspicion, as everyone needs to get a bed to sleep on from somewhere and so on. Hence immensely clunky and chunky furniture with plenty of hollow spaces for swopping and hiding things was changing hands all the time. Maybe not all of those books went down the toilet after all…

For information on the 'museum' opening hours and address you can check here.

This website has tons of photographs from the House taken in the black, white and grey 1930s http://savok.name/164-dom-na-naberezhnojj.html

And this woman and her book How Much Is A Person Worth? is a little obsession of mine, an amazing illustrated six volumed book complete with sketches of first hand tales from the gulags:
http://www.gulag.su/images/index.php?eng=1&page=0&list=1&foto=1
(Click on the coloured number links along the top to see pages from the book)

07/03 Sex, Drugs and Rock'n'roll... Kind of

2010-03-09T19:29:00.002+03:00

Being the editor of a city guide can be a really great job. You get to eat caviar in posh hotels, go out for dinner with fascinating foreigners from various different professions on a regular basis, attend glamorous opening parties with mounds of free stuff and spend inordinate amounts of time in world class museums chatting with the most fascinating babushkas you’ll ever meet.

Then there are days where you have to investigate the other sides of Russian life such as strip clubs, fashion parties, Russian police, rich business men, jaded paramedics and the odd bar brawl.

It’s also interesting…

It all started out at the opening of a very ‘fashion’ exhibition in some exclusive club. We find ourselves at around 20:30 in trendy Efir Club, looking at photos from the uber-cool magazine ‘Sobaka’ of various rock stars and popular DJs. All very nice and relaxed – we have seats, champagne and my beautiful and very glamorous Russian companion for the evening seems to know everybody here, so I’m getting introduced to plenty of photographers, DJs, editors and the like.

Our conversation is covering the whole gamut of the life you’ve heard of but not actually really had face to face contact with. Girls who are married to millionaire granddads, drug addled ‘artists’ and a bulimic supermodel with a beautiful face but completely rancid teeth all cross my path. I also came across cocaine in the toilets, spliffs in the cloakroom where my coat had gone AWOL and a photographer flat-out drunk on the floor. Normalna! The party is getting started…

By midnight things were heating up and we were feeling good (although the champagnes had run out so we had unadvisedly followed it up with beer). It was really time to get on with our mission and go and check out this VIP strip club that we had to make a listing for. Onwards to ‘Seven Rooms’ it is then.

Dark as hell, when we walked in at first I was feeling at first quite disappointed, a girl in a bikini was writhing around on a sofa to some odd Soviet chanson – what the anti-glamour! But as it turned out that was just the lobby and some guy had paid a special price to see that and in Russia if you have money, you can get anyone to do anything for you. No matter what lack of taste and imagination you have.

We were then led into the main room with a stage complete with pole and bathtub and at least 15 girls of all shapes and colours strutting around. Now this is more like it! Unfortunately at that moment they didn’t have beer in the fridge, so for some reason without thinking I just said to the French maid – I’ll have a gin tonic.

The gin tonic was strong, although perhaps not as strong as the thighs of the lead dancer who came out to do a very special buff dance just for us. Complete with ice cubes, flowers, various acrobatics and pounding music. Strip club gets the big thumbs up.

Sitting with the friendly and knowledgeable owner Anya, we learnt a lot about the stripping business and about the art of pole dancing. I polished off my gin and tonic and another soon appeared. Then more very rich guests appeared and one of them started paying for a lot of special girl-on-your-lap, girl-on-you-table, girl-on-girl shows especially for himself. He also clocked us two fully–clothed girls watching the spectacle and had a big turkish water pipe and bottle of champagne sent over for our enjoyment. With a naked girl grinding over his legs he gave us a nod and we made a toast to the mysterious businessman….

At this point I started to feel the pressure. Champagne, followed by beer, then gin and tonic and again more champagne. And god only knows what was in that water pipe. My head was spinning, I was getting very drunk. And a little bit paranoid as I no longer could remember which doors led to the toilets and which to the ‘private rooms’.

Finally staggering away from the toilets I quickly made the decision that we had enjoyed enough to make a more than thorough listing of the club and had to leave. Flame-haired companion agreed, as she also was beginning to get into sticky moral conversations and I had also remembered that I had promised to meet my neighbour in a bar around the corner…The time is now around 03:00am.

So I think to myself, grab hold of Elena, suggest going home and get back to the comfort of my bed. As I stepped into the notorious riot that is Dumskaya ulitsa where she was partying however, my plans changed again. I had just walked into a mega brawl of epic proportions. Couple of guys on the ground getting kicked, doormen in fisticuffs, some guy in a white t-shirt specked with red and then in what felt like slow motion, I see a guy duck out from behind a car with a bottle ready to smash it in someone’s face!

Yikes!! I quickly open the door to the apparent safety of the nearest bar, but can’t enter – the party is in full-swing inside, everyone jumping up and down to some Michael Jackosn tune, completely oblivious of the fight outside and packed in tighter and sweatier than the rush hour metro. They are all so embraced in the excitement and alcohol fuelled revellery of Russian hedonism, I literally can’t get in the door.

I shut the door again and head towards an ambulance at the end of the street and awy from the humongous tangle of bodies and fists. The driver was evidently waiting for his colleague to bring over those in need of their help and was open and free to smoke a cigarette and listen to my story for a while. He had the distinct look of someone who had seen all that I’d just seen and probably ten times over. Cynical, but still sympathetic and 100% jaded, he listened anyway.

‘I think I will call the police’ I suddenly decide ( I have never even considered that before in my life, as I live in Russia and Russian police are probably the last people you would call when you need help). Predictably (but still shockingly) no-one picks up the phone.

Ambulance driver is also not too surprised and is just nodding wisely, understanding the trauma evident in my face that has been inflicted by the realization that this is really what life in Russia is like sometimes. ‘Maybe you should go home’ he says. Hell yeah I’m going home, this has been way too much harsh reality for one night!

I flag down the first taxi I see, which happens to be driven by some Uzbek guy who wants the hell out of that street just as much I do. We then stutter home along the last kilometre in his clapped-out lada with no seatbelts and a dodgy door handle. He says nothing in response to my story except ‘nu da – buvaet’ Well yeah – it happens…

12/02/2010 Fabrique Nouvelle

2010-02-16T15:05:00.008+03:00

My colleague and I got all excited this week about the opening of the new concert hall of the ancient and battered but sorely loved and long lived Fish Fabrique. If you’re under the age of 40 and have never been to Fishka, then you’ve never really been anywhere ‘legendary’ in St. Petersburg at all. This place has been open ever since music bars crept into the post-Soviet underground wastelands of northern Russia – and its interior has changed nothing in it’s 20 year history. They didn’t get air-conditioning when that was invented here. Neither did they decide to replace the battered long benches and tables and the tall and by turns miserable/hilarious bald guy named Yuri, who still works behind the bar. It’s a warm safety blanket of unchanging grime and smoke-filled 1990s crumminess in the fast-paced, neon and chrome world of New Russia. And so we love it all the more.

As it turns out, there were other openings in the artist’s commune known as Pushkinskaya-10, where Fish Fabrique made its home over the years, but nothing that was much bigger than the average Kruschev apartment kitchen (6metre sq). There’s GEZ-21 – the centre of experimental music hidden away round the corner and up ten flights of stairs, which is particularly popular in the summer when plastic chairs get tossed out on to the roof. And then the concert hall of GEZ, where local musicians practice with their electric thumb pianos and space harps. And then of course there was the best forgotten about Fish Fabrique beer terrace, which actually made you want to be in the windowless black-painted cave of the original bar rather than outside on a warm sunny day.

The nouvelle fabrique opening sounded all very intriguing as the pr were promising that popular local rock band Tequilljazzz would perform alongside the other old hands of the scene 2 Samoleta and foul-mouthed gopnik-chic lead singer Shnurov of Leningrad/Rubl fame. They also promised it would be a closed party guaranteeing a supply of free booze and loose morals. Or so my dreams of closed rock star parties always go.

Door opens and what do we see…Hmmm. Very un-rock’n’roll in here. They clearly only finished decorating hours ago as the walls are looking shockingly bare and harshly coloured in the cheapest paint imaginable – peach melba. Now that really is Soviet chic. Couldn’t even afford dodgy wallpaper. Someone has made a kind of fish mosaic design on the wall though and everyone is drinking champagne out of plastic glasses. Russian style!

We quickly buzz around trying to sniff out the free stuff and discover it is flat champagne in a plastic glass or funny coloured vodka and Tabasco shots with the bar dudes. So we opt for flat champagne to wash down the funny shots and take a perch with the bar dudes.

Being quite unfamiliar with new Russian music and bands I do recognize a lot of faces but can’t connect names and musical styles. ‘Hey you just lit the cigarette of the lead singer of Dva Samoleta!’ Says my friend. Indeed think I. ‘That’s a guy from Leningrad’ she points to a guy scoffing down a cheese sandwich. It all means nothing to me. The only people I know are Shnurov and the Buddhist bald guy from Tequillajazzz.

Finally bald guy and his tequila buddies take to the stage and start playing some music. Surprisingly for a place of this size and acoustics, the concert is ok, but by the end of the set everyone is shouting for Shnurov.

Shnurov however it seems has gotten very, very drunk and grumpy and doesn’t want to play. He won’t even get out of bed for 5,000bucks now he’s a bona-fide cult figure and so has put his coat on and snuck off home. His band are too drunk to play now too, so eyes look to Dva Samoleta. They apparently are also all completely wasted on vodka and can’t even strum out a few lines of their popular hit about some Sukha! (Bitch!)

So it’s now of course left to some unknown band called Ditch, made up of the bar staff of another local underground bar Dacha, to entertain us with their own expletative peppered songs. There’s a good song about the mashrutka (mini-bus) with the chorus of something like ‘no goddamit I said stop at house number one one THREE!’ and a love story about Kupchino, which is essentially the Compton of St. Petersburg.

With the party winding down and the remaining half-drunkards rambling on about their plans for their next marsh ne-soglasnokh (dissenters rally), I settled back in with the bar dudes to ask them about their plans for the club. Lord knows what was in the drinks, maybe they had just been smoking pot in the nearby ‘John Lennon Temple of Love and Peace’, but they were ecstatically happy and giggly (they are Russians don’t forget – behaviour like that is very suspicious) but really bored about my suggestions for some improvements in decoration. Whatever then, I’ll forget that line of enquiry and get back to ‘intellectual’ chat like all the rest of the pointy beard/dreadlock crowd.

That also was quite impossible for both us, considering the alcohol consumed and the loud enchore of ‘udacha ty rabotesh v dacha’ (lucky you, you work in dacha) and so it ended with Sergei the barman shaking the last drops of vodka into a shot glass and shrugging his shoulders, before telling me a beer would set me back 130Rbl.

At that point I took a glance around and realized the place was emptying fast. Bohemians are not made of money and that’s why we attend these parties, so we can get a good meal and be drunk from someone else’s pocket for once, whilst hanging out with like minded ‘artistic’ types. Time to leave. I'm due a splitting headache very soon - this is clearly no posh cocktail bar opening. This place could cost me sanity as well as money. And hence I shook the nasty blue shot down my throat and eventually tumbled off home.

09/02 Merry Christmas Dental

2010-02-10T14:22:00.005+03:00

In his recent State of the Union address, Barack Obama said "If there's one thing that has unified Democrats and Republicans, and everybody in between, it's that we all hated the bank bailout. I hated it. You hated it…It was, about as popular as a root canal."

Why on earth is it that everyone has the idea that getting a root canal is one of the worst things that can ever happen to you? The way that popular myth seems to have it, the pain is up there with childbirth and re-connecting a dislocated arm. I’m getting three root canals next week – hksh (squirms your friend) ‘Ouch. That’s terrible Louise’. And so on. This is one of the reasons why I have been terrified of dentists – anything they will do to you will be painful, and simply by the fact that you live in Russia, doubly so.

Of course you can’t keep that act up for ever. Living in Russia for years, drinking the famously bad water and chowing through a lot of extremely sweet cakes at the most recent birthday, leaving party, I gotta new car do or baby shower without question is eventually going to lead to a dental catastrophe. And so it did. And of course I just moaned and suffered on with aching tooth for weeks, before I finally admitted there was a growing problem, that wasn’t getting any better and fast.

