Moscow doesn’t care if you like it. That’s the first thing you notice when you step out of the Aeroexpress at Belorusskaya. It’s loud, it’s grey, and it’s built on a scale that makes you feel like an ant in a giant’s living room. Most travel writers try to sell you on the ‘magic’ of the Kremlin or the ‘charm’ of the Bolshoi, but honestly? Moscow is a slap in the face. It’s a city that’s been burnt down, rebuilt, paved over with ten-lane highways, and then decorated with enough gold leaf to blind a god. And yet, I keep going back. I can’t help it.
The Metro is a beautiful, exhausting lie
Everyone talks about the Moscow Metro like it’s a museum. And it is. Komsomolskaya looks like a ballroom where you should be drinking champagne, not dodging a guy in a track-suit carrying a radiator. But here is the thing nobody tells you: the transfer tunnels are a circle of hell. I once spent 42 minutes—I actually timed it on my watch—trying to find the transfer between Biblioteka Imeni Lenina and Borovitskaya. I was carrying a heavy suitcase, the signage was basically a riddle, and I ended up in a dead-end corridor that smelled faintly of damp concrete and old cabbage. I almost sat down and cried right there on the marble floor.
What I mean is—actually, let me put it differently. The Metro isn’t for you. It’s for the 9 million people who use it daily with the grim determination of soldiers. If you stand on the left side of the escalator, you will be mowed down. Don’t look for a map; just follow the flow and pray. But then, you’ll look up and see a mosaic of a tractor driver that’s genuinely stunning, and you’ll forget you’ve been walking for three miles underground. The Metro is the city’s heart, but it’s a cold one.
“If you can survive a transfer at Kurskaya during rush hour, you can survive anything life throws at you.”
It’s a masterpiece. It’s also a nightmare.
The food scene and my irrational hatred of Teremok
I know people will disagree with me on this, and I’ll probably get emails from ‘authentic’ travelers, but I think Teremok is garbage. It’s a fast-food chain that sells blini (pancakes). Everyone says it’s a ‘must-try’ for a cheap local lunch. I’ve tried it three times at three different locations, and every single time, the pancake was rubbery and the filling tasted like it came out of a tube that expired in 1994. I refuse to recommend it. I actively tell my friends to avoid it. It’s a tourist trap disguised as ‘local flavor.’
Instead, go to Danilovsky Market. I spent 1,850 rubles there on a bowl of Pho and some Uzbek lamb skewers, and it was the best meal of my life. The scale of the place is ridiculous. You have these grandmothers selling pickles that could strip paint off a fence right next to a stall selling $15 avocado toast. It’s the perfect microcosm of the city: old-world grit meeting new-world excess. I used to think the fancy restaurants like White Rabbit were the peak of Moscow dining. I was completely wrong. Give me a plastic chair at a market over a 12-course tasting menu any day.
Speaking of food, I have to mention the coffee. Moscow has better coffee than London or New York. There, I said it. I’ve tested about 15 different ‘specialty’ cafes across the Central Administrative Okrug, and the consistency is terrifying. They take caffeine very seriously. Try Surf Coffee if you want to feel like you’re in California, or Double B if you just want a damn good flat white. The coffee is the only thing in this city that isn’t aggressive.
The part where I admit I’m confused by Patriki
Patriarch’s Ponds, or ‘Patriki’ as the locals call it, is the trendiest neighborhood in the city. It’s where the ‘beautiful people’ hang out. I spent an afternoon there sitting on a bench, just watching. It’s weird. It’s this tiny pocket of Europe dropped into the middle of a Soviet monolith. The streets are narrow, the cars are all Porsches, and everyone looks like they’re about to walk onto a runway.
