June, 2010: Day 2 - Moscow, Russia

The previous evening, Gothic gal at the hostel reception had promised to help with my train ticket booking. I would have wanted to check out the train schedule and availability myself, if she could give me the English language website address. She told me that the English version doesn't provide as much info as the Russian version. So, this morning, after deciding on my next moves (and possible alternatives), I approached her with the dates I want to leave for, and return from, St. Petersburg. I also give her the possible date that I may travel on to Helsinki in Finland. She checked out the web for availability of seats, gave some suggestions on carriage class and departure time. Once I have decided, she put my choices down on a piece of paper in Russian. And I was off to Kievskiy station.

Buying the train ticket is easier than getting a metro one. I just confirmed with a English-speaker (I guessed by the bag he was carrying, it had embroidered on it, in English, some International scientific conference) that I was at the right counter. Once it's my turn on the queue, I just handed in the piece of paper and passport. The ticket seller then quote me the price. I handed in the cash and got my onward and return tickets. Later, back in the hostel, I noticed there was some typo for my name on the tickets. I hoped it would not cause any problem.

With the tickets settled, it's time for some sight-seeing. The Kremlin sounds like a good start. I finally got to taking a picture of the metro, albeit only the route map.
I stopped at the Lenina Library station. If I have turned left here, the Kremlin would be visible after a short distance.
But I turned right, which took me on a roundabout route. But I was able to find this interesting-looking metro station on my way. It also become apparent during the walk that the Kremlin isn't that far from the hostel.
Leave your lugguage at the gate of the Kremlin. There are storage facilities near the ticket counter. It's safe and free. The granny at the ticket counter insisted I gave her the exact change for the ticket. The security check went smoothly without much hassle.
Once past the gate, you soon realised the Kremlin compound is a multi-purpose complex. Housed within its red walls, under the watch of its towers, are:
Onion-domed churches from when the Tzars ruled the vast nation. This is where they worshipped, asked for devine blessing before they sent their troops to far corners of their nation to quash some unrest, and, for some, serves as their final resting place.
The tzars are no more, so the Kremlin now served as the seat of power of the federation. The federal buildings flying the Russian red-white-and-blue.
Surprisingly, there are no barricade seperating the touristy part from the government buildings. A large square seperates these two parts, with a fleet of jet-black Mercs standing by in an island in that square.
All that was needed were a few policemen standing guard at the edges of this square. Anytime some tourists tries to walk into out-of-bound area, they just point and with a wave of their palms signal the tourists to back off. If that don't work, all that was needed was a sharp blow into their whistle.
There was even a modern structure housing a ministerial department.
And how can we be sure this is a FORMER socialist republic if not for a sourvenir shop.
Once out of the Kremlin, I followed the parameter walls until I found what looks like a memorial to fallen soldiers of the motherland. You can judge by the bright sky that it was a pretty hot day. I pity the army guys who were on sentry duty. Their offier actually have to march out to them once in a while, seemingly to ask if they are ok. One little boy went running towards the burning flame, before the officer hurriedly usher him off, with a understanding smile.
As the crowd grows in size, I was sure the St. Basil cathedral is nearby. That's the name of that famous multi-color onion-domed church that is synonymous to Russia.
Very soon, I am right at the gate leading to the famous Red Square, the cathedral framed by the arches of the gate.
I took my time approaching the cathedral. Partly to savor the moment, partly because I fear being disappointed. That after crossing rivers and continents to come this far, the St. Basil cathedral would be another tourist trap.
So, thanks to the Red Square, I got to take a leisurely stroll towards the St. Basil, as I observed the various posses the tourists adopted for their pictures.
The building next to the St. Basil was under renovation. Probably because of its proximity with the St. Basil, the scaffolding looks like it was custom-made.
The St. Basil isn't as tall as the one in my imagination. But it was not a disappointment, for it was a beautiful structure.
The St. Basil does not have a large hall that where masses can be held. What it has are small rooms under its many towers, each with some holy relics, where one can just step back and look.
Some rooms are dimly-lit by candles(or electric lamp shaped like candles), while other allows the sunlight in.
I am sure photography is not allowed in the St. Basil, but the rule doesn't seems to be strictly enforced...if at all. Now that I am out of the St. Basil, and don't have to keep typing it, it's time to tell you that its official name is "The Cathedral of the Protecting Veil of the Mother of God upon the Moat".
Leaving the St. Basil, the Kremlin and Lenin mausoleum is on my left. On my right is the famous GUM. It is a large shopping mall, like her Chinese counterpart, the Friendship Store. Back in the bad old communist days, it was famous for well-stocked shops where no ordinary citizens can actually patronize.
These days, it is no different from any other such shopping mall in any other parts of the world. But at least most of the restaurant had English sign. I went for one that operate like a cafeteria, where you slide a tray along a long counter, and pick the food you want from the counter. The price are clearly displayed, and the food are grouped: you start along the counter with dessert, soup, main dishes, salad, pasta/rice, bread, drink and end with the cashiers. I did my tray-sliding and ended up with these:
After dinner, I headed to the park by the Red Square to rest my tired ass. There was a couple, a black guy and a Russia woman, on one of the bench. No one was bothering them, which put those fear of getting mugged by skinheads at rest.

