Break open the bubbly - I am finally a real, authentic working girl. That's working girl like Dolly Parton in "9 to 5", not working girl like Julia Roberts in "Pretty Woman". The gun has gone off and the rat race has begun, I am officially stuck in an office working 9 to 5 for the man. Oooh wow, could that sentence be more packed with cliches?
It's not a great job, but it's a good job, and it'll pay the bills. Unbelievably I am again working for a cleaning company (why why why??) but this job has more responsibility, more administration (I get to do the accounting and payroll...hmmm, how much do I want to earn this week??) and last but definitely not least, more $$$. Well, actually, more €€€. So now I have a job, a flat, a credit card, and a handbag...does this mean I have a life? People have been telling me to get one, and I have.
I'm having fun listening to the Irish accent, but to tell you the truth, it's difficult to find. You're more likely to run into a Spanish, Polish, Portuguese, French, Chinese, German or even Argentine person here rather than Irish. But they have fun with my accent too, there's not too many Aussies here, nowhere near as many as London, so I guess it's still kind of a novelty. The thing I find funny is that the Marias say I speak with an Argentine accent...when I speak Spanish it's always with a really terrible Australian accent, but they can hear the Argentine accent underneath it. But they are Spanish-alising me...pretty soon I'll be saying "falda" instead of "pollera", "piscina" instead of "pileta" and even "coger" instead of "conseguir" (no, never!)! By the way, they do have 2 Ojos de Brujo CDs, they are really cool! I'll ask them about Bebe.
Anyway, better go learn how to do accounting and payroll - I have 36 hours or so before my job starts, that should be enough right? Or I could go on a spending spree at Penneys instead...that sounds like a better idea. Eeek, I really hope I don't suck at this job!
ATTENTION JOANNA CHAN: I have been emailing you for ages wondering why you don't reply. Do you still check your tigerstars email? Email me and let me know what's going on!
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Friday, June 24, 2005
Home sweet home.
Congratulate me - I get to pay €285 per month for the privelege of co-renting four walls, a floor and a ceiling with three other girls. It's better than sleeping on the streets, right? Actually the place is reasonably big (for inner-city Dublin) and the girls I'm sharing with are great. There's Diana, a Dutch girl who has just quit her job at Xerox because she can't stand it, loves travelling and partying, and, among other things, shares my room. There's Maria B (from Bilbao) who's just landed a job at the airport, is a real softie (but brave) and looks a bit like Penelope Cruz. Last but not least there's Maria M (from Madrid) who looks quiet and innocent, but I'm sure there's hidden depths to her (she used to date a scruffy bass player from a band that's apparently quite huge now in Spain (they're called elbicho and I like them a lot). I like all my housemates, but Maria B and I really get on like Vegemite and cheese. She told me yesterday she was really happy that I'd moved into the flat, and I said the same. It's like we've already known each other for years! Maybe it's because we have the same kind of background. I was telling Maria B about my favourite record in the whole world, a recording of a concert by Vinicius de Moraes, and lo and behold, she goes into Maria M's cd collection and pulls out that exact recording! I couldn't believe it - probably about five people, tops, would have that record in Ireland, and I move in with one of them.
The three of them smoke profusely, which can be trying at times, but I'd rather live with three great girls who smoke than three dull or mean non-smokers. Fast forward 50 years to when I have lung cancer and I'll be singing a different tune, but for now I like it here. It still doesn't feel like "home", it's like I'm crashing at a friend's place. But hey, I've only lived there for five days. Soon I won't be able to imagine living anywhere else. I don't miss my house yet - family and friends yes, but not the physical space I call home.
Last night was great fun. Unfortunately, Diana had a headache and went straight to bed, but when Maria B got home we made dinner together and chatted away with some music in the background. In fact I almost felt like I was in Spain as we were talking in Spanish, with Spanish music on (elbicho) and we were eating spaghetti bolognaise with red wine - altogether quite Mediterranean. Afterwards I helped Maria study for her test at work, Maria M came home, and we stayed up late watching an elbicho concert on DVD.
This whole housing thing has worked out quite well. I must admit I was anxious since I've read "He Died With a Felafel in His Hand". What if I hated my housemates? What if they stole all my stuff and left me high and dry with the rent cheque? It could happen you know - I've been quite lucky. One small downer. I still don't have any way of paying for this cool new flat. I've realised that my daydream where I sail into a great job a week after landing in Dublin is just that - a dream. It's probably going to take a month or so to get one, so I'm going to have to be patient.
The three of them smoke profusely, which can be trying at times, but I'd rather live with three great girls who smoke than three dull or mean non-smokers. Fast forward 50 years to when I have lung cancer and I'll be singing a different tune, but for now I like it here. It still doesn't feel like "home", it's like I'm crashing at a friend's place. But hey, I've only lived there for five days. Soon I won't be able to imagine living anywhere else. I don't miss my house yet - family and friends yes, but not the physical space I call home.
Last night was great fun. Unfortunately, Diana had a headache and went straight to bed, but when Maria B got home we made dinner together and chatted away with some music in the background. In fact I almost felt like I was in Spain as we were talking in Spanish, with Spanish music on (elbicho) and we were eating spaghetti bolognaise with red wine - altogether quite Mediterranean. Afterwards I helped Maria study for her test at work, Maria M came home, and we stayed up late watching an elbicho concert on DVD.
This whole housing thing has worked out quite well. I must admit I was anxious since I've read "He Died With a Felafel in His Hand". What if I hated my housemates? What if they stole all my stuff and left me high and dry with the rent cheque? It could happen you know - I've been quite lucky. One small downer. I still don't have any way of paying for this cool new flat. I've realised that my daydream where I sail into a great job a week after landing in Dublin is just that - a dream. It's probably going to take a month or so to get one, so I'm going to have to be patient.
Saturday, June 18, 2005
Don't mind me, I'm tired and cranky.
Jobhunting is totally brutal. I don't care how intelligent you are, or if you have a degree, no one wants to know unless you have 25 thousand years experience in a similar position. Even in the best case scenario they take three weeks to interview you, then a week to decide they want you, and by then you've spent a month sitting on your butt, and your bank account is wailing.
At least today at the Department of Social and Family Affairs things went kind of smoothly. No one demanded paperwork I hadn't brought, just for the fun of it, as beaurocrats are wont to do on occasion. They just glared at my forms, glared at me, and said, "You'll get your PPS number in seven days". (PPSN is like a Tax File Number).
Is it a prerequisite for government staff to be bad-tempered? They must put out job ads like, "Are you bitter and twisted? Is your life so terrible you have to pick on other people to make yourself feel better? Become a government employee! You'll get the chance to make hundreds of people's lives hell on a daily basis, just by throwing unnecessary red tape at them! And service with a smile? Forget it!"
