MOCKOB, 30 August 2004
BREAKFAST
It was 5:14 PM and I had not yet had breakfast. Throughout my life, breakfast had always been my most important meal and if I missed it, I would have headaches on the job. Come to think of it, maybe it was the job that gave me a headache, because I don't recall having gotten a headache since in retired in February of 1996!
Today, I left the hotel and decided to walk in another direction on my exploratory mission of the city. I saw this incredible yellow Ferrari; which reminded me of this incredibly blue Ferrari that I saw in Berlin one evening, in a showroom. I took a picture today, as I did then. What a beauty!
I stopped in a book store and tried to find an inexpensive Russian book so I could learn some fundamentals. Imagine, my Russian book from the seventies is now sitting in my little room in Lima, on the second shelf of my bookcase, toward the left. What must have been going through my head not to have brought it, when I knew full well that I would be in Moscow! Even though two foreigners had been killed in Moscow by skinheads, I still figured it was worth the trip. Today, I'm seeing books and tapes that cost more than 600 rubles. I decided that since I had only about 10 days left in Russia, why should I buy anything.
At 1703 hours, I paid for a paperback called English Story with short stories by R. Kipling, A. Huxley, A. Christie, H.G.Wells, K. Mansfield, W.S.Maugham, J. Joyce, M. Spark, G.B.Shaw. It cost 48 rubles, less than $2.
I found a little Japanese restaurant and ordered sushi. They were huge but if I struggled to bite it in half, the other half would spill all over the place. So I put the whole thing in my mouth. After all, the only polite company with whom I was dining was myself.
I paid the bill, 480 rubles, at 1756 hours.
I resumed my walk along Mysanitskaya and made a left at the Turgenev metro station. He, along with Chekov and Pushkin, was one of my favorite Russian writers. I followed Sretensky for a few blocks and made a left on Rozhdestvenka for a couple blocks and a right on Kuznetsky. I entered by favorite block, on which reside NetCity and a bunch of open air PECTOBAHs, that's restaurants for us who speak Russian, and a series of benches. Since it was about 7, and the price at NetCity drops to 50 rubles an hour after 8 o'clock, I sat and read a bit more of Agatha Christie's Curtain. Poirot was now arthritic and one could tell it is going to be his last case.
It's now 9:31 and I have 54 minutes left to surf and catch up with what's up with the world!
Patrick Barry Barr
Monday, August 30, 2004
MOCKOB, 30 August 2004
AND SO TO BED
What has become of me? Months ago, my days used to begin at 6:60 or 7 AM. Yesterday, and this morning, I left the hotel at 3:30 PM, after having risen earlier, read some Agatha Christie and returned to bed.
My style, when travelling, had always been to get out of bed early so as to go sightseeing and return to the hotel fairly late; to do it all over again the next day.
How long it has been since the Spring break of 1972 when Kirby, Micky and myself left Madison, Wisconsin by bus to Chicago to catch the train to New Orleans. We stayed at Micky's house.
How frustrated I had been mornings, waiting for Kirby to go through his ablutions, polish his shoes, iron his jeans to be ready about 1o:30 or so, while I had already been dressed a couple hours. Who had heard then of anybody ironing blue jeans?
Granted that was 32 years ago. Granted that if one pays $80 a night in a hotel, one should make full use of that room.
One summer, I visited Kirby and his wife in San Francisco. He was a cable car driver. He had been studying at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, studying Japanese. Partly black and American Indian, he was tall, slender (I keep thinking "aquiline"), very cool and probably the most handsome man I ever saw. When he had gotten married he sent me a nude photo of his wife ... before I'd ever met her.
Cool.
Patrick Barry Barr
AND SO TO BED
What has become of me? Months ago, my days used to begin at 6:60 or 7 AM. Yesterday, and this morning, I left the hotel at 3:30 PM, after having risen earlier, read some Agatha Christie and returned to bed.
My style, when travelling, had always been to get out of bed early so as to go sightseeing and return to the hotel fairly late; to do it all over again the next day.
How long it has been since the Spring break of 1972 when Kirby, Micky and myself left Madison, Wisconsin by bus to Chicago to catch the train to New Orleans. We stayed at Micky's house.
How frustrated I had been mornings, waiting for Kirby to go through his ablutions, polish his shoes, iron his jeans to be ready about 1o:30 or so, while I had already been dressed a couple hours. Who had heard then of anybody ironing blue jeans?
Granted that was 32 years ago. Granted that if one pays $80 a night in a hotel, one should make full use of that room.
One summer, I visited Kirby and his wife in San Francisco. He was a cable car driver. He had been studying at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, studying Japanese. Partly black and American Indian, he was tall, slender (I keep thinking "aquiline"), very cool and probably the most handsome man I ever saw. When he had gotten married he sent me a nude photo of his wife ... before I'd ever met her.
Cool.
Patrick Barry Barr
MOCKOB, 30 August 2004
RASTA
A youngster hailed me a couple days ago: "Rasta", and some other term of endearment, which I have forgotten. I was happy to represent and acknowledged. A beard and a red-green-yellow-black tam is really asking to be seen as a Rasta, isn't it.
I've been on the planet so long that, to quote Yankee baseball sage Yogi Berra, it's like deja vu all over again.
