Voga Boatman Episode 7: Moscow

Moscow (“Moskva” in Russian).  The onion-domed, haphazard old Russian counterpoint to St. Petersburg’s deliberate, neo-classical facades.  A constant, hectic race-for-survival, as contrasted with a haughty weekend stroll down Nevsky Prospekt.  The motherly homeland to the forward-looking father figure of Petersburg (much has been made of the automated voice on each city’s metro: Male in Petersburg, female in Moscow).

I saw (again) Lenin’s body still intact in his tomb, with Stalin, long since removed from embalmed glory, buried outside, next to the Kremlin wall.  It gave me a guilty thrill, but I have to say it’s time to knock Lenin down a peg or two.  Forget this nonsense about letting him “rest in peace”; it’s a pile of chemically preserved flesh.  Nonetheless, this pile of flesh is still far too revered.  Stalin was discredited in the ’60s and has at least become a controversial figure (the very least he should be after destroying millions of his countrymen), but Lenin still remains a goodly hero in the mass mentality.  It was this glittering golden god, however, who set the standard for ritualized destruction of innocent peasants, declaring “Merciless mass terror against the kulaks … Death to them!”

So I’m with Gorbachev on this one.  But now that my rant’s over, I can say it was a nice little trip, in all.

Old ladies (the more polite Russian term can be loosely translated as "well-lived") in Russia often wear their hair purple. This is on account of the cheap shampoo their pensions afford.

The Slava ("Glory") watch company, which used to sell parts to Swiss watchmakers.

A small bit of nature in the middle of the big city.