Either that or the job is so mindlessly boring it turns them into lunatics that want to kill you for having the cheek to ask for a form you need to get employed in their country. That said, everything went smoothly, for me anyway, not so much for the non-English speakers.
Tonight I'm going to check out a flat. I'm not expecting much since the last one I saw was the size of a postage stamp. But what can you expect when your criteria is "dirt cheapest thing I can find"? In fact, I was going to take that place, but another girl beat me to it. Yes, we're fighting over every square centimetre here. There's a housing crisis in Dublin, haven't you heard? I like living in the city though, especially after having lived in Eltham for so long. I'll probably want to move back to the suburbs eventually, but for now I'd like to try city living. I'll be glad to get out of this dorm anyway. It was fun at first, with all the cool people I was meeting. But when you've got an interview early in the morning, and you're awake till 2 am because there's people drinking on the steps of the hostel, and then at 4 am a group of six boisterous Yorkshire lads comes home from a night of boozing and wakes you again, you get over it. But it's only temporary, a little glitch on the cassette tape that is my life.
At least today at the Department of Social and Family Affairs things went kind of smoothly. No one demanded paperwork I hadn't brought, just for the fun of it, as beaurocrats are wont to do on occasion. They just glared at my forms, glared at me, and said, "You'll get your PPS number in seven days". (PPSN is like a Tax File Number).
Is it a prerequisite for government staff to be bad-tempered? They must put out job ads like, "Are you bitter and twisted? Is your life so terrible you have to pick on other people to make yourself feel better? Become a government employee! You'll get the chance to make hundreds of people's lives hell on a daily basis, just by throwing unnecessary red tape at them! And service with a smile? Forget it!"
Either that or the job is so mindlessly boring it turns them into lunatics that want to kill you for having the cheek to ask for a form you need to get employed in their country. That said, everything went smoothly, for me anyway, not so much for the non-English speakers.
Tonight I'm going to check out a flat. I'm not expecting much since the last one I saw was the size of a postage stamp. But what can you expect when your criteria is "dirt cheapest thing I can find"? In fact, I was going to take that place, but another girl beat me to it. Yes, we're fighting over every square centimetre here. There's a housing crisis in Dublin, haven't you heard? I like living in the city though, especially after having lived in Eltham for so long. I'll probably want to move back to the suburbs eventually, but for now I'd like to try city living. I'll be glad to get out of this dorm anyway. It was fun at first, with all the cool people I was meeting. But when you've got an interview early in the morning, and you're awake till 2 am because there's people drinking on the steps of the hostel, and then at 4 am a group of six boisterous Yorkshire lads comes home from a night of boozing and wakes you again, you get over it. But it's only temporary, a little glitch on the cassette tape that is my life.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
I found the craic
I spent most of yesterday sending out resume after resume, up until about 3:00, when a) my internet time ran out, and b) I got sick of it.
I didn't have a clue what to do for the rest of the day though; no work to do, no friends to see. I turned to my trusty Lonely Planet guide, which includes some self-guided walking tours around Dublin. I should get some touristy stuff done before work starts taking over my life, no? So I set off to do some sightseeing - but I didn't get far. I hadn't reckoned on the legendary friendliness of the Irish people. No sooner had I spotted the first sight of my tour (some big ol' church) than a lovely old Irish gent said hello to me. I said hello back and we got to talking. He told me some lovely Gaelic poems (in English) and I told him about my travels.
After a while (being Irish and all) he invited me down to the pub on the corner for a pint. So we sat and chatted over a Guinness (my first in Ireland, and might I say it's a damn sight better here) and he told me about being a shipbuilder, and fighting in the IRA, and about meeting the love of his life. Sean Halpin, his name is. We were soon joined by another random bloke who was sitting at the bar, and the three of us were chatting away like old friends. When we parted ways, Sean showed me a secret IRA hideout where he and his mates used to live back when they were "fighting the British".
This is what comes of actually taking the time to say hello to someone, instead of walking by in a great big hurry like I would normally do (granted, it's not often I don't have anything else to do other than chat to strangers). Add a little Irish warm-heartedness and you have a very pleasant afternoon.
I didn't have a clue what to do for the rest of the day though; no work to do, no friends to see. I turned to my trusty Lonely Planet guide, which includes some self-guided walking tours around Dublin. I should get some touristy stuff done before work starts taking over my life, no? So I set off to do some sightseeing - but I didn't get far. I hadn't reckoned on the legendary friendliness of the Irish people. No sooner had I spotted the first sight of my tour (some big ol' church) than a lovely old Irish gent said hello to me. I said hello back and we got to talking. He told me some lovely Gaelic poems (in English) and I told him about my travels.
After a while (being Irish and all) he invited me down to the pub on the corner for a pint. So we sat and chatted over a Guinness (my first in Ireland, and might I say it's a damn sight better here) and he told me about being a shipbuilder, and fighting in the IRA, and about meeting the love of his life. Sean Halpin, his name is. We were soon joined by another random bloke who was sitting at the bar, and the three of us were chatting away like old friends. When we parted ways, Sean showed me a secret IRA hideout where he and his mates used to live back when they were "fighting the British".
This is what comes of actually taking the time to say hello to someone, instead of walking by in a great big hurry like I would normally do (granted, it's not often I don't have anything else to do other than chat to strangers). Add a little Irish warm-heartedness and you have a very pleasant afternoon.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Welcome to the Emerald Isle
I'm finally in Dublin. I'm more scared now than I was when I first got to Europe, because now I have to stop being a silly party animal and begin my life anew. A big scary life, with responsibilities. I don't envy my parents, who moved countries and started a new life in Australia with two children, not knowing the language, or what lay ahead of them. I'm terrified because I don't have a job or a place to live, and I don't even have children or a foreign language to worry about.
Speaking about languages, it's so good to be back in an English speaking country. Things like catching the correct bus become merely confusing rather than insanely difficult. I made it to the hostel with relative ease, and proceeded to catch up on some more sleep (thanks to another late night in Copenhagen). When I woke there was a man in my room - which was ok since it's a 10 bed dorm. He was from New Jersey and we got chatting, and went out to get dinner and so on, till we finally made it to bed about midnight. About 1 am, a group of 9 Americans waltzes into our room, finds there's not enough beds, goes down to reception, figures that the other American guy (the one from Jersey) is in the wrong room, kick him out and go to sleep, after apologising profusely. We got chatting in the morning about Bush, sports, the educational system, Australia and so on. I'd love to live in hostels for the rest of my life, you meet the most interesting people! Can't wait to see who's in my room tonight. I've got an Irish SIM card now, I'll email the number around later, so tomorrow I will be jobhunting in earnest instead of this half-assed walking around I have been doing so far. But it's a little pointless applying for jobs when they can't contact you to tell you if you have them or not. Right now I'm anxious, but feeling kind of okay given that I've still got 11 more days to find a job and a house. Well, 10 after today. Keep your fingers crossed for me, please. I need all the luck I can get at the moment. I'll keep you all posted when I find something! Take care!