I recall, several years ago in Toledo, Spain, a young schoolboy showing me his wristband with the "African" colors, and asking me if I smoked marijuana. Of course, I have, and inhaled so intensely on one occasion, in my mid-teens, that I had to leave the yard where I had been smoking with my girlfriend's brother, and go lie down on her bed. Somebody brought me tea, or soup, I forget.
Of course, the right-wing thinkers are right. I had graduated from smoking newspaper, brown paper, dried fern sticks, and dried susumber stalks, through Craven A and marijuana. Just for the hell of it. Asked why he climbed the mountain, somebody said: "Because it was there." Ditto, my smoking all that stuff. Newspaper lying all around; bound to lead to marijuana.
My knowledge of Spanish did not enable me to have a good conversation with the youngster, who was glad to make the acquaintance of a guy from Bob Marley country.
Starting smoking that young, you are lucky if you get to the point where you cannot even stand to be near a smoker.
Patrick Barry Barr
RASTA
A youngster hailed me a couple days ago: "Rasta", and some other term of endearment, which I have forgotten. I was happy to represent and acknowledged. A beard and a red-green-yellow-black tam is really asking to be seen as a Rasta, isn't it.
I've been on the planet so long that, to quote Yankee baseball sage Yogi Berra, it's like deja vu all over again.
I recall, several years ago in Toledo, Spain, a young schoolboy showing me his wristband with the "African" colors, and asking me if I smoked marijuana. Of course, I have, and inhaled so intensely on one occasion, in my mid-teens, that I had to leave the yard where I had been smoking with my girlfriend's brother, and go lie down on her bed. Somebody brought me tea, or soup, I forget.
Of course, the right-wing thinkers are right. I had graduated from smoking newspaper, brown paper, dried fern sticks, and dried susumber stalks, through Craven A and marijuana. Just for the hell of it. Asked why he climbed the mountain, somebody said: "Because it was there." Ditto, my smoking all that stuff. Newspaper lying all around; bound to lead to marijuana.
My knowledge of Spanish did not enable me to have a good conversation with the youngster, who was glad to make the acquaintance of a guy from Bob Marley country.
Starting smoking that young, you are lucky if you get to the point where you cannot even stand to be near a smoker.
Patrick Barry Barr
Sunday, August 29, 2004
INVISIBLE MAN
I left the hotel this afternoon and, under an undercast sky, started walking toward the Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts, at least where I thought it is, near the impressive multi-onion-topped Cathedral of Christ the Savior, on the other side of Moscow River from Hotel Rossija.
I took the bridge and walked to a restaurant I had seen the day before. I bought soup and some other stuff that you enjoy when you are really hungry. Afterward, I joined the line to buy coffee, when two women, one elderly the other young, passed me to study the menu. Then, when it was my turn to order, they proceeded to place their order.
Now, homey don't play that!
I go off when that sort of crap happens. I think that since I am black I should be a lot more visible, no?
So I got into, or out of, character, depending on what you really think of me. I understand very that the language can be a barrier so I depend on "attitude" to help send my message. I asked her if she didn't see me? I stated that racism was all about in this world! I pointed to my black arm and asked if that was the problem.
All this time she and the young woman are telling me to go ahead and order. Which I proceeded to do.
A similar incident took place at the Apple store in SOHO [meaning south of Houston Street (as in Howston and not Hewston) in New York City. This guy cut in front of me. I went in front of him, turned to ask if he hadn't seen me standing there. Before I said another word, he anticipated what I was about to get into and he asked me not to go there, said he was from Latin America, so I told him that Peru was one of the racist countries on the planet. That was such a lame explanation, as if el presidente Hugh Chavez isn't hated in his own country, Venezuela, because, like Simon Bolivar, he is of black and indigenous heritage!
The problem with being black is that slights to me cannot always be racist; I know I don't stand out in the crowd. But since I cannot read minds, I just consider the obvious. But I wouldn't change the color, a la Michael Jackson, for a quieter life.
Eminem speaks for me in one of his rap songs:
I am what I am
Patrick Barry Barr
I left the hotel this afternoon and, under an undercast sky, started walking toward the Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts, at least where I thought it is, near the impressive multi-onion-topped Cathedral of Christ the Savior, on the other side of Moscow River from Hotel Rossija.
I took the bridge and walked to a restaurant I had seen the day before. I bought soup and some other stuff that you enjoy when you are really hungry. Afterward, I joined the line to buy coffee, when two women, one elderly the other young, passed me to study the menu. Then, when it was my turn to order, they proceeded to place their order.
Now, homey don't play that!
I go off when that sort of crap happens. I think that since I am black I should be a lot more visible, no?
So I got into, or out of, character, depending on what you really think of me. I understand very that the language can be a barrier so I depend on "attitude" to help send my message. I asked her if she didn't see me? I stated that racism was all about in this world! I pointed to my black arm and asked if that was the problem.
All this time she and the young woman are telling me to go ahead and order. Which I proceeded to do.
A similar incident took place at the Apple store in SOHO [meaning south of Houston Street (as in Howston and not Hewston) in New York City. This guy cut in front of me. I went in front of him, turned to ask if he hadn't seen me standing there. Before I said another word, he anticipated what I was about to get into and he asked me not to go there, said he was from Latin America, so I told him that Peru was one of the racist countries on the planet. That was such a lame explanation, as if el presidente Hugh Chavez isn't hated in his own country, Venezuela, because, like Simon Bolivar, he is of black and indigenous heritage!
