Russia

BREAKFAST IS AT 9-00

Narrowly avoiding a million minor mishaps we arrived at our check in desk only ten minutes late. For once, there is no queue. The in-checker hands us boarding cards in different parts of the aircraft. We presume to question her. She explains that INTOURIST have made a block booking and allocated the seats. She says we are lucky, all the smokers are in non smoking and most of the non smokers in smoking. We board and then do a little dance.
"If you swap with me and he swaps with her and you would let these two move up in exchange for a window seat then six of us would be happy and only four separated."
"Even better if they move across the gangway and he takes the seat behind... oh you don't want the seat behind? OK what if you have Her window seat and we go over there if the people in the other party don't object...?
Soon Meg is by a window seat and I am beside her and we are tucking into a BA plastic meal which we expect to be the gastronomic high-point of the week.
St Petersburg International airport is tiny for a major city, little bigger than Ronaldsway on the Isle of Man.
Passport control is relatively quick but has two new experiences for us. The customs official has a periscope with which to view the back of your head whilst studying your passport photo and you each have to fill in a form stating what weapons drugs and currency you are carrying, there is plenty of spaces on the form to cater for major traffickers. We 'none' our way through the form. Our guide tells us we must ensure our luggage is loaded onto the red and white Intourist coach. All the coaches are red and white Intourist coaches. Meg is just speculating if hotel room allocation is on the same basis as plane seating when Tania asks for our passports.
"If there is someone with whom you wish to sleep, please put your passports inside each others. We glance up and down the coach and decide to share a room with each other.
The hotel Otinskaya has some good points and some bad points. We are told to affix room number details to our cases so the porters can distribute them. The process takes half an hour whereas carrying our cases to our rooms would have taken five minutes. The system manages to remove one case (not ours) before it was identified. Where it finished is anyone's guess. The hotel is facing west on the bank of the Neva and the sun sets spectacularly behind the beautiful blue and white cathedral of the Smolny convent. Our room is well appointed but has a view of a desolate apartment block to the north. The bed is comfortable, the pillow is a metre square marshmallow which will do Meg's neck no good at all. It is nearer the centre than our original hotel as the crow flies, earthbound tourists regrettably must walk half a kilometre to a tram stop, change to the metro after two kilometres, catch an orange line metro for one stop change to the green line for two stops. The names of the metro stations have all been changed since our maps and guides were printed, extra lines have been opened and only a random selection of signs have been changed. If you get everything right an hour is a good time. If you get anything wrong an hour is a miracle. The bars and public rooms are grim, the prices are based on the theory that tourists are rich imbeciles. Breakfast, was originally scheduled for 9-00. We arrive at 08-50 and are told in intourist tones to come back at the proper time. At nine o'clock we are informed that breakfast will be at 9-30. At 9-15 we have breakfast. It is odd rather than strange, edible rather than tasty, better than we were led to expect. Foul coffee, poor bread, decent jam, tasty almond cakes and a variety of good plain hot dishes. There were boiled eggs, but the Japanese eat them all.
FINE ART AND A FORTRESS

