Kaliningrad Kraziness

OK, I hear you ask- what's Kaliningrad? That question will be answered later, but it was actually a backup choice after my hopes for visiting Moldova were cruelly dashed. I had wanted to visit the impoverished but up & coming state of Moldova, which in a bid to attract visitors on Jan 1, 2008 eliminated visa requirements for the US, Canada, EU, and of course all former USSR countries, but had overlooked the poor Aussies in this process.

This left only Australians, New Zealanders and some sub-Saharan African countries still requiring visas. This was further complicated by the Moscow consulate requiring an original invitation, yet with an active Russian embargo against Moldova, this meant the Dept of Immigration in Chisinau would have had to give my invitation letter to the train conductor of the weekly Moscow train, who would effect a handover with my driver at the Kiev railway station. While this cloak-and-dagger Soviet-era process added a certain intrigue and was no doubt reliable, this process took 2 weeks longer than I had available, so we decided to head to Kaliningrad instead.

Kaliningrad is a Russian enclave on the Baltic, sandwiched between Poland and Lithuania, and is not actually connected to Russia proper (as Ariel said, "I think it's west of Ukraine"). As a former part of Prussia, it has a long, proud German heritage, which was largely obliterated by bombing in WWII, leaving it with a concrete and not-so-proud Soviet heritage, with just a hint of German (although, unfortunately, not in the cuisine).

Ariel, Guri and I embarked on this journey to the unknown (even more unknown than usual, since Cam forgot the guidebook), and landed in a dark rural airfield a million miles from anywhere, where we were informed that there was only a bus to the city, 25km away. We eventually arrived at the beautiful (by Soviet standards) Hotel Kaliningrad, which overlooked the brand new shopping centre (rent $25/sq. m). Despite being wedged between two EU members, Kaliningrad is more "regional" than cities I've visited in the middle of Siberia- absolutely nobody spoke English, (or German, for that matter), there was no McDonald's (a plus, except when we were hungover), and the streets still maintain their Communist-era names and monuments (corner of Karl Marx and Dzernzhinsky Ave, please!). In fact, Kaliningrad is so isolated, the locals even retain some positive sentiments about Moscow!

These positive sentiments were unfortunately not extended to foreigners, as we found as we were "feised" by several local restaurants, but thankfully the nightclubs saw things differently, although occasionally requiring some persuasion (Cam copped a Moscow attitude when feised due to his "sports shoes" with an "are you kidding, this is PRADA!" response, which opened the doorman's eyes- thankfully my Russian doesn't extend to "and they cost more than your annual income", which may have made him a little less hospitable).

We definitely enjoyed the local hotspots, but may have been influenced by occasional lingerie show and ubiquitous topless dancers, but then again, it is Russia. The clubs played our favourite Russki-Pop and top-40 hits, and had a fun crowd who was definitely out to party! Ariel found it most amusing that girls who could bust out a full set of lyrics to Justin Timberlake's latest hit were unable to communicate in a single word of English. Notwithstanding, everyone in our crew communicated with the locals in their own unique way, and by 7am we found ourselves back at another branch of the same restaurant where we'd had dinner. It was refreshing to see average menu prices of ~$3-4, compared with the same dishes in Moscow for ~$30.


The following morning (ok, afternoon) dawned with another dose of miserable Baltic weather, but we (actually, maybe just Cam) were determined to explore the city. We staggered to a strange cave-like restaurant, where as the only patrons, we had an acceptable Russian meal, and then strolled around the city centre. Of particular interest (other than Cam's fascination with Soviet architecture) were the local wedding traditions of locking an engraved padlock on the railing of a bridge, and throwing the keys in the water to signify endless love (at least without a bolt-cutter).

Our selection of restaurant that evening posed some challenges, as we were determined to find something edible that wasn't Russian. We stormed out of an early recommendation, when the combination of a cleverly-disguised Russian menu and the lack of either Red Bull or Tonic caused Guri to revolt, but then a starved Cam almost killed him when our backup option's kitchen was already closed (so much for Moscow's 24hr scene). Thankfully we found an acceptable Italian substitute and the evening progressed (assisted by absinthe shots).