The problem with being black is that slights to me cannot always be racist; I know I don't stand out in the crowd. But since I cannot read minds, I just consider the obvious. But I wouldn't change the color, a la Michael Jackson, for a quieter life.
Eminem speaks for me in one of his rap songs:
I am what I am
Patrick Barry Barr
BASKETBALL
Let me place it on the record that I did not, repeat not, root against the American women in the finals against Australia.
I am sorry the women messed up the 4x100 relays but I was so happy to see the Jamaican woman run down the Russian that I had no time for tears for the Americans.
I missed the 200 metres in which Jamaica won but Compton Rodney, my first-year, high-school who happened to be in Athens, and reported the results to me.
And why did I say my first-year, high-school classmate? Because, being a lot more intelligent than I was, CompT and a bunch of my contemporaries, went to the higher class in the second year, while I continued to languish in the other class, sort of wasting my youth, not living up to my potential.
So when I told my children, and tell my grandchildren, what it takes to succeed, I speak, as an underachiever, whose development was arrested in those teen years, when I was almost suspended for placing crackerballs under the seats, during the lunch hour, at Kingston Technical School, and left without graduating to work, one week short of 18, at The Daily Gleaner.
So I have spent the days since then, admiring guys like the late Trevor Douet, Compton Rodney, Canute Parris, Altamont Weise and Karl Lewin, who for a moment there seemed to be lagging, only to blossom into the wiz that he has become.
My hat's off to them all.
Patrick Barry Barr
Let me place it on the record that I did not, repeat not, root against the American women in the finals against Australia.
I am sorry the women messed up the 4x100 relays but I was so happy to see the Jamaican woman run down the Russian that I had no time for tears for the Americans.
I missed the 200 metres in which Jamaica won but Compton Rodney, my first-year, high-school who happened to be in Athens, and reported the results to me.
And why did I say my first-year, high-school classmate? Because, being a lot more intelligent than I was, CompT and a bunch of my contemporaries, went to the higher class in the second year, while I continued to languish in the other class, sort of wasting my youth, not living up to my potential.
So when I told my children, and tell my grandchildren, what it takes to succeed, I speak, as an underachiever, whose development was arrested in those teen years, when I was almost suspended for placing crackerballs under the seats, during the lunch hour, at Kingston Technical School, and left without graduating to work, one week short of 18, at The Daily Gleaner.
So I have spent the days since then, admiring guys like the late Trevor Douet, Compton Rodney, Canute Parris, Altamont Weise and Karl Lewin, who for a moment there seemed to be lagging, only to blossom into the wiz that he has become.
My hat's off to them all.
Patrick Barry Barr
MOSCOW, 29 August 2004
RADIO MOSCOW
Radio here in Moscow is alive and well. If you are one of those people who like to take the USA with you wherever you travel, Moscow Radio will help. There are a lot of very good FM stations with all types of music. Take your pick. If you want to cross eight time zones to hear Cher, Moscow is for you.
There's Radio Disco, Radio Jazz, Radio this and Radio that.
I heard an amusing song, which partly went like this:
Rah, rah Rasputin
Russia's greatest love machine
I have always thought that Catherine the Great was Russia's hreatest love machine. She is still my favorite "Russian" woman. If course, she was born in Germany ... and worked her way up to Czarina through her strength and guile.
She took things into her hands! ;-) ;-)
Rah, rah Catherine
etc etc
PBB
RADIO MOSCOW
Radio here in Moscow is alive and well. If you are one of those people who like to take the USA with you wherever you travel, Moscow Radio will help. There are a lot of very good FM stations with all types of music. Take your pick. If you want to cross eight time zones to hear Cher, Moscow is for you.
There's Radio Disco, Radio Jazz, Radio this and Radio that.
I heard an amusing song, which partly went like this:
Rah, rah Rasputin
Russia's greatest love machine
I have always thought that Catherine the Great was Russia's hreatest love machine. She is still my favorite "Russian" woman. If course, she was born in Germany ... and worked her way up to Czarina through her strength and guile.
She took things into her hands! ;-) ;-)
Rah, rah Catherine
etc etc
PBB
MOSCOW, Sunday, 29 August 2004
TIRED
It is 8:07 PM and I am tired. I earned it. Went to bed at about 3 o'clock this morning after reading a little Agatha Christie and watching the Olympics here and there.
I don't know what time I woke up to read a little more Agatha Christie and return to bed. At 3:30 PM, I left the hotel only to return five minutes later, when two drops from heaven fell on my head, to collect my plastic raincoat. For the next four hours, with the exception of one stop on the train from Kropotskinskaya to Borovitskaya and another stop to Chekovskaya, i have been on my feet.
On the way, I saw a beautiful painting of mother and child for $200 but didn't buy it. It was well worth it! There's this area stretching for about 100 metres of paintings on the sidewalk, near the Moscow River. Real good stuff that I simply admired in passing because I didn't want to be tempted. But I did stop for mother and child. I have a fascinating with all mother and child paintings. I had two wonderful books of paintings which I gave to two friends.
Apropos walking. If walking is what the doctor ordered, I guess I will be blogging well into my 120's, but, alas, he ordered more. And I told him to forget it, if what ails me kills me, so be it. I will be rid of a lot of crap on what could've been a wonderful planet.
When words fail me, I always seem to opt for my notes:
VISIT
If you plan to visit Russia, do yourself a favor and at least learn the alphabet. It will help you to figure out stations in the metro system and PECTOPAH (restaurants).
