If ever you decide to pay this city a visit, make sure that you arrange your trip to take in the 9th May celebrations, cos they’re flipping bonkers!
The day started with the pay off from all those late night rehearsals with the massive military parade. Over in Red Square a host of dignitaries watched the massed ranks of the local soldier boys stepping at pace across the cobbles and the biggest parade of military kit from some years. We out on Arbat may not have got the troops, but all the hardware trundled its way down the street, to the accompaniment of whoops, cheers and applause from the hoards that lined the streets. And just as they started to rattle along, the air force skimmed across the rooftops, trailing flags, refuelling hoses and Gaussian vapor trails behind them. And it were flippin’ ace.
After the show was over, anarchy reigned for about six minutes, as the locals danced in the streets – until we were shifted back off them again by the massed ranks of Moscow’s street cleansing machines. Deciding against getting sprayed up legs, we took a turn down a side alley to check out the gorgeous gold-topped Church of the Saviour, the Pushkin Museum and the insanely massive statue of Peter the Great down by the river. There was a proper party atmosphere about thye town, with old boys sporting cheast-loads of metals being applauded and glad-handed by everyone who passed them by, and gold and black ribbons festooned everywhere. Good stuff to be sure – but the day’s strangeness had only just begun.
After a quick trip up to the hall to catch the big four and a half and have a brief glimpse of a tiny orange man called Putin, we dashed back for the Ukrainian do. It was taking ages to get going, so me and our Catherine elected instead to roam the streets and soak in the fantasic atmosphere. Well, one suspected that we’d have plenty of chances to witness Loboda and her ego in the next few days, and not other opportunities to soak up this level of street party in our life time.
And it were great. Huge mobs of slightly drunk folks in silly had danced to pop tunes and jazzed up traditional songs on a number of stages around the town centre. Old ladies bopped with young shaven-headed lads, and kids with balloons and military outfits frolics to the turbo folk. The just as 10pm approached we realised we were nowhere with much of a view for the much-lauded fireworks, so made a quick back-alley dash to Red Square, figuring that as the hoards were trudging that way we must be in for something pretty special.
By the time ten struck, the thousands of already excitable Muscovites milling about on the cobbles let out a huge cheer, and then, in the very distance, a good few miles away on the horizon, we could see faint glimpses of what would probably be amazing fireworks if you were anywhere near them. But then a curious thing happened – the crowd went wild, cheering every faint explosion as if we were standing directly beneath them. At one point someone behind St Basils let off a flare and you’d have thought Spartak had just scored and injury time winner. Quite splendid madness. We can’t be sure if this whole thing is dead serious or just splendid irony that we couldn’t possibly understand, but it was 20 minutes of truly marvellous and unique fun.
As we strode back to the Eurodom the street party was coming to a close, the city letting out a cheery shrug. The Ukrainian party was just winding down, but somehow we reckon we got the better deal. The girl Loboda certainly knows how to put on a show, but she’s terribly hateful with it, so I’m so glad we gave her a miss for the unhinged events on the streets. The following Greek/Cypriot party wasn’t half bad though, but I’ll leave that for another time. The night ended with a perfect view of the massive gas pipeline fire from our kitchen window. Another fantastic day in an utterly insane city!