Sadly, despite the public holiday the following day, our only late-night venue was the same Prada-debacle casino, which apparently offered a happening scene. Personally, I'd debate this, but thankfully the doormen were sufficiently cowed that they didn't make any further dress code commentary despite my thai t-shirt. After a few more hours of mediocre and middle-aged hits, we got the party started Moscow-style by bribing the DJ the equivalent of a month of Kaliningrad dinners to play "Moscow Never Sleeps", our favourite club anthem (definitely worth a listen), and a few other current Moscow hits, which kicked things into higher gear.

Staggering home from the nightclub, I managed to take a detour through the less-touristy (if that's even possible) side of Kaliningrad, some debris-strewn waterfronts, industrial shipyards, rusty suspension bridges, potholes the size of a mid-sized European country, and the mandatory Park Pobedy (Victory Park), a standard in any Soviet town. Unfortunately in this one the eternal flame to commemorate war dead had been extinguished by the delightful Baltic weather. I thought this seemed a travesty on this long weekend to celebrate the sacrifices of the military, so decided to relight the flame (after tossing the required three coins for three wishes into the cauldron- including the vital wish not to be incinerated). Despite a slight miscalculation in wind direction, I'm happy to report that the eternal flame in Kaliningrad is once again burning brightly.

Half an hour's sleep later, a bleary group of Muscovites commandeered a taxi and headed to the airport, thankfully navigating the sodden country roads without incident and making it to our flight before check-in concluded. Peering through the haze, Cam thought he noticed something familiar about the Aeroflot check-in girl. "Were you at Zhara nightclub on Saturday?", I enquired. The poor girl turned about seven shades before remaining red and peered ever more intently at her check-in screen. Thankfully I'd already been allocated a seat.

The photos can be seen here.

My Crazy Neighbours

Life in Moscow is certainly never dull. For some time now I've had a complicated relationship with my neighbours who live down the hall. The apartment belongs to a monolingual Russian couple and their kid, the wife seemingly spending most of her time inhabiting the landing.

To spice up her life, in recent months she's taken to listening for any female visitors of mine, and when she hears the telltale click of stiletto's, she leaps out from the apartment and launches a volley of abuse in our direction, accusing these poor innocent girls of being prostitutes, and occasionally rating them against their immediate predecessors.

Shortly after New Year, I arrived home one evening to find a huge mass of clothing, boxes, and other detritus piled on our landing, accompanied by a large handwritten sign. The sign indicated that the wife had returned home that afternoon to find her husband in bed with a back alley hooker from Khabarovsk (her graphic description of said hooker was not flattering), and as such he could now find alternate accommodation. Apparently he came home a little later, was a little perturbed to find his underwear and other belongings strewn in the hallway, and ejected the wife and kid for a month.

Yesterday evening, I was surprised to hear a knock at the door, and this incredibly drunken couple and their friends were outside my door, entreating me to join them for shots and celebrations for Vladimir's birthday. We immediately began to drink shot after shot of vodka, eat all the traditional Russian delicacies, from black bread with sale (lard), to pickles, Strogonoff, Salad Olivier and more types of pickled zakuski than I could jump over. Vlad was determined to get a loan from me (the subtle differences between investment banking and personal loans was lost on him), while Marina continued her abuse of me and my lifestyle, and vowed to find me a "nice" Russian girl to marry (although she also made several graphic offers of herself should I be willing to pay). I introduced them to DJ Кэм and brought over a bottle of Smoko (home-made Swedish liquor). We sang in Russian and English, they plied me with endless gifts of DHL clothing (his employer), and made me wear a Nerpa* hat.

8-10 shots later, I staggered to the door to get ready to meet my friends for dinner, and returned many hours later (tiptoeing as usual) to find a bag of fresh fruit outside my door as a gift from my new friends. While Marina will no doubt continue her abuse (with hopefully no more offers of herself), I felt honoured to have these wonderful, warm, if somewhat quirky people welcome me into their lives and share their hospitality and celebrations with me.

*A Nerpa is a rare freshwater seal from Lake Baikal.

Serbian Celebrations- Guri's 40th

Coordinating 16 guys from all corners of Europe (plus some intrepid travellers from NY) for a 3-day weekend in Belgrade, Serbia, was never going to be easy- the fact that we were going there to celebrate Guri's 40th birthday would make it even crazier. Why Belgrade? Seemed like an interesting place, and it has a wild (and well-deserved) nightlife reputation!