It may have been 1976. I was working at UNICEF in New York City and had a strong desire to attend the Olympics in Russia. So I bought a book to study the Russian language. The only thing I learned then was something like "Ya na panamaya pa'russki", which means "I don't speak Russian." Unfortunately, after almost 30 years, that's as much as I can say. The extent of my vocabulary.
In 1995, when I met Irma at a reggae dance in St. Petersburg she knew just enough English to ask: "Patrick like Irma?" Irma was soft spoken, had a child, and was with a girlfriend. We danced a lot that night and something very strange happened. A Russian approached me, and sort of took me over to his group of guys to dance. I felt threatened. Did he find it distasteful that I was with a Russian woman, or did his crew simply want to learn the latest reggae dance steps? So, for a quiet life, I danced for a while, a bit like those guys in the Western movies who dance while some crazy bloke with a wild scar on his cheek, fires gunshots near his feet. I thought I had danced enough and returned, unhindered, to Irma. We were once doing that snake dance where you hold the waist of the person in front of you, and I was holding Irma, or was she holding me?, but a woman cut in between us and Irma was quite pissed. It must have been around 5 AM when I tapped her on the shoulder to tell her I was leaving. She turned and hugged me as if I was her man and was going off to fight the Cossaks.
Irma!
Patrick Barry Barr
TIRED
It is 8:07 PM and I am tired. I earned it. Went to bed at about 3 o'clock this morning after reading a little Agatha Christie and watching the Olympics here and there.
I don't know what time I woke up to read a little more Agatha Christie and return to bed. At 3:30 PM, I left the hotel only to return five minutes later, when two drops from heaven fell on my head, to collect my plastic raincoat. For the next four hours, with the exception of one stop on the train from Kropotskinskaya to Borovitskaya and another stop to Chekovskaya, i have been on my feet.
On the way, I saw a beautiful painting of mother and child for $200 but didn't buy it. It was well worth it! There's this area stretching for about 100 metres of paintings on the sidewalk, near the Moscow River. Real good stuff that I simply admired in passing because I didn't want to be tempted. But I did stop for mother and child. I have a fascinating with all mother and child paintings. I had two wonderful books of paintings which I gave to two friends.
Apropos walking. If walking is what the doctor ordered, I guess I will be blogging well into my 120's, but, alas, he ordered more. And I told him to forget it, if what ails me kills me, so be it. I will be rid of a lot of crap on what could've been a wonderful planet.
When words fail me, I always seem to opt for my notes:
VISIT
If you plan to visit Russia, do yourself a favor and at least learn the alphabet. It will help you to figure out stations in the metro system and PECTOPAH (restaurants).
It may have been 1976. I was working at UNICEF in New York City and had a strong desire to attend the Olympics in Russia. So I bought a book to study the Russian language. The only thing I learned then was something like "Ya na panamaya pa'russki", which means "I don't speak Russian." Unfortunately, after almost 30 years, that's as much as I can say. The extent of my vocabulary.
In 1995, when I met Irma at a reggae dance in St. Petersburg she knew just enough English to ask: "Patrick like Irma?" Irma was soft spoken, had a child, and was with a girlfriend. We danced a lot that night and something very strange happened. A Russian approached me, and sort of took me over to his group of guys to dance. I felt threatened. Did he find it distasteful that I was with a Russian woman, or did his crew simply want to learn the latest reggae dance steps? So, for a quiet life, I danced for a while, a bit like those guys in the Western movies who dance while some crazy bloke with a wild scar on his cheek, fires gunshots near his feet. I thought I had danced enough and returned, unhindered, to Irma. We were once doing that snake dance where you hold the waist of the person in front of you, and I was holding Irma, or was she holding me?, but a woman cut in between us and Irma was quite pissed. It must have been around 5 AM when I tapped her on the shoulder to tell her I was leaving. She turned and hugged me as if I was her man and was going off to fight the Cossaks.
Irma!
Patrick Barry Barr
MOSCOW, Sunday, 29 August 2004
GUM
As I suspected, GUM is an acronym. If you care to probe a very interesting article, you may go to http://www.moscow-taxi.com/sightseeing/red-square/gum.html
PBB
GUM
As I suspected, GUM is an acronym. If you care to probe a very interesting article, you may go to http://www.moscow-taxi.com/sightseeing/red-square/gum.html
PBB
Saturday, August 28, 2004
Moscow, 28 August 2004
STRIPPERS
A couple nights ago, a woman, dressed in black, was outside the Diamond Hall club, on the ground floor of Hotel Rossija. As I walked by, at about 10:30 PM, she handed me a card and invited me to go watch a strip show. I took the card and indicated to her that I was going to bed.
I have just never felt comfortable staring at naked or half-naked women in clubs.
I remember, several years ago, seeing half-naked women swinging in a club on Younge Street in Toronto; again, many years ago, some half-naked women in a club in Toledo, Ohio, either swinging or gyrating, memory fails me. I had gone there to see an exhibition of some works by one of my favourite artists, El Greco! My favourite, of course, has always been van Gogh!
But watching strippers in a club is not my cup of tea. Call me repressed, Dr. Freud.
Patrick Barry Barr
STRIPPERS
A couple nights ago, a woman, dressed in black, was outside the Diamond Hall club, on the ground floor of Hotel Rossija. As I walked by, at about 10:30 PM, she handed me a card and invited me to go watch a strip show. I took the card and indicated to her that I was going to bed.
