Russian Fusion

Yes, that reads Pancho Pizza. Mexican and Italian cuisine. The fusion I never knew my life was missing.

Progress?

Once you conquer the Moscow metro, it’s by far the best way to get around the city. Even on the off chance you manage to get a taxi that’s not a 30 year-old Soviet Lada with a flat tire, traffic is at a stand still more often or not. I’ve never even contemplated driving myself in these parts.

But . . . there are a few issues that make conquering the metro challenging.

First, everything’s in Cyrillic.

Occasionally, you’ll find a map with Latin letters or a station name written in Latin letters, but for the most part, you cannot rely on being able to read anything.

When I first moved to town and before I was used to the Cyrillic alphabet, I used to study the metro map very carefully and then count stops while I was on the metro (on my fingers because the chances of distraction were quite high).

One, two, three, four . . . OK, time to stop staring at he couple making out in the middle of the day and get off.

I would also print out the letters of the stop I needed to get to so that I could compare with the signs and make sure I was in the right place. Learning the Cyrillic alphabet makes life much, much easier in Russia.

Second, many metro stops have a zillion different exits. Even if you can read the Cyrillic and manage to get off at the right stop, and even if you know what direction you want to go, you can be paralyzed by the myriad of choices. I can understand the signs, but I still don’t know what side of the street a particular exit will dump me on. And even if I’ve been somewhere 20 times, there’s a good chance that I will pick the wrong exit every time.

Though I’m very comfortable with directions within the metro system, once out on the streets of Moscow, all bets are off.

Third, buying tickets can be difficult. For the first 16 months that I lived here, the only way to purchase tickets was to go to the КАССА (kassa or ticket booth) and buy tickets directly from the women working the booth. But of course, these women do not speak English. And the signs listing the ticket prices aren’t in English, making it very hard to communicate exactly what you want or figure out the price of your tickets.

A few weeks ago, small blue kiosks started appearing in the metro, and I was hopeful to think that it might be a way to buy tickets electronically — without talking to a woman at the kassa. When the machines went live, I went over to take a look. Sure enough, there was an English option. Beyond excited, I touched the little British flag to see how the machines work.

I very much appreciate the effort by the Moscow government to make things accessible in English. This is a huge step forward for a city trying to increase tourism. But do you think they could have asked a native speaker (or at least a decent speaker) to review the instructions before publishing on them hundreds of machines across the city?

I’m not even sure what half the directions mean.

Also, why the limit on 1 or 2 trips? Why can’t you buy a 10-ticket pass? Or a 60 ticket pass? All of which are available from the kassa itself.

But once again, I’m reminded that sometimes it’s better not to ask questions and to appreciate the little things.

Australia Day 14-15: Sydney to Moscow

Phew, we’re finally here, my last Australia post. Thanks to those of you who stuck with me through the rambling series. I’m excited to have taken a long trip like this and blogged it through. I look forward to looking back at this years from now and remembering the trip and hope you’ve enjoyed the ride.

Sunday was my final day in Sydney. I booked a late flight out so that I would get one final day in town.

The weather was looking so-so, but I couldn’t leave Sydney without checking out Bondi Beach, so Aaron and decided than rather lay out on the beach in grey weather, we would do the Bondi to Coogee coastal walk, a six kilometer walk through the Sydney suburbs beginning at Bondi Beach.

As you could see, there weren’t a lot of other people out on Bondi that morning, but there was beauty in the grey.

First thing to see as we headed up the coast were the salt water lap pools at the Bondi Iceberg Club where members can swim with a view, but avoid the sharks.
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The coastal views were gorgeous even in the slightly rainy weather.

We even caught some surfers out in the waves. I’m a little sad that the weather didn’t cooperate in my effort to take a surf lesson.
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Love that DHL sponsors the lifesaving clubs.
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There’s so much coastline in Australia that even some of the cemeteries have a view. Not a bad place to spend eternity.

I loved the contrast between the red and green and blue.

Also taking up valuable coastal real estate — lawn bowling clubs.

The trees by the lawn bowling greens were filled with dozens of these little guys.

And an Australian Rules Football pitch.