Speaking about languages, it's so good to be back in an English speaking country. Things like catching the correct bus become merely confusing rather than insanely difficult. I made it to the hostel with relative ease, and proceeded to catch up on some more sleep (thanks to another late night in Copenhagen). When I woke there was a man in my room - which was ok since it's a 10 bed dorm. He was from New Jersey and we got chatting, and went out to get dinner and so on, till we finally made it to bed about midnight. About 1 am, a group of 9 Americans waltzes into our room, finds there's not enough beds, goes down to reception, figures that the other American guy (the one from Jersey) is in the wrong room, kick him out and go to sleep, after apologising profusely. We got chatting in the morning about Bush, sports, the educational system, Australia and so on. I'd love to live in hostels for the rest of my life, you meet the most interesting people! Can't wait to see who's in my room tonight. I've got an Irish SIM card now, I'll email the number around later, so tomorrow I will be jobhunting in earnest instead of this half-assed walking around I have been doing so far. But it's a little pointless applying for jobs when they can't contact you to tell you if you have them or not. Right now I'm anxious, but feeling kind of okay given that I've still got 11 more days to find a job and a house. Well, 10 after today. Keep your fingers crossed for me, please. I need all the luck I can get at the moment. I'll keep you all posted when I find something! Take care!
Scandinavia/Russia: The lowdown.
The 21 day whirlwind has finally come to an end, and the time has now come to review, reflect, and tell you all about it. I had originally intended to begin at the beginning, go through all the middle parts in chronological order, and finish at the end. After attempting this method I realised two things: firstly, writing down every single thing that happened is going to take another 3 weeks; and you would all be terminally bored after the first five minutes and would never read this blog again. So this will just be the highlights, in kind of chronological order, with a lot of glossing. It's still gonna be long though, so go and get yourself a caffeinated beverage. *Deep breath*
I arrived at the hostel in Copenhagen very wide eyed and not having a clue what to expect, from my tour mates in particular. Will they be awful? (Doubt it). Will the tour suck? (Maybe). Will I have an unforgettable experience? (Most likely.) My fears were allayed almost at once when I found out one of my roommates was a big Beatles fan. I figured the trip can't be all bad if there's Beatles fans aboard.
Dinner that night was lovely but very civilised - everyone was on their best behaviour. I can barely believe it now that we've gotten to know each other and become quite the raucous bunch. Everyone was keen to go home to bed afterwards too, which I found strange since I'd heard so much about Contiki being a non stop party.
Our tour really started the next day in Copenhagen with a tour of some totally underwhelming sights - the little mermaid statue (tiny statue on a rock); the Carlsberg brewery (closed, but they gave us free beer so it was kind of worthwhile); and of course, Amelienborg palace, where Fred and Mary live, with Fred's mum Queen Margarethe next door (Plain palace with requisite stony faced guards outside wearing silly uniforms and hats). After we got dropped off in the city we did some real sightseeing, first stop the Rosenborg palace, home to the finest crown jewels I have seen so far in Europe. We climbed the 400 steps to the top of the Church of Our Saviour (breathtaking views of Copenhagen, if you don't have a coronary first). That was a real "Oh my god! I'm in Europe!" moment. We strolled down Nyhaven, sort of like the Lygon street of Copenhagen, only better because of the picturesque old buildings and the canal in the middle. It was a lovely warm Sunday, everyone was dining al fresco or sitting by the canal.
Day 3 we crossed the ferry from Copenhagen to Stockholm, but not before we had our first crisis. Standing at the docks, someone asked semi-casually, "Uh, where's Chris?" At Copenhagen Central station, it turns out. Oops. He made the boat in time, although slightly red-faced. Lucky Richard got all our mobile numbers before the trip. We stayed in cabins that night, might I tell you I was not happy at having to walk through the entire campsite to reach the showers. Such is life on a Contiki tour - at least we got showers.
Next day the highlight was a tour through the town hall in Stockholm, where the Nobel Prizes are awarded. I got a big kick out of standing at the top of the stairs where the awardees come down and thinking, "Richard Feynman stood here!". Not to mention plenty of others, but he's the one I remembered first. I was pleased to find that about 50% of Sweden's parliament is female...go girl power! I found this out courtesy of our tour guide, who by the way, not that it matters at all, was really good-looking - hurrah for Swedish people!
Next was the Vasa museum, all about this big ship that sank. The ship itself was pretty cool, but I'd had my fill of maritime museums in Greenwich. We wandered around the Old Town (Gamla Stan) checking out all the old buildings and the shops, not that we could buy anything. Scandinavia is horrendously expensive, you spend your whole time converting things into Aussie dollars and cringeing. Aside from the expense I could totally live in Sweden or Denmark. They are totally safe, law-abiding, clean and interesting. The Danes won't cross the street without the little green man, not even in the middle of the night when there's no cars around. They also love candles. There's candles everywhere in Scandinavia.
The next night was the infamous Baltic Ferry from Stockholm to Helsinki, notoriously nicknamed the "Love Boat". Three guesses why. There was a Smorgasbord dinner on the ship, with as much beer and wine as you can drink in two hours, so you can imagine what the atmosphere was like. After dinner, the moment I have been waiting for for God knows how long: the final of the European Champions League. Up until the final I was convinced that Liverpool would be eliminated any moment, but hell, if they made it to the final why couldn't they win it? I was totally excited to the point that my tour mates were remarking on it (I guess they still didn't know me all that well) and when they finally won it I couldn't stop hugging everyone in excitement. I just wish there was another Reds fan there to enjoy it with me. The guy at the bar played "You'll never walk alone", and I sang - it was a magical moment. After the match, time to head over to the nightclub on the boat, where we danced the night away while trying to avoid what were surely 13 year olds trying to pick us up. That was also where I saw the most gorgeous man in the universe - 6 feet of blonde Swedish yumminess. We all partied hard and eight of us fell asleep in the one room (for four people) at around four am.