In a classic Russian style I made sure that the dentist of my choice was a friend of a friend. This is usually the only way to guarantee that a) you don’t get ripped off, b) they don’t deliberately try to mess up your teeth so that you will have to come back for yet more expensive treatment, c) that they use modern European style equipment and treatments instead of dodgy Soviet ones and d) they don’t scrimp on the expensive anaesthetics.

My first visit to 'Christmas Dental' (yes really, what a sense of humour the Russians have naming a clinic after a commercial Christian holiday of joy and presents) there was one of the scariest things I have ever done in this country. Helpfully though I had looked up a little dental vocabulary first. Open wide, bite (or don’t bite as the case may be) and plomba (filling) were the main things that came into my head. But in the end I didn’t really understand anything that was going on and so just lay back paralysed by fear, shut my eyes, opened my mouth and thought of England.

One hour later and my teeth drilled down quite a bit and then covered with some temporary protective stuff, we had decided on three root canals in one week’s time at the cost of 7,500Rbl. I left feeling petrified, crossed directly over the road and bought myself a beer with a straw in it and thought about what had happened. Then I came out only to find that 15 people had just been run over by an out of control bus directly outside of Christmas Dental in what was without question a terrible, terrible tragedy. The fact that my Russian was not good enough to fill in the long questionnaire after my consultation had saved me from being there. Also deciding to drink beer to make myself less scared instead of just taking the bus home to have a can of nevskoe in the kitchen also seemed part of the same fate.

I then went through the next week chomping down on painkillers and being horribly depressed and angry with anything and everything. My anger finally culminating on Saturday when I started ranting at my poor Indian taxi driver in English about how much ‘I hate this f***ing country!’ The anger tooth must out!

Tuesday came around and I had worked hard to calm myself and avoid contact with people for fear of my anger tooth putting them in a bad mood whilst desperately googling all I could about root canal treatment. Walking in to the clinic with a nice Elvis song in my head, all thoughts of pain quickly slipped away when I found that it was a prazdnik at the clinic. Dyen stomotalogov – the Russian holiday of the dentist! Everyone was in joyous mood and had gotten many presents and well wishes. I was injected with a load of that mouth freezing stuff, then lay back and tried to think of all the happiest moments of my life. I was going way back into the memories. Partying like there was no tomorrow after I graduated from university. Skiing on the Stubai glacier in Austria with my cousins when I was a teen. Celebrating my tenth birthday in Laser Quest in Carlisle. All the meals I ever ate in the 4 months that I lived in Italy. Getting a bike for my birthday when I was seven. Simple stuff really. Meanwhile strange distracting things were going on in my mouth.

Drilling, some weird tasting stuff, cotton wool, something that seemed to be on fire. Some weird pokey things and so on. Later I saw this video and all was clear. After an hour and a half, my jaw was aching a fair bit and I had given up understanding anything that was going on. Move your tongue I guess the nurse was telling me. I did nothing so she just stuck her fingers in and moved it herself. Then half way through we decided to do 4 roots instead of 3. Me with my mouth wide open and a drill in it nodding and saying 'aha' when she asks me do I understand that 4 roots means the price will now be 9,000Rbl. Aha, just finish already! The situation felt even more bizarre with all the conversation I could hear taking place over my mouth. ‘Yeah we are going out with Natasha to this place tonight.’ ‘Hmm I know parking on Nevsky is impossible!’ A mobile phone rings somewhere next to my head ‘Zhenya! tell my mum to call me back later, I’m operating!’ and at one point Olga, my angel dentist laughed and said ‘kakoi smishnoy zub’ meaning ‘what a strange/funny tooth it is!’ Two hours and it finally was all over. Don’t be scared just bite. I did. No really properly. And so I did. No pain. No pain at all! Seems I had forgotten what it felt like to be free of agony. Perhaps the most painful part was the price, I could have bought myself a new laptop with that money! Goddamn. Pain free mouth though, best not let impeding poverty take the shine of the moment.

Feeling quite amazing and like I wanted to hug everyone in the street, I knew I had to get with celebrating. Cue loud music and a bar. Smiling Louise telling everyone I love them. Russia I love you! Olga from Christmas Dental I reeeally love you!! Beer, my wonderful anaesthetic – I love you! Tumbled home some time around 1am and woke up back in happy world of wonderful St. Petersburg a few hours later. Even those fecking icicles don’t bother me anymore. And yes, obviously next month when I have saved up some more money, I’m heading back for more, because really I wish it could be Christmas everyday.

27/01 Beating the Russian cold in the Banya

2010-02-02T15:57:00.004+03:00

Ah Russian winter. The sparkly little speckles of dusty snow floating in streetlight lit dark St. Petersburg air. The bracing breath of the northern winter’s -25 gusts. Frozen canals, squeaky snow under your feet and those glassy blue skies that come with sub sub zero temperatures. What is there not to love…?

Well there are the obvious things of course. Hands frozen stiff from being out of their gloves for more than 5 minutes. Enormous, deadly icicles hanging over your head on every street you walk. Perilously slippery pavements. Chapped lips, dry skin, toes burning from the cold when you finally get home to take off the huge fur lined boots. Having to wear four jumpers to keep yourself warm under your western jacket and then having to take them all off in a fit of static when you enter the blasting heat of any Russian building. Hmm the list goes on and on. But back to the positive stuff.

The first major Russian winter activity I have been taking part in since the big freeze finally came has been ice-skating. Down at Park Pobedy there is a humongous outdoor rink, that if you go to on a weekday evening, you can have all to yourself. Dreaming of skating elegantly backwards or perhaps doing a little spin in the air and then one day being hilariously tongue in cheek with it too ala Plushenko, me and a friend have been trying our luck on the ice in -20 for weeks now. Inevitably leading to me getting a terrible cold, which in the old days were probably referred to as a ‘chill’.

Russian remedies for the chill almost always include garlic. Garlic tied around your neck. Garlic mixed with hot milk. Garlic and horseradish mixed with hot water and soda and so on. I have also been recommended to eat three whole lemons, swallow a raw egg and of course eat honey (which I keep insisting is a very bad idea considering I will be making my first visit to the Russian dentist very soon…).

Another solution for winter blues and chills is the famous Russian banya. So to the Russian banya we went.

The whole event was not at all helped by the fact that to get there we had to walk at least 25 minutes along some very windy wide road on a beautifully clear, yet lethally cold day. But the promise of genuine warmth at the end of it all kept us going. This banya was one of those posh private type places that you hire out for you and your friends. It had a largish pool, steam room (boring! Not hot enough and no thank you I do not want to break my neck slipping on wet marble), Russian sauna, plunge pool and the all important relaxing area complete with samovar, tea, cookies and a big TV that can be hooked up to karaoke if you get bored.

We went straight for the old sauna after a warming cup of tea and a fashion show of hilarious shapka dlya banya or voylochnaya shapka (special banya hats to protect the ears against the mega heat inside the wet Russian sauna). One or two times trying to sweat it out in the heat and still it was not hot enough and the germs, dirt and general wear and tear of Russian winter was still not coming out. Time for beating.

One of my colleagues helpfully offered to give me a good old thrashing with a large piece of venik – a big leaf filled branch of a birch tree. The beating starts softly with even a bit of soothing shaking out of the excess water and then gets harder and harder – everywhere. The beating takes place inside the banya room too, which it has to be pointed out is about 70 degrees, and lasts at least 20 minutes. Actually it was quite good. But I’m sure if a babushka will take control of the branch you will be crying your eyes out.

Finally when it’s done and the tree is half stripped bare of its vitamin enriched leaves, and your back is red and supple time to quickly jump under a bucket (ushat kholdny vody) with a rope attached to it. This, I had been promised was full of mega ice cold water. Close your eyes and pull it quickly…Youch! The greatest thing ever!! I could roll out naked in the snow now and it wouldn’t be as cold and shocking as that bucket full of water falling on me.

After that I had to lie down a while waiting for my heart to beat at a normal rate. Then in the half hour that was spare I did it all again. Banya is addictive, if you really go extreme with it and really mix the hot with the cold. Although ice-swimming I fear may really kill me. This on the other hand felt fiendishly good.

The following two days I didn’t go to work. I had a fever and was freezing in my bedroom under two blankets, full pyjamas and socks, drinking tea and eating piles of honey. I don’t think I ever really did believe in Russian remedies anyway

01/01/2009 New Year in Moscow (1)

2010-01-25T17:59:00.004+03:00

After the wilds of Russian expat Christmas, I returned back to work for two days to charge through mountains of text, clean up my desk and computer and set everything in order in time for coming back to work on the 10th January. Yes, in Russia, you don’t just get one day off for New Year, not two, not even an extended weekend. You get a whole frigging ten days. Leading to inevitable chaos when you finally get back to the office. Hence things need to be efficiently and promptly polished off in advance. That done I raced back home to throw everything into the backpack and hop on a train to Moscow.

Moscow is reputedly in Russian legend, the heart of New Year (oh the chimes of the Kremlin tower, the street party on Red Square, Fireworks! Etc etc), which is the biggest holiday of the year for Russian people. As an expat I couldn’t care less, but my director had a hungry cat sitting alone in an enormous, beautiful apartment in the centre of Moscow and I had the keys in my pocket. What else to do, but head off to the capital.

The journey as usual went without many hitches. I didn’t fall off the bunk beds as I once did 4 years ago, the other passengers were pleasant enough but also accepted the polite requests to not involve us in their drunken conversation at 2am and I was tired as hell and slept happily the whole way. Landing in Moscow at a human hour (10am as opposed to my usual 7am), left us starving and nothing could be achieved until we had consumed sandwiches at the pocket-sized and inimitably hip Lyudi kak Lyudi (people are people) in Kitai Gorod. Stomach-lined, on to the tourist itinerary - to Red Square - again! We looked at St. Basil’s, stared down the Kremlin’s imposing towers, took photos and almost froze to death. Stopped in to a church, we passed along the way (no we did not get down on our knees though or start to pray) to warm up for half an hour, walked another ten minutes, gave up hope of feeling our feet again and went into Masterskaya for beers and hiding away from the Moscow ice storm. This is probably the experience that every guest who I’ve ever taken to Moscow gets. But I still think it works, I love Red Square and I love Masterskaya. There are a million other things in Moscow, but for the first time I think these places suffice. An exhausting excursion completed, Moscow slept in the end and we thankfully decided on food and drink at home and no-more walking around Moscow’s mean moroz (frozen) streets.

And so to New Year’s Eve. Certainly there are lessons to be learnt from the experience (my first Moscow New Year, third in general in Russia).

Firstly, don’t go to Sparrow Hills in the winter, unless you have a car. The ice and snow is treacherous any way you choose to approach it and you will only be able to stand and stare at the famous view for mere minutes before the wind chill gets to you. And it’s far away. But still impressive of course. The country girl misses hills in flat as a pancake St. Petersburg.

Second, very important point (which I would bargain hundreds if not thousands of Muscovites were unaware of this year), the shops will not sell you alcohol between 22:00 and 06:00 - so stock up in advance! Luckily we did have a limited supply of alcohol, but we still wasted a very long and tumultuous (yet in its own way hilarious) car ride to semoi kontinet supermarket to come out only with a bag of pelmeni.. The driver on our return ride was the highlight. (Our) angry Georgian driver to another ‘blyad sukha, tvoi mat!’ - roughly translated ‘fuggle, beach, your mother!’ followed by revving of engine, stalling and skidding on ice, then charging over 4 lane road.

Third, Red Square is open all day but abruptly closes for unknown reasons exactly one hour after midnight, so if you are heading there around midnight (or just after as we were), don’t waste your time. You’ll be cold and you’ll never get in anywhere (although you can always try on the 20% chance that the guy who makes the guest list for a club is called Sasha - 20% of Russians are called Sasha…)

Fourth expect nothing of Russian New Year (it is like New Year anywhere else - over-hyped), simply make sure that you have good company and a comfortable roof over your head.

