Part 10: Russian Hospital

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If you are going to collapse, or call in an emergency, make sure you are in the city center.
The hospitals outside the zone 2 border are like something from an eighties war movie.
The building's are in need of a refurbishment.
Drastically.

To find doctors or specialists is a maze of doors (often involving you to drive to the other side of town, get some old yellow piece of paper from another doctor, then return back to your first doctor), which leads you with the belief that little has actually been resolved.
Paperwork is done in such a horridly-antiquated way that you wonder if they've ever heard of 'windows' or 'Apple' in the electronic context. The system is outdated, and it's what makes Europe a power force forward in the medical sector.
I half expected the doctor to pull out a jar of leeches their system is so old.
The full force hit me when we took my wife to one of these so-called hospitals. People who had just been operated on we're lying in beds in the hallway. The rooms themselves didn't take less than three people. Nurses were susceptible to bribes for better conditions. According to law they get paid more money if they can keep you in this bed for longer than 5 days. The nurses were taking blood, but forgetting to test for certain conditions, meaning they would only test again the next day, at their convenience.
Whoops.
This isn't healthcare. It's opportunism in its most evil form.
My wife was being checked for a simple procedure, but in the room opposite her was a woman dying, and across from that a girl having an abortion, and across from that a woman about to give birth.
It was a circus.
The meal was grits, potato and water.
The toilet door didn't lock and there was no toilet paper.
The hospital bed's mattress was showing signs of (hopefully) old, dried blood.
When my wife asked for hot water for some green tea they denied her.
After day three of this hell, I kidnapped her, and took her home where she genuinely recovered.
I wouldn't wish this hell on anyone.
It made the NHS (which I always used to grumble about) seem like the Ritz Carlton.
My advice; if you’re sick or hurt in Russia… don’t go to hospital.

Check out my books here: www.jamesbrough.com

Part 9: The Weather

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I was born in England. Not exactly forged in snow (as I was born in July) but I had a strong self-belief of being able to withstand the cold.
I was wrong.
In my heart's core I'm a southern boy. Give me an African coast. Give me Florida heat.
Moscow has the extremes; albeit a short summer, it's worth seeing. And experiencing. There are some awesome little fake beaches about Moscow with pools and loungers. There's even the tropical bar setting to drink beer and pass out in the sun.
Not many people know this, but Russia fires chemicals into the air on special days to ensure it doesn't rain (can you say damage to the environment?). The chemicals would go great hand in hand with car methane emissions.
The heat is so much that the roads must be sprayed with water so the tar doesn't melt.
The two weeks of autumn can be some of the most beautiful settings in Russia. Orange, purple and red leaves as though a painting has jumped out of the canvas. The only complaint is the cotton trees; the balls of fluff nearly choking you to death down every second street corner. Apparently Stalin had something to do with this.
Spring is a torrent of rain rivaling that of what I've witnessed in Africa and Florida. Thunderstorms that make you drenched in seconds. Lightning that makes you paranoid enough to switch off all your electronics.
The winter on the other hand...

Prepare for 6 months of isolation.
I have a running gag with friends involving the Game of Thrones quote "winter is coming." Rumours are that this is what vodka was invented for. Moscow's drop (or should I say "plunge") in temperature is so sudden that it causes severe headaches. True story. My wife and I woke up one night almost screaming from the pain as the pressure squashed our brains.
Living all over the world I've experienced a lot of weather, but nothing like this. The weather is so bad it gives you a headache? Come on! Really? Prepare for your lungs and face to ache in the cold, but when it's over you'll say "that wasn't so bad."

Check out my books here: www.jamesbrough.com

Christmas Special!

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Coming to you live from the midst of Russian snowy Christmas (real Christmas - the 25th December, not the 7th January like Russia believes) and the roads are white chaos!

In a stroke of super-duper Christmas irony I have just witnessed a big red coca cola truck being stuck in the snow... A little truck attempting to drag it out (it's always the real thing! --- sorry couldn't resist).