The 4-day extravaganza kicked off with a civilised dinner (accompanied by 2 bottles of vodka) at Galereya, followed by a wake-like bottle of champagne over the still-glowing embers of nightclub Dyagilev, which had burned down earlier that day. The coincidence of the passing of Dyagilev, (where so many memories have been shared), and Guri's 40th, (where so many blackouts have been shared) so moved James that he felt compelled to pour champagne (French, not Soviet) on Guri's head. Thus began the wild partying which moved on to Soho Rooms and Club Opera, leaving a trail of empty glasses, wallets, and devushki in our wake.

Following a debaucherous evening, where Alex perfected the "quick followup" technique, which would land him in trouble later in the weekend, we headed straight to the airport from Opera for our flight to Belgrade, Serbia. Upon arrival, we filled our stomachs, ascertained there was nothing to see, and prepared ourselves for the evening ahead. Having done careful homework, Cruise Director Cam had booked the hottest nightclub in Belgrade for the evening's post-dinner partying. Unfortunately, someone had forgot to mention that Belgrade is dead on Friday nights, so although it was a spectacular venue and all 3 of the women in attendance were gorgeous, this left the other 13 members of the group a little dispirited, and several promptly sought other forms of paid entertainment. Unfortunately, the chosen venue consisted of one stripper of somewhat generous proportions (estimated at 3x a regular stripper's weight, apportioned to all the wrong places), who was more intent at removing one of our group member's clothing than (maybe thankfully) her own. Upon trying to leave, the group was relieved of significant sums of cash and sent on their way.

In the meantime in another part of town, a smaller contingent had found our way to a barge in a remote stretch of the Danube packed with locals and the reknown Serbian "Turbofolk" music, which was a lot of fun. Unfortunately, the wild dancing set up a rocking motion, which sent Ariel scurrying for dry land, and both Cam & Ariel discovered that Russian sponsorship traditions are alive & well in Serbia (why us?).

We departed the barge and made out way gingerly through the toxic wastelands of outer Belgrade to try and find another venue. Unfortunately, while in Moscow at 4am things are really only getting into the swing of things, Belgrade pretty much shuts down (or at least stops entry) after 3.30, leaving us despondently headed home.

The next day dawned cloudy and cold (as always) and we determinedly set out to see Belgrade's only sight, the Citadel. Admittedly, it's pretty cool & has a great restaurant. Earlier that day Steve & Myles had been spotted jogging in some of the spiffiest (and certainly tightest) running gear ever seen in the history of Yugoslavia.

More afternoon wandering and a stop at a bar or too (including Mama's Biscuit House- wtf?), we found ourselves at a traditional Serbian restaurant, consuming copious amounts of grilled meat, vodka, and watching Guri dance to somewhat authentic Serbian music, which made some of our grill a little indigestible.

Thankfully, Cam's research was on the money for our nightclub venue, and the crew ran amok, meeting all sorts of new friends and thankfully avoiding most confrontations. The most significant altercation was when Alex's patented "quick followup" strategy encountered Guri's patented "Privet- it's GURI!!" strategy, but Peacemaker Leo was able to defuse the situation. Steve even ended up on a pizza date, but apparently the cold light of day (or the harsh fluorescents of the pizza parlour) put an end to any further festivities.

A small group made an early exit to revisit some of the other notable venues in Belgrade, and headed back to Magacin (MUCH better than the night before), Teatro (why do they have tables throughout the dance floor?), Plastique/Mint (thanks to Cam's fluent Serbian), before staggering home, at which point Cam & James played cupid to a couple of otherwise shy lovebirds, and then Cam & Guri sat on the stairs and watched and listened to the havoc of the evening, including the hotel chasing a missing bed from one of our rooms, people coming & going (and coming again), including a couple to one room- (Guri, your friends are sick puppies), before finally falling asleep for at least 2-3 hours and then hauling ass to the airport.

Usually, the flight home is uneventful (although occasionally productive), but Alex's perserverence finally won through when a drunken, worldly girl from Bashkirkistan passed out in his lap, and the two spent the flight blissfully intertwined in the back of the Aeroflot TU-128...

The photos are here.

Moscow Nightlife #2

In response to everyone's continued fascination with Moscow's wild nightlife, I stumbled across this article again the other day by a journalist I know over here who wrote it for Vanity fair a year or so ago.