Perfect way to spend an afternoon:

We had planned to have lunch in Coogee, but there was honestly nothing appetizing looking, and it was to be my last meal before heading back to the food desert that is Russia, so we grabbed a cab back to the hotel. The Filipino babushka cab driver was amazing and we got our own backroads tour of Sydney. As well as a critique of cricket players. In her mind, only Australian Football players were real men. Cricket players are just drinkers.

I wanted one last Asian kick, so the hotel recommended the Noodle Bar at the food court at David Jones department store. I was skeptical, but the wait and the crowds at what boiled down to a counter in the basement of a department store proved to be worth braving for one last delicious noodle dish before I hit the road.

We grabbed some cheese and crackers and headed to the park across the street from the hotel to spend a few hours reading before it was time to catch my flight. Aaron went and coached some people playing life size chess, while I watched the speed chess players and tried to pretend it wasn’t drizzling. The rain came in and out, but I knew it would still be better than what was in store for me in Russia.

Regretfully, it was time to head back to the hotel, shower and head off to the plane. I was not ready to leave. Two weeks is only a beginning to Australia, and I really hope that I get to return some day and revisit some favorite spots as well as hit parts of the country that I’ve never been.

It was an easy metro ride from the hotel to the airport.

Once at the airport, I used my SkyTeam Elite status to jump the line at China Southern and even managed to score a lounge pass to the Quantas Lounge. After some airport window shopping I headed to an amazing lounge. Great selection of wines, including a choice from a vineyard we’d visited in Yarra Valley and iMacs available for free use.

Eventually, it was time to board, and I was disappointed to find out that it wasn’t quite as nice of a plane as we had last time. I’m not sure whether it was the sleeping pill that I took or my general exhaustion, but I don’t remember much of the flight.

I woke up in China and went through customs where my passport was stamped with my day visa yet again. As I had a seven hour lay hour, I tried to head to the lounge, and declined the hotel room offered to me by the airline.

Alas, my plans were foiled. Because it was a special transit flight with a domestic stopover in Urumqi, we were not allowed to go through international departures where the lounge was. I now had six hours in the airport and nothing to do. I made my way back to customer service and tried to argue my way into the lounge. No luck.

They did, however, offer me the hotel room again. Why not? I thought. I’m not picky. It can’t be that bad. And I joined another Russian couple that was heading back to Moscow. Escorts from the airline escorted us to a minivan and next thing you knew, we were headed into Guangzhou. I was in China.

Now, keep in mind that I’ve spent the last 18 months living and traveling around the FSU. I don’t have particularly high standards.

The first warning sign was that when I go to the hotel they tried to put me in a room with a stranger. I’m alone, I said. I’m not staying with someone I don’t know. Again, and again they tried to put me in a room with someone. Finally I convinced them to give me what I thought was my own room.

It was a disaster. I walked into a disgusting hotel room that was not only falling apart, but that was filthy. Both beds had been slept in, the room had not been cleaned between guests, and the bathroom was filthy with a sink stopped full of dirty water.

I turned around, went back downstairs and told them that I wanted to go back to the airport. Instead, they gave me a breakfast coupon.

I was not at all interested in eating at this establishment, so I spent the next hour dozing in the hotel lobby, waiting for a shuttle to pick me up.

Eventually, I made it back to the airport. I hope to return to China one day, but a return trip to that particular hotel is not in order.

Fortunately, this time I figured out how much a Chinese Yuan was worth and that there were some restaurants in the mall underneath the airport that took credit cards. I had a decent bowl of noodles and cup of tea to kills some time.

Finally, about an hour before my flight, security let me through. I thought I could do some duty free shopping, but it turned out they were holding us in a special holding area with no bathrooms or shops because of our weird domestic flight issue.

After being held there for an hour, it was clear that our flight was not going to be on time, and we started to get restless. No explanation, no bathrooms. No one was happy. The only amusing thing was a Russian guy who had been on my flight to China from Moscow two weeks earlier recognized me from when the security agent in Urumqi was sure I was trying to smuggle vodka in on my flight over.

We finally boarded, and I’m going to choose not to recount the flight. Suffice it to say that it was not as pleasant as the NYE party on the way over. But . . . Pasha was waiting for me at the airport and it was kind of good to be home.