FROM SHANGHAI TO LONDON BY TRAIN: Russia: First Day in Moscow

In the morning Roman gave me sausage and bread and offered me oranges, cake, tea and rolls. I was starting to worry about what I’d have to do upon reaching Moscow: I had no certain replies from the many globalfreeloader people who said I could stay at their place because I had moved it a day earlier and sent an email explaining this at the last minute. I figured I’d call one of the people who gave me their phone number and ask to stay, although I didn’t want to surprise anyone. As out arrival drew closer, I became more and more certain that I’d have to call someone or just find a hostel for the night. I’d only told two of the potential hosts when my train would arrive and neither had replied when I checked just before leaving for Moscow.
I got off the train, said bye and thanks to Roman and the conductor and slowly walked down the long platform, whispering “fuck fuck fuck” to myself with each new step that resulted in nobody approaching me. At one point during the journey I’d even imagined, during a moment of seemingly irrational hope, that I’d see my name in large letters on a board and that both of the hosts had turned up and were fighting over who would get me. Well, life is funny, because ten steps later that’s exactly what happened. There was my name in thick black hand-written letters being held up high by a young girl, standing next to a young guy. Both were indeed the two hosts I had contacted. She was Maria, twenty, and he was Vania, nineteen, who I had assumed wrongly was a woman. I was ecstatic and relieved these strangers were here only to help me. What a nice feeling that was.
She was ridiculously talkative and geeky, overjoyed I had come to visit her city and got us immediately on a metro to go to a park, chat and drink beer. It was 5pm. He was much more laid back and slower in general although his interest in me seemed a little less superficial than hers. He had bum-fluff on his chin, long hair with natural tight curls and a dopy demeanour. These guys were barely out of high school! It felt a little strange to be older. I don’t know why but I’d expected them to be in their late twenties with families and regular lives. Maria was a part-time student who worked as a website editor and Vania was a full time Theatre Arts Criticism student. There was a clear edge of competition between them as they asked me questions and told me what they did as if they were fighting to see who would be the greater host. Moscow looked nice immediately, which was a first on this journey, and as we sat drinking in the park, surrounded by hippies and Goths, I realised Moscow was a real city with all walks of life and I only had to look around to tell how close to Europe I was now.
Vania left to get back to his studies, having said he’d host me after Maria, who then took me to the Red Square, clearly Moscow’s most touristy area. As we walked I looked around for the Kremlin and saw a few Kremliny-looking churches, one of which was actually a part of the Kremlin. When I asked Maria, “is this church the Kremlin?” she replied that the whole square was the Kremlin and this church, St. Basil’s was just a part of it. I thought, these are the kinds of things you learn when you travel and delve beyond popular knowledge. That or I’m just a bit thick.
St. Basil’s was so colourful, much more so than in any pictures, and so pristine and obviously impeccably maintained, just like all of Russia’s churches from what I had seen. Maria’s family was very religious. Her mum was an Icon painter, she made those orthodox pictures of Christ you always see in big traditional churches, or any church in Russia.
After a fairly long bus ride to her estate (she lived in a huge block of flats, one of about ten in that area), I was treated to a traditional Russian meal, featuring lots of fish, salad and potatoes, with a side of too much church red wine. Maria drunk it like water while I struggled with my small glassful. She had been calling people on her Nokia all the time since I met her but no one wanted to go out as it was Easter weekend and everyone was at home with their families.
Maria’s geeky constant-use-of-progressive-tense English was already starting to get annoying and at first I didn’t know why, after all, here was someone who was only helping me. But later I realised it was because she never actually listened to anything I said and only asked questions to set up a story or topic she wanted to talk about. And this was all with a flat intonation except at the end of every sentence that would incur a rise in pitch, making everything sound like a questions or more dramatic than the actually words or point justified. None the less, she was nice and after a visit to the one friend of hers who’d have us round (even though all we did was watch him play a computer game; he was another geek), I went to sleep with the aid of cranberry wine which we had started drinking a few hours before. The Russians drink more than any other nation I’d known about. To them I was a laughable lightweight.