Next station... Wierd-skya.

Traffic lights and bus stops. Metro cars and drunk guys. Broken watermelons and bloody heads.

This is the official launch of my Adventures from the Metro. I have been living and working in Moscow for the last few months, and have a few more months left here before my internship is completed. Every day something funny/stupid/scary/exciting happens to me as I navigate the public transportation system in this huge city.

Some interesting facts about transport in Moscow:

• On a normal weekday it carries 8.2 million passengers.
  
• There are 172 active stations.
• 278.8km of railway. (about 173 miles)
  
• Commercial cruising speed of 41.6 km/h. (about 26 mph)

Find out more about the Moscow Metro at Wikipedia.

Bus Schedule Shenanigans

My last interesting encounter was very near my flat. I live in a nicer, mostly Russian area. The buildings are nice enough, but were probably built in the late 60's. I was at the bus stop, heading home, and I had paused to write down the bus times for the very bus I got just gotten off. I was listening to some Project 86 on my Creative MP3 player, when this man staggers up to me seemingly out of nowhere.

He mumbles something completely inaudible to me. I know, I don't speak very good Russian, but I can usually at least make out the words, even if I frequently do not understand them. I had no idea what this man just spit out. But, I did notice one thing immediately... he had a nasty road rash-esque cut that had taken over his left side of his face. It was juicy... not openly bleeding, but very gross.

I told him in Russian, that I understand poorly in Russian, then asked him if he spoke any English. He simply grunted in response, turned, and staggered away. When he turned... I saw that the back of his head was also matted in blood. The back of his head had suffered a worse injury then his face, he had a gash that was clearly visible through his bloody mat of hair.

I had no idea how to help this man. He was walking, albeit unsteadily, and there was a language barrier that was insurmountable, if he had been speaking clearly and slowly... but in his drunken and/or injured slurs... I was lost.

I sort of watched him walk away for a minute, finished writing my schedule down, then turned to follow him a little bit and make sure he didn't stumble out into traffic, because he surely would have been plowed by a suicidal taxi driver. Only, when I turned to find him... he was gone. As quickly as he had stumbled up out of nowhere, he stumbled away into nowhere...