My apartment is big - big enough for a skittle alley in the hall and a badminton court in the living room. I really must visit all the rooms someday. But why are doors in Russia so big? They're all about 8ft high. Great location though - only a walk to Red Square and Kremlin, the river Moscow and all the famous churches. To be fair, Moscow is full of stunning architecture.
My local pub, the Plomnikov, is very nice and more expensive than a certain olde hostelry in West Sussex. One can get a nice steak and and pint for about £50. It's My My for me though. It's a Russian buffet style, fast food place where you can also get a pint. Very good and very reasonable. You pronounce it Moo Moo and to help you remember that, a lifesize (and lifelike) model of a cow is placed outside each Moo Moo restaurant.
Finally got internet in the apartment just in time to have my mornings ruined by listening to TMS describing England getting battered by the Aussies. As the great David Bowie might have sung, had he been commentating alongside Blowers:
Ashes to Aussies
England to arses
We know why,
It's all them Sarfies
The weather continues to be mild - that means around zero.
The Embassy pantomime is now cast and rehearsals have begun. Oh, didn't I mention the panto? Oh yes, I did. I am staggeringly undercast as a villager cum chorus person. By the time I arrived all the big parts had been taken - no big part for me, snigger - which is fair enough but an appalling waste of talent. There are 3 of us in the chorus and I shall clearly have to take the lead as my lovely (but not so talented) fellow chorussers haven't been in a panto before. Even if they are girls who can sing better than me. I'm just waiting for Time Out Moscow to call for an interview.
And so, number two daughter arrives to spend Christmas hols with daddy. I shall refer to her as M. It's a good start as, on M's first day, we have the office Christmas party followed by a mega reception at the Ambassador's gaff. We are both impressed by the splendid residence and its view across the river to the Kremlin. Hello Vlad - looking cool in those peejams. M amuses herself on Friday and on Saturday, we make our way - on the Metro, no less - to Ismaelovo market. The Moscow Metro is absolutely amazing - the station architecture belongs in museums and the stations themselves are enormous. But, when you change lines (ie Circle to Piccadilly) you change station names. We get off at Ploshad Revolution on the dark blue line and change to Teatro on the green line - same station. Takes a bit of getting used to and all the signs are in cyrillic. We do lots of Christmas shopping, usual stuff - furry hats, petrushka dolls, soviet posters - all marvellous. And it's snowing all day.
Sunday is Kremlin day and the snow is melting fast. M makes friends with the Kremlin cat.
And so to Christmas Eve. A short day at work and I do my impression of an Oligarch by giving all the local staff a bag of gold each. This is, of course, Sainsbury's finest gold chocolate coins. Most of them guess it isn't real gold.
M and I have Christmas Eve dins at Katchapuri, a famous Georgian resto. It is excellent and we decide we really like Georgian pickles. Here is a picture of the pianist who is right next to us - we give him a glass of red which he likes. Well he glugs it quickly.
My local pub, the Plomnikov, is very nice and more expensive than a certain olde hostelry in West Sussex. One can get a nice steak and and pint for about £50. It's My My for me though. It's a Russian buffet style, fast food place where you can also get a pint. Very good and very reasonable. You pronounce it Moo Moo and to help you remember that, a lifesize (and lifelike) model of a cow is placed outside each Moo Moo restaurant.
Finally got internet in the apartment just in time to have my mornings ruined by listening to TMS describing England getting battered by the Aussies. As the great David Bowie might have sung, had he been commentating alongside Blowers:
Ashes to Aussies
England to arses
We know why,
It's all them Sarfies
The weather continues to be mild - that means around zero.
The Embassy pantomime is now cast and rehearsals have begun. Oh, didn't I mention the panto? Oh yes, I did. I am staggeringly undercast as a villager cum chorus person. By the time I arrived all the big parts had been taken - no big part for me, snigger - which is fair enough but an appalling waste of talent. There are 3 of us in the chorus and I shall clearly have to take the lead as my lovely (but not so talented) fellow chorussers haven't been in a panto before. Even if they are girls who can sing better than me. I'm just waiting for Time Out Moscow to call for an interview.
