Moscow

Arriving in Moscow at night and with a sub zero temperature, as well not a word of the Russian language, nor able to sound out the Cyrillic alphabet, had me in an anxious state. Constantine had written my hostel's address in Cyrillic to help when using a taxi. Raphe, my son, had warned me not to use the Metro at night. Matters were not improved by the kamikaze Chechin taxi driver, who seemed to have a death wish. I have never before been so petrified in a car.

There was not a lot of time before i was to be off on the Trans-Siberian Express, so the priorities on this visit, i hope there will be more, were: 1. The Metro. This was built between 1932-35, when thousands of near slaves were driven to please Stalin and accomplish his status symbol. It was directed by a young Nikita Kruschev. It is still growing and handles 9 million passengers a day, more than London and New York combined! 2. St Basil's and the Kremlin. 3. Knovodechina Monastery and Cemetery.

Moscow is the barometer and nucleus of the changes sweeping through Russia. Nowhere are Russia's contrasts more apparent than here - ancient monasteries and ultra-modern monoliths stand side by side, and 'New Russian' millionaires and poverty-stricken pensioners walk the same streets.

Moscovites seem to prefer international name brands to monolithic department stores, and the beautiful churches vandalised or abandoned during the Soviet era of hard line atheism are being lovingly restored. But the real flavour of this city is in its nooks and crannies, each of them unique. These were observed as i tramped around to my three objectives.

The cemetery beside Moscow's Novodevichy Convent resembles a sculpture park. The city has one of those, too, but at a different spot, where all those great, but now naughty men's, former statues have been unceremoniously dumped. Here, behind high walls attached on one side to the convent and among gnarled trees, lie the remains of many famous figures including writer Anton Chekhov, composer Sergei Prokofiev and former Russian president Boris Yeltsin, ballerinas, anarchists, and over 1,000 other greats as well as and my own special man, Dmitry Schostakovich. I laid a flower on his grave and thanked him for over 50 years of pleasure that he has given me. The artfully chiseled gravestones, in many different materials and unlimited designs of form and typography, both busts and full portraits, make a visit especially worthwhile. Why can't we have such a place in England, instead of a little plaque, sometimes, in a church, if they were a practising christian? My highlight of Moscow.


PICTURES TO FOLLOW