亞歐鐵路北向急行: June, 2010: Behind the Iron Curtain

Growing up in the thawing end of the cold war, Russia is the final frontier. The final frontier is not somewhere deep in the South American rainforest, nor is it somehere in Africa. Russia, to me then, was one place which was impossible to travel to. Then, along came Gorbachev.

Even so, coming to Moscow need a bit of self-convincing. Not least because of news of attack on foreigners in broad daylight by Russian skinheads.

But stepping out of Yaroslavsky station, that was least of my worries. Finding a money changer was the first priority for I have just 20 ruble on me. If you have expected a grand entrance into the station after six days on the train, it was not to be. You simply alight to an almost empty platform, no farewell from the China Railway crew, no porters eager for your business. You simply slip out from a sidegate at the end of the platform, there was no need to get into the main station building, nor was there anyone to check your tickets.

Stepping out, the area is known as the Three Stations area, because there is three train stations close to each other. Moscow is the hub of the Federation, and the railway running out of these stations is each like a spoke radiating out in one direction. It's good that the train arrived on a bright Monday afternoon. Although there was some bums hanging around the station and some empty vodka bottles near them, the area wasn't as menacing as imagined. I have been warned against taking pictures of train or metro stations, lest I got mistaken for a terrorist. So, I headed out in search of a bank without taking any pics.

Finding a bank isn't that difficult. In fact, there were money changers, with LED signboard advertising their rates, every few steps of the way. I choose a bank to get my US$ changed. While I was approaching the cashier, the buckle on my backpack finally gave way to the weigh. A piece of the buckle snapped and flew across the room and hit the wall with a loud ping. If the security was nervous, he may have run up to me to ask what I was up to. Luckily that was not the case.

Compared to getting cash in ruble, getting a metro ticket was much more difficult. The metro station was right next to the train stations. The famed Moscow metro was all it was said to be: escalator that goes deep into the ground and the platform is all marble and art-decor. Too bad there was police around and I decided not to take any pictures.

The metro may be grand but it wasn't user-friendly to a foreigner. There was no signs in English. I approached the ticket counters with the one sentence I know: "Park Kultury" (Cultural Park, the station closest to the hostel I have booked), sounding as Russian as I could manage. She promptly shot back some question in Russian which I have no answer to (hell, I don't even know what the question was.) She wave me away and proceed on to the next customer in line. Time to change tactic. I just walk around the counter, hoping I would attract the attention of police, who would ask me what I am doing, and I will try to ask about ticket to Park Kultury. No luck, no police bothered to ask. Time for plan C, look out for anyone who looks capable of speaking English. My question of "do you speak English? Ga-va-rit pa-An-glis?" met either with a shake of head or "a little". It was not a good tactic. Finally, deciding that I would not be stuck on a metro ticket counter after travelling all this way to Russia, I pick a English-speaking guy and asked "Park Kultury, one, how much." He gave me the fare. I fished out enough bills from my pocket, pick a friendly-looking cashier, push the bill to her, stick out my index finger, and waited. It worked. Finally, after almost half an hour at the counters, I finally got my ticket. With the correct change some more.

Once past the ticket gates, everything else was easy. At Park Kultury station, with the help of a young man who paused his MP3 to point me in the right direction, I was on my way to the hostel. Very soon I was at the lane leading to the hostel. A Russian granny looked at me looking at the street sign said something like "....pa-Russky....?". I think she meant "it's in Russian, do you understand?"

I was met at the hostel counter by a young Russian woman with a Gothic dress-sense, and more important, English-speaking. Once I have a quick shower, I was out to explore the area, before the sun sets.

I didn't have any place in mind, just wanted to get my orientation, look out for more money changers to compare rates and to find food. It looks like the hostel was near one of the busier part of the city.

At the first busy intersection, I was greeted by a rock-solid building. Not nearly as tall as the Empire State, but the same solid architecture from a previous era. I didn't know then, but this is the Ministry of Defense building. Near its foot was a MacDonald's which was at one end of the touristy Arbat Street.

Turning left, I soon came to a bridge which spans the Mockba River. At the end of the bridge was a facade with roman chariots, a reminder of Russia's previous claim to have inherited the Holy Roman Empire. Empire or not, it is clear that we are in Europe now.

At the other end of the bridge, there were crowds gathering at the small river-side park, or along the bank.

There is also the Kievskiy station. This is no surprise, as there are supposed to be no less than 10 train stations in the city of Moscow.

Finding food wasn't that difficult. There were shopping malls around. I settle for a MacDonald's. The top M is for Metro while the bottom M is for Mickey D's.

After dinner I followed the Mockba (but not to Gorky Park, ...well, not just yet.) As I walk along, I seems to be walking away from the busier area. It was past 8pm, but being summer, it was till bright. There were no skinheads, and no one really bother me or bother about me.