I have just never felt comfortable staring at naked or half-naked women in clubs.
I remember, several years ago, seeing half-naked women swinging in a club on Younge Street in Toronto; again, many years ago, some half-naked women in a club in Toledo, Ohio, either swinging or gyrating, memory fails me. I had gone there to see an exhibition of some works by one of my favourite artists, El Greco! My favourite, of course, has always been van Gogh!
But watching strippers in a club is not my cup of tea. Call me repressed, Dr. Freud.
Patrick Barry Barr
Moscow, 28 August 2004 - Day 4
LOST
A couple days ago, I thought I had done everything right. I took the front of the No. 7 train. I got off at Kitay-Gorod. I walked to the front, and when I emerged, I was in foreign territory. Because this is Moscow, nobody could or was willing to help me. Of course, I am assuming they know their own city, which is going too far.
I retraced my steps a few times and, finally, a policeman told me how to get back to the hotel.
Then yesterday, it just popped into my head why I did everything right but everything turned out wrong. I had the direction completely wrong. The front of the train only works when I am coming from Planerskaya. The back is what works when I am going to Planerskaya.
I also got turned around in the hotel yesterday, but I solved that by leaving the building and walking around to the front desk.
MOSCOW
I assume that when people the world over think of the United States of America, they think of that symbol, that gift from France, the Statue of Liberty.
When I think of Moscow, and Russia in general, I think of that incredibly colorful building, with all those onions on top. When I coughed up $120, I could see it from my room 9145, the Cathedral of the Intercession (Cathedral of St. Basil the Blessed), but now that I am stuck in the back, practically in the Moscow River, at a beggardly $86, I have lost the view.
The cathedral sits at one end of the cobble-stoned Red Square, the fourth largest square in the world. Tian'anmen is, without a doubt, number one. I suppose St. Peter's square in Rome is in there somewhere.
So far, I've walked through Red Square every day to go do the things I have been doing. At the other end of the square stands a red-brick structure and off to the right is the store, GUM. I believe it is an acronym and I will see what I can find out. It has to rank as one of the largest stores in the world!
BOLSHOY/BOLSHOI
The spelling seems to be optional since I have seen both in Moscow.
Anyway, I have extended my stay in Moscow until 4 September because yesterday I bought a ticket to a performance of Fire Angel or Angel on Fire or something that has those two words. The ticket cost me a surprising $14.
So, I paid up at the hotel and this morning found that since I am paying the poverty rate, breakfast is definitely not included.
I also bought my train ticket to St. Petersburg and will leave on the 11:11 PM on 5 September and arrive sometime in the morning. Here's hoping I am not with a bunch of folks who smoke.
NIKE
I panicked for a whole two minutes yesterday when I couldn't find my vintage, 30+ year, black Nikes. But I did find it. Now I have to find an email address for the company to ask them how to repair the sole. It could be the most comfortable shoe or sneaker I ever wore and it was black before black sneakers were cool. Bought them at Herald Square in a store that no longer exists.
Patrick Barry Barr
I also
LOST
A couple days ago, I thought I had done everything right. I took the front of the No. 7 train. I got off at Kitay-Gorod. I walked to the front, and when I emerged, I was in foreign territory. Because this is Moscow, nobody could or was willing to help me. Of course, I am assuming they know their own city, which is going too far.
I retraced my steps a few times and, finally, a policeman told me how to get back to the hotel.
Then yesterday, it just popped into my head why I did everything right but everything turned out wrong. I had the direction completely wrong. The front of the train only works when I am coming from Planerskaya. The back is what works when I am going to Planerskaya.
I also got turned around in the hotel yesterday, but I solved that by leaving the building and walking around to the front desk.
MOSCOW
I assume that when people the world over think of the United States of America, they think of that symbol, that gift from France, the Statue of Liberty.
When I think of Moscow, and Russia in general, I think of that incredibly colorful building, with all those onions on top. When I coughed up $120, I could see it from my room 9145, the Cathedral of the Intercession (Cathedral of St. Basil the Blessed), but now that I am stuck in the back, practically in the Moscow River, at a beggardly $86, I have lost the view.
The cathedral sits at one end of the cobble-stoned Red Square, the fourth largest square in the world. Tian'anmen is, without a doubt, number one. I suppose St. Peter's square in Rome is in there somewhere.
So far, I've walked through Red Square every day to go do the things I have been doing. At the other end of the square stands a red-brick structure and off to the right is the store, GUM. I believe it is an acronym and I will see what I can find out. It has to rank as one of the largest stores in the world!
BOLSHOY/BOLSHOI
The spelling seems to be optional since I have seen both in Moscow.
Anyway, I have extended my stay in Moscow until 4 September because yesterday I bought a ticket to a performance of Fire Angel or Angel on Fire or something that has those two words. The ticket cost me a surprising $14.
So, I paid up at the hotel and this morning found that since I am paying the poverty rate, breakfast is definitely not included.
I also bought my train ticket to St. Petersburg and will leave on the 11:11 PM on 5 September and arrive sometime in the morning. Here's hoping I am not with a bunch of folks who smoke.
NIKE
I panicked for a whole two minutes yesterday when I couldn't find my vintage, 30+ year, black Nikes. But I did find it. Now I have to find an email address for the company to ask them how to repair the sole. It could be the most comfortable shoe or sneaker I ever wore and it was black before black sneakers were cool. Bought them at Herald Square in a store that no longer exists.
