Bleak Omsk

The Russian riviera.

I thought I'd made friends with a taxi driver at Omsk airport. If there's a rule of travel, it's that you've never made friends with a taxi driver at an airport; you just occasionally think that you have. He agreed to help me find an apartment and if that failed, to find a hotel. We agreed on 200 rubles ($6).

He called a friend who arranged to meet us in a reasonable part of town and show me an apartment. It was over priced but it was 'elitnayar' according the esteemed salesman. It wasn't where they said it was; it was dark and gloomy; I didn't think I'd leave there alive. I told the driver what I thought, and he said we should look anyway, and then move along. The esteemed salesman never arrived, so off we went to the hotel. 'Elitnayar', we joked. What a cowboy!

After some entertaining stories about his time in the KGB alpha group in Angola (lots of machine gun impressions) the driver delivered me to the hotel.

      'Here we are. 7,600 rubles please' ($250).

I expressed my shock.

       'forget about the 600, let's go with 7,000',  he said.

       'Who's the cowboy now?' I asked!

After some steely patience, including opening the door as he tried to drive us to the 'police station' to help mediate (he wasn't happy to use the hotel as a mediator), and resisting his friend's efforts on the phone to be a 'dispatcher' and confirm that the price should be precisely 7,600 rubles, I bargained him down to 500 rubles and we parted ways.

       'Can I have another 200 ... pleeeease' he asked.

The trees add character to the already beautiful view.

Nevermind, I thought, I'll take a walk along the riverside. Another epic fail as I found myself thigh deep in powder and a biting wind cut straight through me. I was the only one who fancied a promenade, it seemed.

Welcome to Omsk!

A Swiss bench

If Switzerland is the epitomy of civilization and the bench is a symbol thereof, we should expect find a gem or two in this little neutral mountainous watch-making chocolate-sucking land of cold, punctual people.

It should not come as a surprise then, though it will no doubt still be a delight, to read that I stumbled across this beautiful peach percher in that perculiar alpine state. Sleek lines, half backed and half backless, with real character on the lower half of the bench - quite unusual! - and it lights up at night, too. Thank you Switzerland and I hope we didn't make you late.

Reykjavik benchmark

Not to be confused with a bench

This piece of public sculpture sits so well in its surroundings. I'm a big fan. Probably best not to sit on it though.

Reykjavik was quite forthcoming with its artistic spirit. This stunning concert hall wins my 'favourite building on a tiny Island with only 300,000 people yet we think of it as so much bigger - it's punching above its weight, even more so than Boston' award.

And I particularly liked this wall art. All of this begs the question, though, what about the benches? I enjoyed looking over the bay from a sturdy cast iron / Nordic pine hybrid bench, but for me the winner was this beauty:

Star Trek film set

Iceland is essentially a film set for Star Trek. It's easier to believe it's on another planet than to think it is on earth somewhere.

The ground feels alive, and the grey grumbling sky is so intense it's as if I can hear it. But I can't. I can only hear the howling wind.

The spray from the waterfall lands on the ground and freezes. Everything is so bleak yet dramatic.

Or just dramatic!

Blue Lagoon

Turbid cyan waters, steaming before my eyes,

Turbulent cinereal clouds, overcast the sky.

Welcome to Iceland, a geological marvel,

And also a cheap brand of supermaket in England.

Copenhagen benchmark

Think outside the box. Inside the box.

Not a one trick pony, Copenhagen has an array of masterful benches. Above, near the university, a bench and chair in what is essentially a greenhouse. A perfect place to shield from the winter wind and continue reading that thriller.

A well poised bench, from which to ask well posed questions.

Busy capitals need serene squares, and this one includes a beautifully understated bench, with an extra-long wheel base, elegant arms, a classic frame, sufficient back support, and the all important wooden seat. Lush!

Copenhagen: the integrated bench

Real architecture should be an integral part of its broader environment, and what better commitment to that notion than to integrate benches into architecture? Copenhagen, which is Danish for 'bench heaven', excels at exactly that.

Integral to the museum, a bench.

Above we see a shining example of the integrated bench working to full effect. Relax, you're in Copenhagen. Integrating the bench into the architecture and the wider surroundings is an underrated part of the city's effect of making people feel welcome, rather than supposing we are an inconvenience.

On the right is a bench integrated into a museum which I wanted to visit but was too late (perhaps I didn't really want to visit). So I needed a bench, and what a fine one too. I sat, I watched, and I revelled. And I got a cold bum.