I might be wrong about this, but I find the whole vibe deeply uncomfortable. It feels performative. Everyone is drinking Aperol Spritz and wearing sunglasses that cost more than my rent, while two blocks away, a babushka is selling wool socks on a cardboard box. It’s a jarring contrast that Moscow doesn’t even try to hide. The city has no middle ground. You’re either in a palace or you’re in a concrete box. Anyway, the pond itself is nice, but don’t bother eating in the restaurants there unless you want to pay a ‘beauty tax’ on your salad. Total waste of money.
Walking until your feet bleed
Moscow is not a walkable city in the way Paris is. It’s a city where you walk because the traffic is a slow-motion heart attack. I once sat in a taxi for 50 minutes to move 1.2 kilometers on the Garden Ring. Never again. Now, I just walk. I tracked it on my last trip: 28,400 steps on a Tuesday. The sidewalks are wide enough to land a plane on, which sounds great until you realize it takes ten minutes just to cross the street because you have to find an ‘underground crossing’ (perekhod).
These crossings are another weird Moscow quirk. They’re like subterranean shopping malls. You go down to cross the street and end up buying a phone charger, a bouquet of roses, and a questionable meat pie before you reach the other side. It’s chaotic. It’s dusty. It’s quintessentially Moscow.
- Gorky Park: Actually worth the hype. It’s huge and the landscaping is surprisingly tasteful.
- Zaryadye Park: That floating bridge is terrifying if you have a fear of heights, but the view of the Kremlin is unbeatable.
- Red Square: Go at 11 PM. The tourists are gone, the lights are on, and it actually feels like history. During the day, it’s just a giant photo op for tour groups.
- VDNKh: This is my favorite place. It’s a giant park filled with Soviet pavilions that look like a sci-fi movie from the 1950s. It’s bizarre and beautiful.
I have this one specific memory of VDNKh. It was late October, freezing cold, and I was trying to find the Space Pavilion. I got lost (obviously) and ended up behind a maintenance shed where a group of workers were sharing a thermos of tea and laughing. They saw me looking lost, didn’t speak a word of English, but one of them just pointed a massive, gloved hand toward the Vostok rocket and nodded. No ‘how can I help you?’, just a silent acknowledgment of the absurdity of the place. That’s Moscow in a nutshell.
The GUM problem
I’m going to say something that might get me banned from travel forums: I think the GUM department store on Red Square is deeply offensive. It’s a stunning building—the glass roof is a feat of engineering—but inside, it’s just a temple to brands that nobody can actually afford. It’s like a giant wedding cake made of granite, filled with Louis Vuitton stores. It feels hollow. People go there to take selfies, not to shop. If you want to see real Russian life, go to a Pyaterochka supermarket in the suburbs. That’s where the real drama happens.
I find the obsession with luxury brands in Moscow to be exhausting. It’s like the city is constantly trying to prove it’s wealthy, but it does it with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. I know some people love the glamour, but to me, it just feels like a thin veneer over a much more interesting, much grittier reality. I’d rather spend my time exploring the old industrial estates that have been turned into art centers, like Winzavod. At least there, the dirt is honest.
Actually, let me walk that back a bit. I did enjoy the ice cream in GUM. It’s 150 rubles, it comes in a waffle cone, and it tastes exactly like the Soviet-era stuff is supposed to taste. So fine, go to GUM, eat the ice cream, and then leave immediately. That’s the only way to do it.
It’s a lot to take in
I don’t know if I’ve actually ‘guided’ you through Moscow here. I’ve mostly just complained about the metro and the pancakes. But that’s the reality of the place. It’s not a city you ‘visit’ so much as a city you survive. It’s exhausting, it’s expensive, and the weather is usually trying to kill you. But there is a soul there, hidden under the layers of granite and gold. It’s in the way the city never sleeps, the way the lights reflect off the river at 2 AM, and the weirdly intense pride the locals have for their beautiful, broken home.
Will I go back? Probably next year. I still haven’t figured out that metro transfer at Biblioteka Imeni Lenina, and it’s starting to bother me. I need to beat it.
Go to Moscow. Wear comfortable shoes. Don’t eat at Teremok. Good luck.