And then came the realization- British and American Christmas is the sham. The real Christmas day is the 7th of January, but it was changed by the-powers-that-be roughly two hundred years ago.

So British Christmas is not the real Christmas, but here is what I can say; no one does it better than Europe! The marketing, the traditions, the stories, Dickens, goose, turkey, presents. We do it properly. It's more than a religious holiday. It's family. It's a memory maker. It's a patience teacher (waiting to open that gift, waiting to receive, or even waiting to give a gift and see that reaction.)

Christmas isn't "here's a pressie, where's mine? Happy birthday, Jesus."
It's an indescribable emotion, something that says "let's stop all the BS. Let's have an excuse to stop and breath."


For Russians- New Years Eve is their real Christmas. This is their time to stop and breath. And they do it in style- for a whole week (that suicidal first week of Jan... Probably explains why Russians aren't big on the suicide statistics.)

In the words of tiny Tim; God bless us, everyone!

Check out my books here: www.jamesbrough.com

Part 8: Russian Taxis

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Russia has an amazing taxi system; stand on the side of the road and stick your arm out, and someone will pick you up.
I kid you not.
The car will be a square item from another time, but the fair will be cheap. What's scary is I've seen young girls doing this. Maybe I've watched too many horror films, but if a beautiful person climbs in a vehicle with an odd-faced character wearing driving gloves (be prepared for that) their odds of showing up on the back of a milk carton are fairly high.

If gambling isn't your thing, there's a taxi service called City Mobile. The App can be downloaded to your phone and you can order a taxi to your door. You can even track the progress of your taxi on his way to you.
While this sounds too good to be true it's because it is; I've ordered one or two taxis where I can see the person accepting to drive me is far away, he clearly accepted the order to be a greedy little cabby. This means, if I've been monitoring his progress, that I have to order another, wasting my time.
Next problem; for some reason you're car driver likes to call you. Why? You have the pickup destination with an alert sent to your phone that says he's arrived. Why would I want to talk to you? What do we have to discuss? You know where to find me and you know where I'm going.
Especially if you don't speak Russian, it can get tiresome to say the least when these characters call you to tell you they're 2 minutes away. Yes, I can see your car on the app, dumbass. It gets frustrating to a degree that you would rather walk 500 miles (queue the Proclaimers) in the snow then put up with this unnecessarily lost in translation mess.
Next is the cab fare. The app calculates an amount for you, so you'll know if you're getting ripped off.

The main bonus is cabs are still a damn sight cheaper than most major cities.

Check out my books here: www.jamesbrough.com

Part 7: The Metro

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Where to begin... Let's see. First is the journey down to the famous metro. The escalator seems like an endless tunnel to hell for most commuters, and I've often fantasised about them installing a slide for those of us that grind our teeth at waiting on an escalator.
Try walking up or down them. I dare you. In Russia to do this every day would be enough for a short gym session (could explain the lack of joggers.)

The metro themselves are marble wonders. Impressive but on first try are perhaps too complex. A pleasure for first time tourist gawkers but a pain in the ass for regular commuters. The crisscross of walkways and lack of English signage make for a frustrating campaign for tourists. How are we to know that on the metro map, where it shows circles over stations, that it means they are linked and can be walked to. And not a quick walk I might add. Everything in Moscow is a journey (or trek for the South Africans reading this.)

Rush hour is insane. I've been in the March of the Penguins at Waterloo station. I was one of those sad penguins. This is some other kind of monster; a Russian wave of pushing and squeezing (let's just say Russians aren't afraid to get up close and personal when it comes to our personal space) that makes you yell in your head "how can there be this many people in the world?"
It's chaos. It's rude for lack of a better word.

Some trains are brand new with (thank the Lord) English beneath the Russian words. The older trains are some death machine from the 70s. Listening carefully for the name of your station otherwise you won’t know where you are. The trains are very Loud. Very very very loud. Squeaky. Swaying like a ship in a storm.
I've climbed on and off the wrong train so many times in the beginning it became not funny very quickly.