I woke up the next morning dead tired but looking forward to seeing Helsinki. Yes, Finland, Finland, Finland, the country where I would quite like to be. I got off the boat and astounded my tour mates by skipping and jumping around and generally not looking like death warmed up, which is how most everyone was looking. (My secret? Drink water, not vodka! It's that easy!) Kyle especially was the worse for wear and had to be escorted to the hospital by Amy and Amanda! How do you say "alcohol poisoning" in Finnish? Anyway, how could you not be excited in a new city? We saw the Sibelius monument (very cool), the Olympic stadium (closed) and an interesting church who's roof is made of a giant coil of copper wire. There's actually more to do in Helsinki than you might think, but we didn't get a chance in the 24 hours we spent there. The excitement level was rising though - next day, Russia! This is what I had been waiting for all trip.
The border crossing into Russia was just what I was expecting - dour-faced and humourless border guards. They didn't even crack a smile. This was also our first exposure to the epidemic that is taking Russia by storm - miniskirts. All the women wear dead short skirts, some of them have quite bad dress sense too. After the border crossing, a seemingly interminable drive to St. Petersburg. When we got there we drove out to the Baltic sea, where we had a little vodka (When in Russia...right?) then to the Bronze Horseman statue, which was totally exciting for me, for a little champagneski (that's what the Russians call it).
It was so incredible to finally be in Russia. There was a live band playing at dinner that night (well, a pianist and a singer). They were singing Russian music but they played one Beatles song and it got such a good reception they kept going. They must have played their entire Beatles repertoire that night. Eventually Richard herded us out the door, but the party continued on the bus ride home, singing and dancing in the aisles, and being generally rowdy, poor Matt (the driver).
St Petersburg is a Western city, built in ancient Greek and Italian styles. There's literally a palace on every corner - the Tsars would have them built for their lovers and friends or whoever. The Hermitage was totally awe-inspiring - They have two Leonardos and a couple of rooms full of Picassos, not to mention almost a floor of Impressionist paintings (Impressionists. *yawn*). The tour guides gave us the full course load of Russian history - from Peter the Great to Putin. The Romanovs were not very nice people actually - half of them were killed by family members or had a family member put out a contract on their life. But boy did they have beautiful clothes, carriages, jewelry, furniture and works of art.
At night (if you could call it that, it gets dark in St Petersburg at around midnight in the summer months) we went to see the Russian Ballet, which was good, but not as exciting as I thought it would be, and the next night we saw a Russian folklore show, which I was convinced would be totally boring but was fabulous. Those Cossack dancers have amazing strength and flexibility! After the shows it was back to the hotel for a rowdy room party, which were always a fun time to chat and mess around, especially if you were sitting near Aly, a sassy Texan from San Antonio. She was always good for a few laughs. But you know me, it gets late into the night and all I want to do is talk philosophy and the meaning of life, and usually I was able to find someone to have a good D&M with.
The best thing about St Petersburg was the Leningrad memorial. It's there to remember those who died during the seige of Leningrad in WW2. It's a massive ring with a portion missing, symbolising Lake Ladoga, which is how they managed to finally get food past the German soldiers into the city (the lake freezes over in the winter) and break the seige. Inside the memorial are 300 candles, one for each day of the seige, made out of shells that were actually used in the war. The most chilling thing was the metronome-like clicking that echoes through the memorial. It's a beacon to Moscow, and if it ever stops, the Russians will know that St Petersburg has been destroyed.
Next stop, Novgorod. Totally flattened during the war, it's now a funny little Russian rural university town. It's a holiday spot for the Russians, thanks to the beach and Lake Ilmen. The oldest Kremlin in the country is also there, since Novgorod was actually the first capital of Russia. There's also plenty of war memorials. If they saved up all the money they spend on war memorials in Russia they could probably pull themselves out of economic crisis.
Next day, onwards to Moscow. We got there in the early evening, and the first thing we saw was St Basil's cathedral, which is fabulous, but reminds me of ice-cream, which takes a little away from the awe-inspiringness of it all. I stood in Red Square, took a deep breath, and thought, "Holy Shit! I'm in Moscow!". I noticed Kyle was barefoot, and asked him why. He replied, "I'm connecting with Mother Russia". So I whipped off my shoes and socks and felt the Red Square under my feet.
Moscow was totally incredible, I've already talked about Lenin and Putin, but even the ordinary things are totally extraordinary, like the subway. Many of the stations are decorated with intricate mosaics, busts of Lenin or whoever, and more chandeliers than you can poke a stick at. Our guide Galina told us that the government is slowly taking down all the communist related memorabilia around Moscow, from the Lenin statues to the red stars atop the Kremlin. They even want to bury Lenin once and for all. Apparently it reminds the people of the "good old days" of Communism where the state provided everything that people needed, like housing, education, and whatever, which they have to pay for now. I wanted to point out that what the government said they were providing and what they were actually providing were two totally different things, but I kept my mouth shut. Anyway so all this memorabilia is getting taken away and melted down into raw materials, it's not even getting preserved in a museum, which is totally sad. I feel priveleged to have been able to see it while it was still around.
Moscow was slightly scarier than St. Petersburg - we were told to take photos very unobtrusively outside the KGB building, and that all the black Mercedes were Mafia bosses' cars, and you get shot if you scratch one. Later, on our way to a museum, Amy scratched one with the zip on her jacket. Her reaction? "Oh dear". Then she bolted to the museum. Another time, at the Kremlin, Kyle leant against a wall to throw up, and a big chunk of it came off! So he not only threw up on the Kremlin, he broke it as well. Silly boy. I don't think he even got nietted for it.
While we're on the topic, I have to tell you about nietting. When we first got to St. Petersburg, our guide Anna told us about the "niet niet ladies" in the museums. They are middle aged or old ladies who basically sit in a chair in the corner of one of the rooms of the museum and look sour. Some of them watch you like a hawk, some of them sleep. If you touch anything, go through a door you shouldn't, or breathe in the wrong direction, they'll yell "NIET! NIET!" (NO! NO!) at you, and you're in all kinds of trouble. So anytime we were refused anything, or got busted for something, we got "nietted". By this stage we had also developed a checklist for new towns - we had to see:
* A "pointy-sticky-uppy-thing" (i.e. an obelisk, not hard to find)
* A cathedral named "Redemption" or "Assumption" or similar
* A war memorial
* A fort or significant bridge
* A statue of a guy on a horse
and we could say we'd seen the city. Oh, by the way, we bought black market CDs and DVDs off Dogdy Serge, because we could.