INTOURIST intend to spend the morning telling us about the optional trips that we never take, and then take us on the free sightseeing tour in the afternoon. Half the group skip both and as we discuss our plans over pancakes and cheese Chris and Michelle who are about the same age as our children, ask if they can join us. We are in the Hermitage before the others have half finished their morning talk. Tram tickets cost 4000r for 10 according to Tony and Zara a couple of Americans who really know where their towel is and have sussed out the St Petersburg transport system. The driver refuses to sell me a strip, having sold one to Tony, so, four of us became black riders on our first morning. The trams are 1940/50 vintage, the track in near terminal state of disrepair but what do you expect for 400R? (5p). At least the service frequent. We rattle off in the direction of the metro station which like all Russian metro stations is architecturally superb, to orange and green line ourselves to Nevsky Prospect and are hurled skywards or earthwards on a high speed escalator for three minutes. In the Isle of Man they would call Nevsky Prospect, "The Street" but in this case, it is three miles long and a hundred yards wide. At frequent intervals we encounter buildings that take our breath away. A church that rivals St Basils, a magnificent curved columned cresent that doesn't get a mention in the guide even though it would dwarf the Brandenburg Gate. The vast square in front of the Hermitage is empty save for a column taller than Nelson's with a guy named Alexander on top, there are not even any pigeons. We circle the winter palace hunting for the entrance which is so insignificant that I have difficulty convincing the others that it is what we are looking for. At $8 it is a snip, especially as INTOURIST are charging #25 for this trip and not giving you enough time inside. What am I saying? there isn't enough time. The Russians say "If you spent your entire life in the Hermitage you would not see everything.
In past sagas I have resorted to the pathetic ruse of describing places of great beauty as indescribable and just relating the effect they had on us. Its tempting to cop out again but I'll see what I can do. The Hermitage is the winter palace of the Tsars, built when they decided to move the capital of Russia from Moscow. You can do that sort of thing if you are a Tsar. The were not short of a rouble or two and had either great taste or knew a man who had. The building itself is a series of truly magnificent rooms, 12 miles of them. The floors are magnificent, the ceilings are magnificent, the walls are magnificent, the colour schemes are glorious. The doors are so astonishing that Meg goes through a period of repeating "Just look at this door" non stop for about ten minutes and I have to draw her attention to the Leonardo da Vinci on the nearby wall. Ok but that is just the fabric. They have the finest collection of paintings, sculptures, jewellery, costumes you will see anywhere. It is quite common to find galleries in other places where they have a few old masters and they fill the spaces on the walls with anything else that is only notable for being old. Usually the are rather dull portraits. Here every item was worth ten or fifteen minutes. Suddenly it was two O'clock, we had hardly started but our legs were aching. We tried the coffee, Meg had sworn never to try Russian coffee again, but I pointed out that we were in the Tsar's palace and the coffee machine did have a Columbian coffee label on it. Meg was right, even in the Hermitage, the coffee was foul.
Outside the Matrushka vendors were in full cry and Alexander's square had filled up, making Chris and Michelle more difficult to find. The fresh air gave us new life so we set off on a pedestrian tour to the Peter and Paul fortress. I never did find out who Paul was, but Peter was Great. The fortress is the oldest building in the city and was constructed as a defence against the Swedes?? I found this a little odd, computing that the ratio of Russians to Swedes must be about the same as the lottery prize to a #1 stake. Outside the fortress on grass under the trees and on a narrow strip of sand, the good Burgers of St Peter's had stripped off to their bikinis and were soaking up the sun. When Steve and Karen were here you could cross the Neva on the ice. A group of soldiers were planting steel tubes in the sand to use as firework launchers. Inside the fortress are dungeons, museums and an statue of Peter the Great with a tiny head and two highly polished fingers which the Burgers queue up to hold, pausing we presume to make a wish. We partake. We stroll past more Matrushka sellers and in addition are offered military hats, stamps, brooches and many other souvenirs. The vendors are prepared to haggle to a point but are not seriously concerned about making a sale today and seem to have agreed on a price below which they will not go even though we know that they are asking the equivalent of two weeks average salary for their dolls. We cross a park past stalls that are selling household produce to Russians as we hunt for a metro station finding it eventually. A low circular building which looks like a MacDonalds, set in the trees. It is swallowing hundreds of people. MacDonalds are not that good so I peer inside and discover its function. The underground system always gives the impression that it is rush hour in Metropolis.
Our next objective is to obtain opera or ballet tickets. We ask stern but helpful Russians for directions to the Theatre, unaware that there are dozens of theatres in the city. The stern but helpful Russians direct us to most of them. We are getting to know Nevsky Prospect very well. I was astounded to learn that a friend who visited St Petersburg for a whole week at the same time as us, never once set foot on it. Our search is made more difficult by the fact that every building in the city looks like it might be a theatre and none of the theatres advertise the fact. After an hour, we switch the object of our search to food.