Below we have a majestic pair of benches, perfectly integrated into a classical arch. Sheltered, supported, but still bum chilling. Also, I don't know who would actually sit on those benches if it's not raining. So, they are for a rainy day. Literally.

Save it for a rainy day.

Nefteyugansk first look

The local power station has made a special effort to look its best today

Power station: 'wickedly good looking' according to a survey.

The city hospital is sturdy looking,

Hospital: sturdy

The original accommodation in the city was the 'barracks', charming corrugated steel constructions.

Barracks: 'charming'.

And the closest thing to a shopping mall has some fake palm trees outside. It's cold here, and these trees are so wishful that it's not actually depressing, it's kind of sweet.

Fake palms in the Siberian winter: 'endearing'.

Perfect murder

The build up of icicles above walkways worries me; spring will be perilous!

Ice magic: death from above.

The journey to work

I tried to make my way from Tyumen to Nefteyugansk on foot ...

but after a respectable attempt, I decided that the 700 km would be best covered by train.

The train was, much like a history teacher, cold on the outside but warm on the inside.

Tyumen and a little lady

We went for a brisk walk in Tyumen and wandered in and out of the ice sculptures,

Ice palace in Tyumen.

some of which had some cheeky product placement, including this interactive sculpture which a young lady was enjoying sliding down.

Ice age in Tyumen.

 

Siberian sunrise

Welcome to Siberia, the largest region of the largest country in the world, distinguished by its large emptiness.

10am, yawn.

Here, somewhere near the city of Tyumen, the sun rises at 10am, which is about right for me. It hangs out till around 6pm, which is reasonable in my opinion.

Sunrise over a snow covered marsh and a birch forest.

Its morning rays seem thinly spread over, what Andrew Marr would probably call such vast vast vastness. Or Brian Cox would call such wonderous wonder.

Some Moscow architecture

Unsurprisingly Moscow is full of buildings and we should all give a high five to the numerous architects who have made such a marvellous metropolis. Here’s one of the seven sisters, carefully captured out of focus for that genuine instagram effect.

One of the seven sisters: instant gramification

And here’s one that George Orwell would be very proud of

The ministry of sarcasm.

The GUM department store on Red Square seems to be inspired both by Crystal Palace and that shopping centre in Leamington Spa – the parades, isn’t it?

Leamington Spaski

And let’s not forget the Kremlin, a magnificent fortress

Slightly more fortified than the Palace of Westminster

which serves to protect all of the onion museums inside, such as Ivan’s terrible bell, pictured below,

Ivan: a terrible bell.

Moscow in motion

Credit to the Moscow Metro, which keeps this metropolis on the go. It’s no nonsense, it’s expansive but not expensive, the map is easy to read, and it just does everything really well. Except that there is a dearth of signs. 

The same can’t be said of Moscow’s roads, which are not themselves to blame – fine roads they are – but there are just too many cars, and everything moves slowly at best. 

The building goes up faster than the traffic moves along.

There’s more to Moscow’s motion than the transport system; there are more ice-rinks than you can shake a stick at, keeping people on the move albeit without actually going anywhere; and there’s also a lot of construction work. You definitely get the feeling that things are happening here; that Moscow is going somewhere. I think that’s what the Guide book means by vibrant, and I have to agree in this case. 

We skated on an ice rink that was huge, outdoors, flood-lit and over-looked by a big Orwellian/Soviet apartment block, with some great large graffiti on the walls. It was colourful and atmospheric and great fun; and it was accompanied by music such as the Backstreet boys.

Oh, go on then

Ok ok, here's the highlights of what is, I have quickly come to realise, the most spectacular capital city in the world. Let's start with this colourful number:

Es are good.

The Beatles' drug use to inspire their creations looks like a mere sugar rush from a snickers when compared to the evident substance abuse that must have been going on when architect Señor Big Cheese drew up the plans for this wondrous onion homage, pictured above. It's really fabulous.

Before I arrived, Moscow confused me. What's with the lack of symmetry? What's with the jumbo building features, and brightly coloured churches? Are they for Children?!

Red square; red chruch.

Well all that disappeared when I arrived in Moscow. Firstly, the buildings, when seen in real life, are actually really charming and seem to make total sense; and secondly the scale and magnificence of the whole Kremlin / Red Square etc. architectural ensemble is so impressive as to wipe away pre-conceptions and leave you totally absorbed by the assembly.