There's a monument in the park, showing the atlas of the northern hemisphere. Right above the equator (see the number '1'), is Singapore, which read like CHNTaIIVP in cryllic. And Kuala Lumpur right above read like KVaXa-XVMIIVP.
I had wanted to wait for sunset and take a few pics of the St. Basil under moonlight, but past 8pm, there was no sign that the sun will set soon. So I head back to the hostel for a good sleep. At 10pm, the room was bright as day.
Tomorrow will be a long day.

June, 2010: Behind the Iron Curtain - Moscow, Russia

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.
There was a road accident as a motorbike laid on the 8-lane road. But unlike in Wuhan, there was no kaypo curious onlookers.
A little church with golden onion domes. But by the next day, I would have seen many more on a grander scale.
A sandwich shop by the metro. If you guess it is a "Subway", you are right.
By the time I headed back to the hostel, it was almost 9pm (20:57hr on the LED clock).
I picked up some bottled water, tidbits and headed back for a good night sleep.

________

August 2008: 東日本大震災INTERMISSION: Ganbaro Iwate - Morioka, Japan

In the summer of 2008, I made my way up north into the Tohoku (North-East) region of Honshu.
At that time, the furthest the Shinkansen will go was Hachinohe, in Aomori. Before going to Hachinohe, I decided to stay around for one night in Morioka, the prefectural capital of Iwate. There was to be a summer festival (Matsuri) going on that evening in Morioka.
It was the "Sansa" matsuri. I believe the word means "Three Stones". How this relates to the matsuri, I am not sure. What I do know is that Iwate means "Stone-Hand". I guess that's the link.
Anyway, the festival involves groups after groups of locals parading down the street, beating on a drum strung over their shoulder, to one uniform tune. It sounds pretty boring, and it can be. Until you are there, looking on.
To see this mass of people coming down the street, with their colorful mix of costume (and flags and banners declaring their various affiliation), while pounding out the same beat and dancing to the same steps is really something else.
It is pretty clear that in matsuri everyone in town got involved. The old grannies, young pre-schoolers, housewives and some huge burly men.
Even the Self-Defence Force chip in with a military three-tonner.
Another thing interesting about the Japanese matsuri is the poster. I usually check out information about wet-weather programme, whether the matsuri gets cancelled, postponed or moved indoor when it rain on their parade. Normally, the wet-weather programme is summaries in 4 kanji: Ko Same Kek-Ko, 小雨決行 or 雨天決行. Which meant "the show will go on even if it drizzles".

