Green Onion Domes in the Pea-Soup of the Sky Report

On Saturday the 4th I went on a trip with a small band of fellow pals by bus around Moscow. We set off to the sound of wheels smoothly slipping on fallen sleet. Then, we dreamily followed the walls of Moscow from the vantage point of a bus window. It was quite a new experience to be ferried in this manner through streets that for the previous weeks had been viewed more from the perspective of a gopher.

Now the buildings paraded past us on a level with our eyes rather than glimpsed like battlements as we scrambled up out of the catacombs. We got a nice commentary as we sat snug in our seats. It was c-c-c-c cold outside, as we discovered when we made our first stop at Red Square.Here we found out about the history of the Kremlin and St Basil's Cathedral, as if we didn't already know it...but there were a few extra facts. Well! There always are.

To tell you the truth I prefered hearing the information like this...from a guide whose english had lots of Russian inflexions in it, and whose expressions often had a charming ambiguity about them...not really misleading, but which made you reflect on how vague our language can sound when we don't apply the iron vice of native usage to it.

We continued winding around streets, passing various Moscow landmarks along the way, including such luminaries as the house of "Smirnoff"(the Russian toothpaste manufacturer from the 18th century?), the place where a barefoot guy that used to tell Ivan the Terrible what-for, I think, used to take his morning bath, and took in the Kremlin from various vantage points, and a few former execution squares now substituting as parks thrown in for good measure.

Then we went past the huge dome of the Church of the Ascension, an ancient Moscow landmark which had been raised and then rebuilt. The winter sun threw it's long cold web across the bus and no-one felt inclined to get out here. We learnt though, that many churches had been raised to make way for other establishments but in recent times this process was being reversed. We went down a street, past Krapotskinskaya Metro, and saw Pushkin's old stamping grounds. A picture of him in a frock-coat and wearing a top hat was glimpsed as we passed by, plus the house where he met his future wife at a ball, and then Tolstoy's statue and his nearby cottage.

Actually there were numerous gigantic statues in black (alabaster?) stone dotted around Moscow. A thin coating of snow lay on their shoulders, heads and laps to which they seemed oblivious. Finally we cruised up to the Sparrow Hills and gazed out over the city from the Universitat. The seven sister's scraped the sky, pale winter sun lit distant brown walls, and smoke billowed from giant chimneys. Yes this was Moscow.

Well. I need to be getting back to work, so I'l be signing off now. Until next time.

Yours sincerely,
Green Onion Dome in the Pea Soup of the Sky Reporter