Moscow

The plan was simple, the five of us (Olya, Anna, Ula, Pavel and Myself) were going to leave by car from Yaroslavl at 6:30 Saturday Morning. After a brief stop at a roadside restaurant we'd be in Moscow by 11:00 A.M. See the sites, gets some lunch, enjoy the company and we'd be back in Yaroslavl in the wee-hours of the following morning. The only thing that went according to plan was our 6:30 A.M. departure, and I wouldn't trade it for the world.

From the top. Earlier in the week Olya, Anna and I (as I so often do) sat down and made a list of the pros and cons of traveling by to Moscow by automobile versus traveling train. I remember specifically asking about the car's condition. Can the car be depended on? Olya replied «I've never seen it, but I think so» Hmm.. I think so, for some reason that statement stuck with me all week. When the car came to pick us up, my fears immediately became warranted. This car had seen better days, probably Gorbachev's. We all piled in to the «Sputnik» (seriously, it's the name of the car) and headed to Moscow. About two hours in to the trip, as planned, we made a stop at a roadside dinner just south of Переславль, after breakfast thingss took an interesting turn. A few kilometers down the road the car began to sputter and eventually died. Here we are two hours from both Moscow and Yaroslavl, the middle of nowhere, I see my Moscow dream's slowly fading in to oblivion, so close but yet so far. After a few minutes of fooling with the car Pavel and Ula call it quits and phone their friend in Yaroslavl and arrange for him to pick them up. Olya, Anna and I have decided not to give up, we will make it to Moscow come hell or high water. Luckily for us the car died right next to a bus stop, there's bound to be a bus going to Moscow eventually right? We'll just flag them down and be on our merry way, easy right?

45 minutes and 7 buses later we're still at the bus stop, no closer to Moscow than before, at this point we're trying to flag down anything that moves. After about an hour at the roadside bus stop, a black Mercedes S.U.V. stops and a bohemoth of a man asks where we're going. To Moscow the girls say, me too he says, want a ride? The girls hesitate, my life flashes before my eyes, he flashes a badge and says something I don't understand, and the next thing I know we're piling into this strangers car. When I get in, hanging on the door next to me is a Russian military uniform with more stars and decorations than I've ever seen, this is either really good, or really bad, the girls don't seem nervous so I pretend not to be.

We get in, he turns the Bon Jovi (Living on a prayer, pretty appropriate don't you think?) up, and we're off, and I do mean WE ARE OFF, this guy is flying down the highway, this car makes the Sputnik look like a go-cart, this guy makes the University's driver Valera look like Miss. Daisy. I look at the speedometer and consistently see 180 Km, I'm not sure exactly what that is but it's well over 100 MPH right? At this rate we'll be in Moscow well before we would have minus the car troubles. About 30 KM's outside of Moscow and the Police make an appearance, I knew it wouldn't be this simple. When I saw the police car I looked at the speedometer and saw 170, we'll this should at the least be very interesting, at least I'll finally get to see the inside of a police station. He pulls over to where they flagged him down, flashes his passport, says «I'm sorry did I do something wrong?» the cop waves him on and that's it. Long story short, it turns out this guy is a corporal in the Russian Millitary Special Forces. He's served tours of duty, in Chechnya, Uzbekistan, and Afghanistan, in other words all the places you don't want to be. He's semi-retired and spends about half of the year training special forces near Kostroma. He got us to Moscow safely at noon, dropped us off at the train station and wished us luck. Wished us luck? Hmm.. that seems a little strange, why is he wishing us luck? And come to think of it, why are Anna and Olya stressed out and speaking really really fast, I can't understand what they're talking about.

Ok, stop me if you've heard this one. The plan seemed simple. We buy tickets for one of tonights Moсква « Ярославль trains. We hit the metro, go to Красная Плошадь, the Moskva, maybe the Bulgakov Museum, back to the train station and home. Great. At the train station I finally figure out what's going on, Olya has forgotten her passport. For those of you who don't know this, in Russia every citizen is required to have his or her internal passport on them at all times, in order to use the trains you not only have to present your passport to buy the ticket, but to board the train as well. Great. So now what? Well Olya and Anna think that if we can't get someone in Yaroslavl to scan her passport, send it as an email attatchment, that we can print it off and at least buy the ticket. Boarding is another issue altogether, they both agree a bribe will be more than likely be in order. Long story short, Olya's mother took her passport to Olya's work, where they then scanned it, emailed and we found an internet café, printed it off and bought the tickets. We leave at 9 and should be back in Yaroslavl by 1:30 A.M.

It is now 3 oclock in the afternoon, our train leaves in 6 hours, we head for the Metro and then to Red Square. I've read a lot of travel blogs, journals and guides about Russia and the general consenus seems to be that most people come away being anything but impressed and overwhelmed after visitng Red Square. Maybe they're just jaded and cynical, and perhaps I'm just too young and naive but the experience for me was completely overhwelming ( I considered using the world awesome here). I don't know what else to say, other than I spent the afternoon wondering around Red Square in a perpetual state of awe.

After a few hours there we walked along the banks of the Moskva, but didn't manage to find Gorky Park (thank you, I'll be here all week, try the veale). A few more hours wandering around the city and the metro stations (which are among the most gorgeous things I've seen in Russia, by the way) and it was time to head back to Yaro. Olya begged and pleaded with the carriage attendant who finally let her on the train with just the copy, but not without a stern lecture of about why she should always carry her passport.

From Spurgeon, Indiana to Moscow. I'll try and check in tommorow before I leave, supposedly there is some sort of party in my honor at the Unicorn center tommorow night.