Showing posts with label out of moscow. Show all posts
Showing posts with label out of moscow. Show all posts

Saturday, January 12, 2008

I Heart Hate Moscow

Everyone hates Moscow. Everyone except the people who just got here, with a degree in Russian History and a fresh copy of Dostoyevsky in their back pocket. And even they are beginning to realize that the waitresses are mean and it's hard to cross the street.

Non-Muscovite Russians really hate Moscow. My Russian expatriate friends think it unites the cruelty of feudalism with the foolish excesses of capitalism. Which is, like, so embarrassing on the world's stage. The soldiers in my cabin on the train back from Petrozavodsk hated Moscow because the people have no manners or heart (and they have better cell phones than them). "Moskva ne Rossiya! (Moscow isn't Russia!)," I learned. Then we returned to translating their ringtones. And while I am interested by Moscow, in the way I am interested in the carbuncle on my boyfriend's back, I most certainly do not heart it, because the girls are way prettier than me.

Happy New Year, bitches!

If you have spent significant time in Moscow and still think it rocks, you either a) were born here and don't know any better; b) are a Central Asian gastarbeiter living out your wild bachelor years while sending money back to your hovel; or c) are a bottom-feeding expat who couldn't get laid back in Johannesburg. And even the latter two will concede that their hometowns have much better food.

For that reason I'd like to direct our attention away from the great She-Bitch to Norilsk, the northernmost city in Siberia, formerly a slave labor camp and recently named one of the Top Ten Most Polluted Places in the World. (Life just kept getting better!) The entire city is dying from toxins kicked up by the factories of Norilsk Nikel, owned by Russian brazillionaire Mikhail Prokhorov (who is also known for the minor international escandalo of flying planeloads of prositutes into French ski resort Courchevel). But even freezing, atrophied little Norilsk knows how to party. These are from the New year's Eve Bash at "Tornado." We're not in Moscow anymore, Toto.

Fuck dropping $400 on cocktails at a shitty Moscow club. In Norilsk, $20 buys you enough Sovetskoe Shampanskoe to kill a horse

One boy and one girl for every able-bodied man in Norilsk!


Grease your hair back, unbutton your shirt and pump your fist in the air, because you ARE the life of the party, Mr. Sparkles

Yes! I've searched for months for a photo of one of these in the wild: the provincial male "all bangs" 'do! I thought it went extinct in 2003. I see you, brother!

Shaving squigglies onto your scalp? Also still cool

Unfortunately, other Moscow hair fads have contimated Norlisk like so much nickel and arsenic in the air

And the girls are still smokin' hot. I guess nowhere's perfect


The best part of getting outside Moscow? No feis kontrol!

Photos: Geometria.ru

Friday, July 27, 2007

Dance Dance Revolution

Kronstadt is creepy. The island is located a rickety 30-minute bus ride away from St. Petersburg and is best-known for being the site of a bloody sailor's rebellion against the Bolsheviks called, in fact, the Kronstadt Rebellion. Today, Kronstadt hangs in an eerie, Stephen King-movie state of neglect, despite being inhabited by 45,000 people. Like everyone just dropped what they were doing, and walked away. Multiple times. Prisons, churches, arsenals — all falling apart. Once, some shifty townies broke us into an abandoned morgue, and there were still scalpels on the autopsy table, and body parts in jars of formaldehyde. Yoohoo, you forgot your pickles!


My artist friend Lara lived in a house there in order to take full advantage of Kronstadt's creepiness. Her summer culminated in a final art installation with girls hanging in white cocoons and a bald man playing the cello. For reals, it was so creepy.


The whole upside to Kronstadt's Andrei Tarkovskian, post-apocalyptic barrenness is that you can occupy whatever space you want, without anyone yelling at you. Even a fort. Fortdance is an annual open-air summer dance festival held in the cracked and peeling Fort Alexander, commissioned in 1845 by Tsar Nikolai. It never saw battle while operant and had a brief stint as a plague laboratory at the end of 19th century. During that time, barely anyone was let in, and the people who did had to pass through a special "Microbe" tunnel. Now it's rented out for parties, like teeth-grinding, pacifier-sucking Fortdance.

Dancing? In a fort?! Let me just get my spaceship.

I was going to post lots of photos from the excitement last weekend, because honestly Geometria dedicated hundreds of pages to Fortdance. But they all look the same. Like this:


Writing captions for photos sucks, but everyone fucking loves Vice so I'll do a few.

Kronstadt's rich naval tradition.

You write it.

A modern Russian club has a fairly good chance of caving in at any second. Fortdance ups that thrill factor mega.

Walking out into the blinding post-club sun sucks. Especially when its only 3 AM and now you have to swim home.

Photos: Geometria.ru

Monday, April 23, 2007

Fight For Your Right to Party

The Kremlin not caring much for England's cup of tea these days, the Russian Economic Forum in London (aka Putin's Forsaken Forum) was the victim of substantial last minute pullout by Russian businesspeople on a stern suggestion from above. Not everyone fears the dread hand of the Kremlin, though, especially when it interferes with good partying. The capital's most dedicated revelers jumped the puddle for the annual "Moscow Motion" party on April 21, the culmination of the Global Luxury Forum, before the start of the REF.

Some of the brave faces in the mix included Echo Moskvy Editor-in-Chief Alexey Venediktov; LunCh owner Oleg Lobanov; Russian Standard bank-vodka magnate Roustam Tariko with MDM Bank Vice President Mikhail Dvorkovich; RosBusinessConsulting general director Yury Rovensky, Perno Rikar Russia marketing director Vadim Grigoryan and Norilsk Nickel vice president Vladimir Engelsberg; soccer player Alexei Smertin with Tinkoff beer chairman Oleg Tinkov and Russian Vogue Editor-in-Chief Alena Doletskaya in a Girls Gone Wild hug with World Class Fitness Club President Olga Slutskaya and SAV entertainment General Director Nadezhda Solovieva. Colllllllege! Oh man, Dad is going to be soooo mad when he sees this.







Photos: Kommersant.com

Monday, April 9, 2007

Spring Breeeeak!

"Bleep you, world! No one gets down like Russians get down!" Compared to the fanny-packed, opinionated "Ugly American," the travelling Russian is loads more fun, yet just as scary for the uninitiated. Wherever he goes, he brings the whole tusovka with him. He will break your rib hugging too hard.

Here's 44100's photos from the Club Paradise Tour, a Russian-run music festival that drew clubbers and DJs from the brown muck of springtime Moscow for fun under the Egyptian sun at the beginning of March. After Turkey, Egypt is the most popular destination for Russian tourists on account of being close by, cheap and full of other Russians at play. Vice nailed the phenomenon:

If you want to meet Russians where they really party, your best bet is to see them on vacation in Egypt.

Since Russians are openly prejudiced against both dark-skinned people and each other, and since they view vacations as a time to drink and fuck at levels that make even their wildest weekends at home seem like Christian retreats, we recommend Egypt as the ideal way to mainline concentrated Russianness.






Photos: 44100.com