Chapter 7 - Securing insecurity into and out of Moscow
Where we make it back to Moscow and we give security theatre a standing ovation. From here it's on to the Trans-Siberian to Irkutsk and beyond!
Insecure Security
Moscow, Russia. Wednesday, 28 June 2006
Despite last night’s shenanigans, waking up at 6 a.m. wasn’t too bad. I was dehydrated today, but nowhere near as hungover as I had expected. We drove to the MinVody airport through countless and seemingly meaningless security checks. More worrying were the two security ladies who asked Sergei what was in my bag as it went through the scanner. We explained it was my camera. That was all the check they needed—no opening or further inspection in a high-security zone—very odd.
The “International Lounge”—open only to foreign-looking people (nothing to do with where you were going)—was straight out of the 1960s. It was 30+ Celsius outside and there was no air conditioning inside. Thankfully, the windows were open, so we could have jumped out unrestricted onto the airfield, making all the security checks completely impotent. Ahsan and Anders left on an earlier flight to Moscow, and we had about 5 hours to kick around the MinVody airport. We made a plan to meet Tom and the Americans at Red Square in Moscow at 8:30 p.m. for supper. I am looking forward to some real vegetarian (ahem, vegetables) food or even some fish. Here’s hoping my luggage and everything else make it there in one piece!
3:20 p.m.
We’re sitting in our seats waiting for our flight to Moscow to take off. We have just gone through quite the hassle to get on board. Had it not been for Sergei, I suspect we would still be waiting in line.
Sergei came by the waiting area after meeting his next group of Elbrus climbers. The five new climbers were from Great Britain and Ireland. When we joined them at the airport café, we sounded like wise climbing elders—if only they knew. Though I didn’t get their names, they all seemed nice, and after chatting with “da by’s” from Dublin, Keli’s Newfoundland accent was definitely stronger.
Mike, Keli, and I went to check in, only to realize that Sergei had misheard the announcement and we were too early. The heavyset check-in lady chastised us, and we meekly went back to the café. On the way, Sergei suggested we weigh our luggage to see if we were overweight—MinVody airport was infamous for making foreigners pay ludicrous amounts for overweight luggage. It was a good thing, too: I was over by 7 kg. Since we could take 5 kg as cabin luggage, I unloaded as much weight as I could into my camera bag and carried the books so they wouldn’t be weighed! An hour later, we headed back to the check-in dragon lady to begin the ordeal again.
Let me take you through our MinVody Airport experience:
The ticket lady took our tickets and gave us our boarding passes. We walked down the hallway to the next step. Usually, Sergei would not be allowed to go through, but today the guards forced him to help translate—this turned out to be a very good thing.
We lined up for another lady with our passports, who painstakingly entered our information into a computer. I pitied her for having to type my long name. We walked a bit farther down the hallway—it was now getting quite hot in this narrow security area.
We then lined up at the security machines, took off our shoes, and wore blue plastic socks. Keli’s bag got stuck in the X-ray machine. Don’t ever forget to place everything in the exact orientation shouted at you by impatient Russian officials, lest you be glared at and shouted at even more.
We stepped through the security gateway—multiple times, in our case.
Another guard then took our passports, demanded our travel vouchers, and checked them.
In yet another cramped room, our luggage was weighed. Surprisingly, none of us were deemed overweight. Phew.
Next, we were placed in another hot waiting room.
Finally, the doors in this waiting room were opened, and we were told to board a bus to go less than 100 ft to the plane.
Alighting from the bus, we waited at the bottom of the stairs as attendants carefully checked our boarding passes at both the bottom and the top of the steps—apparently, it is possible for boarding passes to change between getting on and off a single flight of stairs…
If you zoomed out on this scene just a little, you’d realize that despite all the supposed security, shouting, and coercion by armed officials, at various points we could have wandered anywhere we liked.
Finally, here we are, crammed like sardines into another Tupolev tin can en route to Moscow. You really couldn’t write a movie script like this—it would be too tedious, despite being pedantically hilarious. Mike is seated on my left, and Keli is on my right.
Moscow can’t come quickly enough!
Three’s Company
Moscow, Russia. Thursday, 29 June — Friday, 30 June, 2006 (Friday)
Moscow came pretty quickly, all right. Thank goodness. Between the cramped seats on the Tupolev 154, where someone leaning back in front would send their seat into my knee, and the high-pitched whine from the engines that sent shivers down my spine, I will seriously advise anyone to think carefully about taking domestic flights in Russia. Take the train whenever possible. Like I said, Moscow came quickly, as did twenty minutes of circling the airport.
Moscow also came with incessant passport checks and security detectors that went off with alarms no one bothered to investigate. Thankfully, all our luggage arrived, and as we exited, guards checked the luggage tag numbers. Don’t lose that luggage claim tag!
