In Desperate Search of Green

Today I decided it was time to go adventuring on my own. My mission: to find at least one green place in this somewhat overwhelming city, a place to relax, be at peace, and maybe even go jogging, if I could handle it without falling and breaking something. As I looked through the guidebook, I discovered a botanical garden, right next to the VVT, or the “All-Russa Exhibit Centre” according to the book. Aha, a quick stroll between metro stops, it seemed.

Unlike many places in the world, such as San Francisco where it seems pitiful that they should have so many stops on a metro line, when you can walk between them in less than a few minutes, Moscow’s stops are more serious. Admittedly I got a little lost towards the end, but we’re still talking a 2 hour walk.

Anyways, back to the VVT. It’s probably one of those places that is lovely to visit in the summer, but in the winter it’s a little bleak, and rather drab. The VVT as far as I can tell consists of many memorials, buildings, museums, including a pretty cool looking space museum with an awesome spacey –looking tower. There are fountains, sculptures, all soviet style, elaborate and overbearing. Don’t forget the ferris wheel and amusement park, which take up the first part of the VVT. And of course, intercoms, blaring what I hope are commercials and Russian pop music.

The park seemed to stretch on forever, until I crossed the river into the Botanical Gardens, 82 acres that seriously contrast the VVT. There if you covered your ears against the sounds of traffic, you could almost believe that you were in a snow covered forest besides a river, with hardly anyone to distract you. The park must absolutely be beautiful in the summer, at least from the photos that were shown on the map. It was beautiful now, with the little bit of snow left over from the weekend. My new jogging place.

As I attempted to find the Metro stop, I asked a random woman walking down the street. “Metro?” She looked at me, and motioned for me to follow her. As we walked she asked first in Russian, and then resorted to broken English: “Country?” “American,” I replied. Her eyes widened a little in interest. We stepped onto the same train, and she pointed to herself, “Babushka, grandmother.” In the end I gathered that she had 3 children, (she showed me a photo of one of her daughters) and she was 64. For a lady who didn’t speak English, she sure knew her English words enough for me to understand. Not too shabby. Although Russians seem serious as they walk down the street, they do stop when you ask them a question, and most try to help, even if they don’t speak English.