Turisty

Yesterday Danielle and I hit all the high points of the Kremlin:

1. Ticket office, where the woman refused to honor my Harvard ID as a real student id, even though the sign (alas, only in English) promised a discount for foreign college students. A bilingual shouting match ensued, with me, pointing at my id: "It says student!" Please note what I actually said was, "It says студент!" as if that would help. And her saying, "ISIC only" very sternly. And then me saying, "The sign says student!" All of this took place through the tiny window at the bottom of the glass, which forced me to stoop awkwardly in order to talk to her (doubtless a set-up deliberately constructed to demoralize would-be troublemakers). We went back and forth for a while until I was shamed into handing over the extra 150 rubles.


2. I'm sure this is blasphemous, but this (the State Kremlin Palace) is maybe my favorite building there:




It's very downtown Cleveland 1965, which I know is not really the point here, but I still love it.












3. After the cathedral square, we moved on to “The Secret Gardens” (I can’t say this without hearing the only Springsteen song that makes me cringe). It was here, amidst the elaborate flower patterns and in the brilliant Moscow sunlight, that I had my first taste of Russian morozhenoe. It was magical; I don't know if you can tell, but that goofy look on my face is actually one of bewildered wonder.


How to describe the taste? There aren't true flavors -- one's first impression is simply of intense fakeness rather than any specific taste. This is quickly followed by overly sweet, delicious vanilla, like syrup (in my case -- there is chocolate as well). The texture is similar to a marshmallow's, but it's chilled. I imagine Russian children must believe that this is how clouds taste. For me, I would describe it more as... vicarious nostalgia.

[Actually, I'm thinking: I am totally trying all the other flavors.]

The only thing missing was Dimya; we could have a picnic and I’d tell him my views on free media. He would swoon over my brilliant analysis, buy me ice cream, and ask me to accompany him through The Secret Gardens. I would admire his navy suits, tower over him, and garble my syllables. We would be perfectly awkward to/for each other.


I won't bore you with the rest of the details of our tourist activities, but I will say that Annunciation Cathedral smelled like Widener's stacks, I really enjoyed the circa-1993 wedding gowns we saw, and the secret to Moscow fashion appears to be combining as many different trends as possible (Jodhpur/cargo/harem capri pants? Fabulous. Mullet/mohawk/braided rattail? Super chic.).