And finally fifth, expect the unexpected on January 1st and accordingly plan on having no plans. As for us we woke up happily well slept and relatively fresh on New Year’s day to find poor flatmate had been robbed right outside our apartment in St. Petersburg! Bad news for the first day of the New Year if ever there could be. With no phone, wallet, ipod, camera and (why do people take it with them everywhere I will never understand? Could it be lesson number 6? Don’t carry your passport with you everywhere you go, just because you live in Russia) passport and visa. Not much to be enjoyed. Having access to the phone I called the embassy who were of course closed and unhelpfully also left no emergency contact details. Scrap that plan then. Thank god for the long holidays though, within three days of the great theft, the passport was found dumped in the street and returned safely to owner. Had the embassy been open, it would have been cancelled already. So in a way, well done Ireland for leaving your citizens alone during the New Year!

28/12 Christmas in St. Petersburg

2010-01-11T19:38:00.003+03:00

Ah, well so long since the last round of blogging and so many things happened. Of course the excuses for not writing are many but generally revolve around Russian holiday fever. Of course in Russia Christmas is not celebrated on the 25th of December. People are still at work and for those who care (the religious ones) Christmas is solemnly marked on the 7th January with a beautiful orthodox church service.

But anyway back to festivities. In the last two weeks before New Year, in Russia you get a noticeable slowing down of response and increase in ‘better round up all those tasks I was working on’ kind of panic. So I was busy trying to round up the last of my tasks and track down elusive contacts who were busy doing the same. Then the week running up to Christmas came and foreign friends were coming so thinking about work was becoming even more challenging and literally every Russian in town was at some work party or talking about some work party! And then there was the excitement of Christmas eve, which was almost the end of the working year for me.

My flat mate of The Frozen Orchestra fame was planning a Christmas Eve concert and so we had made a huge guest list for friends and colleagues and were preparing for a foreigner frenzy. The concert went very well - I would even dare to say the best they’ve ever played (perhaps in some way due to the family present at the concert), but the beer in A2 is generally warm and flat and when concerts are up you're generally being chucked to the street. So to the street we went.

Much like the rest of Europe, St. Petersburg has been experiencing mega sneg - they say the most snow the city has seen in 130 years, which of course in Russia has to be a lot. The piles of snow, the great crowd of excited foreigners and a long walk to the bar we had decided on (our friends place Le Bar) resulted in a delightfully immature and long running snowball fight lasting almost the whole of the 25minute walk. Hmm, things are getting crazy and it’s not even midnight yet…!

After finally reaching our destination we all bundled in shouting ‘merry Christmas’ only to find there was some kind of private party going on. Dammit - this private party was anti-smoking too and we soon got busted for our cheeky fags. We waited for the band mates to tumble over too, had a snack and a beer, lost a lot of people, found them again and finally suggestions were made to go the full cheesy foreigner way and pile over in to the legendary, ‘you hate it but some how love it and always unwittingly end up there’ bar - Dacha. So we all crammed in and silly things started going on. Like buying rounds for the whole bar, vodka shots, crazy dancing - dance on your chair, dance round the whole room, take photos of everything, tell everyone you love them, yay it’s Christmas we love it! Etc.

Yes, all in all a lot of fun was had and we all tumbled back in a taxi at god knows what hour and away home - someone had to get up early in the morn…

The morning came. And it passed. Lunch time arrived and I knew I was never going to make it to the special work party - we didn’t actually have to work on Christmas day, it was the annual cleaning morning followed by a lovely party, but I couldn’t, I just couldn’t! The result was a straf (fine) for me, which is that I must learn the words to a Russian folk song and sing it to my colleagues after the holidays. Merry Christmas indeed. Actually I deserved the fine and as everyone knows I actually do love singing and making a fool of myself so it’s not entirely a chore.

Due to the never ending snow and general tiredness and weakness induced by a late night of expat Christmas revellery, Christmas dinner had to consist of pizza. Eaten at about 6pm. But the snow also meant that no-one would deliver anywhere in the city - even in the centre! - as their cars were all hiding under half a metre of snow. And no they would not take the metro thank you very much. Sigh. Hence we had to venture out and collect it ourselves. It felt something like the first Lord of the Rings, when they have to clamber over the snowy mountains on their way to, well wherever they were going to at that point. You get the idea, it was hard work - and already dark when we left the house on our mighty quest. Snow to your knees and ice everywhere. Icicles hanging perilously from the roofs and completely chaotic roads. The traffic lights weren’t working, everyone was driving too fast and zooming willy-nilly over the crossroads and we literally waited 15 minutes to cross on that final push to ‘party pizza’.

Back home after our journey to what felt like the end of the earth, we sated ourselves with 14 cans of coke (seriously) between the three of us, the pizza and completely inane chatter about who we regard to be the ugliest actors and actresses in show business, amongst other fluff.

Having had a good normal sleep and waking happy and refreshed of a Saturday, I invited my wonderful colleagues over for a last drink before they left me for their home towns. It was as far as boxing days go - a vintage year. Boxing day is typically on a par with Christmas eve and way better than Christmas day I always find. And so it was. First we tried to achieve something (we walked for an hour through the snow dunes of the Fontanka canal to make a registration, only to find the office was closed). Then young handsome strangers complimented us on our impeccable taste in clothing, lovely smiles and sexy hair before asking if we would like to take a gulyat (walk) with them (No, we have our wonderful company, but thank you anyway) and finally we had a drink in the old favourite cheap and basic Uzbek haunt, Grot. Back home the girls came over, expecting food (I am a bad, bad Russian host - I had none!), but there was cheese. Piles of lovely, lovely Swiss cheese from the Swiss brother. Great chat, great people, no work the next day.

Ah Perfect, perfect Christmas in Russia!

14/12 Stop him he's got a bounty!!

2009-12-14T18:36:00.006+03:00

You have to love Moscow – it’s just so easy to find yourself in ridiculous random situations without even trying. This weekend the big city excelled itself in pushing my brain to – what the why when how?! Is going on….limits

It all started out in a moroccan bar called Ketama. After going through a giant, is this Alice in wonderland?, door I was forced to negotiate a pile of stones masquerading as a staircase in 3 inch heels before finally being relieved of my shoes and handed a pair of slippers and a torch. Why the torch? because it was so dark as hell in there you couldn’t even read the menu, and the slippers of course because the whole place is made up of various bedouin divans covered in carpets with the odd tea light providing some kind of vague idea of this is a ‘table’ and that is not. Sexy, romantic and very trendy, but NOT somewhere to be eating alone. Sigh. Needs must, better get that torch out and start thinking food. I ordered various north African snacks and the obligatory Moroccan tea and tried to look suitably cool, despite the fact that I couldn’t see anything and had hummous on my jeans. Thankfully there were lights in the toilets but using them was in itself also a bit of an adventure. First of course you have to find them in the dark and figure out which is the ladies even though you can’t see the door. I’m not sure what sex my toilet was aimed at but it was basically a scary looking large stone trough in the shape of a camels head with two foot rests and a shower. Who needs or wants a toilet like that? Not comfortable! And of course I was in there for about 10 minutes desperately looking for the well hidden flush handle.

After eating up I carefully descended down the pile of rocks and went to meet a friend. 5 minutes of wondering aimlessly and we saw a lot of lights. And then the word Tunnel. Oh the potential puns, we must go inside!!

The experience goes something like this.

Go down long tunnel towards the lights. Descend another death trap staircase and are greeted by security.

‘What’s in the bag?!’

The usual crap of course and so we pass on.

But wait, what do I hear behind me...mystery... one okhrana (security) says to the other – stop that man he’s got a bounty!

My friend continues on unawares that he is being persued through a series of tunnels filled with empty tables, by an angry burly man. Security, finally corner him and demand he empty his pockets…

Yes, Firmin had unintentionally snuck a bounty chocolate bar into the club and that was the end of that – 2 minutes later and we are back on the street. This is not the time or place for the taste of paradise.

Hmm ok, how about a dodgy Cuban bar then? Sure why not. And so we enter the windowless den and take some perches at the bar. Blow a criminal amount of money on a pint of mojito (which was mostly soda) and settle in for a band. The generic Russian singer starts out with No Doubt, then a bit of Bon Jovi and err Dire Staits and soon enough before we know it, someone in the restaurant has a meal that is being set on fire at his table and ladies of the night are filling the room. What on earth do we play think the band…? Of course, time for some Russian disco! The hookers two step, boobs falling everywhere, we attempt to pay our nasty bar tab and head elsewhere.

Somehow at this point I had the idea to go Coyote Ugly bar, which was the polar opposite of che guvera bar. Not a man in sight just one very large group of tequila swigging girls grinding on the bar and a load of ballsy bar maids wearing bikinis. Firmin is terrified and so we leave.

Next stop toilet. Well we have to continue down the random road so why not try and use the toilets of one of Moscow’s most notorious glam bars, Denis Simachev. Of course I’m getting seriously faced as I’m carrying a plastic bag, but Firmin charms them and we are in. And then out just as fast, that place ain’t a friend of my wallet or dignity.

Now when you get to this point of the night, what are you thinking about? Yes food of course. Time for early morning pancakes! We head off to Teremok, munch on an ilya muromets and sit next to a crazy old woman who is being protected from the cold and snow outside by the blini kings. In exchange she draws really sketchy portraits of the clientele. Us ‘Norweigans’ included.

Stomach is satisfied time for bed. Masters of the negotiations it only takes us seven cars parked outside the Ritz Carlton to finally get someone down to 150Rbls for the ride home and of we go. Then at the last moment possibly the biggest surprise of the night. Heart of gold good honest Muscovite driver actually reminds me not to forget my bag with all my money and expensive camera in before I leave (Firmin is asleep and paying no attention at all). Oh thankyou Moscow, thankyou very very much!

26/11 Terem Quartet

2009-11-30T19:32:00.000+03:00

‘Injecting fresh life into traditional Russian folk music, Terem Quartet laces its performances with humour, theatrical showmanship and vivacious energy while running the gambit from gypsy melodies to Tchaikovsky.’ That’s WOMAD, the international folk festival founded by Peter Gabriel, describing St. Petersburg’s Terem Quartet, the number one folk ensemble in Russia.

In March, Terem Quartet will be organising their first international folk ensemble competition, under the title ‘Terem’. Yes, they named it after themselves, but as they pointed out, their band is now practically a brand and having the word Terem in the title will certainly help with getting bums in the seats. These classically trained musicians, who are some of the happiest looking dudes you will ever see in Russia, invited some friends and writers over to a presentation of the new competition. The idea was to convince us all to get busy with promoting them in our respective lines of work.

It took me about 3 minutes to decide that I will be backing them all the way. These guys are just in love with world folk music. Their idea is to bring over various ensembles playing all kinds of different music and then set them in competition with each other. The crowd will decide which bands win each round and then the final ten will go head to head in a final battle at the St. Petersburg Philharmonia.

The whole presentation of their plans lasted about 10 minutes tops - which has to be a press conference record and then they explained, that really, talk is talk - at the end of the day it’s all about the music. And so they then went on to play for about 40 minutes to our little crowd of 20 - hurrah! Alongside Russian ‘narodny’ songs (those heartfelt, klezmer sounding ballads from days gone by) and Red Army anthems, they also did an ingenious Tchaikovsky concerto between the four of them, managing to hold out the melodies of twice as many musical scores. How did they manage that? Well it was all down to their instruments, which I have failed to mention so far, because best things till last.

The ensemble is made up of two ‘dombras’ (look it up, it’s quite something) one played by a young happy fella and the second a guy who looks like the friendly physics teacher at a good home counties school. An accordion is played by the lead singer of the group who is definitely a hippy (people in Russia do not have bald patches in the middle and very long hair down the sides, they are conservative by nature!) makes up the centre of the group while an absolutely enormous balalaika, played by a bald medallioned smiler who looks vaguely Soprano in a very nice way, stands in the back. They have to be seen, and most definitely heard to be believed!

19/11 Le Beaujolais nouveau c’est arrive’!

2009-11-26T19:32:00.000+03:00

The third Thursday of the month usually marks the beginning of the Beaujolais week – the time when you can enjoy the newest Beaujolais wine at their fruitiest best. Even when not in France the arrival of the new wines is always greeted with a bit of a party – and that includes in Russia too. We decided to head down to the Novotel’s French restaurant Cote de Jardin for their Beaujolais bash and of course despite having much work awaiting us in the office we still managed to arrive very unfashionably early.