The good news is that the trains are fairly consistent; one every two minutes give or take.

Lastly the consumers; there will be the usual suspects; beggars, old ladies, people carrying bags way too big, little kids, people selling stuff, stinky people, bearded people, but the amount of black people in Russia that I see; if I count more than two for a whole month, this is standard. For a kid growing up in Africa, seeing this many white people is just down right odd. The naughty raisins are missing from the pudding, so to speak. Here, they call Islamic or Armenian "black." That's Middle-Eastern. Or Indian, etc. Black is African. Black is black. White is white. You get the idea.


Check out my books at www.jamesbrough.com

Part 6: Gorky Park

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Yes, yes, just like the Scorpions song (who make a living out of visiting Moscow often to sing that one track that I never heard of until I moved here.)  - - - Listen to it here

The thing is Gorky Park is something to write home about; in the summer it's the epicentre of all that's fun and happening in Moscow; over-priced drinks (in Russian terms anyway), lots of little eateries... But that's not the main pull.

Volleyball, ping pong, skating ramps, biking ramps, dancing, cycling, outdoor cinema in English (gasp), paddle boats, roller blading (all of which can be rented if you bring your Passport along?).
If you want to chill and relax there's beanbags and sun loungers. Benches overlooking a dancing fountain. Interesting displays and statues. Some of the Russian girls will simply sunbathe in their Victoria’s secret if the day is hot enough (yes, boys, this does happen on occasion.) On the other side of the bridge paintings and decor are for sale. It has to be seen and experienced to be enjoyed.

Winter time it becomes a wonderland that I dare say Hyde Park pales in comparison. Gorky is converted into a giant ice rink with wooden platforms crisscrossing above. You can skate your way to an Italian restaurant and have some glue wine, then somehow skate your way back out.

It's so well done you can't fault it. It is the Russians ace up the sleeve. To visit Moscow and not go here is to go to London and not see Buckingham Palace.
Yes, it's that important.

Check out my books at www.jamesbrough.com

Part 5: Russian People

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I know a lot of good Russians. This chapter is about the cliche; what you will, without doubt, encounter. This is not to say all Russians are like this. Let's get to it.
From my observations the average man in Russia is 6 foot tall. He owns a pair of blue denim jeans and a black leather jacket. Though majority of them are shipped off to compulsory military training they do not appear to be overly muscular, broad shouldered or dangerous. He doesn't wear gel or wax in his hair. When you see them you will feel like you are in the set of Party of Five. That's right, a 90s theme television show. You will feel like you are from the future. I was wandering around like Marty McFly with my mouth open.

Next, the girls.
Russian women are, sorry to disappoint women of the world, naturally beautiful. Most have slim figures, chisel like features and good nails. Wearing big fur coats is a sign of wealth in Russia.
Most people tell me it's in their genes that they all look slim and healthy. I say it's this:
A: Russia doesn't have a massive junk food regime as Europe or the States. Most people have cold soup for starters. This is super healthy. Most of their produce is natural and organic.
B: they aren't a huge drinking culture. You don't have pubs on every corner, which means you don't have pint after pint. Thick cut chips aren't a regular in restaurants. The alcohol they do have is either neat spirits (very few use mixers) and/or a glass of wine, and most people don’t drink as they have to drive.

That being said, I believe it's their diet that keeps them slim, as I don't see many of the locals running about the car-fume infested streets. There are a modest amount of gyms, but strange that they are top Contenders for gold medals at the Olympics. Jogging and cycling isn't huge on their to-do list either. In Gorky Park you mainly see skaters and roller bladers (again a 90s reference.)
The work force is fairly straightforward. Not many people run around in suits as you see in cities like New York or London.
In winter Russians wear the famous Russian hats (shapka)- capable of folding over your ears, back of your neck and your face (why?).

For the older generation, wearing a big fur coat was a sign of wealth. Some of this ideology has rubbed off on the younger generation that isn't against slaughtering mink.