Moscow, with a population of nine million people, was once the capital of the Soviet Block
and is now Capital of the Russian Federation. The Kremlin, in the centre of Moscow, has
been the power base for the tsars and presidents of Russia over the last eight hundred years.
Adjacent to the Kremlin is Red Square, which is symbolised by the onion like multicoloured
domes of St Basil.s Cathedral. The approach to Red Square is a contrast of architectural
styles; on the one hand there are the ugly soviet skyscrapers, and on the other are the more
aesthetically pleasing buildings such as the Bolshoi Theatre.
With the collapse of the Soviet Block, the repression of the Orthodox church has been
replaced by an enthusiasm to embrace religion; as the old certainties have been vanquished to
the dustbin of history (nature abhors a vacuum). This is reflected in the restoration of old
churches, and the rapid construction of new ones.
During the first half of 2001 I visited Moscow, for the first time on a business trip. My
previous experience of Eastern Europe had been confined to the Baltic States and East Berlin;
and so in some respects I was expecting a larger version of them. The key expectation being
that, since the collapse of Communism and the introduction of market forces, certain aspects
of the infrastructure would have been enhanced to attract Western visitors and investment.

The Airport from Hell
One key aspect of the infrastructure, that affects any visitor.s views on a country, is the
airport. I can vouch that during the years that I visited the Baltics, their airports were given a
decent facelift and made distinctly more user friendly (despite their limited size). I was
therefore expecting to see a decent airport when disembarking in Moscow. How wrong I was!
Clearly the concept of a friendly welcome, and .first impressions count., has bypassed the
authorities controlling Moscow airport. The month was June, and the weather warm, we
disembarked; and like all other passengers from the other aircraft landing from around the
world (Moscow is a busy airport) were herded through one central passport control. This
consisted of six booths manned by the unsmiling uniformed customs officials, the sort usually
seen in a film adaptation of a John Le Carre spy novel. As all other flight arrivals had to pass
through these booths as well the area was, to say the least, busy. A simple mathematical
formula could be devised to show that the speed at which passengers were arriving in
.passport control. greatly exceeded capacity of the passport control to process the passports.
The result a disorganised mess, not resembling a queue at all.
At this point I should mention that the airport had no air-conditioning, and the number of
people and warm June weather meant that standing in the .herd. made it feel more like being
in a sauna. The customs officers were thorough in their duty; each passport was passed over a
.scanner. which, unlike the more sophisticated versions in the West which take a second to
process the information, took at least a minute to process them. The reason was explained to
me later by a regular visitor. Apparently the .scanner. is in fact a television camera, which
beams the passport picture to an unseen person in a room; who then does something with a
computer to process the document. Unfortunately there is only on person doing this, so all six
passport booths must send the scanned image to him. Not surprisingly a bottleneck develops.
I took, and this is no exaggeration, 1½ hours to get through this shambles. Ample time to
admire the Soviet style décor, of brown paint, liberally coating all parts of the building. I
regret to say that departing Moscow airport was equally tedious.

Being a wise traveller I try to make sure I arrive at airports with plenty of time to spare. I had
been warned that departure from the airport would be every bit as tedious as arrival.
Therefore, I reasoned that if I arrive early I will beat the rush and at least not have to stand in
a queue for hours. So I arranged to be dropped at the airport an hour before I needed to be
there. However, the best laid plans etc etc. Unlike other major airports, which have dedicated
check ins for the major airlines, Moscow operated a shared desk policy. Namely, the airlines
use the same check in desk at different times. Therefore, arriving early did not help; as my
BA check in had not been set up yet as a local airline was using the desk. So I had an hour to
kick my heals in the pre check in area. Had this been a decent airport there would have been
enough places to wander round, sit down in etc. This of course was Moscow airport, and as
such the customer facilities were spartan to say the least. After some effort, I found a bar at
the top of the airport building, which at least would provide a bolt hole for the next hour. I
deposited my suitcase with the standard unsmiling .babushka. hat check lady and settled in.
Travellers. note, although officially frowned upon, all Russians prefer to take cash payment in
dollars (so make sure you have a few in your pocket).
My hour passed and I made my way back to the check in which now was operating, after a
fashion. The one good thing I will say about Moscow airport is the security measures
regarding screening bags. I make no exaggeration when saying that my carry on luggage was
X-rayed three times. This was before 911, so it is quite possible the checks are even more
rigorous now; I recommend other airports follow suit.
As predicted the customs queue was long, tedious and disorganised. It took an hour and a half
to get through this, all comments regarding air-conditioning as made regarding arrival apply
equally to departure! I settled into the very overcrowded business class lounge, which offered
an interesting selection of rubber ham and curled slices of cheese, on dry bread, by way of
refreshment.
My advice to the Moscow authorities is, please upgrade your airport; first impressions really
do count!

Wet Hotel Room
I had been booked into the Marriott, a five star hotel in central Moscow, which to placate
nervous Western tourists had a very visible internal security presence; heavy set gentlemen in
black suits (bearing more than a passing resemblance to night-club bouncers) with hearing
aids, have you noticed how so many security personnel appear to be hearing impaired? I was
told later that in fact there had been a .security incident. in the hotel, when one leader of a
Mafia gang had been gunned down in the elevator by another gang member, much to the
distress of the other hotel guests. I checked in and went to my room, a little spartan by five
star standards; but I.ve had worse. There was one curious feature to the room, namely a rather
large wet patch on the carpet. This was a curiosity as there was no leak (at least that I could
determine) in the ceiling, and since the weather was warm and dry I couldn.t attribute it to the
weather. Maybe it was the result of an act by an unhygienic previous occupant. Oh well, no
time to ponder such trivia I had a meeting booked in the bar with the management of our
Moscow office; which I would be late for if I sat and pondered the wet patch. I left the room
and bumped into the housekeeper, so I told her of the wet patch (in case there was some
serious plumbing issue which might get worse) she looked concerned, and nodded her head
vigorously as I showed it to her. She then gave me a piece of chocolate, a rather unusual
approach to .customer care.. Needless to say when I returned to my room later that evening,
after dinner, the wet patch was still there; but more chocolate had been placed on my pillow.
The patch gradually dried of its own accord over the next few days.

Regarding security and personal safety, the hotel guide book warned visitors not to walk
around the streets in the evening as the risks to your personal safety were high. The guide
book went on to caution the unwary traveller that .even those of you who try to appear
Russian, and not draw attention to yourself, will still look like a foreigner to the local
citizens.. A particularly gruesome story .doing the rounds. was that of a hapless businessman
who allowed himself to have a few drinks bought for him by an .elegant blond lady. (aren.t
they all?). He, very foolishly, took her up to his hotel room. The next thing he knew was
waking up in his bath, which was filled with ice, naked. The lady had .slipped him a
Mickey.. A note had been pinned to the side of the bath saying, in English, that he should not
move but call a doctor on the mobile phone (that had been thoughtfully placed by the bath);
and tell the doctor that his kidneys had been removed. Apparently harvesting kidneys, for sale
on the black market, is all the rage. Shades of Hannibal Lector!
Needless to say, I duly ignored these warnings and went with a colleague (by foot!) to Café
Pushkin which was fifteen minutes walk away. I was told that this is one of Moscow.s more
fashionable eating establishments, apparently even Sting had dined there. My expectations
were high, but I was not to be disappointed. We had a particularly fine dinner which included
Borstch (see page 133) and, having considered then dismissed the braised cocks. combs,
opted for the meat patties; washed down with a few glasses of Islay Malt. We made a point of
avoiding any blond women offering to buy us a drink!
 

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