From Moscow to Yartsevo and the ultimate in dodgy accomodation. On the way there Richard (alias Richie Rich) mentioned we would be staying in a brothel. I assumed he meant a converted brothel. This turned out not to be the case. After a dinner of schnitzel and chips (fifth night running) there was an interesting dance show put on by some girls from the local dance school. Naturally when the music started up again I figured it would be more dancing girls. I was right, but these ones were also removing items of clothing. Us girls tried not to look too disgusted as we sipped our beers, and the guys tried not to look too interested as they sipped theirs. After the strip show, a singer (Alexei) appeared and started singing Russian pop songs, and all the "ladies of the night" got up to dance with their prospective clients.We decided dancing looked like fun, so we got up and boogied too, much to the amusement of the locals. We danced and talked and danced and generally had a jolly old time, until Liz told us there were going to be fireworks outside in honour of Alexei's (the singer's) birthday. By this time it was about two or three am, and there was only about five or six of us Contiki-ites awake. We watched the fireworks, and us Antipodeans sang Alexei "Happy Birthday", and then the staff sang something in Russian. It was great, probably one of my top three moments in Russia. We went back inside where Dodgy Mikhail and Dodgy Vladimir (Mafia cousins of Dodgy Serge) were giving out free cognac and beer. We stayed up dancing till five or six am, and then went to bed for some well deserved rest. I must say, aside from the dodgyness of it all, that that was one of the funnest nights on tour. It just sounds weird when you say you had a great time in a Russian brothel partying all night with prostitutes and Mafiosos.
Minsk was a welcome change from Yartsevo, although anything would have been better than that place. It's small, clean and pretty, with still more war memorials. Apparently it's the custom in Russia to visit a war memorial to pay your respects when you get married, because we saw like 8 brides at the main memorial in Minsk, and I swear to you none of them were a day older than 23, and some looked not even 20. Scary.
Next day to Warsaw, through the border out of Russia which miraculously took only two hours, an unbelievable time, and we were on our way. Truth be told I wasn't looking forward to Warsaw that much. What's in Warsaw? Well, apart from yet another currency (zlotys) there's a pretty city with nice parks, statues and yet more war memorials. The poor Poles have taken a beating over the years, invaded by the Russians and Germans and whoever else felt the need over the years. They really got a pummeling in WW2 - out of 3 million Polish Jews there are 300,000 left now. That's a whole order of magnitude! The hotel in Warsaw was something else - finally comfy beds, real food (with vegetables - *gasp*) and service with a smile! We went out to a raucus jazz club for a few cheeky drinks before we headed back to the hotel.
Next day was the drive to Berlin. We drove and drove and drove all day till we finally made it to the wall and took a thousand pictures. Then to a German beer hall for wurst, saurkraut and kartoffelnpuree (sausage, saurkraut and mashed potatoes) and a stein of beer, which is a litre. Those things are massive, I couldn't drink a whole one, but we all had a good time. In true Berlin fashion the night didn't end there and we stayed up all night at the hostel bar playing pool and dancing. Sarah, my roommate, must have wanted to kill me by this stage, as she was usually in bed by 10 or 11, and I hadn't come in before three am in about a week. Next day in Berlin, a third reich walking tour with our pommy geezer guide Henry, who was totally gorgeous and intelligent but has a girlfriend *sigh*. After that I met up with Emily which was totally exciting - she showed me the "real" Berlin - Kaffe und Kuchen, punks and their dogs, and people relieving themselves in public. Plus we chatted and caught up on general stuff which was fun.
That night was dinner and a pub crawl to some interesting East Berlin bars, and we ended up at a nightclub which thankfully wasn't playing doof doof music, and danced the night away. That was fun but I was totally spent from all the partying and the next day on the drive back to Copenhagen I actually slept on the bus for the first time on tour. It was a melancholy bus ride, we were all exhausted not to mention it was the last full day of the tour. We had relaxed chats in the sunshine as we waited for our ferry, then pretty much slept all the way to Copenhagen. We went out for Mexican food (in Denmark, go figure) which was totally not exciting but the room party afterwards was totally fun. Steve and Sheena asked me to do the thankyous for Richie Rich and Matt, and although I was totally nervous I got a few laughs in the right places so I survived.
The next morning the tour ended after breakfast but everyone was tired and cranky, like the morning after a slumber party in primary school where everyone just wants to go home. It was still hard to say goodbye to everyone, especially Kath and Jill who I got quite close to during the three weeks. I wasn't homebound though, I was a woman on a mission. A laundry mission. I finally found a laundromat, but my excitement was short lived as I spent the next half an hour standing there, reading the instructions (in Danish) over and over and trying to figure out how to get the soap out of the dispenser. Thankfully a lovely Danish lady came in and helped me, or I'd probably still be there. Armed with my newly cleaned clothes, I collapsed on my bed to catch up on three weeks of sleep.
I couldn't spend the whole next day in Copenhagen sleeping though, so I tried to find some free stuff to do. One thing that jumped out at me was the Assistens Cemetary, which holds a who's who of Danish history, including Hans Christian Andersen, Soren Kirkegaard, and Niels and Harald Bohr. I took pictures of all of their graves, and then just spent time wandering around the cemetary, since it was so beautiful. Perfectly manicured, it was like a lovely park with headstones. I spent about three hours there, then went to a dodgy museum (it was free, so I guess I couldn't expect it to be interesting) then walked around Copenhagen so I could say my last goodbye to Scandinavia, at least for a while. Goodbye to the fun, holiday part of my trip, and hello to the scary, work part of my trip.
I arrived at the hostel in Copenhagen very wide eyed and not having a clue what to expect, from my tour mates in particular. Will they be awful? (Doubt it). Will the tour suck? (Maybe). Will I have an unforgettable experience? (Most likely.) My fears were allayed almost at once when I found out one of my roommates was a big Beatles fan. I figured the trip can't be all bad if there's Beatles fans aboard.
Dinner that night was lovely but very civilised - everyone was on their best behaviour. I can barely believe it now that we've gotten to know each other and become quite the raucous bunch. Everyone was keen to go home to bed afterwards too, which I found strange since I'd heard so much about Contiki being a non stop party.
Our tour really started the next day in Copenhagen with a tour of some totally underwhelming sights - the little mermaid statue (tiny statue on a rock); the Carlsberg brewery (closed, but they gave us free beer so it was kind of worthwhile); and of course, Amelienborg palace, where Fred and Mary live, with Fred's mum Queen Margarethe next door (Plain palace with requisite stony faced guards outside wearing silly uniforms and hats). After we got dropped off in the city we did some real sightseeing, first stop the Rosenborg palace, home to the finest crown jewels I have seen so far in Europe. We climbed the 400 steps to the top of the Church of Our Saviour (breathtaking views of Copenhagen, if you don't have a coronary first). That was a real "Oh my god! I'm in Europe!" moment. We strolled down Nyhaven, sort of like the Lygon street of Copenhagen, only better because of the picturesque old buildings and the canal in the middle. It was a lovely warm Sunday, everyone was dining al fresco or sitting by the canal.