Not a problem, good things do come to those who wait after all, and good things they were. Everything French – French guests (who seem to be everywhere these days, there’s evidently a real French-Russian love affair going on in the city at the moment), French music and of course French food – mountains of cheese, nicoise salads, onion soup, ratatouille, coq au vin and so on. We were seated on a special table of friends of the hotel, which was filled with party organisers and some people from an ‘industry’ magazine – who specifically write about import and export of food items and kitchen things. Or something like that, they didn’t have a copy with them...

At the moment of networking, something rather remarkable happened – they actually became thoroughly fascinated about my British background! What’s the weather like where you are from (raining like you wouldn’t believe), what do British tourists think of our city (they think the registration rules are retarded, that’s what, and of course that despite that it’s spectacular), what do you think of Finland (boring!), what is your pension plan in the UK (eh?!) and what do you think of Moscow (love it guys, I love, it!). At this point I tried to be controversial and tell them that Moscow is more of a European city than St. Petersburg, which obviously upset them, but sometimes when you are a foreigner you can get away with it. They didn’t feel like arguing about the point and so instead we got back to the food, with everyone saying to me – ‘I bet this is all you’ve eaten all day’ (I was eating a lot, but it wasn’t). This of course made me think, I am going at the soufflé with too much gusto? Before the friendly woman next to me, who was looking on at me as if I were her ten years ago, butted in, ‘well while you’re young you can get away with it’. To which I responded – ‘I’m a professional eater, my stomach is quite used to such rich onslaughts’. They almost all looked confused by that comment, apart from Novotel pr who laughed and toasted me on that one. Thanks Valery! At the end of the day, that’s what I was there for to eat everything and drink new wines, a task which I feel I did and enjoyed very well. Ah just another hard day’s work...

20/11 Raining Cats and Dogs

2009-11-23T18:44:00.003+03:00

Well this weekend it’s a bit of non-Russian blogging from me as one of those unusual freak one in a million things happened this week - and it didn’t happen in Russia, where it seems that something odd happens everyday of the week. I arrived at work on Friday morning to start putting the final touches to the New Year editions of the magazines to find myself inundated with messages and emails asking me how my family are doing given that their house is destroyed. ‘Eh?!’ I say, have absolutely no idea what they are talking about. Later check out the links I’ve been sent whilst on my lunch break and find myself watching the sky news coverage of my street being engulfed by the river that it sits next to - so insanely surreal when you are sitting in an office in Russia trying to concentrate on not making any mistakes before you send a massive file to a printing house.

Of course it has to be said when you have expatriated yourself there are many feelings that you have towards your home town. First is that it will always be there, doing the same thing it was when you left it all those years ago, it’s rural Northern England, not much happens. Second is the vague guilt feeling you get about not wanting to go back there, because let’s face it Russia is one of the most exciting places on earth and this is one of the best jobs you can have when you like eating, drinking and high culture. But as the mails and offers for help (forgive the pun) poured in, I finally felt a third unknown emotion in relation to my cute little remote hometown. Cheesy, I know, but actually I started to feel a real community pride. Before I could even twitter my friends for updates on the state of my house, than there were car pools heading north being organised, fundraising pub crawls, bike rides and concerts being promoted. Would your neighbours offer to help you clean your house, give up their bed for you, give you their time and sympathies when they barely know you? While I live in Russia I can say a definite no. The only time I ever spoke to my neighbours was when they asked me for 300Rbls to fix the lights in our stairwell - I think if my house got flooded here, a dozen random people wouldn’t be queuing up to clean two tones of s*** out of my downstairs bathroom. The more you look at my hometown the more you see a real friendliness that is quite unique.

Another surprising thing that has come out of this is the fact that the town where nothing, ever, ever, seems to happen, has been plastered all over my TV in St. Petersburg. Watching CNN I see the cameras going into my next door neighbour’s house. Reading the Guardian, the Times and the BBC I keep seeing the same pictures of my mum and brother moving our grimy, once white sofa into the street. My very own brother staring at a pile of rubbish, which for all I know includes my souvenir Russian doll and New York fridge magnets, flashed across the world. Random!

Of course the real sad part of the story is that now, maybe our town will become what I thought it was before, little bit dead end. The main street that got dunked under 2 metres of water was full of small businesses selling ice-cream, handmade arts and crafts, curries, toys, ales, souvenirs, shoes, books. It was picturesque, getting close to becoming a real little middle-class, gem in the middle of the industrial West Cumbrian coast. Most of the pubs have been there over 200 years, some more in one form or another. The Chemist has been there since the 18^th Century, the Ironmongers, filled with antique equipment and hotel too. The famous Jennings brewery, most of which was washed away down the river, made one of the best ales in the north, but was always a small business with close margins. And then the house museum of the birth place of the poet William Wordsworth. Also ruined.

Do people who don’t pay their full insurance (like my family) because it’s criminally expensive really have the money to revive their tiny B and Bs and vegetarian restaurants which cater to a very small clientele of locals and passing Wordsworth tourists? I hope so, but some part of me is now dreading to return in the New Year to a town of empty shops, boarded up ancient pubs and sad, sad locals, who may start thinking of moving elsewhere. Now is the time evidently for some real strong tourist campaign and a big spring clean. The towns has museums, centuries old architecture, a medieval castle, parks, views to mountains, friendly folk and good organic local produce. So all that’s needed now is to clean up the main street, the pubs can all have cheeky water-themed names, make a museum about the great flood - and hey why not, how about an interactive display in there too?! I’ll be back soon enough, after many years away, and with a gang of tourists and friends in tow.

Here's just some of the pictures...

My brother and the rubbish courtesy of the times

That's the river Cocker overtaking our street - taken on Thursday evening

That is again my street with a boat on it (courtesy of Telegraph)

Mum and brother with those sofas again (BBC)

Merry Christmas indeed (telegraph)

And here the main street is in happier times - during the Georgian fair celebrating our history as a once prosperous Georgian market town

14/11 Jason Webley

2009-11-20T21:00:00.001+03:00

After a long sleep following the film festival and club, it was time to rouse oneself for a rowdy concert. This weekend American alternative singer, guitarist, accordionist, writer and all round eccentric Jason Webley was in St. Petersburg again to reportedly try and record some live tracks for a new album. During the first half of the concert, despite Jason’s heroic efforts to wake up the crowd with some wit and sing-a-long, audience participation tricks, the room was too empty and the locals a bit too prissy to go really crazy. Still Jason with his accordion and guitar (which was suffering some awful feedback from the speakers) and his violinist, bassist and drummer carried on with gusto and finally towards the end the enthusiasm was rising and so they ended up playing three encores as everyone suddenly woke up and realised that hey, this gypsy, folk, sea shanties, Tom Waits type thing is actually really very good. Myself and my friend had already known this all along, but severe hangovers were preventing us from jumping in to get a conga line started. We did however do a bit of ‘dead donkeys’ spinning around 20 times to make ourselves really dizzy, which surprisingly only made us laugh rather than making us horribly sick.

Following the concert, my friend was keen to hand Jason a copy of our magazine, whilst I was happier to hide behind my beer. Eventually I stepped forward and attempted conversation, seems the friendly handsome man just likes chatting after his shows and meeting fans, although we have to remember that I’m not Russian and one half of my brain was dealing with the sawdust clogging up my head so chats were not extensive. One thing I did find out though, Jason first came to Russia when he was invited by a friend from Moscow, who he had stayed with the previous night. Nice place to stay? Yes, right in the centre, although the apartment is full to the brim with bits of cardboard and other visiting musicians. Hmm stranger and stranger. What does this friend do? Well he has a record label called ‘Bad Taste’ and is the tyrant of a cardboard city! Small world indeed.

13/11 Muzeek

2009-11-19T16:29:00.002+03:00

Makes the People. Come together. Yeah. Or maybe doesn’t.

The poor old Muzeek festival, which we visited this week, was a wonderful concept, brilliantly executed, but the big question was - where were all the people. Tickets for the closing night of this festival of music videos, were hovering around the bargainous 200Rbl level and yet the cinema was filled with about 30 people. At least ten of whom were journalists. The concept was to show the best selection of new creative music videos currently floating around. There were big names on the line up such as Radiohead, the Fleet Foxes and Russian favourites such as Tequillajazz and some truly beautiful films on show. Four minutes each, the kind of viral things that get passed through youtube were shown in dolby on a huge screen. And they even added free entry to a club after the showings! And yet the organisers looked sad that Petersburgers are more interested in Hollywood’s latest cheese fests than MGMTs latest hits. They were positive though about the shows potential appeal in Europe. The festival should hopefully soon be moving west in the near future so look out for them in a cinema near you soon.

And as we were paying attention and know that everyone likes a good video. Here are some of the favourites. Get downloading!

Огоньки -Ляпис Трубецкой http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yasMT0vZXqU

The Rain - Lou Rhodes

Girl and the Sea - The Presets

Sloup - Susumu Yokota

Motherfucker - Fordamage

All the Jokes Are on Me - Firefly Effect

All Nightmare Long - Metallica

Happy Up Here - Royksopp

Роботы - Dolphin

Let Love Rule (Justice Remix) - Lenny Kravitz

Baby Baby Baby - Make the Girl Dance

Boyfriend - Alphabeat

If I Know You - The Presets

The awesome winners of the festival Firekites - Autumn Story:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6gvOVWKKxmo

And one of my personal favourites (lipdub of course)

Just Like a Drummer -The Wave Pictures

10/11 L'Europe c'est Замечательный!

2009-11-17T21:07:00.003+03:00

Yes and now to the eating - zamichatelny - amazing!

St. Petersburg’s Grand Hotel Europe is officially (according to the World Travel Awards - the tourism industry’s Oscars) the world’s leading luxury hotel 2009/2010. They beat the Dorchester, they beat the Peninsula in Hong Kong, they even beat the Hotel de Crillon in Paris! So you can imagine what happens when you think you are going to this spectacular deluxe palace for a bite to eat and a press conference and find that you are a special guest and this show is for you.

Well everyone’s imagination of such a situation may be a little different, but as for me, I was a it nervous, very excited and feeling quite a bit of pressure to really pull out my most intelligent conversation and delicate taste buds and impress the impressive. Thankfully both didn’t really fail me too much and there were enough distractions anyway.

The first distraction comprised of the two (yes only two) other journalists who spoke only Russian who were sitting with me. Any things I attempted to explain generally were going straight over their heads so safe there. Second distraction came in the shape of the room itself - the beautiful L’Europe dining room is straight out of an Agatha Christie novel. Antique stained glass roof, palms, art nouveau wood panelling, waiters in white gloves and silver spoons on the tables greet you.

Then everything starts flooding in at once. The orchestra have turned up and are playing Tchaikovsky on the stage. The maitre’d has brought over some wine. It’s red, French at least 10 years old, exquisite! And I’ve just understood that I am having ‘egg in an egg’ for starters - that’s black beluga caviar served inside a ducks egg on top of a (how did they make it?! It was incredible) ‘egg porridge’. They serve that with Russki standard and my taste buds are tripping out. Amazing.

And so to our complete amazement - it goes on! Ballet dancers from the Mariinsky trot onto the stage to dance Swan Lake, a cream of wild mushroom soup with truffle oil arrives. The wine glass is topped up and we are talking about opera (haha - Russalka and Mikhailovsky theatre thank you - I’m holding my own despite my caviar head!), Riesling and restaurants in London (last time I was in a restaurant in London I was in Pizza Express, I’ve nothing to add there) and then my (yes, they all look to the pocket for what’s happening in town) top tips for winter cultural events. Wow, I really think this was a dream.

Let’s get back to the food - an angus beef steak is arriving for me - with it’s big sharp silver fork sticking out of it. Despite it being such excellent meat I just couldn’t quite polish it off (what a failure - there are no doggie bags at Grand Hotel Europe) and I really wanted some dessert. Dessert came (pineapple parfait with coconut ice-cream), some how I polished it off and took to an Americano, soaking in the last few minutes of this wonderful event. The musicians were packing up, the world was still turning outside and at some point, well you gotta go home.