GASTRONOMIC CHALLENGE

Finding a restaurant is easy, understanding the menu is not. They appear to have changed the names of the dishes, just like they have changed the names of the tube stations. My word processor does not allow me to set you the problems in the cyrillic alphabet. We generally found the starters to be tasty and the main courses disappointing. On this first occasion I managed to order a starter for my main course. Prices were steep but there were plenty of Russians eating. Our first experience was a bit daunting for Michelle and Chris, so on the second day, they found a western burger bar while we tried again with similar results. The starters were even better but the main course equally disappointing. Trying to eat anything other than breakfast in the hotels was a problem not worth solving. At8-00pm we are told:-" The restaurant is closed!". We try the self service, all the food had gone but we could pay $20 to look at the empty plates. We try the hotels third restaurant, "This restaurant is only for groups!" We produce real money and dine almost alone in a cavernous hall deserted by its "groups". Tasty starters but a disappointing main course of "special meat", nearly all the meat we encounter is covered in something, bright red sauce or a hard yellow crust. The Mordovian wine was good though.
The most disappointing meal was a pizza in the Arbat district of Moscow. We resorted to pizza after failing to find an ethnic restaurant that was open. The miserable specimen cost the standard $20. The salad was pathetic. Meg in either an adventurous mood or nearing starvation tried both an indoor and outdoor Russian burger. She enjoyed the former but spent the next 24 hours anticipating a crisis in her digestive system which fortunately never materialised. The most successful way to eat turned out to be to buy a picnic from the shops or kiosks and picnic in yours or Nadya's hotel bedroom.

BACK TO THE CULTURE

Another hour of misdirection, mostly involving the Hotel Europa found us wearily in the Arts Square in the middle of which is a statue of Pushkin. He is posed making a flamboyant gesture in the direction of the theatre. I never thought of asking a statue?? The response to "Do you speak English?" was the usual triumphant NO!!
Its half an hour to the curtain for La Traviata but we are tired and our companions exhausted and afraid to tackle the metro without us, so we start negotiations in german for tomorrows "The Golden Cockerel" I am joined by a partially english speaking Russian and the ticket seller enlists a partially german speaking Russian. When our requirements are finally sorted out we cannot have the tickets because they will not take dollars and we are out of roubles. She will keep the tickets for us.
Tired and footsore this is no time to make a mess of the metro. I make a mess of the metro.
I make several messes of the metro. My companions are very tolerant. First I choose the wrong line.
Second , in attempting to return to square one by crossing the platform and going back two stations, I find I have changed lines again. Now the "Quickest" route involves not going back to square 1 but using two more lines. The process is lengthy. Michelle kindly points out the interesting metro architecture we would have missed without my errors, and that we have now travelled on all the lines. Actually she is quite right. Eventually we make it back. There is an unexploited veranda on the top floor of the Otinskaya which we visit before retiring. Over the city they are setting off the fireworks we saw the soldiers at the fort organising. The sun is still high in the sky, so, all we get are some firework sound effects followed by puffs of dark smoke in the sky.