The complex of buildings is actually massive; the walls of the Kremlin are massive; everything's massive. I have learned, in two days in Moscow, that America doesn't have a monopoly on Massiveness. Russia does a mighty fine job too.

Welcome to Moscow

I've left Astana for now and my journey to Russia begins here in Moscow. I hope you'll join me for some of it, perhaps in your tea breaks.

All hail the Onion messiah.

Having survived Air France's cold sweaty salmon, I'm in Moscow for a couple of days; it's blizzardy and slushy and slippy and blingy; and the urban road signs look like they're imported shamelessly from France. You already know what Red Square and the Kremlin look like, so I thought I'd save you that and instead share this shot from the block I'm staying on - an old church (Russian churches believe that onions are the Messiah) and a glossy building; that summarises my first impression of Moscow. Sadly, not a bench in sight.

Astana inspires

The new concert hall

Astana is an architect's playground. Ten years ago the 'left' side of the city was essentially a marsh, and today it hosts an impressive array of new buildings, some beautiful, some tacky, some both.

The city is growing a true sense of character, and it's inspiring stuff. I wish I'd had more time to photograph more buildings, but perhaps the mystery will encourage you to visit!

Champions fried chicken

One of Tashkent's finer moments.

A stary walk in Bukhara

The sun shone through the arches of the central market, inviting us to go and watch it set.

We found a lovely spot to gaze over Bukhara's array of mosques, medrassahs and mauselea and watch the sun dip over the horizon.

As the sun disappeared and the crescent moon approached the crescent on the mosque, the birds also got the hint and disappeared into the night.

We drank copius amounts of green tea before sneaking into a mosque at night to watch the stars.

New Bukhara

The ministry of truth.

Beside the beautiful old city is the new Soviet city, through which my camera and I went for a quick wander on a beautiful fresh afternoon. I enjoyed this government  building, which almost perfectly illustrates what I had in mind when reading George Orwell's 1984.

A stadium of impeccable Soviet symmetry.

I also came across a symmetric stadium, and snuck inside to watch a nil-nil draw between Bukhara and Kizil Kum, which pleased me greatly; not because of the nil-nil draw, which was immensely boring, but because I love symmetry, stadia, and of course football. 

Football. More fun to play than to watch.

BA's Bukhara

BA Baracus: my tour guide.

Bukhara is the stuff of myth and I couldn't have been more excited to be there. This Uzbek city -- formally a Khanate -- was one of the big names in the Great Game of the 19th century. 

Here in Bukhara the most seasoned spys of the British and Russian empires would meet in various audacious disguises, often ending with their heads -- how can I say this? -- abstracted from their bodies.

I bumped into a local guy named BA Baracus, and he agreed to show me round what he called his 'Khanate' Bukhara. I couldn't help but think he was a disguised spy lost in time.

The autumn range from Bukhara.

It was autumn when I was there and most of the women were wearing these charming ethnic felt oufits. Bukhara seems to have lost its brutality over the centuries, but kept its charm.

BA and I met in the old town and he proceeded to show me around. There are mosques and medrassahs, markets and mausolea, and towers and squares; all this creates a beautiful and quite peaceful setting; it's almost excessively exotic.

Some lovely ladies, who were very keen to say 'hello', over and over again, 'hello hello', giggling, requested a photo with me. And then as they walked away, they had one more English phrase for me, followed by some energetic giggling:

    Hello. Hello hello. Hello! Hello. Hello hello. I love you! 

Me and some ladees in front of a medrassah and nearby market

 'I pitty the fool', said BA. 

We walked on to find yet more treasure; the tower below is almost twice as old as the mulberry tree in the centre of Bukhara. 

A moasiced medrassah beside a grand tower. See guide book for interesting facts.

I'm sure your guide book will reliably inform you that the tower so baffled Ghengis Khan that, on razing central asia to the ground, the great man, probably your grandad, decided to save this pointy piece of pontificator's project space for future generations. It's impressively tall. Below is some detail of the facade of the medrassah above -- mind blowing detail and some mysterious Arabic inscriptions.

A close up of the top-right of the main face of the medrassah.

Back to the mulberry tree: it has an affectionate sign nailed to it: 'this tree is 494 years old'. Presumably they replace the sign annually! Another mulberry tree is more sensibly labelled 'planted in year 1477'. BA went for a nap and I went for a cup of tea. What a lovely day.