Patrick Barry Barr
I also
Friday, August 27, 2004
Pink Floyd - Wish you were here
So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from Hell,
Blue skys from pain.
Can you tell a green field From a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
And did they get you to trade
Your heros for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange
A walk on part in the war
For a lead role in a cage?
How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl,
Year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found?
The same old fears.
Wish you were here.
So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from Hell,
Blue skys from pain.
Can you tell a green field From a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
And did they get you to trade
Your heros for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange
A walk on part in the war
For a lead role in a cage?
How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl,
Year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found?
The same old fears.
Wish you were here.
Moscow, 27 August 2004 - Day 3
Today, more than other since I arrived here, I need to flush my brains. So these are simply thoughts that I need to get out of my brain so I can be ready to encounter more crap in this city.
JET LAG
Today, at about 1:30 PM, the weather looked great from my bedroom window ... blue skies, sun and, I am sure, quite pleasant to be out. But I went to bed because my body dictated that I should. Jet lag has finally caught up with me in a bid way. So, I gave in and left at about 6:15 PM in search of Pushinskaya.
I suppose it makes sense to mention that this morning I took a walk to search for the Intourist office. I think I will make my life simple and go to my notes which I made this morning. It is now 9:16 PM. So, go to the notes:
NOTES
I have only been in Moscow 2-1/2 days and have already made myself quite disagreeable several times.
First of all, the majority of Muscovites that I have had the displeasure to deal with, doubly frustrate me. At the Alfa hotel yesterday, the clerk first told me she didn't know what the rates were; then she pointed to the rates above my head, so I went to another line. The clerk quoted me the l0west rate, 2,500 rubles. While I waited the first clerk called me. She wrote down all four rates. When I asked for the lowest, she told me there were no rooms available and that I should try Gamma Delta next door.
Yesterday, I went to the receptionist in my hotel to see if I could borrow a transformer. She wanted to know what floor I was on and what was my room number, just so she could tell me there was nothing that could be done.
This morning, quite desperate, I went to a store on Red Square named Gum. (Pronounced not like gum in chewing gum, but the short vowel in 'look'. So, it is pronounced Goom, with that short vowel. How could I visit Pushkin without my camera. I bought a charger for my batteries and it set me back $30.50.
My philosophy is that if I screw up, I shuld pay the price. Let me count the ways:
Today, more than other since I arrived here, I need to flush my brains. So these are simply thoughts that I need to get out of my brain so I can be ready to encounter more crap in this city.
JET LAG
Today, at about 1:30 PM, the weather looked great from my bedroom window ... blue skies, sun and, I am sure, quite pleasant to be out. But I went to bed because my body dictated that I should. Jet lag has finally caught up with me in a bid way. So, I gave in and left at about 6:15 PM in search of Pushinskaya.
I suppose it makes sense to mention that this morning I took a walk to search for the Intourist office. I think I will make my life simple and go to my notes which I made this morning. It is now 9:16 PM. So, go to the notes:
NOTES
I have only been in Moscow 2-1/2 days and have already made myself quite disagreeable several times.
First of all, the majority of Muscovites that I have had the displeasure to deal with, doubly frustrate me. At the Alfa hotel yesterday, the clerk first told me she didn't know what the rates were; then she pointed to the rates above my head, so I went to another line. The clerk quoted me the l0west rate, 2,500 rubles. While I waited the first clerk called me. She wrote down all four rates. When I asked for the lowest, she told me there were no rooms available and that I should try Gamma Delta next door.
Yesterday, I went to the receptionist in my hotel to see if I could borrow a transformer. She wanted to know what floor I was on and what was my room number, just so she could tell me there was nothing that could be done.
This morning, quite desperate, I went to a store on Red Square named Gum. (Pronounced not like gum in chewing gum, but the short vowel in 'look'. So, it is pronounced Goom, with that short vowel. How could I visit Pushkin without my camera. I bought a charger for my batteries and it set me back $30.50.
My philosophy is that if I screw up, I shuld pay the price. Let me count the ways:
- I neglected to buy a set of universal plugs when I saw them at the Apple store in Soho, New York City.
- I neglected to buy a 240V to 120V transformer.
- I neglected to buy extra batteries.
I could have bought all of these for less than $30.50.
I returned to room 5252, a stone's throw from the river, and, just my luck, the outlets were the standard that you would find in most countries, the one you are defintely using in the US and Brasil, if I recall, but not in Peru. So, with dread, I went down to reception. Two young women told me there was absolutely nothing that could be done. A few minutes later, another woman entered behind the desk, and kindly plugged in the charger in an outlet. (Three hours later, it was still charging my four Ni-MH batteries. Thankfully, four batteries had come with the charger so I slipped them into my camera and left. I told the woman who helped me that in three days, she was the most pleasant Muscovite I had met.
Of course, it is my responsibility to know their language, but language is only a part of it. If I leave Russia without being sent to the Gulag, I will count it a victory. I need to chill, to take things easy, and not tell babuskas what to do with themselves, at least not at the top of my lungs in a crowded subway. But I simply don't know how to maintain my cool when people dismiss me with that sharp wave of the hand. She shouted back at me at the top of her lungs and I have no idea what she desired me to do -- go to someplace quite hot, or do something to myself.