THE GOLDEN COCKEREL

We arrive promptly at 9-00 for breakfast having missed the meeting which announced it to be at 9-30 in future and are directed to join the Japanese businessmen in a separate room. This can't be right, but as they get a much more interesting breakfast than us we decline to complain.
We continue day two back at the theatre but without our translation team. The new ticket seller does not speak english but, to our astonishment, does have our reserved tickets!! What is even better they seem to be half the price we negotiated yesterday. She informs us that the theatre will not be full so we can move to better seats at no extra charge during the performance.
We climb the tower of St Isaacs for the famous view of the beautiful city, no mean feat for Michelle who suffers from vertigo. Game girl, as she clutches onto the handrail, she agrees the view is good but its obvious that her heart is 75 metres below her head. Next we visit the bronze horseman, probably the worlds biggest and seek out boats for tomorrows trip to Peterhof.
As a special reward for Michelle, who is a shopper rather than a tourist at heart, we find the largest department store in town. As usual there is no external advertising and a crater in the pavement outside the uninviting main entrance. Marks and Spencer was never like this! The inside is like an indoor market. Michelle buys very cheap matrushkas, We buy delicious ice creams. Our underground journey back is without any wrong lines or fascinating stations but our tram is travelling very very slowly. We imagine it slowly accumulating all the trams of St Petersburg in its wake.
We arrive early as directed at the theatre and ask directions to the bar. We are on a twin start staircase where you can never get to the flight you can see, its a 3D optical illusion. Once we have solved it the bar is very long, very overstaffed and very empty. It has 12 staff and 4 customers, us. We drink authentic Russian Grim and tonics and queer beer. Our seats are on the front row of the Balcony so we cannot find better seats to move to.
Meg had read that the Russian theatre was infamous for the smell of the costumes, which are never washed. When the curtain rises a fair pong wafts through the auditorium.The opera is poor. During the first act we try to interpret the story. There was this king who had two sons who were a dead loss and then this magician turns up with a cockerel. The sons go off to war and make a mess of it so the king goes too. Still not quite sure what the cockerel is up to but better not annoy it just to be on the safe side. We cannot account for the fact that so far there have been no women in the story. Surely the cockerel isn't going to turn into one? In the interval we buy a translation. Its nothing like as good as our version. In the second and third acts the 'Woman' turns up, sings what poor material she has well, Is thoroughly despicable, upsets the cockerel and gets her come-uppance. The king and his sons die too, and the peasants end the opera by singing "What shall we do without a Tsar?" We are not sure whether this is pathos or irony. It must have been one of Pushkin's off days and Rimsky Korsakov must have been using up bits of music he had left over from something else. However the theatre was beautiful the orchestra was good and the cast sang well and without us the bar takings would have been zero.
In the dusk around midnight Meg and I try to cross the river by way of a partially constructed bridge which our guide had told us was like Tower Bridge. This was the one occasion when London scored over St Petersburg. The walk turned out to be farther than we anticipated so we abort the trip. The mosquitoes who haven't had a meal for days feast on me.

THE FOUNTAINS OF PETERHOF

We breakfast with our tour this morning as we need information regarding our journey to Moscow. There is a mutinous mob at the tram stop but no trams. We know where they all are, piled up behind yesterdays slow-coach. We set off on foot and have nearly made it when the first heaving tram grinds past us. We sardine ourselves onto the third, then hydrofoil across the pancake flat gulf of Finland to Peterhof, another playground of the Tsars. There is an excellent Jazz band busking on the quayside. We rock and roll to the "Saints". Peterhof is closed! A fact cunningly concealed from us at the hydrofoil booking desk. The gardens are well worth a visit and we admire the statues, fountains. Some are geometrical, some feature classical sculpture, some are jokes. We feed a few more mosquitoes. Then feed ourselves in the Peterhof cafe which serves the best food we have eaten. During the meal the heavens open in a dramatic thunderstorm so we take our time. We dodge showers and mosquitoes as we pick up a few more lakes, statues and fountains on our way back to the now musicless quay. Back in the city it is too early to return to the hotel so we drag our young friends round the last bits of the tourist area they have not yet seen. The summer palace and gardens, the Field of Mars, the Engineers palace, and finish with some serious doll buying before returning to be reunited with our luggage. Once again we are not permitted to carry it from the hospitality suit so we mill around in the chairless foyer. After thirty luggageless minutes our guide is contemplating a missed train. Someone returns to the hospitality suit. The cases are gone. Ten minutes later a lone porter arrives carrying two cases. We follow him to the lift and break some more rules. During the drive our guide wants six volunteers to travel in a different compartment and suggests those adventurous people who missed all the trips. We inform her that not only did we arrange our own trips but we had also made our own sleeping arrangements. At the station. we are early. The train when it comes is enormously long and solely for Intourist tourists so there will be no chance to drink wodka with the locals. On being shown our bodyguards, Meg wants to know who is to protect us from them and who they are protecting us from? We are encouraged to lock our compartments. No one could get in to steal anything or mug us, there isn't room. We move about like one of those plastic puzzles where you have sixteen spaces and fifteen little squares.
"If I put my case on Michelle's bed and I get on Meg's bed then Meg can get in and sit on Chris's bed then Chris can pass in Michelle's suitcase. I'll then pass the suitcase to Meg who can get down and join Michelle on my bed then Chris can pass his suitcase in"
This only works if Chris sleeps in the corridor, "What if...?" The temperature is tropical jungle. My top bunk is just too high to see out of the window comfortably. Outside flat wooded Russia is rattling by. Once in motion, air-conditioning comes unexpected and very welcome.
We sleep well and as we near Moscow watch the commuters approaching the stations along tracks through the woods and fields. We see no tarmac roads. Dachas simple and elaborate have been erected on what in Britain we would call allotments and what in Russia I suspect supply essential supplements to the food available in the shops and markets. The train is about two hours late arriving. A potentially serious complication as Nadya will have been awaiting our call.
Our new guide is Rosa Klebb or her sister. The hotel Cosmos is we mistakenly think huge. The room is fine and breakfast has been kept for us. They are offering a free guided tour which will take us to Red Square near Nadya's hotel so we join it. In Red Square, Rosa Klebb gives a dreadfully boring description of and some really bad advice about St Basils so we take our leave and head for the hotel Russia which is exactly twice the size of the Cosmos. it holds 6,500 guests.