And so, number two daughter arrives to spend Christmas hols with daddy. I shall refer to her as M. It's a good start as, on M's first day, we have the office Christmas party followed by a mega reception at the Ambassador's gaff. We are both impressed by the splendid residence and its view across the river to the Kremlin. Hello Vlad - looking cool in those peejams. M amuses herself on Friday and on Saturday, we make our way - on the Metro, no less - to Ismaelovo market. The Moscow Metro is absolutely amazing - the station architecture belongs in museums and the stations themselves are enormous. But, when you change lines (ie Circle to Piccadilly) you change station names. We get off at Ploshad Revolution on the dark blue line and change to Teatro on the green line - same station. Takes a bit of getting used to and all the signs are in cyrillic. We do lots of Christmas shopping, usual stuff - furry hats, petrushka dolls, soviet posters - all marvellous. And it's snowing all day.
Sunday is Kremlin day and the snow is melting fast. M makes friends with the Kremlin cat.
And so to Christmas Eve. A short day at work and I do my impression of an Oligarch by giving all the local staff a bag of gold each. This is, of course, Sainsbury's finest gold chocolate coins. Most of them guess it isn't real gold.
M and I have Christmas Eve dins at Katchapuri, a famous Georgian resto. It is excellent and we decide we really like Georgian pickles. Here is a picture of the pianist who is right next to us - we give him a glass of red which he likes. Well he glugs it quickly.
play it again Samski
We make our way back home across the river, stopping to see the big sheets of ice in the river. Apparently, the tourist boats prevent the river from icing over completely.
Christmas day is spent chez some nice new friends and we enjoy their very good selection of red wine. Of course, we take it easy in view of our proposed trip to Saint Petersburg the next day.
The next day. We are not at our best. I hope M has forgotten we have planned to go to St P. She hasn't. Our first challenge is to get tickets. Why didn't we buy tickets online, you ask? The short answer is that we spent the best part of 4 hours trying. So we queue and, using our best Russian, attempt to buy tickets for the 1330. Nyet. Oh, is that it? A friendly person in the queue translates - it's full. M somehow understands there are tickets on the 1640 - she's clever. We hang around, sightseeing and lunching. I quote from the guide book which describes the area outside the station where we wander:
"..a seething mass of beggars, families with everything they own in tow, street hawkers, drunks, drug dealers and, in the evening, prostitutes. Over recent years it has assumed an unnerving atmosphere to say the least so it is advisable not to linger here long..." Methinks the author had a bad experience outside Leningradsky station.
We are supposed to be travelling on the Sapsan (Peregrine Falcon) train which zooms along at 200kph but board an old fashioned looking locomotive which has separate compartments. It is very pleasant, if a bit bumpy. Tea and snacks are served, which is nice.
Top tip, don't arrive in St P at 2100 without a map and just a guide book for Moscow. We have to take a taxi to the hotel and I negotiate a fare of £20 from a starting price of £40. Still probably too much.
Our first dinner and drink is in the Wild Duck. An Irish hostelry which features a real duck running around the pub, seemingly following the waitresses and trying to bite their legs. I suppose that constitutes wild. We don't like this plate of lard which is called smoked bacon on the menu:
"..a seething mass of beggars, families with everything they own in tow, street hawkers, drunks, drug dealers and, in the evening, prostitutes. Over recent years it has assumed an unnerving atmosphere to say the least so it is advisable not to linger here long..." Methinks the author had a bad experience outside Leningradsky station.
We are supposed to be travelling on the Sapsan (Peregrine Falcon) train which zooms along at 200kph but board an old fashioned looking locomotive which has separate compartments. It is very pleasant, if a bit bumpy. Tea and snacks are served, which is nice.
Top tip, don't arrive in St P at 2100 without a map and just a guide book for Moscow. We have to take a taxi to the hotel and I negotiate a fare of £20 from a starting price of £40. Still probably too much.
