| Moscow Then & Now by T. Roach-Raschke |
It’s been a few years since I was last in
Moscow, so I was really pleased when
the general manager of our network’s
Russian media agency asked me to fly
over to conduct some workshops for
his staff. I had almost forgotten about
all the paperwork involved in getting
the visa, of course, but was quickly
reminded once we set the dates and put
the process into motion.
Although there was some initial doubt
as to whether my visa would be back
in time, everything worked out fine and
in good time.
Moscow, so I was really pleased when
the general manager of our network’s
Russian media agency asked me to fly
over to conduct some workshops for
his staff. I had almost forgotten about
all the paperwork involved in getting
the visa, of course, but was quickly
reminded once we set the dates and put
the process into motion.
Although there was some initial doubt
as to whether my visa would be back
in time, everything worked out fine and
in good time.
On the morning of august 10th I was sitting in a German taxi wheeling my way to Düsseldorf airport.
The agency must have booked me super-duper-economy, because my seat was almost the last one on the
plane. I guess I’m lucky they don’t seat passengers on the wings yet! The flight was fairly empty, though,
so I had the entire row to myself. The flight itself was totally uneventful, so I concentrated on tackling the
Russian entry forms.
When we arrived at Sheremetyevo, I was glad to see that there has been some renovation done since the
very first time I landed here in 1975! I can still remember my feeling of discomfort following my initial look
up at the ceiling fixtures to see the dust and grime of the ages precariously dangling off them. I remember
being afraid to actually touch the grungy banisters on the stairs as I went down the steps one at a time
weighed down by baggage as part of the slow-moving queues at passport control. This time the queues were
filled with lots of foreign tourists which moved just as quickly (or as slowly) as they would have in
Philadelphia or London. If anything, the only leftover from former ‘soviet glory’ was that the people behind
the counter acted as though simply smiling would be high treason!
There was a girl waiting with my name on a sign on the other side of the barrier, but she was only there to
inform me that – due to heavy traffic – the taxi that had been ordered for me would be late. After wading
through a crowd of taxi drivers eager for a fare, I got a seat in the waiting area. Why wait for a taxi when
there are crowds of drivers waiting for a fare, you ask? Because it’s safer! At best, you may get stiffed by a
driver (who may not even be an official taxi driver, but a family man trying to earn a few extra bucks to
make ends meet) who takes you to your hotel in central Moscow the long way via Siberia. That’s why most
Western companies either work with a specific taxi company on a regular basis or simply have one or more
drivers on their company’s payroll.
Eventually I called Sean, my contact in Russia, to let him know I’d arrived safely. Of course when my
driver finally arrived he spoke NO ENGLISH! With sign language he impatiently signalled for me to sit in
the back. Although I usually prefer to sit in the front seat of a taxi, I quickly complied and we set off into the
city at break-neck speed.
Driving in Moscow is certainly not for
the faint-hearted. The Russians not
only zip from lane to lane with little
attention to signalling, they also have
no problem sidling right up alongside
another car who doesn’t make room
for them to change into the lane they
need quickly enough!
Eventually we reached central
Moscow. It is an absolutely stunning,
heaving metropolis. Where New York
reaches for the sky, Moscow spreads
itself along the ground. Where New
York moves forward in squares and
rectangles, Moscow circles around and
the faint-hearted. The Russians not
only zip from lane to lane with little
attention to signalling, they also have
no problem sidling right up alongside
another car who doesn’t make room
for them to change into the lane they
need quickly enough!
Eventually we reached central
Moscow. It is an absolutely stunning,
heaving metropolis. Where New York
reaches for the sky, Moscow spreads
itself along the ground. Where New
York moves forward in squares and
rectangles, Moscow circles around and
around itself. The architecture is mind-boggling, and much of it is fortunately being restored. There are
also many of the ‘amenities’ of modern Western life, of course, like new advertising billboards and
expensive Western shops.
As we turned one corner I caught my first breathtaking glimpse of the Kremlin walls and St. Basil’s
cathedral, and we'd be reaching my hotel soon. When the driver pulled into the parking lot at the hotel
Rossija, he looked around at his papers again, then signalled for me to stay seated and ran inside. He then
came back and tried to ask me something in Russian. He then signalled for me to follow him into the hotel.