THE HUNT FOR NADYA

At reception we ask for Nadya and are directed to the reception for Russians. Though it is in the same building, it is easier to go outside and walk round to the appropriate entrance. We tell reception that we have a Russian friend on the 6th floor in room 37 called Nadya Gavayeva. She checks her computer. No that room is occupied by a family called Pushkin? Well we had heard he was profligate with his seed. Apparently whole villages bear his resemblance.
"Do you have a guest called Nadya Gavayeva?"
"You will have to go to information"
We go to information.
"You will have to go to information about Russians"
We go to information about Russians. All these manoeuvres involve leaving the hotel and finding another entrance, each entrance has a security guard who does not speak english and whose sole purpose is to exclude people who do not have their hotel identification card. They give us no trouble.
"Nadya Gavayeva is in room 6009"
"Great thanks very much" I forget you are not supposed to say please or thankyou, or, smile according to my guide book.
We find room 6009, knock, it is opened by a redhead?
"Sorry, we were looking for Nadya Gavayeva"
"I am Nadya Gavayeva!"
"Well your not our Nadya Gavayeva!!"
We return to Russian information and are impressed by the effort they now put in to finding our Nadya. They have clearly got the message that we are not going to give up till they find her. During their discussions I realise that the room numbering system is different to ours. 637 is the 63rd room on the 7th floor. I have been identifying the 37th room on the 6th floor.
"Who occupies that room"
"Ludmilla ?????" from Saransk
"Aha!! Saransk is right!!"
We head for the 7th floor. The room locked. We consult the room monitor and leave a message for the occupant. Room monitors are another russian phenomenum. On each floor of these ginormous hotels sit women every ten rooms or so. When leaving your room, the key goes to your monitor and not to reception. The monitor has all her rooms within view so not much happens in a hotel without their knowledge. I push another message under the door. On our way out we spot Nadya in the lobby buying cold beers. Its great to see her!!
We exchange presents and then she has to leave for a short time to sort out her visa for the USA. We take the opportunity to visit St Basils as not recommended by Rosa Klebb. The interior design is unique. No where is there room for more than a handful of people to gather. What a contrast with the basilicas and mosques of Istambul. Apparently if you were not immediate family you were irrelevant. All the small rooms and the rabbit warren of interlinking corridors are beautifully painted and we were able to watch restorers in action at close quarters. When Nadya returns, she takes us to see some of the other sights that are close at hand. Red Square, the Alexander Gardens and GUM.
GUM is like Meadowhall, a massive shopping mall. It was built in 1850. All or most of the shops are now western. We cannot stay inside long as the glass roof is doing terrible things to the blazing sun. Its 30C outside and sweltering sauna inside.
After a short pit stop for cold showers and more cold beers, Nadya skilfully guides us to the Arbat district, a fascinating area whose only drawback was the awful pizzas mentioned earlier, Nadya is horrified by the prices. Arbat is full of young Russians deep in animated conversations. I am disappointed that they are not all playing chess in the pavement cafes. The buskers are a talented string quartet playing Haydn and Mozart. Nadya does not seem to approve of busking but we think it great and pause for quarter of an hour.