Keli and I said our goodbyes to Mike. I hoped I would see him again in Edinburgh or somewhere else—he was a really good egg. The same goes for Ahsan and Anders. I suspect I will see all my climbing companions again—one climb with Dups, friends for life—even if they don’t want it!
Keli and I headed by train into Moscow and then by metro to the hostel. I have to say again, rail truly is the ideal mode of transport in this country. Despite the relative ease of the train and metro, it was already 10 p.m. by the time we arrived at the hostel—long past when we were supposed to meet Tom and the Americans for supper at Red Square.
To recap, for a one-and-a-half-hour flight, we had: a three-hour car ride, a four-hour wait, two hours trying to get through security, one hour waiting to board, two hours in flight, two more hours to clear security (again) and retrieve luggage, plus one-and-a-half hours on public transport to the hostel. Add another twelve hours of peace and quiet, and we could have gone much more comfortably by train.
By the time we had settled in and re-registered our passports and visas, I was famished and my temper was short. Keli was also feeling the effects of not having eaten all day, so we found a restaurant in Ryzansky Prospekt called “Toxic Zone”—which left us wondering what the food would be like—where the menus were in Russian and the waitress was in fits of laughter at our attempts at Russian.
Despite the communication setbacks, my pasta did turn out to be vegetarian—not a given when we ordered—and our drinks were “exotic” Carlsberg. We had a late-night talk about all things Newfoundland, relationships, and shared plenty of laughter while watching men in tight mesh shirts hitting on 14–16-year-olds at the bar.
Thursday was meant to be a day of sightseeing, only for us to discover that Thursday is the one day of the week the Kremlin is closed. Blocked from the Kremlin, we headed to Lenin’s tomb, only to see a line stretching out of sight. We decided that gawking at Lenin’s corpse was something we could live without.
That left Red Square, the grand shopping center (GUM), and St. Basil’s Cathedral, both inside and out. All were amazing, and hopefully our photos will do them justice. One thing I didn’t get a picture of was the group of church musicians singing in the medieval halls of St. Basil’s.
Our day included a lucky find: the Transit Cafe, decorated like a train carriage. They had staff who spoke English and even carried English menus—hey, so we’re heathens. After filling our bellies with food and beer, we visited the State Historical Museum next to the Kremlin. We had to interpret most exhibits ourselves, which grew quite hilarious. Keli nearly got in trouble for touching the glass cases—each room has an attendant whose sole purpose is to prevent smudges.
We ran out of time at this comprehensive and impressive museum—the building and interiors alone are worth the visit. Next, we headed to a typical American-style mall for some internet access, so I could email Anton in Irkutsk—my next stop. I had contacted him before leaving Canada; he’s a climber and guide who offered to pick me up at the train station and show me around Lake Baikal for five days. Unfortunately, I had forgotten to email him again. Hopefully he’ll show up.
We returned to the hostel for supermarket shopping to stock up on train supplies—I vowed never again to board a train in Russia without enough food and vodka. Keli is taking a train to St. Petersburg while I’m heading in the opposite direction on my 5000 km journey to Siberia.
Luckily, both trains left from stations near the same metro stop: Leningradsky Station serves St. Petersburg, and Yaroslavsky handles most Trans-Siberian departures. It was there that I said goodbye to Keli—I’m going to miss her. We’ve had quite an adventure in these past two weeks, and now I’ll be on my own again. After a short wait, and with my meager understanding of Cyrillic, I found the right platform and train. Now here I am, waking up the next morning on a top bunk on the Baikal Express.
My compartment is filled with three Russian women—Mila and Natasha, who seem to be in their forties, and Natasha’s 14- or 15-year-old daughter, Dasha. In the next cabin is a retired Danish couple, Nils and Anne-Marie, traveling with their granddaughter, Natalie, on their way to Beijing. Next to them is another group of Danish women and a single Russian guy, Yuri, whose English isn’t very good. The three Russian women in my compartment can’t speak any English. This is turning into an odd episode of “Three’s Company,” so it should be an interesting four days.
So far, I’ve laid out all the food I brought, and we’ve shared breakfast. I’ve shown them postcards from Canada. The train has just passed Kotelnich, and I’ve adjusted my watch for the first time—590 km into the journey.
9:30 p.m.
It’s been a very interesting day on this train. A day of discovery and making friends. I’ve hit it off with the Danish family next door and the group next to them. The Russians and I in my compartment finally understand a few things about each other, and now they know I’m 31—much to their shock. They all thought I was 22—what a compliment! The young girl with the second group of Danes (16-year-old Rosa) also thought I was younger.
I spent quite a bit of time talking to Nils about Denmark, Canada, and conservative politicians in our respective countries—neither of us likes them. Having learned the lessons from the previous trip, this time I’ve also befriended the rather cute—and probably quite young—Providentsia, Elena.