Apparently he had lost the paper that told him which hotel I was in! The women at the reception desk
proceeded to say that there was no room reserved for me, but my trusty palm pilot knew better, and I was
quickly given a key and directed to my room on the 12th floor.
The hotel Rossija is located just across from red square. It is one of the true landmarks of the city and
boasts a grand total of 2700 rooms. And let’s just say that it – and its staff – have lost none of their
peculiar ‘Soviet charm’. The hotel apparently hasn’t been updated or renovated since Brezhnev was in
office. Although I didn’t stay here in the 70’s, I do remember many of the same ‘institutions’ from the
hotel I did stay in, which was right across the Moskva river – like the ‘floor person’ who is in charge of all
things large and small on ‘her’ floor. For those of who’ve been to Europe before, just imagine a French
concierge who’s served 15 yrs. in the Soviet army and 5 yrs. in the KGB, and that’ll be about right. There
is always some dire-looking guy to check your I.D. before you head for the elevator. Even at the agency
office they have some guy hanging out in the reception area to ‘filter’ unwelcome visitors. Let’s just say
that all the women visiting a hotel aren’t exactly ‘ladies’, and all the ‘businessmen’ visiting your company
aren’t necessarily “businessmen”.
When I unlocked my room I realized it made a double at your local motel 6 look like a complete suite in the
Plaza Athenèe on the Riviera. Last time I was in Moscow I was travelling for a client, and was booked
into a suite at the très ritzy ‘Baltshug Kempinski’ right across the bridge at over $400/night. However my
present room was quite clean, the water pressure was good, and the bed had fresh sheets on it. There was
also a café of sorts at the end of the floor, so having a snack or light meal would still not be a problem.
And from the huge picture windows I had an absolutely stunning view of the Moskva river, one corner of
the Kremlin.
A couple hours after I arrived, the general director from our media agency arrived to take me to dinner.
Gavin took me to a Georgian restaurant not too far from the center of the city: “at Pirosmani’s”. It was
really quite quaint and cosy, and I was happy to hear that people like Bill Clinton and Gerhard Schroeder
had already wandered in to test the food for me. Gavin and I had a big plate of fresh parsley, purple sage,
tomatoes, cucumbers, scallions and radishes along with our entrees and some assorted Georgian cheeses.
We had Georgian bottled water (heavy on the sulfer) and a cool Russian ‘baltika’ beer to wash it all down.
Although I found the normal Russian-on-the-street about as aloof and brusque as most people consider
New Yorkers to be, the colleagues I met at both offices were anything but! They were eager to work with
me, had lots of questions, and were genuinely friendly and helpful. The first two workshops were held in a
beautiful outdoor location – a kind of café-restaurant in the middle of a huge park near the center of the
city. There are concerts held in the park in the summer, and part of the park is flooded for ice skating in the
winter. The food was good, too, though I didn’t know what all of it was and some of it was unusual. For
example, one day we had a kind of Russian soup specialty that was served with a small bowl of sour cream
on the side. But at least there was no ‘mystery meat’ included in the recipe. Even as far back in the mid-
90’s I can remember coming to Moscow and being served something that didn’t look quite like it could
have been made from any animal naturally created by God!
Because we were having 3-course lunches during the workshops, I limited my dinner the first few nights to
a small bag of chips and beer from the little café on this floor. Finally I got adventurous, though, and
decided to grab a book and actually have a sit-down meal there. The whole place looks like it was
preserved from the early 1970’s, right down to the dull plastic plants, dusty upholstery on the chairs and
vinyl tablecloths. The young ladies working there were an anomaly for the hotel. Both ladies were
modest and friendly, and surprisingly unafraid to smile. Although on the same floor as my room, even the
view from the cafe was astonishingly retro. With very few and exceptions, the huge picture windows
afforded a view over the rooftops of Moscow virtually without advertising. If it hadn’t been for the obvious
warmth of the waitresses, I could have sworn I’d been sucked back into a pre-glasnost time warp!
also many of the ‘amenities’ of modern Western life, of course, like new advertising billboards and
expensive Western shops.