HYPERINFLATION and the BARTER SYSTEM

To make an early start we try to breakfast at 8-00 the restaurant is due to open but there is a queue 50 metres long and 10 people, mainly Japanese, wide. We shuffle with the herd then head for the Metro past an even better band than those on the Peterhof quay or at Arbat. What is more, they are playing a tango. Meg declines to make an exhibition of herself but contributes generously to their kitty. Travel is simple in Moscow, one metro line and the stations have not been renamed. The stations are announced over a PA on the train and Red Square's station is called KEETAE GOROD (ChinaTown) The announcers always changes to a squeaky high pitched voice.
Nadya has decided we must see the convent at Zgorsk. A journey of 80km. Nikolai, her friend in the Government will take us. We are to be at the Duma (Parliament building) at 10-30. En route we pass the Bolshoi and try to get tickets for the ballet but even the black market can't get them for hard currency.
Nickoli emerges at 10-30 but explains that he is up to his ears in the Russian economy. He lends Nadya his car, his driver and Olga a young girl, his...
He would like them returned by 3-00pm!
Nadya's hotel suit, with its magnificent view over Red Square, room is booked permanently in the name of Ludmilla ?? the Senator from Saransk, and certain people from the town can use it in her absence. If Nadya wants a car, the government supply it. Neat. Nadya was right!! Zgorsk is terrific. One of those places that is both beautiful and peaceful. We stroll in the sun round the quiet enclosed convent. The colours are gorgeous the architecture very onion topped. Heavenly singing drifts from one of the buildings. Olga collects water from the holy well for Nicolai, I taste some in spite of Meg's dire gastric consequences warning, it tasted delicious.
I am vindicated! This is definitely the place to buy Matrushkas! We buy two or three more, we know from experience that once we are back home we will wish that we bought dozens more. Meg gets one direct from the artist the decoration is part paint and part scorching with a branding iron. We'll probably keep that one for ourselves. Lightning illuminates the gloriously decorated onion domes as we head for the car park, thunder rolls continuously round the courtyards. A tree divests itself of blossom as Olga and I pass beneath it, we look as if we had been out in a snow storm. I have been trying to winkle out of her what young people do in the evening in Moscow. Olga it turns out works, morning afternoon and evening. I disapprove. Our driver is ready but we are low on petrol. He has government tokens for petrol but none of the petrol stations we stop,at will take them. He drives ever more slowly and finally takes to coasting down hills before he reluctantly resorts to roubles. We want a tour of the more famous stations on the Moscow metro. They are definitely one of the sights of the city. Stalin commissioned them at the point in the second world war when it was obvious that the Russians were going to win. You westerners who read this be certain that it was the Russians who won the war. We were a mere irritation to Hitler compared with the pain the Russians gave him and millions of them died in the process. Here endeth the history lesson. The stations are 'Cathedrals' they contain statues, mosaics and stained glass. Each has a theme, one is to a region of Russia, another to workers in a particular industry. They are lit by chandeliers. At one we are offered tickets to the Bolshoi but only two. I decline on the grounds that I want us to stay together. Nadya encourages us to seize the day but we continue as a threesome and see more of the astounding metro. On the way home the metro door shuts between us leaving me stranded then after we are reunited, another passenger slips between train and platform. The lights go out and we wait with baited breath as the trains run every sixty seconds. After two minutes we breath again and the woman escapes with bruises.

