05/02/2013
The city is huge, surreal and exciting. After a few weeks here, the bizarre becomes normal and you realize that life is – as Russians say – bespredel (without limits). Traditionally a place for strangers to throw themselves into debauchery, leaving poorer and wiser, Moscow's puritan stance in Soviet times was seldom heartfelt, and with the fall of Communism it has reverted to the l***y, violent ways that foreigners have noted with amazement over the centuries, and Gilyarovsky chronicled in his book, Moscow and the Muscovites. No excess is too much for Moscow's new rich, or novye bogaty – the butt of countless "New Russian" jokes. As the nation's largest city, with some twelve million inhabitants (one in fifteen Russians lives there), Moscow exemplifies the best and worst of Russia. Its beauty and ugliness are inseparable, its sentimentality the obverse of a brutality rooted in centuries of despotism and fear of anarchy. Private and cultural life is as passionate as business and politics are cynical. The irony and resilience honed by decades of propaganda and shortages now help Muscovites to cope with "wild" capitalism. Yet, for all its assertiveness, Moscow's essence is moody and elusive, and uncovering it is like opening an endless series of Matryoshka dolls, or peeling an onion down to its core. Both images are apposite, for Moscow's concentric geography mirrors its historical development. At its heart is the Kremlin, whose foundation by Prince Dolgoruky in 1147 marked the birth of the city. Surrounding this are rings corresponding to the feudal settlements of medieval times.