Our first dinner and drink is in the Wild Duck. An Irish hostelry which features a real duck running around the pub, seemingly following the waitresses and trying to bite their legs. I suppose that constitutes wild. We don't like this plate of lard which is called smoked bacon on the menu:
It is the Vodka platter and I can only imagine that you need to drink a lot of vodka before you can eat copious strips of lard
M and I, on our own, are reasonably proficient at finding our way around. M has made it most of the way round the world and I have managed to reach my sixth decade. But together, we are a disaster. We have difficulty finding our hotel again.
Lots of sightseeing - St P is a lovely place. We see a fantastic ballet, Swan Lake, in the Hermitage Theatre and then go for dins. We discover the Metro closes at midnight so decide to find dins near the hotel. Nothing is open and we finally have to go to Burger King. But, not just any Burger King. You can get a pint in this BK. Draught beer no less. We notice some locals coming in for a pint and a bag of chips. Beats a soggy kebab I suppose.
Another day in St P then back to Moscow on the real Sapsan. Very modern, very fast.
M and I decide to have a quiet last day - that means getting up, going out to find brunch. No, let's have a big fry up at home and M changes back into pjs in the afternoon.
Next day, I wave goodbye to M at the station and go home alone.....
It's New Year's Eve and the there's a party in the Embassy bar. Shall I, shan't I? But I'm in Moscow, there must be a big shindig in Red Square.
I'll get there early and have a pint before midnight. Oddly, all the restaurants and bars are closed at 2200 as I walk down the main tourist street Ulitsa Arbat. What's happening? I make it down to Red Square and not a bar, resto, offy or kiosk where I can get a beer. No wonder lots of people are carrying bottles and cans. I'm even prepared to pay the exorbitant prices of a 5* hotel but they are all closed.* The cops are everywhere and they mean business. I don't think anyone will playfully try and nick one of their furry hats. Lots of folk in fancy dress and a curiously large number of Father Christmases. There's an excellent rock band playing on a massive stage - Russian Robert Plant backed by a versatile band. By midnight, it's absolutely packed and you can't move. We all sing Олд Лангзаин and tootle off home.
* I discover the next day there are bars open all over Moscow - except Red Square. Идиот
M and I, on our own, are reasonably proficient at finding our way around. M has made it most of the way round the world and I have managed to reach my sixth decade. But together, we are a disaster. We have difficulty finding our hotel again.
Lots of sightseeing - St P is a lovely place. We see a fantastic ballet, Swan Lake, in the Hermitage Theatre and then go for dins. We discover the Metro closes at midnight so decide to find dins near the hotel. Nothing is open and we finally have to go to Burger King. But, not just any Burger King. You can get a pint in this BK. Draught beer no less. We notice some locals coming in for a pint and a bag of chips. Beats a soggy kebab I suppose.
Another day in St P then back to Moscow on the real Sapsan. Very modern, very fast.
M and I decide to have a quiet last day - that means getting up, going out to find brunch. No, let's have a big fry up at home and M changes back into pjs in the afternoon.
Next day, I wave goodbye to M at the station and go home alone.....
It's New Year's Eve and the there's a party in the Embassy bar. Shall I, shan't I? But I'm in Moscow, there must be a big shindig in Red Square.
I'll get there early and have a pint before midnight. Oddly, all the restaurants and bars are closed at 2200 as I walk down the main tourist street Ulitsa Arbat. What's happening? I make it down to Red Square and not a bar, resto, offy or kiosk where I can get a beer. No wonder lots of people are carrying bottles and cans. I'm even prepared to pay the exorbitant prices of a 5* hotel but they are all closed.* The cops are everywhere and they mean business. I don't think anyone will playfully try and nick one of their furry hats. Lots of folk in fancy dress and a curiously large number of Father Christmases. There's an excellent rock band playing on a massive stage - Russian Robert Plant backed by a versatile band. By midnight, it's absolutely packed and you can't move. We all sing Олд Лангзаин and tootle off home.
* I discover the next day there are bars open all over Moscow - except Red Square. Идиот
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