THE KREMLIN

Now what picture does that conjure up in your mind?? Lenin's tomb, Grey men in fur hats watching tanks roll past and the guards doing their silly walk?

The wall that forms one long side of red square conceals enough to keep the most avid tourist entertained for a week. Once you find the entrance that is. Even with or perhaps because of our local expert, it take us half an hour to find the gate. I am near to considering marching round the walls and blowing a trumpet at one stage. Inside it is vast. We consult with a bunch of Canadians to determine the location of the Armoury. We have been warned that demand outstrips supply of tickets to the Armoury. There are four churches to visit. All with onion domes all ornately decorated. Inside one an english speaking guide tells enthusiastically of the corpses in his charge. All the Peters and Ivans and Catherines. Ivan the Terrible is there but separate from the others on account of him being terrible. The church fell out with him over his number of wives so he is behind the alter screen where he can't contaminate the others.
In the grounds are the worlds largest cannon. It has never been fired but the ammunition is to hand. Just how they would get 1 metre cannon balls into the muzzle 4 metres high is not obvious to me. The worlds largest bell is here also with a segment which broke out. I examined the structure and was impressed at its soundness, just a few small blow holes.
The government offices were not accessible and we did not visit the theatre but we did stroll in the extensive gardens. A Russian three year old was having a wonderful time running through the spray from a lawn sprinkler. Envious adults would love to have joined him as the temperature was still in the unrelenting 30's that it had been since we arrived.
There are several roads inside but no traffic. The only cars being those taking Eltsin and his criminals to their dens of iniquity. Nonetheless the zebra crossings each have a policeman with baton and whistle who threatens the tourist who does not use the crossing with Siberia. We stick to the crossings then to Nadya's horror, walk on the grass.
The Armoury contains several more of the worlds largest:-The Texan tourists must be really humiliated. The greatest,
Collection of silver, Exhibition of royal coaches, The costumes and royal jewels were well worth the entrance fee. Porcelain, cutlery, even armour. There was armour for the horses as well, one wore a helmet that made it look like a sheep. I considered this to be a fine example of psychological warfare..."My God! if their sheep are big enough to ride, what must their horses be like?"
Meg and Nadya just thought the animal looked funny, which is why women do not go to war.
Hot, tired but inspired we return to Nadya's hotel room for our shower and picnic and the ritual watering of Ludmilla's plant. Apparently the only condition for using Ludmilla's apartment is that you should look after the plant. I try to convince Nadya that it is looking rather sickly but she is still laughing at the giant sheep.
Renewed and refreshed the Ridley's next objective is another convent on the outskirts of Moscow. Meg does her homework and we are soon enjoying its peaceful surroundings. Nordivichi is not on the same scale as Zgorsk but offers the same oasis of calmness. Once again there are technicolour onion domes and angelic singing drifting across the graveyard. Many famous Russians are buried here Tchaikovsky Kruschev politicians playwrights and poets make strange bedfellows. It is where you finish if you don't make it to the Kremlin wall. Meg has a rather macabre interest in graves which I do not share but the contract does say for better or for worse, so I like golf and Meg likes graves. Beyond the convent walls lie two lakes. Children are swimming in one and we walk round the other failing to identify some of the ducks thereon. One with a red body and yellow head looks very distinctive, no doubt a rare siberian wotsit. We encounter a line of duck statues. A young russian mum is supervising her two year old as he rides the back of the Mummy duck statue. Mummy is leading a line of about seven ducklings. We then spot two bewick swans, presumably once ugly ducklings and this inspires Nadya to teach me the dance of the cygnets but Meg who knows her arabesques from her entrechats says our heads are pointing the wrong way and has captured the moment on film to prove it. I am amazed Nadya still has the energy to dance because we have dragged her round Moscow at our mountain walking pace for three days now and she has at no time been wearing suitable footwear. By now we are tired and thirsty and find water in a kiosk. Almond cakes replace some of our energy deficiency. Back at the Hotel Russia, Meg and I leave our hostess to guard the "plant" while we walk along the river to see the Kremlin from the opposite bank, we are actually killing time because Meg wants to see Red Square by night. The area through which we walk is the sort of area that tourists are advised to avoid. All seems peaceful enough and we soon find familiar territory in the Alexander gardens. All the seats and much of the grass is occupied by Russians in ernest conversation. The conversation stops as we approach and they watch us with puzzled or fascinated expressions. We cannot make out what it is about our appearance or behaviour that is singling us out. No one is playing chess and it won't go dark so we have to give up "Red Square by night" in favour of sleep. Meg gets really bold and risks a burger from a kiosk and then changes her mind after the second bite and leaves me to carry the remains, litter bins are few and far between and we presume the penalty for illicit disposal of burgers to be swingeing.
RUSSIAN CHAMPAGNE AND A BET