And so back out into the snowy streets of St. Petersburg, jump into the metro (smiling and feeling totally high) and to the real world. Thank you Grand Hotel Europe for your mere existence - that place is a real window to the west.

06/11 Roll out the Barrel

2009-11-16T20:26:00.001+03:00

Been a bit lax on the blog recently and there has been so much going on too. Time to get back on track with what’s going on in St. Petersburg and that means eating, drinking and rocking out. So first to the drinking. Myself and a colleague found ourselves in the pafosny (pretentious) surrounds of the opening of a new cocktail bar on Kazanskaya called Barell. Neon and black was the, ‘original’ cocktail bar design they had opted far, with a bit of exposed brick and steel bar thrown in there too. Thankfully we were invited to pick our free cocktail from a, err, yes you guessed it, barrel and head to the bar to start quaffing. Some how though I managed to actually select a non-alcoholic cocktail. Namely posh lemonade. Or it was named liethenthal lemonade or something like that. But yes, lemonade it was.

So we drank up, wandered around and watched as the women went from smiling to blue steel at the sight of a camera and then horribly had the misfortune to stumble into the Russian journalists - who had obviously seen us a mile off, standing out just as much as they were. I have met these guys before and was horrified to find them all in the same tiny space at one time. There was miss no-table-manners who I met at Fish House who was stuffing a pile of Parma ham into her face using her fake finger nails, comb-over guy who was looking for someone to ask nonsensical questions to and then drunk-guy-who-talks-really-fast who I had not seen at an event for ages, and that was a happy thing.

So he accosted us, rabbited on about some woman from the British council, shouted at me for not liking football (all British people love football don’t forget, ALL of them), berated me for not learning to understand people when they speak Russian like they just snorted a whole bag of coke and then proceeded to speak in ‘Italian’ otherwise known as blab bla bla language with appropriate hand gestures and intonation, which is apparently only ever spoken very quickly. I told him to not ‘rompermi i coglioni’. The what? He spits over us. ‘le palle’, ‘scatole’ I patronisingly suggest. Eh?! Back to the football talk and fast speaking in Russian, the man is confused. ‘Che cazzo vuoi!’ I’m out of here, this is not the place to waste my excellent Italian insults. And so we left very shortly after my colleague politely suggested that he had insulted me with his comments about my nationality.

And the tall Russian women wandering around in bikinis carrying the snack plates who had been painted black for the event, suffered on. Ladies and gentleman another cocktail bar has opened.

01/11 Russalka

2009-11-02T18:30:00.002+03:00

Was at the Mihkailovsky Theatre again this week, for what has to have been the best opera premiere of my life! Why so great you ask. Well let’s start with the fact that it’s Dvorzak, who suits my current Slavic state of mind perfectly. Second we have the costumes, the wild crazy costumes that were like a combination of Lord of the Rings and Stargate. Then we have Anna Nechaeva as Rusalka, the Mikhailovsky’s rapidly rising star soprano. Stage direction from Igor Konyaev (yes they are acting, they are dancing, they are doing something while they sing that is not just raising their arms) and it just so happened that on this night of a Slavic fairytale there was also a full moon.

But the real icing on my extremely luxurious cake was the seats. How and why it happened is difficult to say, I guess I was just lucky and turned up at the right moment. As I arrived at the theatre and went to talk with the PR to collect my ticket. She looked confused - alone? She asks. Yes alone I reply. Kharasho she shrugs and hands me my ticket. Seat number 1, in box number 1. I was as confused as everyone else who was staring over at me alone in my huge box right next to the stage, staring down over the dancers the kettle drums, the conductor to my left the opera singers so close I could almost touch them. In my mind I like to think they thought I was some kind of VIP. What other explanation could there be that I have booked out the whole of the first box for the opening night of the new opera for me alone?! Ah the prestige.

Luckily enough it was a fantastic performance, it would not have been good to be seen yawning in such a visible position. I was thoroughly impressed with the acting, with the sopranos and with the interpretation of what is essentially a highly improbable story and hats off to the directors for boldly going where this theatre rarely does and raunching it up a bit.

Oh and again - still love those sandwiches.

30/10 What’s your sound bite? Russia by Granta (1998)

2009-10-30T18:24:00.004+03:00

Finally finished reading through Granta's Russia and I will admit that at least some of it is reasonable. It’s not entirely a book specifically compiled together to convince people that this is the most depressing land on the planet. But that unfortunately is the general impression. If books are about blurbs and titles, then there’s really nothing like a concluding rhetorical question or emotive line at the end of your article to really pack the punches. So in an effort to understand the tone of this book let’s look further at those suicidal final notes:

‘What do we owe this state which has taken from me my most precious thing?’

‘His exile was, as they say, eternal.’

‘I imagine him the victim of that self-hypnosis which sustained the great illusion of communism itself – where ideas and dreams hover delusively over the wasteland of fact.’

‘She was wearing only a threadbare nightdress, and her thin body was chilled to the bone in the cool half-dark of the late time.’

‘Around his head was a yellow-brown tea stain and his dark eyes gazed out of his impromptu halo, serene and yet despairing.’

And it went on ad-infinitum. And of the writers who can you say was actually really seeing into the future? Who saw something of Russia in 2008/9? Who had any close guesses as they gazed into the dark unknown future? Well for me, it had to be without a doubt, the insightful, balanced, informative and deceptively deep piece by the old favourite Mr Figues. Ending with this insight, which is really not at all a bad observation for us as westerners to contemplate. Then to witness, understand and want to see again:

‘But then it occurred to me that her indifference was also a hopeful sign that for her generation the whole bitter episode was in the distant past, that it had been buried like the bones.’

Well let's hope so...

Oh and about the photo. It's by Boris Mikhailov - he knows how to make things look depressing to the maximum.

24/10 New British Art in Old Russian Museum

2009-10-27T21:03:00.004+03:00

Ah the Hermitage. What can you not say about it. Possibly the world’s greatest museum. Maybe the world’s biggest too. Certainly it has the largest collection of art on the planet and overall it has in its possession more than 3 million priceless items, of which only a fraction is permanently on display. Somehow, despite living only a few streets away from the Winter Palace, I actually had found that I hadn’t visited in literally months. All this had to change and fortunately enough it did as I was invited for a Saturday lunch time opening of a modern art (modern? The Hermitage?!) exhibition right in the centre of the palace.

We arrived at the staff entrances raring to go and were swiftly led through the maze of the palace to a large ballroom. Inside we found works from the newest British artists who have found their way into Saatchi’s collection. There was a huge bold sculpture of a black wave made from some kind of silicon carbonite dust, that everyone wanted to touch and which really reminded me of an ashtray. A wicked installation from Littlewhitehead that looked like a lot of chavs huddled in a corner, huge canvases from Arif Ozakca mixing classical artistic views of Persians and Romans fighting in small British streets with expert composition. There were what looked like weird fetish masks and sad paintings of empty barbershops. Tessa Farmer had created a hanging world of dead bees, dragonflies and blue bottles being ridden by strange battling skeletal fairies and at the entrance was a Warhol inspired Cher Guvera, plus much, much more. It was so unlike the Hermitage that I was expecting, that it almost didn’t surprise me at all when a friend from the Hermitage staff started pointing out some characters to me - ‘that curator’s the Hermitage heartthrob’ (could totally see that) ‘and see that guy - he’s a porn star in his spare time!’ Hmm I bet he’s familiar with the ancient Greek art. And so on.

At some point though I had to escape and so I snuck off to take a look around the museum. Of course three hours later I was still there, staring at the Rubens room, thinking I’m sure that staff entrance was here somewhere. I asked some babushkas many times to give me directions. Many times they gave directions and I still couldn’t find my way to the staff entrance. Three times I ended up in Raphael’s Loggia and twice I saw people taking photos of themselves next to the Russian throne. I did two circuits of the antiquities of the small Hermitage until the point when I was even was thinking to go outside coatless in 3 degrees and try to find the entrance from the street. Finally as it approached 5pm some janitor, who had just seen me pass him yet again with my press pack, indicated the way. I followed him and there of course it was. A huge staircase and Mr Heartthrob heading home.

Of course I was tempted to stalk him, but quickly enough he was speeding away and I had become completely overwhelmed by the light and emptiness of the world outside the walls of the great palace. There was just a little empty canal and a lone soldier in a grey coat and shapka walking slowly away smoking a cigarette. If it had been snowing I may just as well have been in Alexander Sokurov’s film the Russian Ark.

14/10 The Tyrant of Cardboardia

2009-10-22T17:49:00.008+04:00

Last week I was in Moscow again, the crazy town where anything can happen, say for example, you think you’re going to a fashion party that ends up being a giant parade of drag queens dancing to Kylie Minogue, one day you find yourself in Stalin’s banya and then the next you get invited for dinner with the tyrant of Cardboardia.

Cardboard what? As Sergei, explained to us over a plate of vegetables, if you become a citizen of Cardboardia you can start building whatever you want. So long as it is made out of cardboard that is. You need a house? Well just build yourself one then. So you want to start a cheesemongers, made out of cardboard - go ahead! Maybe a prison? Well there already is one - a ‘free-will prison’ no less - and you can even get a prison tattoo done in there too, but maybe you could build a guard tower there just to make sure everything stays in check. Cardboardia has its own rock star, Miss Carrot, there’s a park and the green fingered ones are growing cardboard trees and plants too. You can get married in Cardboardia and of course it has its own currency, the ‘bad taste’. You can buy and sell things inside there, just so long as you have enough bad tastes to your name. ‘Are there animals in Cardboardia?’ I asked (was thinking about a cardboardian circus of puppies). ‘I have nothing against it but you need to build a place for them first.’ The encouraging reply. ‘And of course you need to be accepted as a personage of Cardboardia too’. Just like in ancient Athens only citizens or personages have rights in Cardboardia and they choose in elections to keep Sergei as their tyrant.

And so the conversation went on and on - what you could or could not have in Cardboardia. No smoking their for example (for obvious reasons) and swimming pools are quite hard to build too, although of course people have tried. Richard, the friend of Sergei’s who had invited us along for dinner, then told us about how he had once made musical shoes out of bananas. He was not stoned then or at this moment either. It just seemed a good idea at the time. ‘Great!’ says Tyran ‘We could have a banana shoes concert in Cardboardia’s next opening! Make a couple of pairs you could probably make a couple of bad tastes even.’ So how’s about this for a party - a musical banana shoes concert, in the town square of a cardboard city that sits in a huge warehouse somewhere in mighty Moscow. Where’s the box office I say.

For maps, photos, news about cardboardia and a link to their national anthem check out their site:

http://cardboardia.info/

12/10 Twisted Firestarters and screwed up pr

2009-10-14T19:14:00.004+04:00

Anarchic british dance groups and wild Russian crowds compliment each other like the sour taste of a gherkin after a good hard shot of vodka – they just heighten each others effectivness and desire for more. So imagine a 15,000 strong Russian audience plus the Prodigy and you have to expect euphoric chaos.

Things didn’t start all as planned however with the beginning of things looking to be some kind of glum pafosny (pretentious) affair as half of the accredited journalists got ruthlessly face controlled. After circling the whole stadium on the hunt for the press office, the assembled rabble of journos, who were all frantically trying to contact their press contacts (who seemed to be asleep somewhere in Moscow) were finally directed to the queue for the VIP entrance and some suited young trendy guy. Blondinki in sky high heels and spray on leather trousers - you’re of course welcome to this rave - grungy looking strangers who write for music magazines - hmm I’m not sure if I can see your name here…

The lack of recognition or shame by Mr pr (who evidentally had confused the concert for a fashion show) continued to the point that he actually feised a couple who were on the list of friends of the band themselves (they sat together at breakfast in the Astroia that day and got invited along), prompting angry fingers to be pointed and the words (in English) 'I’ll kill you!’ Do your job and look at your list goddamit!!'to be thrown around. Eventually after a long wait and having shoved our magazines in Mr PR’s face - we were finally chucked some tickets and so we stomped off to our ….chairs?