Day 3 we crossed the ferry from Copenhagen to Stockholm, but not before we had our first crisis. Standing at the docks, someone asked semi-casually, "Uh, where's Chris?" At Copenhagen Central station, it turns out. Oops. He made the boat in time, although slightly red-faced. Lucky Richard got all our mobile numbers before the trip. We stayed in cabins that night, might I tell you I was not happy at having to walk through the entire campsite to reach the showers. Such is life on a Contiki tour - at least we got showers.
Next day the highlight was a tour through the town hall in Stockholm, where the Nobel Prizes are awarded. I got a big kick out of standing at the top of the stairs where the awardees come down and thinking, "Richard Feynman stood here!". Not to mention plenty of others, but he's the one I remembered first. I was pleased to find that about 50% of Sweden's parliament is female...go girl power! I found this out courtesy of our tour guide, who by the way, not that it matters at all, was really good-looking - hurrah for Swedish people!
Next was the Vasa museum, all about this big ship that sank. The ship itself was pretty cool, but I'd had my fill of maritime museums in Greenwich. We wandered around the Old Town (Gamla Stan) checking out all the old buildings and the shops, not that we could buy anything. Scandinavia is horrendously expensive, you spend your whole time converting things into Aussie dollars and cringeing. Aside from the expense I could totally live in Sweden or Denmark. They are totally safe, law-abiding, clean and interesting. The Danes won't cross the street without the little green man, not even in the middle of the night when there's no cars around. They also love candles. There's candles everywhere in Scandinavia.
The next night was the infamous Baltic Ferry from Stockholm to Helsinki, notoriously nicknamed the "Love Boat". Three guesses why. There was a Smorgasbord dinner on the ship, with as much beer and wine as you can drink in two hours, so you can imagine what the atmosphere was like. After dinner, the moment I have been waiting for for God knows how long: the final of the European Champions League. Up until the final I was convinced that Liverpool would be eliminated any moment, but hell, if they made it to the final why couldn't they win it? I was totally excited to the point that my tour mates were remarking on it (I guess they still didn't know me all that well) and when they finally won it I couldn't stop hugging everyone in excitement. I just wish there was another Reds fan there to enjoy it with me. The guy at the bar played "You'll never walk alone", and I sang - it was a magical moment. After the match, time to head over to the nightclub on the boat, where we danced the night away while trying to avoid what were surely 13 year olds trying to pick us up. That was also where I saw the most gorgeous man in the universe - 6 feet of blonde Swedish yumminess. We all partied hard and eight of us fell asleep in the one room (for four people) at around four am.
I woke up the next morning dead tired but looking forward to seeing Helsinki. Yes, Finland, Finland, Finland, the country where I would quite like to be. I got off the boat and astounded my tour mates by skipping and jumping around and generally not looking like death warmed up, which is how most everyone was looking. (My secret? Drink water, not vodka! It's that easy!) Kyle especially was the worse for wear and had to be escorted to the hospital by Amy and Amanda! How do you say "alcohol poisoning" in Finnish? Anyway, how could you not be excited in a new city? We saw the Sibelius monument (very cool), the Olympic stadium (closed) and an interesting church who's roof is made of a giant coil of copper wire. There's actually more to do in Helsinki than you might think, but we didn't get a chance in the 24 hours we spent there. The excitement level was rising though - next day, Russia! This is what I had been waiting for all trip.
The border crossing into Russia was just what I was expecting - dour-faced and humourless border guards. They didn't even crack a smile. This was also our first exposure to the epidemic that is taking Russia by storm - miniskirts. All the women wear dead short skirts, some of them have quite bad dress sense too. After the border crossing, a seemingly interminable drive to St. Petersburg. When we got there we drove out to the Baltic sea, where we had a little vodka (When in Russia...right?) then to the Bronze Horseman statue, which was totally exciting for me, for a little champagneski (that's what the Russians call it).
It was so incredible to finally be in Russia. There was a live band playing at dinner that night (well, a pianist and a singer). They were singing Russian music but they played one Beatles song and it got such a good reception they kept going. They must have played their entire Beatles repertoire that night. Eventually Richard herded us out the door, but the party continued on the bus ride home, singing and dancing in the aisles, and being generally rowdy, poor Matt (the driver).
St Petersburg is a Western city, built in ancient Greek and Italian styles. There's literally a palace on every corner - the Tsars would have them built for their lovers and friends or whoever. The Hermitage was totally awe-inspiring - They have two Leonardos and a couple of rooms full of Picassos, not to mention almost a floor of Impressionist paintings (Impressionists. *yawn*). The tour guides gave us the full course load of Russian history - from Peter the Great to Putin. The Romanovs were not very nice people actually - half of them were killed by family members or had a family member put out a contract on their life. But boy did they have beautiful clothes, carriages, jewelry, furniture and works of art.
At night (if you could call it that, it gets dark in St Petersburg at around midnight in the summer months) we went to see the Russian Ballet, which was good, but not as exciting as I thought it would be, and the next night we saw a Russian folklore show, which I was convinced would be totally boring but was fabulous. Those Cossack dancers have amazing strength and flexibility! After the shows it was back to the hotel for a rowdy room party, which were always a fun time to chat and mess around, especially if you were sitting near Aly, a sassy Texan from San Antonio. She was always good for a few laughs. But you know me, it gets late into the night and all I want to do is talk philosophy and the meaning of life, and usually I was able to find someone to have a good D&M with.
The best thing about St Petersburg was the Leningrad memorial. It's there to remember those who died during the seige of Leningrad in WW2. It's a massive ring with a portion missing, symbolising Lake Ladoga, which is how they managed to finally get food past the German soldiers into the city (the lake freezes over in the winter) and break the seige. Inside the memorial are 300 candles, one for each day of the seige, made out of shells that were actually used in the war. The most chilling thing was the metronome-like clicking that echoes through the memorial. It's a beacon to Moscow, and if it ever stops, the Russians will know that St Petersburg has been destroyed.
Next stop, Novgorod. Totally flattened during the war, it's now a funny little Russian rural university town. It's a holiday spot for the Russians, thanks to the beach and Lake Ilmen. The oldest Kremlin in the country is also there, since Novgorod was actually the first capital of Russia. There's also plenty of war memorials. If they saved up all the money they spend on war memorials in Russia they could probably pull themselves out of economic crisis.