For our last cultural treat, Nadya takes us to the Tretchikov gallery. En route we encounter our two americans Tony and Zara. The Tretchikov is devoted to the works of Russian artists who are largely unknown in the West. Nadya keeps exclaiming "Look at this! This is just right! This is Russia!!" We have not seen the like anywhere else and are grateful for the opportunity. We learn that the gallery only opened last month after being closed for ten years. Among the worlds greatest collection of Icons we notice one picture has fresh flowers beneath it. The guide explains that it is that particular saints day today, and they all get flowers on their birthdays. The gallery which as well as housing a magnificent collection of art, is magnificent in itself, has occupied us for four hours. To try and fit in the Pushkin gallery as well in now impractical. Anyway one should always leave a reason for going back. Nadya has an even better idea anyway. She wants to celebrate out departure with Russian champagne. I'm not sure celebrate is the right word, and the French would argue that Champagne wasn't the right word either. We have loved every moment and are very reluctant to leave but any excuse for a champagne picnic will do, so we acquire bits and pieces on our way back and Nadya finds some Champagne so we have a party in 637 for the last time. Nadya says "I'll never see you again" We ask "Why on earth not?" We will be back before long. We discuss the many things we have seen and done over bread , cheese tomatoes and champagne. Nadya has to pack ready for her trip to Ishevsk and will soon be off on her eagerly awaited trip to America. We have to supervise the transfer of our luggage once more so it is all too soon time to part but not without final photos hugs and kisses and a bet. The inexorable slide of the rouble against the dollar had checked while we were in Moscow and there was one day when the Russians, so surprised at this development stopped taking dollars. Nadya proclaimed this to be a temporary blip and the downward plunge would continue. "The exchange rate will be 7000 by the time I return from the US" she ventured.
"I predict it will be under 5000". The bet is struck at 5000. Over and I have to go back to Russia, under and Nadya must come to Sheffield. We have been back six weeks now and the rate is 4555. But we intend to visit Russia again whatever the outcome.
Back at the hotel we meet Tony and Zara they never got out of the Icon gallery. We have some time to kill so visit the science park opposite the cosmos. It is now essentially a retail park, with consumer goods being sold in some of the most spectacularly unlikely buildings. They are selling goods however, a steady stream of TVs is being wheelbarrowed away from a greek temple topped with a charioteer. In the open air Russians are selling each other a wide range of goods. A dress, a pair of shoes, a TV ariel. There is a whole line of people selling pets. It is difficult to tell whether these are desperate consequences of hyperinflation or the Russian equivalent of a car boot sale. Between purchases a wide variety of food is on sale and there are plenty of people enjoying the occasion.
They have repaired the crack in the runway caused be the heatwave, so our flight will depart on schedule and we have time for reflection.

It has been another great holiday.
The anticipated highlights were higher than anticipated.
The Hermitage, Peterhof, Red Square, the Kremlin, Zgorsk.
Even Nadya exceeded our expectations, she is a terrific friend.
The feared lowlights were not as low as feared.
The hotels, the food, INTOURIST.
There were many pleasant surprises.
The weather, the public transport, the Tretchikov.

Do svidaniya, droog ee padrooga.________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
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