As we turned one corner I caught my first breathtaking glimpse of the Kremlin walls and St. Basil’s
cathedral, and we'd be reaching my hotel soon. When the driver pulled into the parking lot at the hotel
Rossija, he looked around at his papers again, then signalled for me to stay seated and ran inside. He then
came back and tried to ask me something in Russian. He then signalled for me to follow him into the hotel.
Apparently he had lost the paper that told him which hotel I was in! The women at the reception desk
proceeded to say that there was no room reserved for me, but my trusty palm pilot knew better, and I was
quickly given a key and directed to my room on the 12th floor.
The hotel Rossija is located just across from red square. It is one of the true landmarks of the city and
boasts a grand total of 2700 rooms. And let’s just say that it – and its staff – have lost none of their
peculiar ‘Soviet charm’. The hotel apparently hasn’t been updated or renovated since Brezhnev was in
office. Although I didn’t stay here in the 70’s, I do remember many of the same ‘institutions’ from the
hotel I did stay in, which was right across the Moskva river – like the ‘floor person’ who is in charge of all
things large and small on ‘her’ floor. For those of who’ve been to Europe before, just imagine a French
concierge who’s served 15 yrs. in the Soviet army and 5 yrs. in the KGB, and that’ll be about right. There
is always some dire-looking guy to check your I.D. before you head for the elevator. Even at the agency
office they have some guy hanging out in the reception area to ‘filter’ unwelcome visitors. Let’s just say
that all the women visiting a hotel aren’t exactly ‘ladies’, and all the ‘businessmen’ visiting your company
aren’t necessarily “businessmen”.
When I unlocked my room I realized it made a double at your local motel 6 look like a complete suite in the
Plaza Athenèe on the Riviera. Last time I was in Moscow I was travelling for a client, and was booked
into a suite at the très ritzy ‘Baltshug Kempinski’ right across the bridge at over $400/night. However my
present room was quite clean, the water pressure was good, and the bed had fresh sheets on it. There was
also a café of sorts at the end of the floor, so having a snack or light meal would still not be a problem.
And from the huge picture windows I had an absolutely stunning view of the Moskva river, one corner of
the Kremlin.
A couple hours after I arrived, the general director from our media agency arrived to take me to dinner.
Gavin took me to a Georgian restaurant not too far from the center of the city: “at Pirosmani’s”. It was
really quite quaint and cosy, and I was happy to hear that people like Bill Clinton and Gerhard Schroeder
had already wandered in to test the food for me. Gavin and I had a big plate of fresh parsley, purple sage,
tomatoes, cucumbers, scallions and radishes along with our entrees and some assorted Georgian cheeses.
We had Georgian bottled water (heavy on the sulfer) and a cool Russian ‘baltika’ beer to wash it all down.
Although I found the normal Russian-on-the-street about as aloof and brusque as most people consider
New Yorkers to be, the colleagues I met at both offices were anything but! They were eager to work with
me, had lots of questions, and were genuinely friendly and helpful. The first two workshops were held in a
beautiful outdoor location – a kind of café-restaurant in the middle of a huge park near the center of the
city. There are concerts held in the park in the summer, and part of the park is flooded for ice skating in the
winter. The food was good, too, though I didn’t know what all of it was and some of it was unusual. For
example, one day we had a kind of Russian soup specialty that was served with a small bowl of sour cream
on the side. But at least there was no ‘mystery meat’ included in the recipe. Even as far back in the mid-
90’s I can remember coming to Moscow and being served something that didn’t look quite like it could
have been made from any animal naturally created by God!
