h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

The grey sky hung low, pressing you into the ground, opening out the horizon and forcing everything around into small insignificance. Against this unpreposing canvas the reds and yellows of the trees glowed damply. Green grass was brighter. Buildings were whiter, and every little scrap of litter on the ground shone out in lurid advertisement. There was no wind, and no chill in the air. Instead you were wrapped in a gentle soothing clagginess, soon warmed away as the fires were lit and bottles of beer were broached. It was, in short, a distinctly autumnal kind of day.

First, of course was the enforced dash through culture; a trip around the New Jerusalem Monestry, undergoing, in common with every other Russian church at this time, extensive renovations. And just where are they getting the money for the hand-painted frescoes, re-plastered walls, gold-leafed cupolas and heavily-carved stonemasonry, eh? The highlight of the visit: a stone, emphatically heralded as an exact copy of the boulder which once covered the enterance of the tomb of Christ(a third of the original size, you understand). A solemn precession on irritable foriegners shuffled past, intoning "But how do they know?"

Then release. Into the park. Head for the windmill. Ignore the replica wooden peasents hut and chapel, ignore Patriach Nikon's home-in-exile, ignore the riverside baptismal platform, ignore the colourful wishing trees with their penants of hankerchiefs, scarfs and plastic bags. The beer has arrived. But there is little time to relax, for the entertainment the Boss laid on is spectacular. In the middle of a field, in the middle of the sodden Russian countryside, you are seranaded by a full brass band, complete with baton-twirling, bright-smiling majorettes in shocking blue and red uniforms. And then, still reeling from the incongruity of it all, the Russian singers come on, persuade a gaggle of capering lads to take bread and salt, chivy the company into the Spoon Game, and start up the endlessly popular Tunnel Procession, last seen played by teenagers on Red Square before a pop-concert.

And so to bed.......drunken staggering in the half-light, singing, whispering, collapsing.

I could remind you of the gossip. But.....
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With more snow on the ground Moscow looks better.
Missing Gorky in the snow. Wide streets and icy breath.

Too right. And it snowed last week. Jealous much?

Goin' Back soon ....

Have you been to Suzdal / Vladimir.

We went there and stayed in the GTK (Intourist) but we found this lovely little hotel just off the main road (too late for us unfortunately) Nice food very cosy & decent sizes. No idea of the name or phone number but worth looking for. Excellent for a weekend in the snow & a bit of Ol' Mother Russia.

Poka

Nope. I am exceptionally badly travelled for someone who lives in such a large and diverse country. I am going to Tallin today though. And I've heard Susdal is very nice, so it is something to think about. Cheers!

Note to self (sorry PG):

New Jerusalem was part of the archipeligo. Today's unhappy thought.