Moscow is for Lovers

On a steel structure in the middle of a walking bridge, hundreds of Moscovites have gone with their lovers and locked a padlock in a symbolic show of their commitment to each other. But that’s not why I think Moscow is for lovers. Most Russians are bored by such acts and instead prefer the instant gratification of sloppily kissing, heavy petting, and slightly undressing in public. I didn’t understand it at first, but I’ll guess it has something to do with the common Russian home not having a basement. For whatever reason, Moscovian parks are full of couples rolling around together in the grass, kissing atop bridges over looking the Moscow River and more-than-tenderly embracing each in front of St. Basil’s. On account of the extreme beauty on the Russian women, admittedly I did feel a little jealous at first but it didn’t take long before Peter and I met two Turkish girls in the Tretyakov museum. Suddenly Moscow wasn’t so lonely. We never made it to this extreme, however. This wonderful couple is a prime, albeit extreme, example of the love out in the open in Moscow. It’s certainly the exception and not the rule of Moscovian PDAs but these two are most certainly in love. Or just really drunk and in lust. Either way, Moscow is for lovers.

Lenin's Tomb: Best. Date. Ever.

I had offered noon as a meeting time but Esla and Emel asked us to meet them at Lenin’s Grave at 9:30 in the morning. Not being idiots, we agreed and made it there by 10. Making an already slightly morbid meeting more ominous, it rained all morning while we waited an hour in line to see Lenin’s corpse. Soaked through, we eventually made it to the mauseleum and entered the minimalist structure. Making the creepy halls even more surreal were the soldiers who silently pointed in the direction we were to walk. Inside a square room with no decorations, Lenin lay dead and waxy in a brightly lit glass casket. It was the only moment of pure silence we’ve had on our trip. His ear was slightly decaying and his eyes looked sewn shut. His signature Lenin goatee-moustache was intact but sparse but carefully manicured. Getting soaked in rain before seeing an old dead guy really set the mood for the rest of the day with the Turks. After such a morning in Moscow, things could only get better.

The Kremlin

Glimpses of Moscow

I Hate Russia, I Love Russia

Only an hour into our travels into Moscow we were walking down an empty street when two money hungry police officers stopped us and bothered us about having proper documentation while traveling through their police state. We couldn't produce the legal paperwork but each graduated from U of M with a minor in bullshit and were able to escape paying anyfines. Just when we were excited to have arrived in the city, these cops had to come and hassle us, threatening to take us to the station and ruining our morning. I hate Russia. In the Red Square, down Arbat Street, in local parks, just about anywhere, drinking pivos (beers) in the open is okay. Of course, there's always the possibility of a fine-hungry cop looking to for some pocket rubles, but with pivos out in the open, wherever we want, I think Russia might have one-upped the US on this one. I love Russia. Walking down the street toward the Pushkin Museum I was lagging behind Peter and Sara taking pictures when a dozen men in uniform poured out of the official-looking building and ran towards us across the street. The soldiers ran right up to me and in Russian told me that I could not take pictures of the building. They made me delete my memory card of pictures and declined my request to have a group shot taken of them in front of the building. I hate Russia. Wandering around an inspiring sculpture garden, Peter made an idiot move and left his camera sitting on a random bench in the park. He didn't notice his camera was lost until 30 minutes later when we were sitting in a small cafe. He ran back to the benches we had been to but his camera was nowhere to be found. Just when we thought the camera was gone for good a Russian man walked up to our table and handed extended out his hand with Peter's camera in it. He had found the camera, looked through the photos in it and found us still sitting in the sculpture garden. What a great Russian guy. Here's a picture of Peter with the man and his family. I love Russia.