Not Moscow (Zelenograd)

I departed St Petersburg from Moskovsky Vokzal, in typical local style with a gifted bottle of Vodka in hand. I was looking forward to being waved away by Djimka, Katia and little Nastia... but had text messaged them to Moskovskaja tube station instead of Majaskovskaja. You can understand the mix-up. If they would just name the latter 'The Big One' or 'Station of the fetid Sasquatch' it would prevent a thousand furrowed brows of a thousand lost tourists, but Russia does what it wants.

Walking through the Neo-Renaissance frontage (thanks Wiki), and leaving my Couchsurfing clan behind after an afternoon in St Pete's Chambers of Horrors which was entertaining despite the whole thing being in Russian. Very Madame Tussauds. Perhaps they had run out of material when they presented the murder in Dostoevsky's Crime & Punishment as real.

I waited in the buzzing departure hall. Neon-fronted shops selling the usual fare (mobile phones/accessories, cigarettes, newspapers) rallied on either side of the seated waiting area, assaulting the masses with painfully low-grade dance music. I watched my rucksack and the departure board with equal hawk-like regard. My train flicked up and at 22:00 on May 17th I found and boarded Carriage C of the 22:20 departure to Moscow. The train was spacious and comfortable, with a standard of vast reclining seats that made beds unnecessary. I took my seat, sorted my snacks, coffee, book (hadn't yet managed to demolish Dostoevsky) and Music and was just settled when a Russian lad approached me and started mumbling something.

I got my obstinacy on: "Nyet mate this is my seat" and showed him my ticket. He continued to try and make his indiscernible point and I began to simmer. Then I realised he just wanted to swap seats to sit next to his mate. I obliged and duly took his seat in a four-seat berth with table. Fine by me - more leg room. The train departed and I read a little Fyodor before drifting into strange sleep which left me possibly even more tired when I awoke pulling into Moscow's Leningradskiy Vokzal Station at roughly 6am. My Couchsurfing host Dmitry was waiting patiently - despite the hour - on the platform.

I had posted up a message on the 'Moscow last minute couch request' in my disorganisation following the gladed festival. 2 Russians: Dmitry and Andrei (my second host) had responded, and here I was.

Zelenograd. A place I had believed to be a suburb of el capital. I was pleasantly wrong.

The station was as close as I was to get to Moscow that day. We caught the next train to Krukovo train station, about 50 minutes by railroad from Moscow. I guess we were both pretty tired, but soon began to wake up when we hopped into his car and drove through Zelenograd (Dmitri's home town) further and further out into the wilds.

He must have been up early to meet me I thought, a signal of Djimka's unique personality - generous, thoughtful, easy-going guy who just enjoyed good company. Now Djim had emailed me saying we would be staying at the family 'holiday house' but I hadn't realised this meant a Ducha.

The Ducha
I had seen and read of 'Duchas' (Russian country houses for weekend/holiday escape from the city flat) but hadn't put two and two together. In Petrozavodsk I had toured a vast village of Duchas, varying in design, shape and size (Pauly/Dad you would have found them especially intruiging). There are the old, quaint Duchas cobbled together with mainly wooden experiors surrounded by smaller outbuildings for different purposes (toilet, separate kitchen etc) and also the new. The modern Duchas take every architectural influence imaginable into their design, here is one example. Crazy.

We arrived at Djim's similarly plush but slightly more understated (compared to above) Ducha. It was incredible. The bustle of the city faded from my ears and was replaced by softened wind chimes and the peace of the countryside. Moscow aould have to wait. I was given the grand tour: shower with 4 different settings, a radio and steam option; the garden shelter with hammock. Like on the Hurtigruten, I was introduced to unexpected luxury. My room was the piece de la resistance, with 3 computers, a large TV, a King-sized bed and lounge chairs. I was almost beginning to feel guilty, but Djim is such a down-to-earth guy it was hard to. After a fine cooked breakfast with coffee prepared in a turca we discussed plans for the days ahead before I retired to catch up on much-needed kip in my massive bed.