The Moscow Metro system is a very terrifying thing. At rush hour, it is impossible not to move. Don't think about dropping your phone, pausing to desperately look at a sign, or turning back when you realise you're heading for the train to Vladivostok; any attempt to stop yourself from being dragged along with the other commuters will result in broken limbs, a busted nose, or at best, a stern nadger-freezing Russian glare.
Another tip for the Moscow traveller: either carry lots of spare change, or learn to unabashedly at the ground whenever your spare change is wanted, because A LOT of people on the metro want your money. All Moscow money-wranglers use a standard model: get on the train at door 1, walk down the train staring determinedly at the hastily turned-away faces, leave the train by door 2 at the very next stop.
The first type of metro opportunist is the standard beggar. At the end of one busy day of training, I got on the train to Mitino, settled myself at the door, and looked down to see a man with no legs and khaki overalls, wheeling himself along the carriage on a cushion. On another occasion, an elderly babooshka with a face like a nobbled gherkin managed to push her face directly into several staid uncooperative faces, until the imaginary one stop begging rule forced her to leave the train at the next station. Some beggars use props. One woman used a heavily gilded orthodox painting; another used a grubby child with a sandwich board around his neck, pushed in front of her as she moved down the carriage.
The next kind of metro money-maker is the one-man business. More bizarre than the sometimes uncomfortably impoverished beggars, these men behave like their dearest wish is to hear the approving croak of Hilary Devey reverberate towards them across the Dragon's Den. Recently, a man got on to the metro, and settled himself on a seat like the other metro travellers, completely unnoticed by anybody else. As soon as the train was in motion again, however, he leapt up from his seat, grabbed his props from his bag, and jumped into an enthusiastic, and very loud, sales pitch. The amazing product at his masterful command was a pritt stick which removed all manner of common stains. Look, he's rubbed oil on his chammy! One rub of his wand and it's disappeared! A dowdy middle aged observer clearly needed his magical stick - she grabbed at it and plunged it into her cavernous container, throwing him a couple of hundred roubles during the melee. .
When you're not on the train, there's no need to curb your spending. All manner of wonders can be had at every underground station. A walk through the dingy corridors outside the main platforms can usually reveal a stall for orthodox idols, next to an undies stall, next to a sausage kiosk. If knick-knacks, literally or otherwise, are not your thing, there's always a friendly Russian babooshka with a cage of kittens or hamsters to whet your capitalist appetite. I have been tempted by this on many occasions, though I fear that, given my limited Russian, a curious enquiry could easily see me accidentally burdened with the entire stock. In fact, this is the theory of a fellow intern and mine. We think that the current cat lady, years ago, approached the last cat lady, with the intention of giving the kittens a little stroke. The cat lady saw her opportunity and scarpered, leaving a new generation to carry on the noble metro pet-selling tradition. And so it goes.
Despite all the odd features of the Moscow metro, it can't be denied that, for the most part, the platforms are absolutely stunning. Apparently, Stalin instructed his architects to create underground palaces, to show his people that the Communist system had been justified. This really shows. Most of the stations have chandeliers, marble columns, and paintings or mosaics. One of my personal favourites is Mayakovskaya station, which won the Grand Prix at the World Trade Fair in 1938. It has beautiful steel columns and mosaics in the ceiling, depicting various visions of the sky. Set the beautiful design of the stations alongside the bizarre nature of the activities within them, and you have a very Russian mix indeed.
