Infernal Dance of the Metro Commuters

It's high time I wrote about ye olde transportation here in Moscow, namely about the metro. I was reminded today that I have yet to address the metro system after a particularly harrowing experience with train doors.

But first, a general overview:

The metro is GORGEOUS.

This is what a more-or-less average ceiling looks like--an extensive art project tiled so as to resemble heaven. In the words of one of my classmates [about this station, Mayakovskaya], "I want to have babies with it". As soon as you step off the train, you walk into what seems like a museum's atrium and there is often a statue or two greeting you at some entrance (probably of Lenin. They seem to dig that dude or something). The entire interior is marble, with matching sets of marble columns that line the platform. Some of the walls of the platforms, like at Pushkinskaya, are engraved with extensive cameos of people or scenes pertaining to whomever or whatever the station is named after. Further, at Pushkinskaya, there is a smattering of engraved quotes emblazoned on the walls. I have yet to go to the newest station, Dostoyevskaya, but I can hardly contain my excitement; I've heard it's hauntingly beautiful. Then there are the couch-seats that I encountered yesterday on my way home from Moscow State University, or the museum cars that have actual art exhibits inside the trains. These aren't silly prints that look like adds, but fully framed art works inside glass cases mounted on the train walls. Also the metro is surprisingly free of trash, albeit the lack of trashcans. But that's a city-wide phenomenon; there's not very much trash on the streets, but I have yet to find any sort of receptacle. Where does it all go? Do I eat my candy wrappers? Do I line my coat with my trash to keep me warm? Or do I just not consume anything? My vote is for the nice crinkly wrapper-lining.

The next important Moscow-metro characteristic is the volume of people. Holy cow, there are a lot of them! Moscow's population ranges from 10-20 million people, depending on who's counting. For instance, I have been invited and encouraged by the government to participate in the census. They even go as far as to inform me that "Census takers will not request documents such as passports, visas, etc." Anyhoo, people. HOLY YOWSAS! Rush hour is like the A.D.D child of New York City on meth and a London crack addict. There are about 50 bajillion people (pretty sure they import them just to overcrowd the metro) all running around trying to be big-important-like and thinking they are the пуп-земли--poop-zemliy--center of the universe. I have been punched by an unhealthy amount of people (hint: getting punched by a stranger in the metro once is not healthy), and too many strangers have grabbed my shoulders and shoved me aside. Every time I leave my house to brave rush hour I ask, "Will I be trampled to death today, or will the sheeple let me live another day?" Sometimes I baaaaaa quietly to see if anyone responds. They don't. However, there's a coolio-bopper sort of rhythm to the metro: If you're part of the chosen flock, you all sync to each other's footsteps and join in the Infernal Dance of the Metro Commuters. Here Stravinsky, write THAT.

Then there are the crazy babushkas. Old Russian women are FIERCE and will make sure you know, as referenced to in previous posts. God forbid you be the person sitting down when a babushka gets on a full train. Not only will she demand your seat, but you will probably be caned so as to not forget your insubordination and idiocy. Not that I blame them. On the contrary, I aspire to one day be as able to instill fear in the heart of a nation like these small hunched women do. 

Once you've decided to try to squeeze your way into a car, the (not)fun begins. Riding the metro requires a person pass three dangerous trials, not unlike those in Indiana Jones in "Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade", including the last one where you age really quickly and all your flesh falls off as you turn almost-instantaneously into dust. That hasn't happened to me. Yet.

The First Trial: The Guillotine
Not only are there about 20 people (first accurate number, besides the Moscow population) trying to squeeze into an already packed car at each set of doors, but the metro is also on a very prompt time schedule. Trains arrive about every 1.66 minutes, so they are all on a very tight schedule. Therefore, it is a mad dash to play people-tetris before the doors angrily and decisively slam closed. Today, I made the mistake of trying to get onto a train as the doors were closing. These aren't some sort of cute slow-closing doors like on the DC metro, but instead evil jaws that snap shut on the weakest victims. I call them the "Guillotine" because if there were dull blades on the doors, they would slice me in half without the slightest hesitation or resistance. I was caught between them and luckily was able to maneuver my bruised shoulders all the way through. However, my purse and foot was caught, and I tried desperately to pry the door open with my bloodied fingers. I was trapped, awaiting my horrific death. Channeling the power of the annoyed passengers (one dude was pissed the train wasn't moving, so he pushed the doors huffily), I grandiosely took my final breath and in one super-human feat of determination, squirmed my entire person+purse through the jaws of death.

The Second Trial: The Angry Rave
During rush hour, it is rare not to play the "Oh hello stranger, let's press our bodies up against each other!" game. Even worse, they keep the metro heated to a frigid BAJILLION degrees Celsius (mewmwemwemwemew....that's the sound of my American vocabulary slowly dying. Not with a bang. That's my poor attempt to emulate a whimper. Via blog). So now I'm pressed up against this creepy old man who has really bad B.O. Excellent. I often imagine what would happen if I passed out or lost my balance and fell while on the metro. I have narrowed it down to 3 possible scenarios. 1) There would be mass violence, as my fall would take down at least 7 angry babushkas. 2) No one would notice, except when someone's stiletto got stuck in my trampled flesh. They'd probably be annoyed by that. 3) They'd call the police and have me deported or jailed for disturbing the peace ie their commute. In this scenario I also get tuberculosis.

The Third Trial: Exiting the Train...of Life
Getting off the train is also a fun little dance. First, you do a fancy little sacrifice and dance to the Metro Gods, who are super chummy with the Toilet Gods. I like to call this dance the "Metro Shuffle N' Hustle". If you are in the middle of the car, or worse sitting down, you have to tap about 20 zillion people on the shoulder and ask if they're getting off at the next stop. This is to ensure you can get off the train in time to escape the ever-alert Guillotine. If the person is not getting off, then you do a fun little awkward-rub-up-against-each-other so you can switch places. This dance gets harder the more sardine-like you are packed. For instance, today I got hit by 3 babushkas because I had to squeeze past them doin' the Metro Shuffle N' Hustle.

All-in-all I feel the system separates the weak from the strong, and ensures a highly effective schedule. This all being said, I love the Moscow Metro. Not only is it an adventure and I feel accomplished each time I exit alive, but there are so many interesting people. Also, I don't ever wait longer than 2 minutes for a train. Eat it, WMATA. I'm fairly sure if there was ever "track maintenance" like that in DC, there would be riots in the streets, mass mutiny, and general chaos.

*Salutes* General Chaos!