Apartment
Using all of my connections, I was able to secure free accomodations in an apartment in the northeast corner of the city. By western standards, the place was a dive — the sort of building one might expect in a decaying inner city.

But I travel light and can sleep almost anywhere. The apartment might have been small, but I was smaller — but big enough to fend off the hordes of cockroaches. "Ah, just perfect" I thought as I walked in the entrance way, pushing past the broken and lockless front door, and climbed up to the second floor to get the elevator. (The elevator went to the first floor, but the button was broken.) We rode up to the eleventh floor.

Once I made it behind the double security doors, and the last of three door locks clicked into place, I had a chance to relax, glance around briefly, and pass out. Jet lag is a killer, so I didn't get a chance to examine my environs till I woke up, rested and ready for a full day, somewhere around 8 o'clock that evening.

Truth to tell, it's not as bad as it first seems. In Moscow, it seems the apartments (and yes, they are only apartments), are slowly dividing into two categories: Expensive and up to western standards, or cheap and Soviet. This one was in the second category, but pretty decent — the water ran both hot and cold, the phones and electric plugs worked. It could comfortably sleep two, and the five who lived there got along well enough.

The neighborhood was the standard semi-urban affair — blocks of huge high-rise apartment buidings intersperced with practically undeveloped land. The Metro station lay just across the street, with bus, rail and a high traffic boulevard by the door. There were a few shops in the area — I think the building housed a hardware store in the first floor.

But the real commerce took place in the kiosks, small wooden huts where you could buy almost anything. Watches, video cassettes, booze, Coke and cigarettes, all this and more, available from dawn 'till the wee hours of the morning. During the commute hours, the pivo (beer) booth was schlocking it wares. Hoppy and quite strong, not the best or the most consistent flavor, but not bad.

The local residents were almost entirely natives — I can't recall hearing a word of English spoken on the way to and from the apartment. For safety's sake, we refrained from the outward appearence of being foreign, especially at night. Rabbits being uncommon in these parts, I generally travelled to and from the building in the comfort of a backpack. Well, I thought, it beats walking.

Vodka

Doom

Toilet

Index

Transit

Tourism