These Muscovites, with three exceptions, are like the Russian winter that I encountered in St. Petersburg in 1995. Today, in the metro, a woman stopped, fetched her glasses, to tell me which direction I should go to get to the "Ring train", that's the No. 5 which goes in a circle, which gives the other nine trains an opportunity to intersect twice, since they all pass through the circle twice.
I rode this train because it seems that the most incredibly-decorated stations are on this line, at Dobryninskaya, for example. I stood the whole way so that I could see when the train stopped at each station. A man and his wife entered the train and she rushed to get a seat and save one for him but another man sat and left no space for him. Still, he offered me the seat that was not there to be taken. I indicated in sign language, even though he understood some English, that I was standing to get a better view. He asked me where I was going and I told him Krasnopresnenskaya, where I would get the No. 7 one stop to Piushinskaya. He got off at Belorusskaya and told me the next station was mine.
Before I took the ring train, I took several photos of the statue of Pushkin and before that, I took one of my favorite Russian writer, Anton Chekov. I even made a correct guess this morning that it was Chekov, but it wasn't a tough one, being familiar with his features. But he was younger than I am accustomed to seeing him and as thin as a rail. If I recall, he was a doctor as well, and consumptive. But don't quote me on the consumptive part.
When I returned to the Pushinskaya train, I tried desperately to figure out for myself how to get to the street rather than ask another Russian which way was up. I went this way and that and, finally saw a policeman, then confirmed with another policeman.
It's time to do a little surfing to see what up with the news.
Bye.
PBB
Thursday, August 26, 2004
Moscow, 26 August 2004
MISTAKES
You would think this is the first time I ever left home!
I failed to bring a transformer and am unable to recharge my batteries at 240 Volts.
I failed to bring extra batteries.
My camera informed me this evening that my batteries are low.
I failed to get the room at $75 so I wound up paying $120 for the first night and now $86.
I failed to bring an English-Russian dictionary and the only word I know is spaceba (thanks). I have grave doubts about the spelling and some doubt about the pronunciation. But they understand what I mean.
INTERNET
The business office at the hotel charges 6 rubles a minute. $1 = 29 rubles. So one hour would cost 360 rubles, which is roughly $12.
I am now sitting in a much more interesting place, Netcity, on Kamergergskiy Per, and am paying 60 rubles/hour. They charged me 100 rubles for two hours, $1.72/hour because it is after 8 PM.
THERE GOES THE SUN
The sun goes to bed quite late here in Moscow. Yesterday, I watched it, from my window in room 9145, dip below the horizon, behind Red Square, at 8:45 PM.
I wore a tee-shirt yesterday but this evening put on a jacket.
Patrick Barry Barr
PBB
MISTAKES
You would think this is the first time I ever left home!
I failed to bring a transformer and am unable to recharge my batteries at 240 Volts.
I failed to bring extra batteries.
My camera informed me this evening that my batteries are low.
I failed to get the room at $75 so I wound up paying $120 for the first night and now $86.
I failed to bring an English-Russian dictionary and the only word I know is spaceba (thanks). I have grave doubts about the spelling and some doubt about the pronunciation. But they understand what I mean.
INTERNET
The business office at the hotel charges 6 rubles a minute. $1 = 29 rubles. So one hour would cost 360 rubles, which is roughly $12.
I am now sitting in a much more interesting place, Netcity, on Kamergergskiy Per, and am paying 60 rubles/hour. They charged me 100 rubles for two hours, $1.72/hour because it is after 8 PM.
THERE GOES THE SUN
The sun goes to bed quite late here in Moscow. Yesterday, I watched it, from my window in room 9145, dip below the horizon, behind Red Square, at 8:45 PM.
I wore a tee-shirt yesterday but this evening put on a jacket.
Patrick Barry Barr
PBB
Moscow, August 26, 2004
HOTEL ROSSIJA
This is where I am staying, and I will take it straight from the booklet that I received from Intourist:
Rossija hotel is a symbol of modern Moscow. In the 70's of the last century, it was entered in the Guinness book of records as the biggest hotel the world over and up to now remains the largest hotel in Europe. The hotel has unique location; beautiful panorama of the Moscow Kremlin, Red square and multiple architectural monuments is displayed from the hotels' windows.
The hotel offers first class service and conditions for proper rest in 2,900 comfortable rooms. There is comfortable furniture, direct telephone communication, multi-channel television system, bathroom, etc. (My note: "multichannel" means a max of eight stations.)
For additional payment blah blah blah
Here we are always happy to see You and are expecting you 34 hours a day at the address:
127495, Russia
Varvarka Str., 6.
(My note: I have yet to see anybody in Hotel Russia, employee or guest, whose face said "happy".)
PBB
HOTEL ROSSIJA
This is where I am staying, and I will take it straight from the booklet that I received from Intourist:
Rossija hotel is a symbol of modern Moscow. In the 70's of the last century, it was entered in the Guinness book of records as the biggest hotel the world over and up to now remains the largest hotel in Europe. The hotel has unique location; beautiful panorama of the Moscow Kremlin, Red square and multiple architectural monuments is displayed from the hotels' windows.
The hotel offers first class service and conditions for proper rest in 2,900 comfortable rooms. There is comfortable furniture, direct telephone communication, multi-channel television system, bathroom, etc. (My note: "multichannel" means a max of eight stations.)