Oh man we start thinking - this is all wrong we thought, steaming at the sight of the Paris Hiltons tottering on the dance area below us. It even got to the point when we tried to move ourselves somewhere more interesting only to find that the fascist security sent us back to our allotted places and told us straight - sit there and no dancing! Yikes so not the firestarter anarchic atosphere we wanted. I'd rather be in bed, than be caged like this, the shunned journalists start muttering.

Not to worry though, some minutes later as the guys entered the stage and the huge bass of ‘breathe’ pumped out of the system, the security were mobbed as the whole gang of poor losers in the cheap seats were up and raving while the security ran off and hid.

What followed was a reletnless 2 hours of pure mayhem as if the crowd had just been druggeed with a cloud of e. We sweated, we banged our heads, waved our arms around as if it were 1995 and jumped the house down (as did messers Prodigy, much to our pleasure).

In fact the riot was still going as we headed into the metro with every passing station back into town being met with screams of 'the invaders must die, wwwwwwwwwwwwaaaaaaa’and a lot of shaking of the metro car.

Throughly exhausted by seriously the most energetic concert of my life, I stumbled back home, grabbed my bags and zoomed off to the station to sleep in my gym sweat all the way to Moscow.

08/10 Fish House

2009-10-12T16:29:00.002+04:00

Fish, fish and more fish awaited us this week at the opening of the stroganoff steakhouse’s sister establishment imaginatively named ‘Fish House’. As far as restaurant, bar or well any kind of openings go there are always certain elements that you can guarantee.

First will be the very long explanation of what is plainly obvious in front of your eyes such as – ‘this is a place specialising in grilled fish’. Yes we can see that. But still we will get a very long explanation of the ‘concept’ of the place, the great equipment they have, those oh so important details such as ‘we have ample parking space, would you like to see it?’ No thank you. And always a favourite ‘look at the fish on the wall paper – we’re creating a theme here!’ And so it continues for an hour before you get to eat anything.

Then second you get the insistence on providing an answer to everything. Like the question – do you have anything for vegetarians?’ The obvious answer here is – ‘no! We are fish house.’ But of course a long and embarrassing answer ensued; ‘we can do a green salad, I think we have broccoli soup on the menu. They can eat prawns right? We have rice...’

And finally you get the embarrassing character who asks bizarre questions and then proceeds to get very drunk and rowdy. This week’s character was a woman of some years with some terrible lipstick (dirty pink, almost to her nose and certainly on her teeth) and some very poor table manners. Her questions ranged from – ‘why doesn’t it smell like fish in here?’ to ‘why is there no vodka, ya tak khachu vodku! (oh how I want some vodka!)’

She proceeded to drink everything in sight, eat straight out of the many garnishes covering the table, pronouncing ‘ooh vkusna’ while we all turned away and cringed whilst searching for an unsoiled garnish. She also consistently had no idea what she was eating – ‘hmm is that asparagus?’ She says poking her fork into the spinach. Truly beyond belief. I won’t embarrass anyone by saying who she worked for.

Sadly disaster soon followed as it took the kitchen almost an hour to prepare the fish for the hungry journalists, before the power went out. The power finally came on again and the fish arrived, albeit sorely undercooked. Prompting the chef to come in and demand it all be taken away again. By this point most people just decided to leave (we are busy you know!) leaving just me (seriously – it happened to be my fish that the chef tasted) patiently waiting for something to eat and write about.

A well grilled trout finally arrived and the staff hovered around me nervously waiting for my approval. Yes it’s good I smiled and ate on (despite the fact that I wasn’t even hungry anymore) and then eventually at some point we were released from the clutches of the now open (perhaps they should have waited a little longer...) Fish House and left to go home. I felt almost as embarrassed as the PR team must have done.

Any pluses here then? The spinach was brilliant, pickled fish also nice with the fresh black bread and the sorbet was a genuine highlight. But to be perfectly honest, seems the first bites of the undercooked trout didn’t agree with my stomach, although the second fish I ate was quite fine. Toilet was calling only a few hours later.

05/10 Russia by Granta circa 1998

2009-10-06T16:35:00.006+04:00

After meeting with an optimistic and very objective (and we’ll add to that successful) businessman for lunch recently I was forced to re-think again my western centric, still ingrained stereotypes about the non-European (aka ‘Russian’) life. How did that start then?

‘Russians are pessimists’ I argued. ‘Russians are realists, vaguely fatalist, but pessimists? No.’ he argued back. Why? Well look at where the thought behind the idea has come from he subtly explained to me. The western norm is certainty, relative stability, trust that democracy gives a future guaranteed to end in milk and honey and the assurance that it is just impossible for it all to go completely to pot.
Russia on the other hand has never had the possibility for such an idea. They’ve had more crashes, crises, revolutions and wars than Britain has had protests at the high price of petrol or the inefficiency of the health system. They expect the unexpected. They know how things can change overnight, so how can they possibly have space for pessimism? This is why they are unafraid and can take risks. Which a pessimist could never possibly do.

Well that’s what they call insight and that’s me told.

So holding this in mind I turned to a book that a friend had passed on to me third hand. Which had probably been sitting in a second hand shop for half of the 21st Century meaning that it really had been forgotten by most, offering insight into Russia from the contributors of the intellectuals favourite Granta. Printed, appropriately enough, in winter 1998. When they didn’t call it kriziz, they called it crash.

So the contributors. Colin Thubron who was just on the verge of publishing his excellent study Siberia, Orlando Figues, who has written numerous times, on a level that few others can, about the essential Russian experience that lies behind the general confusion you see on the surface of Russia’s unique and turbulent history. Contemporary Russian novelist Victor Pelevin, who had just recently broken through into cult popularity in Russia and documentary maker Angus Macqueen, among other popular names.

It all sounds like something that should be timelessly revealing about what shapes, makes and motivates the Russian soul. And for parts there are glimpses of this. But don’t forget, just as little as 10 years ago, Russia was for the intellectual western reader a wild nightmare of gun toting hooligans and drunks. Not to mention the gangsters, inflation, emigration and general not-quit- post Soviet tackiness and grime. And so we get the wonderful blurb – the deal-breaker of any book. One of the classic examples of the general rule that when someone tells you they know what will happen in Russia’s future, you can guarantee they’ve got no clue. What a gem it is:

Russia, the largest country in the world, is in crisis. (gotta love that punctuation. It’s Armageddon!) Its society and economy, its currency and politics are tumbling who knows where. ( abyss? Self-destruction? famine? Storms of locusts? Socialist revolution part deux, A plague on both your houses! World war three?! ) Once it demonstrated the fallacies and tragedy of communism. (yeah evil communism, they figured out in the end!) Will it now do the same for modern capitalism? (ooh confusing? No capitalism? I can hear the horsemen already, i think they’ve called it, yup – apocalypse now!)

And so it goes on. A quick glance on the chapters we’ve got:

‘free fall in Moscow’ (that’s the only place it can go right?),
‘the vodka escape’ (but of course, goes together like Switzerland and clocks),
‘censoring for Stalin’ (ah, always a crowd pleaser. Land of the dictators),
‘survivors of the gulag’ (yup, Stalin again, he is a winner),
‘the soldiers return’ (yeaha guns and war!)
and it just couldn’t be anything without the all encompassing ‘Siberia’.

Hmm. Sensing a theme here. Despite our journalistic efforts, most of us foreigners really are far from getting to the bottom of this Russian riddle. Getting into reading it now. Watch this space...

24/09 Generation P

2009-10-02T19:17:00.007+04:00

The phrase Generation P, or generation Pepsi was coined back in the 90s by modern Russian writer Victor Pelvin. Generation P, lived in a wild world of buy this sell that, shoot up some guys and obtain property illegally as anything goes. Of course for the average man on the street, generation P just meant Pepsi, McDonalds, levis and Depeche Mode, but very, very occasionally purely by chance, you may run into one of those fellows who the western press would like to call gangsters, but who Russians know as biznessmen.

And so there we were, having a coffee and a chat before we were due to head out to the opening of some glamorous new bar, sitting talking to a real 90s style biznessman, god and some of those dudes have some serious dollar to spare! It had happened that after the exhaustion of a full deadline week I had gotten home with the intention of beautifying myself before heading to the aforementioned glamorous party with a colleague. She waited for me in a nearby cafe, while I of course was horribly late. So late in fact that by the time I finally arrived she was being entertained by a very extraordinary character who we will call something generically Russian like Sergei or Dima. In fact he for some unexplained reason had two names so these two match perfectly.

So what does a generation P look like? Very expensive suit, rolex, an already sophisticated air that becomes confused when you examine closer the arms (prison tattoo!) and face (broken nose?). He speaks with an air of authority but also respects that you’d like to say something. He lets you say your bit then explains that when you’ve had a life like his, you see things differently.

So some great highlights from our night in the company of a big don. Well, ahem, I’ll be honest, I couldn’t understand much of what he was saying. He had a gravely voice like Marlon Brando in the Godfather (no joking) and spoke in a very confusingly complex Russian gangster slang. There were talks about the soul (Dima had recently found God), talks about insomnia (he can’t sleep, but he has too much work anyway to have time for sleep - always one eye open), talks about foreigners (why are you here? You have no chance small fish! He was telling me…) and of course there was a big discussion about why I’m not married to a good rich Russian man yet. Dima offered to find me a date with some very rich guys who are his neighbours down on ultisa Mansion-skaya. ‘Money’s not important’ I protested. 'No, these kind of guys will help you understand. Money is important. Very important’ He replied with a twinkle in his eye and some blinding bling from his rolex.

And so it went on. We got drunk, he refused to tell us many things about his life, like why he spent 10 years in prison and what unspeakable event made him find God five years ago. He flattered us and made jokes that I didn’t understand. We talked about Russian villages and restaurants in Moscow. And he revealed, what I have known all along, seen it coming from years away even. Rich ex-generation P new Russians (people that people in Russian hospitality love) no longer want to spend a fortune on a crappy steak in a plasma TV filled restaurant that’s louder than a nightclub and has more neon than downtown Tokyo, but is apparantly very 'in'.

No as Dima says, rich successful men like him (who are definitely not involved in crime!) and his friends, just want a nice place with normal service, where you can ‘sedit normalno!!’ he shouted slamming his fist on the table, ‘without this sparkly stuff and bad loud music getting away from you having a ‘priyatnogo razgavor’ (pleasant conversation) with your friends’. Da, I thought, I understand you now, talking about bad restaurants also makes me angry! But I don’t have millions at my disposal, an army of henchmen and the terrified respect of every last ‘sobaka’ (dog) in this town. But that's another story. Dima here is just being the man behind the business. And so he raises his hands, shakes his head, crosses himself and says forget about it. Then he proceeds to light our cigarettes, bring us more beer and continue telling us how charming we are. Any trouble he says, just call me…

15/09 Swan Lake Premiere

2009-10-02T19:05:00.003+04:00

Months back In Your Pocket had the pleasure to be invited to a preview of the Mikhailovsky theatre’s 177th season. We were treated to a sneak preview of the new/old interpretation of Swan Lake, impressive for its concentration on the pure elements, on the moves. Scenery took a back seat with a black background and clever lighting providing an intimate surprisingly modern feel to the world’s most popular ballet. Quite the surprise then to find that on the opening night of the new Swan Lake, the stage was crammed with opulent scenery – hurah we’re back in 18th Century Germany and there’s a fake swan flying over a fake moon. Bit of a disappointment for the modernist in me.

Speaking in positive notes, the swans were beautiful and the second act was as well danced as the last time we saw it, but there were whispers in the critics gallery where we were seated. Grumbling was overheard throughout about the flat feet of the possibly injured Siegfried and the lack of turns by Odette in her black swan scene. Apparently the Mariinsky have the upper hand on this one or so the grumpy woman next to me interrupted. But for me the finale was the real unfortunate moment, one extra 5 minute act was tacked on the end that fell completely flat as we were witness to the least convincing dying sorcerer that may have ever graced this stage.

Who can say, first night nerves, someone forgot their steps, whatever! At the end of the day that guy looked about as poetic as a black bin bag in the wind. Verdict, those black background and blue lights that were present first time round, were very sorely missed. Although, if anything has to be said for the Mikhailovsky theatre we do love those parma ham sandwiches!