Next day, onwards to Moscow. We got there in the early evening, and the first thing we saw was St Basil's cathedral, which is fabulous, but reminds me of ice-cream, which takes a little away from the awe-inspiringness of it all. I stood in Red Square, took a deep breath, and thought, "Holy Shit! I'm in Moscow!". I noticed Kyle was barefoot, and asked him why. He replied, "I'm connecting with Mother Russia". So I whipped off my shoes and socks and felt the Red Square under my feet.
Moscow was totally incredible, I've already talked about Lenin and Putin, but even the ordinary things are totally extraordinary, like the subway. Many of the stations are decorated with intricate mosaics, busts of Lenin or whoever, and more chandeliers than you can poke a stick at. Our guide Galina told us that the government is slowly taking down all the communist related memorabilia around Moscow, from the Lenin statues to the red stars atop the Kremlin. They even want to bury Lenin once and for all. Apparently it reminds the people of the "good old days" of Communism where the state provided everything that people needed, like housing, education, and whatever, which they have to pay for now. I wanted to point out that what the government said they were providing and what they were actually providing were two totally different things, but I kept my mouth shut. Anyway so all this memorabilia is getting taken away and melted down into raw materials, it's not even getting preserved in a museum, which is totally sad. I feel priveleged to have been able to see it while it was still around.
Moscow was slightly scarier than St. Petersburg - we were told to take photos very unobtrusively outside the KGB building, and that all the black Mercedes were Mafia bosses' cars, and you get shot if you scratch one. Later, on our way to a museum, Amy scratched one with the zip on her jacket. Her reaction? "Oh dear". Then she bolted to the museum. Another time, at the Kremlin, Kyle leant against a wall to throw up, and a big chunk of it came off! So he not only threw up on the Kremlin, he broke it as well. Silly boy. I don't think he even got nietted for it.
While we're on the topic, I have to tell you about nietting. When we first got to St. Petersburg, our guide Anna told us about the "niet niet ladies" in the museums. They are middle aged or old ladies who basically sit in a chair in the corner of one of the rooms of the museum and look sour. Some of them watch you like a hawk, some of them sleep. If you touch anything, go through a door you shouldn't, or breathe in the wrong direction, they'll yell "NIET! NIET!" (NO! NO!) at you, and you're in all kinds of trouble. So anytime we were refused anything, or got busted for something, we got "nietted". By this stage we had also developed a checklist for new towns - we had to see:
* A "pointy-sticky-uppy-thing" (i.e. an obelisk, not hard to find)
* A cathedral named "Redemption" or "Assumption" or similar
* A war memorial
* A fort or significant bridge
* A statue of a guy on a horse
and we could say we'd seen the city. Oh, by the way, we bought black market CDs and DVDs off Dogdy Serge, because we could.
From Moscow to Yartsevo and the ultimate in dodgy accomodation. On the way there Richard (alias Richie Rich) mentioned we would be staying in a brothel. I assumed he meant a converted brothel. This turned out not to be the case. After a dinner of schnitzel and chips (fifth night running) there was an interesting dance show put on by some girls from the local dance school. Naturally when the music started up again I figured it would be more dancing girls. I was right, but these ones were also removing items of clothing. Us girls tried not to look too disgusted as we sipped our beers, and the guys tried not to look too interested as they sipped theirs. After the strip show, a singer (Alexei) appeared and started singing Russian pop songs, and all the "ladies of the night" got up to dance with their prospective clients.We decided dancing looked like fun, so we got up and boogied too, much to the amusement of the locals. We danced and talked and danced and generally had a jolly old time, until Liz told us there were going to be fireworks outside in honour of Alexei's (the singer's) birthday. By this time it was about two or three am, and there was only about five or six of us Contiki-ites awake. We watched the fireworks, and us Antipodeans sang Alexei "Happy Birthday", and then the staff sang something in Russian. It was great, probably one of my top three moments in Russia. We went back inside where Dodgy Mikhail and Dodgy Vladimir (Mafia cousins of Dodgy Serge) were giving out free cognac and beer. We stayed up dancing till five or six am, and then went to bed for some well deserved rest. I must say, aside from the dodgyness of it all, that that was one of the funnest nights on tour. It just sounds weird when you say you had a great time in a Russian brothel partying all night with prostitutes and Mafiosos.
Minsk was a welcome change from Yartsevo, although anything would have been better than that place. It's small, clean and pretty, with still more war memorials. Apparently it's the custom in Russia to visit a war memorial to pay your respects when you get married, because we saw like 8 brides at the main memorial in Minsk, and I swear to you none of them were a day older than 23, and some looked not even 20. Scary.
Next day to Warsaw, through the border out of Russia which miraculously took only two hours, an unbelievable time, and we were on our way. Truth be told I wasn't looking forward to Warsaw that much. What's in Warsaw? Well, apart from yet another currency (zlotys) there's a pretty city with nice parks, statues and yet more war memorials. The poor Poles have taken a beating over the years, invaded by the Russians and Germans and whoever else felt the need over the years. They really got a pummeling in WW2 - out of 3 million Polish Jews there are 300,000 left now. That's a whole order of magnitude! The hotel in Warsaw was something else - finally comfy beds, real food (with vegetables - *gasp*) and service with a smile! We went out to a raucus jazz club for a few cheeky drinks before we headed back to the hotel.
Next day was the drive to Berlin. We drove and drove and drove all day till we finally made it to the wall and took a thousand pictures. Then to a German beer hall for wurst, saurkraut and kartoffelnpuree (sausage, saurkraut and mashed potatoes) and a stein of beer, which is a litre. Those things are massive, I couldn't drink a whole one, but we all had a good time. In true Berlin fashion the night didn't end there and we stayed up all night at the hostel bar playing pool and dancing. Sarah, my roommate, must have wanted to kill me by this stage, as she was usually in bed by 10 or 11, and I hadn't come in before three am in about a week. Next day in Berlin, a third reich walking tour with our pommy geezer guide Henry, who was totally gorgeous and intelligent but has a girlfriend *sigh*. After that I met up with Emily which was totally exciting - she showed me the "real" Berlin - Kaffe und Kuchen, punks and their dogs, and people relieving themselves in public. Plus we chatted and caught up on general stuff which was fun.
That night was dinner and a pub crawl to some interesting East Berlin bars, and we ended up at a nightclub which thankfully wasn't playing doof doof music, and danced the night away. That was fun but I was totally spent from all the partying and the next day on the drive back to Copenhagen I actually slept on the bus for the first time on tour. It was a melancholy bus ride, we were all exhausted not to mention it was the last full day of the tour. We had relaxed chats in the sunshine as we waited for our ferry, then pretty much slept all the way to Copenhagen. We went out for Mexican food (in Denmark, go figure) which was totally not exciting but the room party afterwards was totally fun. Steve and Sheena asked me to do the thankyous for Richie Rich and Matt, and although I was totally nervous I got a few laughs in the right places so I survived.