For additional payment blah blah blah
Here we are always happy to see You and are expecting you 34 hours a day at the address:
127495, Russia
Varvarka Str., 6.
(My note: I have yet to see anybody in Hotel Russia, employee or guest, whose face said "happy".)
PBB
Moscow, 26 August 2004
I arrived in Moscow at the Pulkova Airport yesterday afternoon. A young Indian, Ramit, studying in St. Petersburg to be a doctor, a plastic surgeon, helped me find the right van, No. 48, to the Planernaya metro station. (Planernaya is the terminal for the No. 7 subway and, while he got off at the ring station, Krasnopresnenskaya, happily the metro took me directly to Kitay-Gorod.
The front desk at Hotel Rossiya (Russia) gave me a body blow, but I take the blame. The hotel had told me by email to fax approval for about $75 a night for a double room. Trying to save a dime, I replied to ask if they had a single. Never received a response. Now that I didn't have a reservation, I paid $120 last night. Do I look like the kind of guy who goes around spending $120/night, for anything?
So, this morning I took the metro from Kitay-Gorod one station to the ring (Taganskaya), the ring metro one station to Kurskaya, and the Shchyolkovskaya train four stops to Izmaylovsky Park. I went there because, although quite a distance from Hotel Rossiya, which is absolutely ideal, being 10 minutes' walk to the Kremlin at Red Square, I figured that the distance didn't matter if I ended up saving money. If you think Grand Central or Penn Station are crazy, you need to see the metro in Moscow. The rush hour goes on and on.
I arrived at the Alfa hotel, which is across from the station and, finally, was quoted four prices. I requested the least expensive, 2,500 rubles. Then she told me there were no rooms. That I should go to the Gamma Delta hotel next door. They had rooms for 1,600 but said I couldn't pay for it, at about 10:30, nor could I make a reservation. So I retraced my steps, dreading the fact that I would be returning on the same three trains, this time with luggage. (I tried to travel lightly and still wound up carrying weight).
When I returned to Hotel Rossiya, I enquired, with dread, if less expensive rooms were available. I finally took a room for four nights at 10,000 rubles, or $86/21 per night. I have never been happier to spend $86.21 for a room before. $33.79 does make a difference in my life!
Nine-tenths of the Muscovites are surly and some quite rude. Smiles are a premium here and the word "pleasant" just might not be translatable in Russian. I doubt you will feel welcome in Moscow, but it is worth it. There may not exist another city as interesting in its history and its architecture. And I have always liked Catherine the Great. What a women she was!
When I arrived at Pulkova, and before I met Amit, a taxi driver approached me and offered to take me for $50. I told him no and he wanted to know how much I wanted to pay. I told him several no's and he finally dismissed me with a flick of the hand as if to say: "Get outta here, cheapskate!" I finally, paid 25 rubles, less than one dollar to get to the metro.
Patrick Barry Barr
I arrived in Moscow at the Pulkova Airport yesterday afternoon. A young Indian, Ramit, studying in St. Petersburg to be a doctor, a plastic surgeon, helped me find the right van, No. 48, to the Planernaya metro station. (Planernaya is the terminal for the No. 7 subway and, while he got off at the ring station, Krasnopresnenskaya, happily the metro took me directly to Kitay-Gorod.
The front desk at Hotel Rossiya (Russia) gave me a body blow, but I take the blame. The hotel had told me by email to fax approval for about $75 a night for a double room. Trying to save a dime, I replied to ask if they had a single. Never received a response. Now that I didn't have a reservation, I paid $120 last night. Do I look like the kind of guy who goes around spending $120/night, for anything?
So, this morning I took the metro from Kitay-Gorod one station to the ring (Taganskaya), the ring metro one station to Kurskaya, and the Shchyolkovskaya train four stops to Izmaylovsky Park. I went there because, although quite a distance from Hotel Rossiya, which is absolutely ideal, being 10 minutes' walk to the Kremlin at Red Square, I figured that the distance didn't matter if I ended up saving money. If you think Grand Central or Penn Station are crazy, you need to see the metro in Moscow. The rush hour goes on and on.
I arrived at the Alfa hotel, which is across from the station and, finally, was quoted four prices. I requested the least expensive, 2,500 rubles. Then she told me there were no rooms. That I should go to the Gamma Delta hotel next door. They had rooms for 1,600 but said I couldn't pay for it, at about 10:30, nor could I make a reservation. So I retraced my steps, dreading the fact that I would be returning on the same three trains, this time with luggage. (I tried to travel lightly and still wound up carrying weight).
When I returned to Hotel Rossiya, I enquired, with dread, if less expensive rooms were available. I finally took a room for four nights at 10,000 rubles, or $86/21 per night. I have never been happier to spend $86.21 for a room before. $33.79 does make a difference in my life!
Nine-tenths of the Muscovites are surly and some quite rude. Smiles are a premium here and the word "pleasant" just might not be translatable in Russian. I doubt you will feel welcome in Moscow, but it is worth it. There may not exist another city as interesting in its history and its architecture. And I have always liked Catherine the Great. What a women she was!
When I arrived at Pulkova, and before I met Amit, a taxi driver approached me and offered to take me for $50. I told him no and he wanted to know how much I wanted to pay. I told him several no's and he finally dismissed me with a flick of the hand as if to say: "Get outta here, cheapskate!" I finally, paid 25 rubles, less than one dollar to get to the metro.
Patrick Barry Barr
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