12/09 Last few stops

2009-09-22T10:33:00.002+04:00

We have only two stops left until St. Petersburg and the weather is still unbelievably sunny, it hasn’t rained all week and there are no waves out in the middle of the huge Onega lake, which is so big you could mistake it for the sea. We land on the remote island of Kizhi, which is famous for its spectacular wooden church, made without the use of even a single nail, get one of the best excursions I’ve ever had in my life (if you go to Kizhi, ask for Alex) and have a sailor themed day back on board the boat. That means a tour of the captain’s deck, a little photo shoot at the wheel of the boat, an absolutely giant salmon for dinner and a good discussion about star navigation, constellations and the home of Russia’s cosmonauts - Star City.

On our last day, we foolishly decided to try and check our emails and are depressed to find that there are tones of them. The process goes something like this - open inbox in html, say to oneself ‘doh!’ and then quickly close it again and head straight back to the deck. The ostrich, wait-til-tomorrow technique, worked out perfectly well and the rest of our last day happily flew past with many nice surprises. Before dropping off in the strange Disney-esque Russian crafts village of Mandrogi, which is situated somewhere on a very green little shipping canal near lake Ladoga, we are treated to a huge BBQ lunch on the deck. Shashlik, ribs, roasted chicken, grilled vegetables. You name it, we ate it. Back on board after a brief look around the aforementioned village (and of course another beer), it’s time to prepare for the captain’s dinner. Yup, time to pull out that dress from the first night again - but fortunately nobody remembers it. I have now become wildly famous on the boat only for being incredible at ‘Name That Tune’ and even the fact that I live in St. Petersburg and write the guide that they are all eagerly reading has all been completely over-shadowed by just how quickly I guessed that Michael Jackson song. Sigh.

Food goes down very well, steak is rare, there’s cake, there’s a flambé in the kitchen and the champagne and cocktails only add more sparkle to the evening. The action continues at the bar, as I work on getting feedback from the passengers for my article before spilling out on to the deck until silly o’clock in the morning. Vasily is asked as an artistic person (onboard professional pianist don’t forget) to explain to us the meaning of love (us mere mortals cannot possibly understand this concept, it is Russia after all), Taras the barman experiments his new cocktails (specially designed for the 100 Finns getting on the boat in St. Petersburg) on us, while Sasha the photographer takes what must be at least another 3,000 photos. At some point after many people have crawled back to bed, driven away by the encroaching mist and early morning rise, I suddenly spot the fortress of Shlisselberg rolling past very close to our boat. ‘Wow! look at that!’ I point out in drunken excitement. ‘Oh blin’ comes the response. Yup that fortress marks the 5am mark in the boat’s itinerary. Some how time has gotten away from us and with check out time being 9.30am, seems there’ll be no chance for dreaming anymore. In fact there’s a great chance that when I have to get off the boat and walk 15 minutes to the, ahem, metro station, with my erm, backpack? to go and sleep on a, err, airbed in my Soviet retro flat (giving my real bed up for my guest who’s staying over the weekend)... I’ll be able to add to that list of zero-star services an enormous, hang-ov-er. Well. Bye bye wonderful boat.

10/09 Derevenski Tema

2009-09-19T22:38:00.003+04:00

After leaving the large town of Yaroslavl (which has arguably the best preserved and brightest frescoes in the whole country) as well as a generally prosperous vibe, friendly and proud citizens and surprisingly clean streets, we will from now on stop only in tiny and remote towns and villages. The first village that we pass through is Goritsy. Famous only due to its proximity to the huge pilgrimage sight of the Kirillov monastery -founded by one of Russia’s most revered saints - St Kiril of Belozersky.

The monastery itself is very impressive in terms of size - as it is the largest in Europe - and hearing that it once had 20,000 serfs working for its 200 resident monks, you can understand why Russian political power has always had an issue with Russian religious power. It’s also quite a popular place for bathing as locals believe that the waters surrounding the monastery will take 10 years off your age - hence I keep being mistaken for a 9 year old. The village or derevenya itself is decided by my Russian companions to be not at all a ‘real’ Russian village or derevna. It is just far too idyllic. The hundred or so wooden houses are all too well painted, the place is very, very clean, there are not enough animals about or general derevensky tema things such as bad roads and hopelessly drunk Ivans. Whatever. The foreigner in me is still romanced by the whole idea and massively appreciative of the fact that it is quiet and the air is clean. To complete our derevensky theme, we get a can of beer and a packet of sunflower seed and sit and watch the non-existent action pass us by.

Back on the boat its ‘Russian day’ so we get heaps of vodka with our dinner, Russian salads, pickled everything (which the Americans find fascinating - pickled mushrooms? Never!) and borsch. This is followed up by a concert of Tchaikovsky’s 4 seasons by the onboard pianist Vasily. Unfortunately the vodka has made my head a bit dizzy and my heart is not beating even half as fast as when vasily played his last concert which was a couple of dramatic pieces by the powerfully moving Russian master Rachmaninov. As it was some jolly (but equally beautiful) pieces by that old master peter iylich Tchaikovsky, this time our hero Vasily (battling out to be our favourite member of the crew) didn’t shed a tear, as he reportedly did last time - although I know myself that it was sweat, I still choose to believe it was a tear of tragic love. Hmm, really enjoying this super sophisticated holiday.

Err I mean work trip.

09/09 Setting Sail

2009-09-17T18:54:00.006+04:00

Last week In Your Pocket was sent on an extra special, rustic Russian romantic trip - the Volga Dream. So a week for me it was on the waters of Russia between Moscow and St. Petersburg on what is most definitely one of the most luxurious passenger boats on Russia’s rivers. So we head off to Moscow’s rechnoi vokzal - which is most definitely a lot further away than we thought - and make it just in time to sail off down the Moscow canal and into the Russian countryside of a million legends and paintings.

The first night we celebrate the start of the trip with champagne and a slap up 5 course meal, we are dressed to the nines but our wealthy co-passengers and captain are dressed to the tens. Yup, breathe in dear editor, one thinks, this is what it’s like to actually stay in the five star hotel rather than just visit it to write about the soft-beds and fine period detailing.

So we spend the first night investigating who’s who and meet our new friends for the trip - the official commissioned photographers Sasha and Voldomor (his real name is Vladmir, but for some reason the Americans keep getting it hilariously wrong) and the representatives of an American travel agency - well the brother of someone, or something like that. The first night’s weather is beautiful and we find our new Russian friends - yes not the passengers but the F and B managers Taras and Sergei to be utterly charming.

Next morning feeling a bit groggy we get ready for the first full day of touristing. First stop will be Uglich - a golden ring town famous for being the place where the Rurik lineage (that of Ivan the terrible and co) finally ended in intrigue and murder. Or as the officials of the time may have tried to claim an accidental suicide by an 8 year old tsar to be. The town is pretty, but as we shall find in the next few days, it’s nothing compared to what is yet to come.

More nights and days pass in the rivers and canals of the heart of Russia. Little villages and huge industrial towns float past us while the staff of the boat keep us all busy with lessons on how to make bliny, tours of the engine rooms, art lectures, historical documentaries, Russian singing classes and of course mountains of food available at every moment of the day. It's like ten three editor's picks in just one day.

The next stops that we pass by are situated on the Volga. The most famous river in Russia is crammed full of little towns and villages that have inspired Russian poets and painters for eons. We are invited into the dachas of local grandmother’s to eat porridge, taken to ancient church after ancient church and treated to an ever changing rolling backdrop of autumnal Russian forests, sprinkled with apple trees , colourful little wooden houses and fishermen sitting so still on their tiny rusty boats that they could be mistaken for statues. By the time we reach Yaroslavl, the staff have become our friends, the guests have finally all figured out that I’m not actually Russian and I have finally understood what’s the whole point of Orthodox icons. And I’m so relaxed that I’m willing the boat to go even slower than its already snail-like 24Kms an hour. In fact we are willing everything to go slower including the spectacular sunsets that precede the daily curtain of clear star filled skies. Ah dreams indeed.

Ah and why not? Here's the link to the pictures...
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=108978&id=512507435&l=faa6fe556c

06/09 Latest Moscow Favourites

2009-09-15T17:31:00.005+04:00

Last week I had a fairly quiet interlude in Moscow town again and found myself going out about around the town to pick up my prize from the British embassy (2 kilos of Cadbury’s chocolate - kaaching! Now my already weighty backpack is even heavier - pick up documents and drop off documents, meet and greet and well of course partake of a beer or two.

So amongst all this I have passed by a couple of new favourite weekend haunts. In the Mysanitskaya area we have filial - by day a cafe like bar, with elegant wood furnishings and comfortable leather seating and by night quite a nice little place for a beer or two, if the company and music is right, which fortunately it has been. That all depends of course on if you can get a seat there though, they are still running by that old Moscow rule of if there are no seats you’ll be positively discouraged from entering.

In the same area the fantastic kafe bilingua is also a definite new favourite - packed with all those cool new bands that you think you should know, but of course don’t because they are all immensely hip.

And the last place, that I would say is the most underground live music place around (well actually the crowd and musicians are literally underground). Yes, it’s the perekhod at arbatskaya metro station. On weekend nights in particular you’ll catch a full live busking band - complete with drum kits and big speakers - rocking out here at full volume to crowds of literally hundreds of hippies, tramps, moshers, punks and anyone else in between who might happen to be around and low on funds. The crowd, dance they jump and cheer and of course drink cheap beer from cans and make a mini Russian urbanite impromptu festival. You’ve got no money and you want to see a real anti-glamour muscovite crowd in a very easy to find place - look no further.

02/09/2009 The joys of Sennaya Ploschad

2009-09-04T16:25:00.005+04:00

Now living dead on in the centre of commercial St. Petersburg – just of the Dostoevskian market square of Sennaya Ploschad - I have begun to really open my eyes to the beauty of buying things from babushkas and admiring the as Jarvis Cocker says ‘common people’ of Petersburg.

Taking a tour round Sennaya after exiting my house on canal griboedeva, you’ll first pass a middle aged woman in black selling socks and elasticised ring chains before passing the man who plays greensleeves on his recorder every night. Just a bit further down we get another guy who sells mobile phone sim cards and scary looking Chinese toys that move around and make strange noises before you get into kiosk central proper.

The kiosks. Sennaya is mainly made up of kiosks situated in the four corners of the square while two roads run through the middle from the sides – making this a truly bustling place. Some kiosks sell only fruits, many sell exclusively beer (no soft drinks or vodka – only beer), another kiosk has only computer games while the next of course has flowers and the next every cigarette brand out there. Pass the huge green ball shaped watermelon cage and cross over the road. Onwards dear shopper you’ll pass pancakes, more beer and cigarettes, a mobile phone shop, another mobile phone shop and yet more flowers.

Looking to the right you’re now staring down the pik shopping centre but also surrounded by babushkas and young kavkas guys selling a lot of ‘greens’ – that’s dill and parsley if you thought the term ‘green’ might be a little vague. It’s not, that’s just almost the only herbs they have in Russia. In addition you’ll get the best bulbs of garlic you’ve ever seen and if you’re lucky some spring onions or some wild flowers too. Keep looking around this far corner of sennaya close to the metro entrance and you’ll find what I found today – wild mushrooms fresh from the forest – they were huge and almost orange in colour and yes selling like hot cakes. The guy opened his plastic bag and the huge dirt covered funghi were almost all gone within minutes. Getting closer to pik and we come to perekrestok, tucked away in the basement of the shopping centre. This supermarket has courgettes, cherry tomatoes, French cheese, baguettes and oh, oh the joy fresh coriander and ginger, a variety of sauces and meats, roasted chickens! But no couscous, no pesto, no spinach and the list could go on...