Even 18 months after it's written in this fast-moving town, it describes the Moscow nightlife we party in better than anything I've seen before or since: http://brettforrest.com/articles/midnight-in-moscow-2/

As a friend of mine here famously comments: "What the rest of the world calls MTV Wild, we call Thursday".

See my earlier article on Moscow Nightlife here.

Model Bodyguard Killed in Moscow Carjacking

OK, so this is a very sad story, and the poor woman is dead, but it's WAY too Moscow not to highlight from the Russian news this week.

Russia's most famous female bodyguard Anna Loginova was killed after failing to prevent her own Porsche being carjacked. The glamorous 29-year-old died after clinging on to the door handle of the Cheyenne and being dragged along the street at high speed as the car screeched away.

Loginova ran an agency for female bodyguards, some trained by the ex-KGB, to give discreet protection to Moscow's billionaires and their wives and mistresses.

Loginova was a famous Russian model before venturing into the security business and had shot advertising campaigns for BMW, Chanel and other world-known brands. She took Jujitsu lessons and mastered sword handling. Afterwards, she opened her own security firm staffed exclusively by beautiful women.

In a recent magazine interview, she insisted that she and her team of glamorous bodyguards gave better protection than the more traditional beefy male security men.

"I do think that a girl should be a girl, not a Terminator," she said. She posed semi-naked for a Moscow men's magazine to make it clear that she was feminine as well as good with a gun.

She was highly respected for her bodyguard skills. "A normal man gets sick and tired of male bodyguards around him all the time," she said.

Source: Daily Mail, wired.com, and other media sources.

Air Force Bombs Moscow Dacha

Yesterday, during "routine" minefield-clearing exercises near Moscow (since when are there minefields near Moscow?), a couple of missles apparently "drifted trajectory" and went 3.5km off course, into some poor guy's Dacha (holiday house), on the outskirts of Moscow.

The military initially disavowed the incident, firstly denying all knowledge, then saying it was bombing from a paraglider, then mentioned it was dropping flares, then suggesting it was bombing from a helicopter, before admitting in the face of journalists who had witnessed the exercise that in fact a bunch of missiles had flown off course and headed towards Moscow. Apparently, the post-Xmas sales at TsUM aren't only attracting minigarch's wives these days.

The owner of the dacha was notified by the media, but was yet to visit to see the damage for himself. His only comment was that "It's a very good dacha", which contradicts somewhat with the military's assessment that the damage was "insignificant" and shouldn't amount to more than 60,000 RUB (about $2,500). Personally, if a missile came through the window of my "good dacha", I'm thinking there might be a little more than $2,500 of damage. Watch this space.

To date, nobody has blamed Chechen separatists or Kasparov, but it's early days yet.

Chamonix: Skiing and Scenery

After a week of intense cultural, historical, geographic and nocturnal sights (not to mention the amount of food consumed), it was great to have a week of fresh air and exercise (and some more nightlife) in Chamonix.

For the non-skiers amongst you, Chamonix is an ancient and famous ski resort nestled in the French Alps below Mont Blanc. It is close to the Italian border and is about 45 minutes from Geneva.

Ariel & I headed there from Israel, and spent a week skiing Chamonix's four resorts, having a great time. While the weather alternated between perfect sunshine and miserable cloud/rain/snow, this at least gave us fresh powder on the sunny days and a couple of magical days on the slopes. Cam was keen to get back into skiing shape in preparation for heliskiing in Kamchatka in April so spent most time off-piste, but it turns out Ariel was the gnarliest skier- he so badly damaged one of his skis that he actually had to purchase it at the end of the week!

Off the slopes, Chamonix was a mix of great food (fondue, baguettes, patisserie), and typical ski resort nightlife (super casual, 300:1 guy/girl ratio, 2-stage Apres & After-Party scene), which was a change of pace from Moscow and Tel Aviv! Ariel was keen to maintain the language advantage after Israel (he speaks fluent French), but it turned out that 90% of the people in Chamonix were either Swedish, Russian, or Aussie, so Cam staged a little bit of a comeback!

Our final evening was spent in Geneva, just to confirm that there is, in fact, no reason to spend any time in Geneva (although we had an entertaining time doing our best to prove otherwise).

