Moscow

A final comment from the Trans-Siberian journal:

Moscow is poorly lit inside and out. I’m a little worn out and both exhilerated dulled by the routine of being a in a European city again. Museum. Building. Museum. Bridge. Statue.

But the sandwiches are great. I’ve missed the sandwiches.

The subway in this city is spectacular. Buried deep beneath the city, it remains a monument to Stalin’s industrial might and Moscows most alluring asset. I read somewhere that it carries more people daily than the London and NY systems combined. Remarkable, considering all the trains look like relics and the stations vast, ornate, graffitti-less museums.

I just walked through the Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts. So simple and elegant and full of many historical treasures. Noteable was the Roman she-wolf sculpture that adorned one of my texts in university. Also a bronze of Rodin’s ‘The Kiss’ which put me in a trance.

I yawned through the midieval Italian art. How many Madonna-and-Childs must one endure? It all stinks of guilt. The artists were probably guilted by the church into painting the monotonous subject matter. And then the viewer feels obliged to look at it. I just breezed through the guilt rooms, only stopping for colour combinations or compositions that jumped out at me.

Tomorrow St Petersburg, which I’m looking forward to. Home of the Hermitage, largest art collection in the world.