Because we were having 3-course lunches during the workshops, I limited my dinner the first few nights to
a small bag of chips and beer from the little café on this floor. Finally I got adventurous, though, and
decided to grab a book and actually have a sit-down meal there. The whole place looks like it was
preserved from the early 1970’s, right down to the dull plastic plants, dusty upholstery on the chairs and
vinyl tablecloths. The young ladies working there were an anomaly for the hotel. Both ladies were
modest and friendly, and surprisingly unafraid to smile. Although on the same floor as my room, even the
view from the cafe was astonishingly retro. With very few and exceptions, the huge picture windows
afforded a view over the rooftops of Moscow virtually without advertising. If it hadn’t been for the obvious
warmth of the waitresses, I could have sworn I’d been sucked back into a pre-glasnost time warp!
Sunday was my only day off on this trip, so
after catching up on my sleep I got dressed
and headed off to Red Square. I was again
overwhelmed at just how much had
changed – not only since 1975, but even
since the late 90’s! Again I felt the same
sense of wonder and awe as I looked at the
exotic, brightly colored façade of St. Basil’s,
and my personal favourite, the seemingly
snow-capped edifice right behind it.
Although I stopped to take a few quick
photos, I knew exactly where I was headed:
‘GUM’! ‘Gum’ (pronounced: ‘goom’) is
the old Soviet shopping complex. I first
after catching up on my sleep I got dressed
and headed off to Red Square. I was again
overwhelmed at just how much had
changed – not only since 1975, but even
since the late 90’s! Again I felt the same
sense of wonder and awe as I looked at the
exotic, brightly colored façade of St. Basil’s,
and my personal favourite, the seemingly
snow-capped edifice right behind it.
Although I stopped to take a few quick
photos, I knew exactly where I was headed:
‘GUM’! ‘Gum’ (pronounced: ‘goom’) is
the old Soviet shopping complex. I first
went there in 1975 and wandered around both perplexed and fascinated. There were stalls full of deep-piled
fur hats and ankle-length fur coats. Anyone who’s ever braved a Russian winter knows exactly why these
are so popular, and the main reason isn’t fashion! Of course there were also the endless rows of
‘matruschkas’, along with enamelled boxes and pins. Other shops had caviar and sparkling wine and
Russian vodka.
My most tangible memory of ‘Gum’ from 1975? Wandering through the main aisle from ice cream stand
to ice cream stand. It was an unseasonably warm April, so ice cream was just what the doctor ordered! But
coming from the land of Baskin-Robbins, how was I to fathom a country where you could only buy one
flavor of ice cream?
Needless to say, my latest excursion was a totally different affair! ‘Gum’ is now a honeycomb of fashionable
and very expensive) Western shops bursting with almost everything capitalism has to offer. Oh, the stackable
‘matrushka’ dolls are still there, as are the enamelled boxes as well as other handcrafted articles by
entrepreneurial ‘new’ Russians. There were even the infamous cow sculptures painted brightly by local
artists and posed all through the mall to look at and pose beside.
In the end, I sat at a table in a little alcove overlooking a fountain in a central and wrote some postcards
while I mused about what all has happened, both in my own life as well as in the life of this historic city,
since I was first here.
fur hats and ankle-length fur coats. Anyone who’s ever braved a Russian winter knows exactly why these
are so popular, and the main reason isn’t fashion! Of course there were also the endless rows of
‘matruschkas’, along with enamelled boxes and pins. Other shops had caviar and sparkling wine and
Russian vodka.
My most tangible memory of ‘Gum’ from 1975? Wandering through the main aisle from ice cream stand
to ice cream stand. It was an unseasonably warm April, so ice cream was just what the doctor ordered! But
coming from the land of Baskin-Robbins, how was I to fathom a country where you could only buy one
flavor of ice cream?
Needless to say, my latest excursion was a totally different affair! ‘Gum’ is now a honeycomb of fashionable
and very expensive) Western shops bursting with almost everything capitalism has to offer. Oh, the stackable
‘matrushka’ dolls are still there, as are the enamelled boxes as well as other handcrafted articles by
entrepreneurial ‘new’ Russians. There were even the infamous cow sculptures painted brightly by local
artists and posed all through the mall to look at and pose beside.
In the end, I sat at a table in a little alcove overlooking a fountain in a central and wrote some postcards
while I mused about what all has happened, both in my own life as well as in the life of this historic city,
since I was first here.