After 2 great weeks of travelling (hurray for Russian New Year/Xmas break, not hurray for conference calls & work interruptions), I am excited to head back to Moscow, although not quite certain I'm ready to go back to work!

The photos are here.

Israel: Journey to the Promised Land

It's impossible to visit Israel without some preconceptions of what it's going to be like. The epicentre of the most media-covered and debated region in the world raises spectres of heavy security, repressed Palestinians, manifest religiousity and life practically under seige.

Israel manages to possess all ofthe above, yet strangely, they all represent very small minorities of this diverse and wonderful country that has been fought over for millennia (the poor Palestinians aren't exactly a minority, but you don't see them in Israel anymore).

Despite seeing Hassidic Jews, lots of guns, and increased security, Tel Aviv feels more like a beachside city like Sydney than a city under seige. There's a relaxed beach & cafe culture, and even though while we there rockets were being fired from Gaza and military responses less than 100km south of Tel Aviv, life goes on as normal, with no hint of these increased pressures (although the vaunted security barrier is seriously imposing).

I spent a week in Israel with Ariel, a good Israeli mate of mine from Moscow, and was subsequently adopted by his large and wonderful family. Throughout the week, we drove the country from South to North, saw the major historical and religious sites of most faiths, put Tel Aviv nightlife to the test, and managed to eat more than I had previously thought humanly possible.

The first couple of days were spent exploring Tel Aviv, celebrating (and then recovering from) New Years Eve, and allowing Ariel to reconnect with family and friends- all of whom were determined to force-feed us delicious Middle Eastern food until we were both ready to produce fois gras.

For those who claim Tel Aviv has the best nightlife in the world- while I applaud the city's ability to sustain great nightlife every night of the week, as well as the range of well-designed and lively venues, it ain't quite Moscow- 'nuff said. (If you want details- email me, or just look at the photos).

Our first major road trip was to the South, where we drove through (but were unfortunately unable to visit) the West Bank, visited the ancient fortress of Masada* (where 1,000 jews sacrificed themselves rather than surrender to the Romans, who spent almost a year building a 20-story siege ramp up to the Fortress (those Romans don't f*ck around)).

*Ariel wishes to state for the record that it was my idea to hike the 500 vertical metres to the fortress in the middle of the desert, rather than take the cable car. I just wanted to be authentic.

From Masada we continued south past the Dead Sea, into the Negev desert. Apart from random signs warning of military activity and firing ranges, I don't have much else to comment about the Negev- it's big, dry, and rocky (but very pretty).

The second road trip was to the North, we visted Caesaria (Roman ruins), Haifa (pretty gardens & great falafel- Yum!), Acco (what old town?), the Sea of Galillee and the endless churches that commemorate where Jesus walked on water, produced loaves & fishes, slept, paid his taxes, and had his hair cut (I'm not much for religion, so I zoned out at some point). From there we went to the Golan Heights, which Syria adamantly claims is part of Syria, but given it's so green & lush, I don't see them getting it back anytime soon! Still laced with trenches, minefields, military bases & tank crossings, Golan was fascinating. We skirted both the Syrian and Lebanese borders before heading back to Tel Aviv.

Our final full day was spent in Jerusalem, the holy city. Jerusalem is truly an experience, containing the most sacred sites of Judaism (the Western wall is actually just a wall, but it's still a spectacular sight), Christianity (I never knew they actually knew the place where Jesus was crucified and buried), and Islam (they definitely have the biggest and coolest temple, even if the dome is actually copper and I'm not allowed inside). I was personally disappointed that I didn't contract Jerusalem syndrome, whereby people are so struck by the city, that they actually believe they are a prophet, the Messiah, etc. I guess I'll have to leave it till later to found my own religion...

This blog (or at least this post) is not the place to cover the myriad of complex issues surrounding Israel and the Palestinians, or Israel and it's neighbours. Suffice it to say that most Israeli's I spoke with do not expect a final settlement within their lifetimes, yet all perceive it to be inevitable and necessary.

On a final note, I must pay respects to the family traditions of Israel. Ariel's family genuinely made me feel part of their family, and I was welcomed and force-fed at daily family events throughout the week. This wonderful hospitality contributed greatly to my enjoyment of this fascinating country.

The photos are here.