Dec. 18 – Moscow
Stepping out of the Partizanskaya Metro, it was snowing. Not generous, gentle flakes, but
vindictive, stinging pellets. They seemed to say “You want snow? Fine! Here it is, take it or leave it!” It was colder, too, shaking me out of complacency. I regretted not having worn my winter coat, but at least I had on thermal underwear.
Izmailovsky market is an outdoor bazaar, open every weekend. It is a complex of wooden booths where vendors display a variety of wares. Given the unfriendly weather, it was only moderately busy, and there were many vacant stalls. The lanes were covered with tarps to fend off the snow. I walked through at a browser’s pace – slow enough to get a good look but fast enough to discourage touts from stopping me.
The market is a place for tourists seeking cheap souvenirs – I heard snippets of English, Italian, French. A recurring array of “matryoshky” (nesting dolls), chess sets, fur hats, amber jewelry, shawls, lacquered artifacts. Further in, antiques, art, and the detritus of the Cold War and Second World War. Beat up old Samovars, clusters of photo cameras, rusted German helmets. Yellowing Soviet propaganda posters, Red star-emblazoned hip flasks, army surplus. Most curious of all, extraordinarily kitschy paintings. Hundreds of large canvases of horses, sunsets, azure waves crashing onto beaches. “Who buys this stuff?” I wondered, looking at the bundled-up vendors, huddled by their wares. Somebody must, or else these people would not be here, pacing in the cold.
"Nyet foto."