After Morioka, the next day I went on up north to Hachinohe. There was another matsuri going on here. It was again a community affair where everyone seems to be chipping in.
The next morning, before leaving Tohoku, I decided to take a local line down the pacific coast of Honshu. Making a stop at Tanesashi station.
Just a few stations from Hachinohe, Tanesashi is just a quiet coastal town, where the moths cling to the vending machine for light and warm without fear of being disturbed.
I took a stroll along the coast. It was a sunny morning, and the wave was lapping up on the beach while an old fishermen tended to his nets.
The Hachinohe line runs very close to the coast, and it run for about 15 stations from Aomori into neighboring Iwate. After that the local JR lines ends. Going south, the coastal region of San-riku is served by private local San-riku Railway.
It is perhaps because San-riku is too remote and rural and does not have a sizeable population to support a JR rail line. I remember there is a railway line which runs from the Shinkansen Shin-HanaMaki station down to the coast named "Galaxy Express DreamLine KamaIshi Line." A very romantic name, but sadly, I guess, it was 'branding' to attract tourists to this remoter part of Tohoku.
As I trace the railway line on the map of the train timetable from 2008, from the Hachinohe line, down to the San-riku railway, and then to the Yamata line, I see stations that bear the names of towns/villages which was wiped out: Kama-ishi, Rikuzen-Yamata...
When it's time to move on, I waited at a small train station near the coast. The station has a long platform but only a small shelter on it. But on the notice borad on the station was quite a great amount of info for any visitors who may have found his way off the beaten track to this area. It tells you the train time table, who you can call if somehow no train appear at the designated time, where you can find a public phone should you have no cellphone to make that call, a map to show you the way to the phone, and ("pre-emptively") info on the nearest bus station, the map to the station and the bus time table. They think of everything, don't they.
Before the actual Sansa matsuri starts that evening, there was a group who walked down the street. They were not in costume, and was not performing with the drums. But they were met with cheers from the spectators lining the street. They were carrying a long banner which read "Genki desu! Iwate Ganbaro" (loosely translated as "A-ok! Iwate Hang in there! Good luck!"). When I later check on the web, it appeared that there was a serious earthquake in the prefecture just a couple of months ago, on 14 June. Known as the 岩手・宮城内陸地震, Iwate-Miyagi Inland Earthquake, it measured 7.2 on the Richter scale. But with its epicentre inland, there was no tsunami.
And if I got my Nihongo correct, Ganbaro is grammatically the command form of the more usual Ganbatte. It seems the people of Iwate meant it as a command to hang in there, that there will be no compromise, no ifs, no buts.
So it seems the spectators could be from all over the country, showing their solidarity with their fellow countrymen by spending their tourism cash in Iwate.
I would not have imagined then that less than 3 years from that summer festive evening, Iwate would again be caught up in another earthquake...the largest in Japan in recorded history...and tsunami. And from the news, some of the railroad on the Sanriku coast would have been washed out.
Ironically, the kanji character for festival (matsuri) in Japanese is the same Chinese character for Ji(4): ceremony for remembering the dead. Surely, with so many casualties in this earthquake, this is a time of mourning in Japan. But at the same time, I am sure the Japanese are mobilizing, closing rank and digging in. And hopefully, in the near future, on a breezy summer evening, I could be back in Iwate, and the banners will once again read "Genki desu! Iwate Ganbaro!" And come rain or shine, come hell and high water, come earthquke and tsunami, Japan will move on.

Iwate Ganbaro! Miyagi Ganbaro! Fukushima Ganbaro! Nippon Ganbaro!
小雨決行
津波決行
地震決行


Metallica, St. Anger
Shoot Me Again (...I ain't dead yet.)
I won't go away
Right, right here I stay
Stand silent in flames
Stand tall 'till it fades
Shoot me again
I ain't dead yet
C'mon, shoot me again
I ain't dead yet
I said, shoot me again I ain't dead yet C'mon, shoot me again I ain't dead yet C'mon, Shoot me again Shoot me again Shoot me Shoot me again Shoot me again C'mon, Shoot me again Shoot me again Shoot me Shoot me again Shoot me again C'mon
All the shots I take I spit back at you All the shit you fake Comes back to haunt you All the shots All the shots All the shots I take What difference did I make? All the shots I take I spit back at you (Haa) I won't go away, with a bullet in my back
Right, Right here I stay, with a bullet in my back Shoot me Take a shot Shoot me Take a shot Shoot me Take a shot Shoot me Take a shot
I stand on my own, with a bullet in my back I'm stranded and sold, with a bullet in my back Bite my tongue Trying not to shoot back
No compromise My heart won't pump the other way Wake the sleeping giant Wake the beast Wake the sleeping dog
No, let him sleep...Wake the sleeping giant Wake the beast Wake the sleeping dog No, let him sleep...
Bite my tongue Trying not to shoot back All the shots I take I spit back at you, Yeah All the shit you fake Comes back to haunt you
All the shots All the shots All the shots I take Hey, What difference did I make? What difference did I make? All the shots I take I spit back at you