Out of the supermarket and into the crowds of the market square again and lo and behold a walk thru mcdonalds with a rough looking rubbish strewn patio area! Dodgy looking phone shop, even dodgier looking furs, grandmas with hand knitted hats and yet more flowers, cigarettes, beer kiosks, dodgy leather wallets and pirate cds.
Then crossing the road you will be drawn over, as I am every night, to the competing smells of greasy, possibly-made-of –dog, and definitely stomach searing, shaverma (gyros) and oh, so char-grilled, hmm the meaty aroma – succulent Georgian shashlik. Go for the shashlik and you’ll get a major smothering of spicy adzhika sauce on the side and maybe some crazy Caucasian karaoke accompanied by a Yamaha. The clientele are people like you and me, drinking beer from plastic cups, whilst eating meat from plastic plates and sitting on plastic chairs under plasticky umbrellas in the middle of what is essentially a very noisy traffic-choked crossroads. They are by turns drunks, middle aged wives bitching about their husbands, youngsters using the public space to share the love that they can’t in the cramped homes of their parents, working men having a beer and checking out the girls whilst having some by turns cliché and deep conversations. Teenage emos, with floppy hair and cool t-shirts, backpackers looking at their maps and trying to understand why their hostel would be in such an untouristy looking area, married couples having emotionally intensive conversations and friends having a laugh and a good bite, people like me, writing a character for every person i see and an old drunk crying into the end of his beer. And the last person who is here? It’s a babushka - And she’s selling flowers! She wants a bit of that shashlik meaty goodness too but will never afford it on her paltry Russian pension. Do her a favour and go and buy something. You'll feel all the better for it.

22/08 The Madness of Moving House

2009-08-25T21:49:00.010+04:00

Moving is always a stressful thing. Pre–pre-move you have the problem of finding a new place to live. I’ve had that problem for months now but it finally sorted itself out and then I was just left with the pre-moving problem of packing finally followed by the problem of actually just moving the things. Anyway, I’m not made of time or money so I enlisted a bunch of people to help me transport the things. But all did not work out exactly as planned as I live in Russia and everyone knows that making real plans is actually just pointless.

So the plan was that in the morning, my colleague would come pick me up in her tiny car (see the picture of our little friend above) and we would drive all the things over to the new place and my new flatmate’s brother (?! Yup, random!) would help carry all the things up the stairs. Some new people would then move into my old flat and by 7pm all would be kosher.

Wait people moving in at the same time? Yes, things got very complicated very quickly. The new people (who are friends of the colleague with the car) were supposed to arrive together with her and then go off and do some sightseeing. Yes, that of course is not how things went at all.

First at 9.30am I get the call from Elena (who is suspiciously sounding too hungover to drive a car…) to tell me that her acquaintances from Yekaterinburg are on my street and want in the flat. What? I had gone to bed at what seemed like 8am after many beers, thinking, she would warn me a bit earlier, so I could at least, wash down the tables one more time and so on. And of course that they were coming together too… Before I even had time to consider such issues the girls, their mum and then two random friends of their mum were in my flat pulling everything out of the room, demanding cleaning products, putting my boxes into a neat order and going through the kitchen looking for bread to make me breakfast! Err, what just happened? I was so half asleep I had no idea… But that wasn't a problem because none of it made sense anyway

So my solution at this point, was to hide. While they were cleaning I went to make copies of the keys for them and then hid for some time in my flatmate’s room, feeling very ashamed at the mess I had evidently left and waited until things had calmed down a bit. Things did calm down a bit, so I came out to talk to them and within minutes I had suddenly somehow found myself in the kitchen drinking tea with the mum and her pals discussing a plan that I had accidently agreed on to go to Novgorod. What? What’s happening?!

Of course the best thing to do at the point was to give them the keys and run away, when finally my colleague turns up with the car. No way we are moving that stuff on this kind of hangover so we went to get food, before arranging to meet yet another person who is also going to live in the flat with the random girls and my flatmate( who is currently no-where to be seen). Yes, complicated is not even a good enough word for how plans were breaking apart in front of our eyes. At this point it all became so immensely tricky that the only solution was to go sit in the park and forget about it all for a while. Innocently sitting in the park, ignoring the moving stress and listening to a story from Rob, the guy who will also move into my place, we suddenly get stopped by the cops.

Yes, of all the points in time, now we get shaken down by the Russian militsiya. The cops tell us that it’s illegal to sit on the grass here. ‘What? But where’s the sign?’ we ask. ‘we didn’t know!’ we tell them. ‘Well there are no signs that tell you killing people is wrong but do you think then that it’s also not illegal?’ they reply using some corrupt cop knowledge. The conversation continues in this way for several minutes, we talk about ‘suggestions’ and possible ways to sort things out and eventually get away with a 400rouble bribe. Whats more trying to be kind they also offer us a lot of advice on other supposedly nicer, places where it is legal to sit on the grass before hilariously asking about whether we all speak to Darius the Swiss brother in that old chesnut, the Swiss language! Haha, comedy cops

So now we really must move the things and the mum of the girls is desperate to meet this other guy who will stay in the flat to check he’s not a psycho. Back at the flat the mum is very happy with Rob and so offers to give us all a lift to the new place, easing the pressure on Elena’s tiny car. Well, things are starting to get better.

Darius, the aforementioned brother, Elena my colleague, the mum and her random friends carry all my things up to the fifth floor (yup no lift), take photos of the apartment (they are curious as to what it’s like to live in the centre of St. Petersburg – Yekaterinburg is not so special) and then head off on their way. Leaving, me, Elena, Darius and then some minutes later my new flatmate Tamara, who is probably really wondering how she ever let me rope her brother into spending his holidays doing such random manual labour, to finally have a beer and eat a roast chicken.

Well, actually drink a whole beer? I had about two sips and a chicken leg, before I had to pass out.

I love Russian chaos, but this move was just one complication too many for my tired and hungover brain and I was in bed by 11pm, hoping to wake up to a much more normal Sunday. If that’s ever possible here...

17/08 Street Entertainment

2009-08-24T21:20:00.005+04:00

Ah street entertainment. You spend the whole day walking around from one museum to another, picking up snacks and rushing off to meet one person and then another and by the end of the day, if you had bothered to pay attention, you’ll find that you’ve actually passed at least 10 different groups of people trying to get a Rouble out of your pocket by using their so-called musical talent. So last week I decided to count up the best and the worst of St Petersburg’s potential variety show full of buskers.here is how I roughly think they can be categorised...

Metro musicians. The best of this sorry bunch have to be the string quartet who play at the kanal griboedeva exit, just below the escalators on weekday evenings. Most notable for their take on flight of the bumble bee they are if anything, a bunch who don’t make you want to cry and who very occasionally I may even throw a ten rouble note. Unlike the sad and lonely looking woman who can be found at the perekhod at sennaya. She plays some odd folk tunes absolutely awfully on her recorder, doesn’t make any money and depresses every last inch of life out of me every time I have to change lines there. I think they day she starts playing ‘always look at the bright side of life’ Russians may actually start smiling. And don’t even get me started on the street kid who plays accordion in the carriages while his one-eyed grubby looking little brother collects the money. Sigh.

Dancing in the street. Street dancers bring a lot more joy however – and they’re not even trying to make money. Malaya Konyunshenaya – where i used to live until two days ago – is the most famous place to catch such backstreet entertainment. I’ve never figured out their timetable but i’d say in general Friday evenings – swing dancing, Tuesdays/Wecnesdays salas and then Saturday evening they all head over to the strelka for a huge latino party. They’re having fun and they always impressed anyone who came to see me over that part of town – 'what a cosmopolitan area you live in Louise?!' Now in my new area – Sennaya – I have also discovered some great dancers – central asian breakdancing kids. A bizarre combination of kazachok and hip-hop – if anything it’s just funny for the fact that they dance to strange popped up Caucasian gypsy music and actually have almost zero talent. But they are not northern Russians, so hey, at least they’re smiling right?

‘Stop playing before I have to smash up your instruments’ buskers. This is the group who are on the list of things that can make you feel like doing a Michael Douglas in Falling Down. The drummers on Nevsky Pr. outside the yeliseevsky building are one such bunch. Essentially the main problem is tapping on a bongo, whilst being stioned out of your mind - hardly a crowd pleaser. I simply laugh at their girlfriends when they dance around in a hippy frenzy and ask for money - you must be joking, my four year old cousin could make more money, playing the spoons. But they are nothing compared to Greensleeves. Greensleeves, the new most annoying person/thing I've come across in the past decade. He can play Greensleeves. And err, greensleeves and err, wait he knows only one song. And he repeats this song over and over almost directly outside the window of my new flat. Every. Single. F-ing weekend. For hours. Oh where’s my sniper rifle?

And the ones who make my day. Trio of young, hip looking students who play old pop covers on their violins. Last week I went past their spot on the corner of Malaya sadovaya and Manezhnaya ploschad and they were drawing a huge crowd with a cover of Billie Jean. I also was drawn in when round the corner come tweedle dee and tweedle dum, the crooked cops. Yes, Russian cops have such little respect for humans that they actually tried to force them to stop playing and copied down all their details and were preparing to rinse some money out of them too. But then, power to the people, the crowd got on the side of the youngsters. ‘Bandits’, ‘ Bandits!’ They cried. ‘Go back to robbing grandmothers or beating up innocent tramps why don’t you?’ ‘Or maybe there is no crime in St. Petersburg for you to fight?’ ‘Oh wait they are the criminals’ another sarcastically replied from the huge gallery of listeners. 'You should be ashamed of yourselves’ another half shouted a little louder before being half punched by her friend. ‘Whatever’ she replied ‘it’s perfectly true’. And we all nodded in squint eyed agreement with her perfectly true statement. In the end the cops told them to stop playing and go home, but were too ashamed to take money from them and even were actually booed of stage by us the people – even slow-clapped by us I should add!
And our brave young trio. How did they react? Well, softly at first and then a little louder, as the cops went off to pick on someone even less their own size, they started into an awesome, and oh-so appropriate version of Smooth Criminal. Oh yeah, up yours militsya!

10/08 Eating and drinking in ye olde Novgorod

2009-08-10T19:39:00.004+04:00

Speaking of dining options in Novgorod. For anyone who is going to the city in the very near future and therefore can’t wait a few more days (yes, so soon, how exciting!) until we have finished polishing off the new website and print guide then I’ll give a quick lowdown of the scene. Basically it goes like this – sushi is out and rustic Russian is in.

Among the Russian restaurants I’d have to say my favourite was Yurievskie Podvoriye which is out in the countryside opposite the open air museum of wooden architecture. The blini where great, I had a great hot and spicy ‘sbiten’ drink there too and some interesting pelmeni with elk in them (gamey is all I can say about Elk, the main reason I went for it was because it wasn’t bear). The staff were also very sweet and directed me to the room which the hordes from the tour buses do not get plonked in – ah peace and quiet! We of course visited the king of medieval Russian kitsch cuisine, Detinets (that’s the famous one actually inside the Kremlin – open any guidebook and they’ll have it listed). The verdict was that there was a lot of stodge and perhaps not so much love in the food as there was in previous years and the meat was definitely overdone. However, on the upside the soup was still huge and filling, their homemade medovukha (a kind of weird alcoholic honey mead drink) was still lethally effective and eating with wooden spoons from clay pots and drinking out of huge mugs was still as fun ever.

Outside of the Russian joints there were two other places very worthy of mentioning here that I thoroughly enjoyed. One was an Italian joint called Napoli, far out by the Beresta hotel. Great veggie options and oh-so al-dente pasta. The sauce also was spot on and there was a wine list, which in Novgorod is somewhat a novelty. The other was the Greensleeves Irish pub. Now don’t start thinking that I am a tourist who does not want to embrace Russian culture – ‘pah hiding in the foreign places you’ snigger! But I think it’s a fair point to say that in Russia, if we talking about tradition, you eat and drink at home with family and friends. I have neither of those things in Novgorod hence I was really looking forward to the Irish pub. Walked in and it felt just like Mickey Finns, the Irish place in my little hometown in Cumbria. Everyone seemed to know each other, the bar staff were chatty, nobody was posing and the owner went out of his way to welcome us in, find out our names, our origins and our favourite drinks and before leaving us to slowly fit in with the locals. Another brilliant element I should also mention was the young barmaid with a perm, lots of make-up huge manicured nails and gold chains. She looked incredibly scary and hard and took no shit from anybody – another must for any Irish pub – she really looked and played the part. I was impressed - well done lass! So big thanks to Yuri for understanding the small town Irish pub concept and bringing it to small town Russia – if there’s anything that could bring the community together here it could potentially be the sanctuary of the pub…