{"id":410,"date":"2011-12-15T09:36:22","date_gmt":"2011-12-15T17:36:22","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.patrickokens.com\/?p=410"},"modified":"2013-01-14T18:30:42","modified_gmt":"2013-01-14T23:30:42","slug":"underground","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.patrickokens.com\/?p=410","title":{"rendered":"Underground"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Dec. 15 \u2013 Moscow\u00a0\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

It starts with the longest escalator rides you\u2019ll ever take. Stand at the top, hit \u201cplay\u201d on your iPod, and step forward for the steep ride down. While \u201cBack in the USSR\u201d pumps through your earbuds \u2013 all two-and-a-half minutes of it \u2013 you\u2019ll see an endless line of Muscovites ascending. Expressionless faces, white in the lights, contemplating the day ahead. Sometimes you make eye contact \u2013 two seconds \u2013 before continuing your downward glide. Ringo Starr hits the cymbal one last time and the song ends, but the escalator still has half a minute to go. No one\u2019s talking except the pre-recorded voice cautioning against some possible hazard.<\/p>\n

The descent is controlled, requires no action. But arrival at platform level demands decisive\"\"<\/a> motion. Pick a direction, go forward, don\u2019t stop. Behind you, everyone knows exactly where they\u2019re going and you can hear fast-paced clicking of stilettos on marble \u2013 Moscow\u2019s ladies are fearless in heels. The commuters don\u2019t rush but the pace is brisk. You\u2019re deep in the commuter stream, which crashes into counter currents from right and left as trains disgorge their passengers. Even off-peak hours are crowded here in Moscow, which has one of the biggest subway systems in the world and up to 9 million daily users.<\/p>\n

On the platform, a gust of air precedes the train out of the tunnel, and it rumbles in with a loud, descending yell. The older carriages are battered, painted dull blues and grays. The doors slide open with a hydraulic \u201cPffff!\u201d and the wagons exhale their passengers, then inhale the people standing on the platform. At busier times, it\u2019s elbows-up getting in, pressing forward. At full capacity, arms pinned in front, people squeeze together, eyes averted. The doors close emphatically, like a horizontal guillotine. Don\u2019t worry if you missed the train, another will be along in two minutes.<\/p>\n

The train accelerates, rolling, swaying. If you\u2019re standing, hang on. Unless you have a solid surfer\u2019s stance, riding hands-free will bump you into those standing beside you. There are four types of passenger; the dozer, chin on chest, who usually has a seat. The listener, earbuds in, may have the Beatles playing. But there\u2019s no way to know as the wagon\u2019s loud metallic shrieks and thumping \u201cduddum duddum duddum\u201d drown out normal-pitched conversation. The reader has a glowing electronic device in front of his face, or a book held close. The thinker is most inscrutable \u2013 is she pondering the realities of dinner, the fantasies of travel? I also encounter some of the Metro\u2019s more awkward riders; the amputated beggar, rolling on a makeshift cart; the passed-out red-faced drunk; the alcohol-urine stinking vagrant sucking on a beer while holding a greasy sausage in his dirty fingers.<\/p>\n

As the train approaches the station, the passengers shuffle into position to get out or get out of the way. The wagons shudder to a halt, the doors slide open, and the whole kinetic human swirl begins again. The stations themselves are beautifully designed, unique but somehow tragic. Like art galleries which few among millions stop to appreciate as they press toward their next appointment. Perhaps Muscovites don\u2019t take their Metro for granted, though. Perhaps they take comfort in knowing the loud, crowded underground is unique and it’s theirs.<\/p>\n

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