The next morning the tour ended after breakfast but everyone was tired and cranky, like the morning after a slumber party in primary school where everyone just wants to go home. It was still hard to say goodbye to everyone, especially Kath and Jill who I got quite close to during the three weeks. I wasn't homebound though, I was a woman on a mission. A laundry mission. I finally found a laundromat, but my excitement was short lived as I spent the next half an hour standing there, reading the instructions (in Danish) over and over and trying to figure out how to get the soap out of the dispenser. Thankfully a lovely Danish lady came in and helped me, or I'd probably still be there. Armed with my newly cleaned clothes, I collapsed on my bed to catch up on three weeks of sleep.
I couldn't spend the whole next day in Copenhagen sleeping though, so I tried to find some free stuff to do. One thing that jumped out at me was the Assistens Cemetary, which holds a who's who of Danish history, including Hans Christian Andersen, Soren Kirkegaard, and Niels and Harald Bohr. I took pictures of all of their graves, and then just spent time wandering around the cemetary, since it was so beautiful. Perfectly manicured, it was like a lovely park with headstones. I spent about three hours there, then went to a dodgy museum (it was free, so I guess I couldn't expect it to be interesting) then walked around Copenhagen so I could say my last goodbye to Scandinavia, at least for a while. Goodbye to the fun, holiday part of my trip, and hello to the scary, work part of my trip.
Friday, June 03, 2005
From Russia with love
I don't have time to write a detailed (or even a brief) account of this whole Russian experience, but here's a little instalment to keep you up to date. I'm in Moscow at the moment, which is fantastic. Though I like St. Petersburg better, Moscow is just as fascinating. I'm up to my eyeballs in Russian history, Romanovs, Tatars, Ivan the Terrible, Peter the Great, Lenin, Stalin, Kruschev, Gorbachev, Putin, the list goes on forever (trust me). It is all incredibly fascinating, I just hope I can remember it all to tell you all properly when I get to Dublin.
I just wanted to share my incredible day yesterday. After dragging myself out of bed and helping myself to a buffet breakfast (say what you like about Russia, their hotels know how to do a buffet breakfast like the best of them) we were off to the Red Square to check out Lenin. We barely had to queue (an unheard of luxury, perhaps due to the drizzle) before we walked into the mausoleum complex where Lenin is buried. When I say the place is crawling with guards, you can regard that as an understatement. There are two outside, then groups of three of them every time you turn a corner in the mausoleum. The place is dark and the steps and walls are black so you can't really see where you're going. You go around yet another corner and up some stairs and there he is, laying in a coffin with red velvet cushioning. The whole place is dark save for the light shining from above the coffin onto Lenin's face, which gives him a kind of angelic aura (I don't think any of us were fooled). Even in the darkness it's hard to ignore the seven or eight guards around the coffin. You walk around him and don't stop (if you do you'll get "nietted", more about this later), and then you step outside into the daylight. Then you're supposed to walk around the back of the mausoleum out of the Red Square, but as there were not many people there, I asked Richard (our Tour Manager, alias Richie Rich) if I could go around again. He said to grab a buddy and give it a shot. So Kath and I jumped over the fence and went round again, sure that we would get "nietted", but though the guards gave us funny looks, they didn't say a word. So we got to see Lenin a second time, which was awesome since the first time I was so preoccupied with the guards I didn't have time to really get a sense of the whole Lenin thing. He's really small, and waxy looking, but it still gave me the shivers when I looked at him and thought about all the things he did and lives he cost. After that we went around the back of the mausoleum and saw where a whole lot of other Russian important people are buried, including Stalin.
Anyway, after all this excitement, you'd think my day couldn't get any better, but you'd be wrong! That afternoon when we went to visit the Kremlin (more about the Kremlin in a later post, I'm running out of internet time) we were waking between buildings and who should drive past but Vladimir Putin, President of Russia! So I got a real buzz out of that and the thought that I saw Lenin and Putin in the one day. Am I a politics nerd or what?
Got to go now, Moscow circus tonight, that should be awesome, I'll write more probably at the end of my tour when I have time, and I promise I'll tell you all about the "niet-niet ladies" and getting "nietted". Prepare for a long Russian history lesson!!
I just wanted to share my incredible day yesterday. After dragging myself out of bed and helping myself to a buffet breakfast (say what you like about Russia, their hotels know how to do a buffet breakfast like the best of them) we were off to the Red Square to check out Lenin. We barely had to queue (an unheard of luxury, perhaps due to the drizzle) before we walked into the mausoleum complex where Lenin is buried. When I say the place is crawling with guards, you can regard that as an understatement. There are two outside, then groups of three of them every time you turn a corner in the mausoleum. The place is dark and the steps and walls are black so you can't really see where you're going. You go around yet another corner and up some stairs and there he is, laying in a coffin with red velvet cushioning. The whole place is dark save for the light shining from above the coffin onto Lenin's face, which gives him a kind of angelic aura (I don't think any of us were fooled). Even in the darkness it's hard to ignore the seven or eight guards around the coffin. You walk around him and don't stop (if you do you'll get "nietted", more about this later), and then you step outside into the daylight. Then you're supposed to walk around the back of the mausoleum out of the Red Square, but as there were not many people there, I asked Richard (our Tour Manager, alias Richie Rich) if I could go around again. He said to grab a buddy and give it a shot. So Kath and I jumped over the fence and went round again, sure that we would get "nietted", but though the guards gave us funny looks, they didn't say a word. So we got to see Lenin a second time, which was awesome since the first time I was so preoccupied with the guards I didn't have time to really get a sense of the whole Lenin thing. He's really small, and waxy looking, but it still gave me the shivers when I looked at him and thought about all the things he did and lives he cost. After that we went around the back of the mausoleum and saw where a whole lot of other Russian important people are buried, including Stalin.
Anyway, after all this excitement, you'd think my day couldn't get any better, but you'd be wrong! That afternoon when we went to visit the Kremlin (more about the Kremlin in a later post, I'm running out of internet time) we were waking between buildings and who should drive past but Vladimir Putin, President of Russia! So I got a real buzz out of that and the thought that I saw Lenin and Putin in the one day. Am I a politics nerd or what?
Got to go now, Moscow circus tonight, that should be awesome, I'll write more probably at the end of my tour when I have time, and I promise I'll tell you all about the "niet-niet ladies" and getting "nietted". Prepare for a long Russian history lesson!!
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